And then he heard his mother's scream … a name…
What was the name, what was the name?
His hands pressed to his ears, and it was a long time before he took them away again to realize the gunfire had stopped. There was nothing but silence upstairs now. Was he still there—the man with the deadly gun? Had he left? Or was he waiting? What about Mom? Dad?
Sara!
Oh God, little Sara!
Finally the feeling came back into his limbs, and Marcus got his body to move. He crept up the stairs, silently, pushed on the door. Very slowly, it opened … revealing a nightmare.
The smells hit him first. The sulfury scent the gun had left behind. And something else. Something … something bad.
Then he blinked and stepped into the living room, turning his head slowly. Seeing the blood. Spatters of it on every wall. Even some on the ceiling. The light fixture. And there was more than blood. There were … things…
He quickly lowered his head, only to see a pool of blood on the floor underneath his feet. And when he looked away from that, he saw another pool, near the kitchen, and long, streaked trails leading from each stain to the still-open front door.
He swallowed hard and tried to call his mom, his dad. But when he moved his mouth, only a dry gust of wind came out. He couldn't make a sound. The walls were riddled with holes. The mirror was in glittering silver fragments on the floor. Stuffing bled through the holes in the sofa.
He walked slowly through his house, his home, and he searched for his family. But he already knew he wouldn't find them.
He'd been afraid of the cellar … afraid of the dark. Now he realized it had been the only safe place in the entire house. Maybe … maybe it was the only safe place in the world. Right now he wanted to go back into the darkness and never, ever come out into the light again.
He stepped out of the house into the street, and he heard sirens. But he didn't care about them. He needed to get away from the house and the sounds ringing in his ears. Gunfire, his mother's scream. Away, away, away … into the dark.
"No. No, dammit, no."
"Marcus…"
He opened his eyes. Sunlight streamed through the windows and shone in his eyes. Leaning over him, an angel. Fawn hair surrounded by a nimbus of sunlight behind her. Eyes as deep as heaven. Petal-soft hand, stroking his face.
"Are you all right?" she whispered.
He blinked, looked around him. No bullet holes. No blood. He was an adult, not a helpless, terrified ten-year-old. He was in Casey's house, not his childhood home. He was doing a job. He'd only been dreaming.
Dreaming… Sleeping!
His eyes widened. "I fell asleep! Laura—"
"She's fine. It's you I'm worried about."
Marcus sat up, tried to clear his head. It ached, and he closed his eyes slowly. "You have any coffee?"
"Marcus, you're changing the subject." Those probing eyes were deadly, and they saw way too much as they searched his face. "You were having a nightmare."
"Nightmare, memory. Call it what you will." He ran a hand over his face, and it met stubble. He must look like a bum by now. He needed to shave. "It's nothing that hasn't happened before, Casey. Not a big deal, okay?"
She frowned. "You have this dream often?"
He nodded, then stopped himself. "Only since my tenth Christmas." He bit his lip, gave his head a shake. "It doesn't matter."
"It does to me."
He finally met her steady gaze and knew she meant what she said. "It shouldn't, Casey."
She looked away, hurt maybe, but then he'd meant her to be. At least the message was received. A not-so-gentle reminder that it would do her no good to let herself care about him, because he could never return the feelings. He intended to see to it she didn't forget.
"How about that coffee?"
"Somebody say coffee?" Laura appeared in the doorway from the kitchen with a tray balanced in her hands. Smiling, she carried it in and set it on the coffee table. Three steaming mugs, cream, sugar, spoons and a plate of pastries that smelled so good Marcus almost forgot about the bad dreams.
"You're a mind reader," he said.
"Nope. I just like to eat." She smiled at him.
Marcus found himself admiring her spunk. To wake up this bright-eyed after the night she'd had. "You look rested."
"Casey slipped me a Mickey last night. I figured she had plans she'd rather I slept through." Laura winked at her sister.
"I gave her a sleeping pill, and she needed it."
