Silent Storm

by Amanda Stevens

  “To have a look around.”

  Her grip tightened. “What if someone sees you?”

  His gaze roamed over the crowd. “Do you really think anyone will notice?”

  Marly followed his gaze. And shivered. There was something deeply unnerving about all those faces gazing so raptly at Joshua.

  “Are you coming?” Deacon asked in ear.

  “In a minute,” she whispered back.

  He nodded, then slipped away. Marly remained seated, her gaze sweeping over the congregation to make sure his departure hadn’t attracted attention. But all eyes remained focused on Joshua.

  By now he was really hitting his stride. Armed with a cordless microphone, he left the pulpit to roam among his followers, shaking hands, squeezing shoulders, embracing. When he came to Marly’s mother, he skimmed her cheek with his fingers. Andrea Jessop caught his hand in hers and lifted it to her lips.

  Marly’s heart did a nosedive. She was shocked by such an open display of affection between her mother and her ex-fiancé. However, no one else seemed to notice. Or care.

  But Marly cared. Not because she was jealous. Not because she still had feelings for Joshua. But because she knew her mother would end up getting hurt.

  Getting to her feet, Marly slipped along the back of the pew to the arched doorway. She didn’t even turn to see if anyone had noticed her departure. At that point, she wasn’t sure she even cared.

  Heading straight for the ladies’ room, she leaned over one of the sinks and splashed cold water on her face until her queasy stomach began to settle. She turned off the tap, and just as she was reaching for a paper towel, the lights went out. Everything was suddenly pitch-black.

  Marly remained motionless, trying to orient herself to the darkness. She wanted to believe the whole church was experiencing a power outage, but she didn’t think that was the case. Someone had turned off the lights in the bathroom. Someone, perhaps, who had followed Marly out of the chapel.

  She knew that she could make her way across the room to the exit with very little trouble, but she also knew that if she drew back the door, there was a good chance the killer would be waiting on the other side. If she were a braver person, she would have done exactly that, Marly thought. Find out once and for all who was responsible for all these deaths.

  But after the episode at Miss Gracie’s house, she now knew exactly what she was dealing with. Even armed, she was no match for the killer. Her only hope was Deacon.

  As efficiently as she could manage, Marly groped her way across the floor to the bathroom stalls. Feeling her way along the metal doors, she entered the one farthest from the exit and shot home the bolt.

  He would find her. Marly knew that. It wouldn’t take any special powers to figure out where she was hiding. But what else could she do?

  Leaning against the wall, she listened to the darkness. And then, a moment later, the bathroom door creaked open.

  He was out there. Only a few feet from where she stood. He was out there and he was going to kill her.

  No, that wasn’t right. He was going to make her kill herself. Everyone would think her death another suicide. Everyone except Deacon.

  Deacon. Where was he? Oh, God, if only she had his power. If only she could make things happen with her mind. If only he could find her in time—

  The door on the stall at the far end slammed shut, and Marly jumped, pressing her hand to her mouth to smother the scream that bubbled in her throat.

  Another door slammed.

  Then another.

  There were five stalls in the rest room. Marly was in the last one. She realized in horror what he was doing. He was working his way down to her.

  The door next to her opened and banged shut so violently that a gasp escaped through Marly’s fingers. Then suddenly all the doors began to slam so fast and so furiously that Marly couldn’t hold back a scream. The door to her own stall rattled and shook, but the killer didn’t open the door. He didn’t even try to invade her mind. It was different this time. Somehow Marly knew that he had no intention of actually harming her. He merely wanted her to experience—and appreciate—his rage and frustration.

  After a moment, the cacophony subsided, and everything was silent again. The bathroom door opened and closed, and Marly knew that he was gone. But she didn’t come out of the stall. She didn’t even release her breath until the lights came back on, and she heard Deacon call out her name.

  Then her knees gave way, and she slid trembling to the floor.

