“I still feel sorry for his family,” Andrea murmured. “I should probably give his mother a call.”
Marly glanced up in surprise. “You know his mother?”
“Not well. She goes to my church.”
“Your mother has a new church, did she tell you?” There was something in her father’s tone, in his eyes that made Marly shiver again. Something was going on here tonight. The tension was even thicker than usual.
“I’m sure the children aren’t interested in my church activities,” Andrea said nervously.
The housekeeper announced dinner then, and they filed into the dining room, her father taking his place at the head of the table, her mother at the other end, and Sam and Marly facing one another. Catching her gaze, he gave her a conspiratorial wink that immediately lifted her spirits.
And just as quickly, her father dashed them by grumbling about the salad dressing, then the over-cooked vegetables and the undercooked pot roast. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Everything tasted fine to Marly, and as she ate, she tried her best to tune out her father’s insults, which were directed at her mother even though Andrea hadn’t personally prepared the meal.
“So, Mom, what’s this about your joining a new church?” she asked curiously.
Her mother’s fork clattered against her plate. She quickly straightened it as she muttered an apology.
Her father laid aside his knife and fork as well. “Yes, Andrea. Why don’t you tell the children about your new church?”
“I don’t think they’d be interested—”
“Oh, I think they would. Especially Marlene.” Her father’s frigid gaze moved from his wife to his daughter. “Seems your mother has taken up with your old boyfriend.”
Someone gasped. Marly thought it might have been her.
Her father nodded. “It’s true. Your mother has become infatuated with your discarded fiancé.”
Marly felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at her mother’s frozen expression. “What’s he talking about?” she asked softly.
Her gaze met Marly’s briefly before dropping to her plate. “I’ve been attending services at the Glorious Way Church.”
“Since when?” Marly asked in astonishment.
“A few months.” Her mother stared furiously at her plate. “I enjoy Joshua’s sermons. I find them very inspiring. That’s all there is to it.”
“I’d say there’s a little more to it than that,” her husband goaded. “Your mother is working at the church now, Marlene. I believe she has your old job. Isn’t that right, Andrea?”
“I’ve been helping out ever since Mrs. Abbott died. I volunteer a few hours a week—”
“That’s a new one, isn’t it?” Wesley cut in. “A mother following in her daughter’s footsteps? First her church, then her boyfriend and now her job.”
Andrea put a hand to her mouth, but when she glanced up, her eyes were gleaming with something Marly had never seen there before. She wasn’t sure if it was defiance…or guilt.
Marly’s stomach churned, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to force down another bite.
Best diet in the world, she thought dryly. Dinner with the folks.
But apparently her father’s appetite wasn’t diminished. He picked up his knife and fork and calmly resumed eating. “What’s next, I wonder? Rush’s bed?”
Her mother made a tiny sound of protest, and Sam said through clenched teeth, “Shut up.”
Wesley stopped eating. “What did you say?”
Sam glared at him. “You heard me. I said shut the hell up. If Mother’s found someone else, more power to her. It’s about damn time.”
Her father’s face turned scarlet with rage. “How dare you speak to me that way? I won’t stand for it, do you hear me? I won’t brook that kind of insolence in my own home. I’ve a good mind to—”
“What?” Sam’s smile was chilling. “Take me down a peg or two?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Wesley warned.
“Come on.” Sam shoved back his chair. “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.”
“You think you’re man enough to take me on?” Wesley sneered. “You think I don’t know about you? You left the army because you couldn’t cut it. You’re nothing but a—” He broke off, his face contorting in what Marly first thought was fury. He turned a darker shade of red and made a rasping sound in the back of his throat as he lifted his hands to his neck.
“My God,” Marly said in horror. “He’s choking.”
Everything seemed to happen in fast motion then. As Marly sprang up from the table and rushed toward her father, she caught a glimpse of her brother’s face. Sam remained seated, his gaze fixed on their father, and for one brief moment, Marly could have sworn he was still smiling.
Chapter Eleven
Marly waited in the upstairs hall for her mother to come out of the master bedroom. When she finally did, she took Marly’s arm and they walked down the stairs together.
“How is he?” Marly asked.
“He’s resting. The paramedics said he’ll be fine.”
“They also said he needed to go to the hospital and get checked out,” Marly reminded her.
They were at the bottom of the stairs now, and her mother turned to face her. “You know your father.”
Yes, and I thought I knew you. Marly gazed into her mother’s eyes. Tonight the woman who’d given birth to her suddenly seemed like a stranger. Marly wanted to ask her about her father’s accusations. Wanted to warn her away from Joshua Rush—not because she still harbored feelings for him herself. Not because of jealousy or resentment, but because he was a man exactly like her father.
As if sensing her confusion, her mother gave her a tender smile. “You saved his life.”