"I agree with you there," Marcus said, and he reached for a cup of coffee while eyeing the pastries. "I hardly deserve this after falling asleep on the job."
"Fine," Laura said. "I'll just eat them myself."
"No you won't." Marcus grabbed a Danish, while Casey quickly snatched a muffin.
"You needed the rest, too," Laura said, taking a doughnut and a blueberry muffin both in one hand, her coffee in the other, and settling down in a chair. "You don't seem like the type who'd doze unintentionally otherwise."
"Needed or not, I should have been awake."
"Yeah," Casey said. "And the sleep didn't get you much rest anyway, did it?"
Laura frowned at him. "What? Why not?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Forget it."
But now it was Laura's ebony gaze searching his face instead of Casey's brown one. She frowned hard. "Gee, you don't look so good this morning. You sure that big lug didn't get a piece of you last night?"
"Not on his best day."
For some reason that comment made both women smile. He chose to ignore their apparent amusement, and he munched on his Danish for a while. Then he went on. "I've been thinking, and I've decided it's no longer feasible for you two to stay here."
The light in Laura's eyes faded a little. Casey just stared at him. "Marcus, that's why you're here. To keep Laura safe."
"That's not going to work anymore. This guy, whoever he is, knows I'm here now. He'll just watch, wait until I'm not around and make his move. It isn't worth the risk to either of you."
Casey sighed but nodded. "I guess you do have a point. And you can't guard us twenty-four-seven, after all."
"No, I can't."
"So where do we go?" Laura asked.
"I'm working on that."
"I might have a few ideas," Casey said. "Let me work on it today. But, Marcus, I have to tell you, I really don't think this is a good idea."
"I didn't think you would. And I suppose you have a dozen reasons why not."
She tilted her head. "Only one, really. If we go into hiding, the problem isn't solved. It's only postponed. We have to come home sooner or later, and when we do, the jerk will be here waiting." She lowered her head and sighed deeply. When she raised it again, she faced her sister. "Laura, if you'd just tell us—"
"No, I can't." Laura set her cup down carefully. "Casey, you're already in danger because of me. You could get hurt anytime, caught in the crossfire. But if you know any more than you already do, you might become a target, too, and I'm not willing to see that happen." She closed her eyes slowly. "I should just leave…"
"I'd rather let them shoot me than lose you, Laura."
When Laura's eyes opened again they were wet. Marcus felt his own grow hot and damp. He'd die to save little Sara if he had it to do over. He knew exactly what Casey meant.
"When I catch him, Laura," he said gently, "and I will catch him, we're going to find out the truth anyway."
"When you catch him, it won't matter. He'll be in prison where he can't hurt either of you."
She made sense. He hated to admit it but she did. "Okay, so you're not talking. I can respect that … for now."
"At least you didn't say, 'Vee have vays of making you talk,'" she said, a false lightness to her voice. She glanced around the room a bit nervously, brushing the crumbs from her fingers. "So when can we get out of here?"
"Right now, if you want," Marcus told her. It was obvious she was still afraid. "I'll take you both to
the hotel where I'm staying. Introduce you to Graham."
Laura's head came up. "Graham? Is he your sidekick?"
Marcus only frowned.
"Well, every superhero has one, right?"
He shot Casey a look, saw her grimace. Then he glanced at Laura again. "I'm no superhero, Laura. What gave you that idea?"
She shrugged, not quite meeting his gaze. "You saved my life last night," she told him. "That makes you a hero in my book."
His face heated, and he had to lower his head.
"Okay, then," Casey said, getting quickly to her feet and gathering up the mugs and tray. "You go on to meet the mysterious sidekick at the hotel with Marcus. I'll meet you there later."
Marcus felt alarms going off. "You're not coming with us?"
She didn't look him in the eye. "I have a couple of things to do first. At the office, work stuff. You know."
He wondered if that "work stuff" involved him. He still wasn't certain he could trust her. She could ruin him with one article.