  DEACON PULLED INTO A PARKING space outside Marly’s apartment and killed the engine. “Maybe it would be a good idea if I bunked at your place tonight. I don’t think you should be alone.”

  Marly didn’t think having Deacon spend the night was such a hot idea, either. She was in a vulnerable state at the moment, but she nodded in agreement because she didn’t want to be alone. After tonight, there was no question in her mind that she was vulnerable to the killer. He’d targeted her, but for what purpose, she still had no idea.

  Letting them into the apartment, she turned on lights, then headed for the refrigerator. “I’m having a glass of wine,” she said. “Which is the strongest thing I’ve got. Care to join me?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Marly poured two glasses and brought them and the bottle back out to the living area. Handing one of the wineglasses to Deacon, she motioned to the sofa, then took a seat across from him on an armchair. Lifting the glass to her lips, she polished off the contents in two gulps.

  “Whoa,” Deacon said. “Maybe you should take it a little easy with that.”

  “I probably should,” Marly agreed. “But in case you missed it, I’ve had a pretty rough day. Two run-ins with a psychic killer is a little more excitement than I’m used to.” She poured herself another glass. “But it was different tonight. He was different,” she mused with a frown. “He scared the hell out of me, but I don’t think he ever intended to hurt me. It was more like he was…letting me see his frustration.”

  Deacon frowned. “His frustration?”

  “I know that sounds crazy.” Marly took another drink of wine. “But that’s the impression I got. What I don’t understand is why he’s chosen me.”

  “I can think of a couple of reasons. It’s not unusual for a serial killer to make contact with the police, even to seek out one cop in particular. He sends messages, he taunts, he even fancies he has a relationship with that cop.”

  Marly glanced up. “You think that’s what’s going on here?”

  “Could be. Or it could be someone who feels, rightly or wrongly, that he already has a relationship with you.” Deacon paused. “Each time he’s made contact, have you been able to pick up anything, no matter how subtle, that might give us a clue to his identity?”

  “Not really. Although—” Marly leaned forward to place her glass on the coffee table. “Are you familiar with a song called ‘Gloomy Sunday?’”

  He shook his head.

  “That song was playing the day I found my grandmother. I heard it the moment I walked into the house. It was what…led me upstairs to the body. I even used to have nightmares about it. The other day at Ricky Morales’s house…I thought I heard it again, but I decided it must have been my imagination. Something had triggered a memory for me. But that same evening, I drove out to Old Cemetery Road where Amber’s and David’s bodies were found. I had the strangest feeling that someone was watching me. Then I found myself humming ‘Gloomy Sunday’ as if—” She broke off.

  “As if someone had planted it in your head?”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said defensively. “You think that if the killer is sending me some kind of message with that song, he has to be someone who knows me. Someone close to me. But it could be just a coincidence. ‘Gloomy Sunday’ is called the suicide song. It’s one of those urban legends that even has Web sites devoted to it. Anyone could have found out about it.”

  “Did Sam know about that song, Marly?”

&
nbsp; She stared down at her wineglass. “He was the first one to arrive after my frantic phone call that day. He went up to…make sure Grandmother was dead while I waited on the porch. So I assume he heard the song. And if he didn’t turn off the phonograph, then my parents and the police heard it, as well. At any rate, I told them about it when I gave my statement. Anyone who has access to the police department’s records and archives could have learned about that song. And, besides, Mission Creek is a small town. People talk. Words gets around.”

  “Did you ever tell anyone about it?”

  “No, I don’t think so. It wasn’t something I liked to talk about. But I can’t speak for anyone else who was at my grandmother’s that day. I do know that Sam and Max Perry have become good friends. If they got to talking about the recent suicides, I suppose it’d be natural for Sam to mention what happened to our grandmother in the course of the conversation.”

  Deacon lifted his glass, his gaze meeting Marly’s over the rim. “You didn’t even tell Joshua Rush?”