“I didn’t do it alone. Sam had a hand in it, too.” After that split second of hesitation, Sam had been by her side in an instant, helping her to lay their father on the floor once she’d dislodged the blockage from his throat, counting off the beats while she performed CPR. But then, when the paramedics arrived, he’d simply disappeared.
“Yes, but you were the first one to his side. You were the one who got him breathing again,” her mother said softly. “Before tonight, I had a hard time picturing you as a police officer. But not anymore. Now I know how capable you truly are.” Her mother’s eyes gleamed with quiet pride as she lifted a hand and placed it gently on Marly’s cheek. “You really are an extraordinary woman. My daughter, the cop.”
It was one of the most touching moments Marly could ever remember sharing with her mother. She didn’t want to let it go. Her eyes misted with tears. “Thank you, Mama.”
She turned her head slightly, grazing her mother’s hand with a kiss, feeling the calloused ridge of the scar that slashed across her mother’s wrist.
A scar that no one ever talked about. A scar that her mother always kept hidden beneath long sleeves.
A scar that matched the one on her other wrist.
SAM STOOD ON THE PORCH watching the rain when Marly came outside. “I thought you’d left,” she said in surprise.
“Just needed some air. How is he?”
“He’ll be fine. He won’t go to the hospital, though.”
“Yeah, I know. I spoke to the paramedics before they left.”
Marly came up and stood beside him at the rail. “It seems like it’s been raining forever,” she said with a sigh.
“You used to like the rain,” Sam reminded her. “You always said that when it rained you didn’t have to feel guilty for staying inside, curled up with a book.”
Marly gave a fake shudder. “I was such a geek.”
“We were both strange kids,” Sam said. “But is it any wonder? Look how we were raised.”
Marly put out her hand and caught raindrops in her palm. “Do you hate him, Sam?”
“Don’t you?”
“Sometimes I do.” She closed her fist around the raindrops. “Sometimes I just wonder why he is the way he is. He
didn’t have the greatest mother—”
“Stop making excuses for him,” Sam said angrily.
“I’m not,” Marly defended.
“Yes, you are, but it’s a waste of time.” Sam turned back to the rain. “He is what he is. Just accept it and move on. You’ll be a lot happier.”
“Are you happy, Sam?”
He hesitated. “I’m content, I guess. I accept the old man for who and what he is, and I’ve done the same for myself.”
And just who are you? Marly wondered. She thought about that scene in his kitchen, the way Max Perry had placed his hand on Sam’s arm, and she suddenly wanted to ask what it meant.
But how did you ask your brother, a grown man, a man whom she’d lost touch with for years when he’d been in the service, a man who had come back home wary and secretive, something so personal?
Besides, if there was something he wanted her to know, he would tell her, wouldn’t he?
But what if he was waiting for her to ask? What if he had been waiting years for her to ask?
Marly glanced up, meeting his gaze and seeing in those dark depths a deep and infinite loneliness that she had never fully understood.
He was her brother, and she loved him dearly, trusted him with her very life, but Marly suddenly realized that she had never really known him.
WHEN SHE GOT BACK TO HER apartment that night, Deacon waited under the covered landing just outside her door. Marly halted when she spotted him, their previous conversation rushing back to her. “I was trained to kill. And I did so with ruthless precision.”
She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to resume that conversation. Or, more to the point, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to be alone with a man who was either utterly demented or a ruthless killer. Or both.
But she found herself walking toward him just the same. When she stood next to him under the cover, she glanced up reluctantly, almost afraid to make eye contact. “What are you doing here?”
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “I had to see you.”
“How did you find out where I live?”
“It’s a small town, Marly. It wasn’t difficult.”
He turned then, and she gasped when she saw his face. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “What happened to you?” Before she could stop herself, she put up a hand to tentatively touch one of the bruises.
Deacon winced but didn’t pull back. “I fell down some stairs,” he muttered.
“Why do I have a feeling you aren’t joking about that?” Marly said. “Are you okay?”
He shrugged. “I’ll live.”
“Maybe you should go to the hospital and get checked out.”
“I’m fine. But we need to talk, Marly.” His hands came out of his pockets then, and he was suddenly looming over her, his eyes gleaming in the dark as he gazed down at her.
“What about?” she asked nervously.
“I told you that first day that the man we’re looking for is someone between the ages of thirty and forty, with a military background he doesn’t like to talk about. Remember?”
She nodded.
“I also asked if you knew anyone who fit that description.” His gaze on her deepened, intensified, until Marly knew she couldn’t look away if she tried. “I’m asking you again.”
Her stomach quivered with nerves. “What are you getting at?”
“I want you to tell me about your brother.”
“Sam? What about him?”
“When he was in the service, did he stay in touch with the family? Or were there long periods of time when you didn’t hear from him? When you didn’t know where he was?”
Marly didn’t like where this conversation was going. “That’s none of your business,” she said angrily.
“Just answer the question. Or are you afraid to answer it?”