She looked him in the eye then. Briefly. But he saw her promise there as clearly as if she'd spoken it aloud. And he found himself believing her. Dangerous thing to do, a little voice whispered.
"Okay," he said, despite the nagging doubts. "Do what you have to, Casey."
"I'll meet you in time for lunch. Promise."
"If you're late, I'll assume you're in trouble and come looking."
She smiled then. Blinked fast, and averted her face. He wondered why. "I won't be late," she whispered.
What had he said? Why did she look like that?
She carried the tray to the kitchen, and he heard water running. As soon as she was out of sight, Laura leaned close. "That was pretty romantic, what you just said."
Frowning, Marcus shook his head. "What did I say?"
Laura rolled her eyes. "You mean it wasn't intentional?"
"How could it have been when I don't even know what you're talking about?"
"So you aren't deliberately trying to sweep my big sister off her feet?"
He stared at her in astonishment
Laura shrugged. "For a clueless male, you're doing a pretty good job of it." She got to her feet. "I'm going to throw some things in a bag for Casey and me. Five minutes, okay?"
"Sure." He watched her go and sat there wondering what the hell had just happened. It most certainly was not his intention to sweep Casey off her feet as her sister so eloquently put it. Hell, he was trying to keep her from caring about him. What had he done wrong?
Minutes later, Casey was back, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Laura trotted down the stairs with a bulging satchel. Marcus got up to take the bag and walked both women outside.
She knew the year now. The year of Marcus's nightmare. He'd talked a little too much when he woke up. She'd like to think that was because he was beginning to trust her, just a little. She didn't imagine he trusted too many people.
But the nightmare of his youth had happened when he was ten years old. Around Christmas. And he'd told her he was thirty-two now, so that made it 1976. She wasn't certain of the locale but guessed it was in or near Silver City, since he seemed to have been there ever since. So she returned to the newspaper and logged into the annals of the Silver City Times, and she pored over every one of the fifty-two weekly issues from that year.
Finally she found it.
December 23, 1976.
A family of four was apparently murdered in a gangland-style shooting early this afternoon. Silver City police, responding to a neighbor's report of gunshots, arrived at the home of John Brand to find evidence of a struggle inside. Though he refused to give us the nature of the evidence, Sergeant William Hammersmith of SCPD says it's obvious there were multiple gunshot victims and that their bodies had been removed from the premises, probably by the unknown assailant. Missing and presumed dead are John Brand, his wife, Sally Brand, and their two children, Marcus, ten, and Sara, four. A massive search for the bodies of the victims is already under way, Hammersmith said.
John Brand worked as an accountant and, according to D.A. Richard Kendall, was suspected to have connections with organized crime figures in the area. Sergeant Hammersmith confirms that the shootings at 24 Ivy Lane
have all the markings of a professional hit.
Casey read and then reread the article. No photos. But there was no doubt this must be Marcus's family. Only the story was flawed. Marcus hadn't been killed. He'd survived somehow. God, how? Where had he gone? How had he managed all alone in the world at such a tender age?
"No wonder he's so isolated. So determined to be a loner."
As she printed a copy of the article, she thought what an odd coincidence it was that his last name was Brand. There were Brands right here in Texas, in nearby Quinn. They'd been friends of her parents' for as long as she could remember. She still exchanged Christmas cards with them, and they usually dropped a note a couple of times a year, asking about her and Laura. How they were doing and so on.
Strange. She paused, staring at the printout, her mind whirling. Hadn't Marcus said something about having been in Texas before? What if these Brands were some relation of his? God, did they even know he was alive?
She quickly skimmed through the newspapers that came after the December 23 one, perusing every page of print in search of a follow-up story. Surely the killer had been caught…
No. No, by the looks of things, he had never been found. There was only one further mention of the murders, when the bodies of Sally and John Brand had been discovered in a nearby river. But the children's bodies had not been found. Police surmised that as a final act of cruelty, the killer had dumped the bodies in separate areas, and suggested the bodies of the children might never be recovered.