  “No…but someone else may have.”

  “Who?”

  “My mother has started going to the Glorious Way Church. I saw her there tonight.”

  He looked surprised. “Was that why you were so upset?”

  She nodded. “According to my father, she and Joshua have become…close.”

  “How close?”

  Marly sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “Does the possibility of a relationship between them bother you?”

  “Not in the way you mean. I just don’t want to see my mother get hurt. She’s been through so much with my father.”

  “She’s a grown woman, Marly. She has a right to make her own mistakes.”

  “I know that.” Marly tucked her hair behind her ears. “It’s just…”

  “You don’t want to see her end up with another man like your father. You don’t want that for yourself, either, do you?” he asked softly.

  Marly scowled. “What are you getting at?”

  Deacon shrugged. “You’ve erected some pretty damn thick walls, Marly. I wonder if you’ll ever let anyone inside.”

  Her frown deepened as she glared at him across the coffee table. “Look who’s talking?”

  “Meaning?”

  “You’ve convinced yourself that you did terrible things because you were able to kill a man, without much effort, in order to save a little boy’s life. But you don’t even remember if you were a killer or not. You assume you were because…that’s what you were trained to do. But true or not, it’s a good excuse to keep everyone at arm’s length, isn’t it?” Marly leaned toward him. “You know what I think? I think you’ve got your own walls. I think you’re afraid of getting hurt.”

  Something glinted in his eyes. “Are you saying you and I have something in common, Marly?”

  His look sent a shiver up her spine. “Not really. How could we? You’ve experienced things I can’t even comprehend. I’m just a simple small town girl. I grew up in Mission Creek. I’ve barely even been out of Texas.”

  He was still looking at her, still making her shiver. “You could change all that.”

  “I don’t know.” She ran a finger around the rim of her wineglass. “It’s a scary world out there.”

  “Scarier than Mission Creek?”

  Her gaze lifted to meet his. “Good point,” she said with a shudder.

  AFTER THREE GLASSES OF WINE, Marly had finally begun to relax. To mellow, even. And suddenly it didn’t seem like such a mistake after all to have Deacon spend the night. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed a man’s company. And Deacon wasn’t just any man. He was handsome and fascinating and…scary. Marly was nervous just being in the same room with him.

  But trying not to show it, she got up and took the empty wine bottle and glasses into the kitchen. “The bathroom’s just down the hallway,” she said over her shoulder. “There should be plenty of fresh towels, and I think there’s even a new toothbrush in the top drawer of the vanity.”

  “New toothbrush, huh?”

  She turned at that. “I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t make a habit of inviting people to spend the night. Especially not…strangers.” Not handsome, fascinating, scary strangers anyway. “I always buy more than one toothbrush at a time.”

  “Very efficient,” he remarked. His gaze said something else. There was suddenly a lot of tension in her small apartment, Marly realized. Sexual and otherwise. She’d never been so aware of a man’s presence before. Was she ready for this? Ready to finish what Deacon’s eyes had started?

  She moistened her lips. “Yes, that’s me. I’m practical through and through.” And it was high time the practical Marly reasserted herself. “I’ll get you some bedding.”

  “Just toss me a blanket,” Deacon said. “I don’t need much in the way of creature comforts.”

  No? Then what did he need? “You’ll need a decent place to sleep.” She hauled out sheets, pillows and blankets. “Otherwise, you won’t get much rest.”

  “I doubt I’ll sleep much tonight anyway.”

  His voice sent a whispery thrill along Marly’s already jagged nerve endings. “Why not?” she asked, her own voice suddenly breathless.

  “I’m here to protect you, remember?”

  Oh. Marly fought down her disappointment, and maybe just a little relief, as she bent to make up the sofa. Deacon tried to help her, but somehow their arms became entangled, and shivering from the contact, Marly straightened.

  Deacon straightened.

  For the longest moment, they stared into each other’s eyes. Then slowly Deacon lifted a hand to smooth back her hair.