Marly glared up at him. “Don’t try to manipulate me. You think I don’t recognize what you’re doing? I lived with the master of those tactics for years.” Her voice was edged with scorn. “But I’ll answer your question anyway. No, Sam didn’t keep in touch. We didn’t hear from him for months at a time. Almost a year once. There were times when I didn’t know if he was alive or dead. But that doesn’t prove anything. My brother isn’t a killer,” she said through clenched teeth.
“He fits the profile.”
“So do a lot of other people in this town.” Marly still couldn’t look away from that grim gaze.
“When he came home, were there gaps in his memories? Things he should have remembered but didn’t?”
Marly didn’t want to answer any more of his questions. He was hitting too many nerves. Sam had been different when he’d gotten out of the service. He’d been moody, secretive, nothing more than a polite stranger at times. And he hadn’t been able to remember things from their childhood, little things that shouldn’t have mattered but somehow did. At least to her.
“When you were kids, was Sam ever sent away?” Deacon persisted.
Don’t answer that, a little voice warned her, but she heard herself saying, “When he was ten, he was sent away to a military academy. He was gone for two years, and when he came back…”
“He was different that time, too, wasn’t he?”
Marly put a hand to her mouth. “How do you know all this?”
“Because there are others out there just like him. Some were taken with the cooperation of their parents, others by force. Most of them were males between the ages of nine and twelve who exhibited superior athletic and academic skills, as well as a certain amount of psychic ability. Others, like me, were recruited from the ranks of the regular military, mostly from Special Forces. We willingly underwent the experiments because we thought we were serving our country and all of humanity. But we were wrong. The Montauk Project wasn’t about the betterment of mankind. It was about power.”
Marly balled her hands into fists. “I don’t understand half of what you’re saying, but I do know this. My brother isn’t a killer.”
“What if I told you he may have been the one who attacked me tonight?”
Marly gasped. “You said you fell down some stairs.”
“After being bashed in the back of the head.”
Her heart quickened. “Where were you?”
“In your brother’s house.”
“In my—” Marly’s gaze shot back to his. “Sam was with me tonight. He couldn’t have been the one who attacked you. And by the way, just what the hell were you doing in his house?”
“He was with you all evening?”
Marly’s mind flashed back to earlier in the evening. Sam had been late getting to her parents’ house. He said he’d stopped at a liquor store. “We had dinner together,” she said. “And it was something of a traumatic event, so if you’ll excuse me—”
Deacon caught her arm. “Don’t overlook the obvious, Marly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you have to keep an open mind. You can’t rule out any suspect at this point.”
“Suspect?” Her tone turned frigid. “I’m not even convinced that a crime has been committed, except for you breaking into my brother’s house. I could take you in for that, you know. Throw the book at you.”
Somehow she’d backed up against the door of her apartment, and Deacon was standing over her, his body planted in front of her so that she couldn’t escape. For the first time that night, Marly felt real terror, but not for her own safety.
“You take me in, nobody’s going to be looking for the killer.”
“How do I know you’re not making all this up?” she challenged. “How do I know you’re not the killer?”
His smile was humorless. “At least you’re admitting now that there is one. That’s progress.”
“I never admitted anything.”
One brow lifted slightly. “You still need proof?”
She licked her lips. “You can’t prove the impossible. You can’t reach inside my head and control my thoughts.”
“Don’t touch me.”
He dropped his hand to his side. “You’re free to turn and go inside your apartment anytime you want to. I’m not stopping you.”
But he was. Maybe not with his mind, but with his presence. With the attraction that sizzled between them even as Marly tried to deny it.
“You’ve done something to me. I don’t know what it is, but—”
He wove his hands through her hair, bending to nuzzle her neck. “You want me,” he whispered against her ear.
God help her, she did. It was like a physical ache.
He was kissing her then, long deep kisses that made Marly quiver from head to toe, that made her heart feel as if it were about to explode inside her chest. He was touching her, too. His hands were all over her. Sliding her jacket down her arms. Slipping his hands up her skirt. Exploring her so intimately, Marly could barely breathe. She could feel something building inside her. Something powerful. Something she couldn’t control.
She leaned against the door, eyes closed, trembling and terrified.
“I want you, too,” he murmured in her ear. “I want to pick you up and carry you inside your apartment, lay you on the bed and undress you slowly. I want to touch you all over, taste every inch of you, and then I want to be inside you—”
Marly shuddered against his hand, and then turned her head away, humiliated and humbled. “Oh, God.”
“Marly—”
He said her name so tenderly, tears spurted behind her eyes. “Maybe you do control my thoughts,” she whispered. “Maybe you do have some kind of power over me. Because I don’t lose control like that. That wasn’t me.”
“Yes, it was. This is the real you. You’re a strong, passionate woman. The sooner you accept that reality, the better off you’ll be.”
She still wouldn’t look at him. “Why don’t you just go to hell?” she said without much conviction.
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