"Of course they won't," Casey muttered. "Not Marcus's, at least. Because he wasn't killed. He lived. Somehow he lived … with the nightmares."
Casey printed that article up, as well, and added both to her growing file on the man Silver City called the Guardian. A man living a lie, all to protect his shattered heart from being broken again.
She blinked tears from her eyes and glanced at her watch. She'd better run or she'd be late for lunch.
And he'd come looking.
The thought brought a tight pain to her heart and a bittersweet smile to her lips.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
Marcus paced, his shoes making odd tracks on the wet floor near the pool. A four-star restaurant available, and Laura had insisted on lunch beside the hotel's indoor pool. Sunlight shone through the glass walls surrounding them, and there were even umbrella-shaded tables and a couple of potted palms to complete the tropical illusion.
"Not exactly in keeping with the holiday spirit, Miss Jones," Graham chuckled. Laura was climbing out of the pool, dripping wet, and Graham met her halfway with a towel. If he'd been forty years younger, Marcus thought his old friend would be falling in love. Maybe he was, anyway. He certainly seemed smitten.
"Don't tell me you'd rather eat lunch in that stuffy room?"
"Suite, dear. It's a suite."
"Yeah, penthouse suite, too." She waved one hand as if cooling her face. "Business must be good, huh? But even you rich guys have to get out once in a while."
"Indeed."
Marcus watched Laura as she made her way to the table while vigorously toweling dry. Then he resumed pacing. Casey wasn't back yet. She should be. And he shouldn't be this worried. Yes, if it was anyone else, he'd be getting a bit concerned at this point. But he wouldn't feel this same sick ball of dread in his stomach. Or this jerky convulsion of his heart every time he heard footsteps in the foyer.
"I would have thought," Graham said, "you might have preferred the hotel restaurant. It's quite nice, you know."
"Yeah, if you like tinsel and pinecones hanging from every corner, not to mention the stupid red hats the waitresses are all wearing."
Marcus glanced her way, the topic catching his attention. "Don't forget
the piped-in carols."
Laura rolled her eyes at him. "Don't remind me."
Graham stared from one of them to the other. Then did so again. "I, er, take it you don't particularly enjoy the holiday season, Miss Jones?"
"Call me Laura, okay?"
Graham smiled, clearly besotted. "Of course."
"It's just not my favorite time of year."
"It isn't mine, either," Marcus said. "And frankly, I'm sick of people thinking that's strange."
"Me, too. But right now I'd wrestle Rudolph for a cheeseburger. Where is that waiter?"
"Maybe he vanished with your sister. She seems to be running a little late herself."
Laura gripped Graham's arm and twisted it around so she could see his watch. "Five after twelve. Uh-oh—"
"Five after? I have noon on the nose." Marcus tapped his watch, shook his head. "That's it, I'm going over there."
"Me, too."
"Stay here, Laura. It could be dangerous. Graham will watch you, and if anything's happened to Casey, I'll—"
"You'll what?"
Marcus spun to see Casey standing in the entryway, arms crossed over her chest. The air rushed out of him, along with the tension that had been building steadily ever since she'd left his sight this morning. "You're late."
"By mere seconds," she said.
"I was on my way to track you down."
"So I gathered." She smiled, lowered her head. "Thanks for that."
Frowning, Marcus got the feeling the conversation was sailing way over his head … again. "There's no need to thank me. I said I would. I was getting worried."
Smiling even more, she said, "I know. Thanks for that, too."
He shook his head, half-convinced they were speaking two different languages. He searched his brain for a reply but couldn't think of a thing to say.
She came the rest of the way in, and when she passed him, she passed close. Almost close enough to brush against him, but not quite. The space of a breath remained between them. Just enough to make him wish it didn't. And maybe that was deliberate.
"You must be Graham," she said, smiling and extending a hand.
THAT MYSTERIOUS TEXAS BRAND MAN Page 12