  Marly bit her lip. “This probably isn’t a good idea.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not.”

  “Then why—”

  His gaze darkened, warmed. “Because I’ve wanted to do this all night.”

  “Do what—” But her question was cut off when he bent and pressed his lips to hers. And suddenly, Marly forgot what she’d been about to ask. Forgot everything except the feel of Deacon’s mouth on hers.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, eagerly, passionately, wholeheartedly, and the next thing she knew, he had her up against a wall, touching her in places that had her gasping for breath.

  And then they turned, and she pressed him into the wall, kissing him so deeply that he groaned against her mouth. And deepened the kiss.

  They kissed all the way down the hallway to the bedroom, stumbling and falling against the wall in their urgency. By the time they reached Marly’s bedroom, she was completely naked.

  On the rare occasions she’d found herself in similar situations, she’d felt awkward and humbled and horribly self-conscious. With Deacon she felt brave and beautiful and womanly.

  And he was certainly all man. Every glorious…inch of him. Marly caught her breath as he shrugged out of his clothes and stood before her in the moonlight.

  She couldn’t believe…

  She’d never imagine…not in her wildest dreams…

  “My God,” she breathed just before he swept her up and carried her off to bed.

  She lay on her back, and he rose over her, his eyes burning into hers. “You’re a gorgeous woman, Marly Jessop.” His gaze swept over her. “You look exactly the way I imagined you.”

  “You…imagined me like this?”

  “Only since the moment I first laid eyes on you.” And then his hands and mouth went to work, weaving their incredible magic. He touched her in places that Marly had never considered particularly erogenous, but with Deacon, the skim of his tongue against the back of her knee, the trace of his fingertip along the lines of her palm became unbearably sensual.

  Marly began to tremble. They’d barely gotten started and already she felt out of control. With an effort, she rolled Deacon off her, then straddled him so that she could work a little magic of her own.

  When he tried to protest, she merely smiled.

  THAT
SMILE. That smile was going to be the end of him, Deacon thought. It was all sweet and innocent, and yet there was a bad girl lurking in there somewhere. A passionate, fascinating woman just waiting to get sprung. And he was doing his damnedest to free her.

  Marly had been wrong earlier. She wasn’t a simple small town girl. She wasn’t a simple anything. She was complicated and confusing and dangerous. Deacon had never known anyone like her. Never known anyone whose outer persona was in such contradiction to her true inner self.

  He was seeing a bit of the real Marly now as she bent to kiss him. As she did to him exactly what he’d done to her. Her hands explored. Her mouth grazed…and lingered, and in a moment, Deacon knew that he would be the one out of control. He didn’t want that to happen. Not yet. There was still so much of Marly to experience. To savor. To…cherish.

  He pulled her to him, but when he would have taken charge, she resisted by entwining her fingers with his and lifting his arms over his head as she kissed him so deeply he could hardly breathe.

  “I’m the one in control,” she murmured against his mouth. “Understood?”

  “Perfectly,” he whispered.

  “I can do to you whatever I want, right?”

  “The sooner the better,” he agreed.

  She smiled down at him again, but this time, all sweetness and innocence were gone. The real Marly had finally come out to play.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marly lifted her head and squinted at the sunshine streaming in through her bedroom window. She knew instantly that something was different about this morning. She was naked, for one thing, and she never slept in the nude. And then there were the sheets, all tangled around her legs and her head was cushioned on Deacon’s hip.

  Nope, not a normal morning at all.

  Deacon was covered by the rumpled sheet, thank goodness, but still, Marly had never awakened in such a compromising position. When she moved away from temptation, Deacon stirred but didn’t wake up.

  She lay for a moment staring at the ceiling as her fuzzy memory began to clear and everything came back to her. Every touch, every kiss, every word that had been uttered between them in the heat of passion. And they’d said a lot. They’d done things that Marly…