The woman.
She strode ahead of her partner with a swagger that would have been masculine if it wasn’t so catlike. Lean and athletic, her impossibly long legs were clad in patent leather tucked into knee-high boots with a row of silver clasps down each side. Beneath a black leather jacket, he glimpsed a snug-fitting corset that enhanced a cleavage that would make a grown man weep. Creamy skin led up from those heaving mounds to a face that was as feline as her movements. Pointed chin, cupid’s bow lips and glittering eyes beneath a crown of black hair that hung in a dead straight curtain past her shoulders. And those eyes…those eyes.
Those eyes were looking straight at him.
Axel did a double-take. Spun to look behind himself.
There was no way she could see him. And yet, she was stalking towards him as if he was her next prey, and she was getting set to pounce.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
And then she carried on past him as if he wasn’t there. Because he wasn’t. Not really.
Axel breathed a sigh of relief. ‘For a moment there, I thought…’ He shook his head and grinned ruefully at himself.
“Three shots of Bulleit,” a voice purred out beside him. He glanced sideways at her as she leaned forward. The patch on the back of her jacket read ‘Unholy War’. Lou jumped to attention, scrambling behind her for the bottle. The woman was leaning on the bar beside him, and she waited while Lou filled three shot glasses with amber liquid. The dark-haired woman pushed a glass towards her companion, who had joined her at the bar. She took one for herself, and then raised the last, turned, and extended her hand towards Axel.
“For you,” her voice was husky, exotic. He struggled to place the accent, but that was the least of his worries. She could fucking see him.
Soundlessly he took it from her pale, cool fingers, put the glass to his lips and shot it back in one heady mouthful. It burned going down. She smiled as she sipped at her drink almost daintily, dark eyes staring up at him from under bangs that had been cut straight with such precision he was sure someone had used a ruler. Her partner had not said a word during the entire interaction, but now he turned and stared straight at Axel too.
His mind was reeling. In all his time visiting Earth since his death, this had never happened before. He had no idea what to make of it. He watched as the pair finished their drinks, both still watching him with a cool interest that unnerved him more than any attention he’d ever received. Finishing up their drinks, they both set their glasses on the bar, and then the guy dropped a hundred-dollar bill for Lou, who took it and gawped like a fish.
“Th-thanks,” she stuttered, ringing up their change and flapping some notes at them as they turned and left. The dark man flicked a distracted hand in her direction, not bothering to turn to look back at her. “Thanks!” she said again, tucking the notes into her back pocket eagerly.
“Come,” the woman said to Axel simply as they headed for the door. It never occurred to him to object as he walked out with them. The occupants of the bar had barely uttered a word since their arrival, but now the bustle of conversation took up again with vigor. Clearly, they’d provided ample food for talk.
In the harsh light outside the bar, Axel felt momentarily blinded as he followed the two. A rumble of engines surrounded him, and the air was heavy with fumes. He inhaled deeply, eyes widening as he trailed them over the group of bikers waiting there. There must have been a dozen black-clad riders sitting on their machines, darkened visors turned in his direction. He swallowed hard, watching as the woman slung a lean leg over a shining black beast. She nodded in the direction of a waiting bike. Axel planted his feet, unmoving, not knowing where this would take him. He shook his head. No.
She shrugged, then without another word, she gunned the engine of her bike, kicking up dirt as the tires spun on the gravel of the shitty little parking lot. Moving as one, the group of bikers hit the road, leaving Axel standing staring after them.
◆◆◆
It was late Sunday evening when Desirée was dragged from sleep by the slamming of a door. Alarmed, at first, she lay silently holding her breath until something crashed, and she recognized Jules’s voice as he cursed.
“Aw, fuckit! Dumb fuckin’ vase,” he yelled as he stumbled blindly in the dark living room. A light went on, and she sat up as she heard him in the kitchen, doors opening and closing as he busied himself there. She slid from the bed, fumbling with her feet for her slippers and padded out of the room.
“Jules?” she asked hesitantly. Her mouth was dry, and her head ached a little. She’d finished a bottle of wine waiting for him to return that evening. She’d done the same the day before, although there was an element of guilt attached to that particular bottle. She’d spent Saturday wracked with remorse over her behavior with the stranger the night before. Now all that seemed fuzzy. By five o'clock this evening, she’d given up trying to reach Jules, who hadn’t bothered to answer either her phone calls or text messages. She’d fumed all day, then consoled herself with yet another bottle of merlot.
“Jules, where the hell have you been?” she snapped.
“Jules, where the hell have you been?” he answered in a falsetto mimicry of her voice. His back was to her as he rifled through the refrigerator, and he turned now, milk carton in hand. He faced her, eyes flat, challenging as he raised the carton to his mouth and drank deeply. She said nothing. “I went out,” he said finally, then wiped milk from his chin.
“Out where?” she demanded. “I’ve been worried sick! You didn’t answer your phone all weekend. I tried Gavin, I called Shaun. Nobody knew where you were.”
“Well, there’s your problem right there, darlin’,” he sneered. “I wasn’t with Gav or Shauno. I was with Pete.” He cast a contemptuous glance at the kitchen counter to where an empty wine glass sat beside an equally empty bottle. “I see you dealt with your concern pretty well. Anyway, where the fuck were you?” he asked scathingly. “You didn’t come home either, so why the fuck should I be answering to you?”
For a second, Desirée was so consumed by guilt she was sure he’d see it written across her face. But Jules was back in the fridge, rummaging through packages of ham and cheese.
“I…I went to my mother, I told you,” she tried not to stammer. “It got late, and I decided not to drive home in the dark. I sent you a message, remember?”
“Yeah, whatever,” he said tersely, clearly uninterested in her explanation. He slammed the door of the refrigerator shut and brushed past her. He stumbled a little as he turned, and she realized she could smell alcohol on him. It seemed to come off him in waves. He’d clearly been on a bender all weekend. Beyond the stench was something sweeter. Perfume. She recognized the scent.
“You weren’t really with Pete,” she snapped, setting her jaw. Jules stopped short, weaving a little where he stood. Desirée caught her breath but couldn’t stop the words. “You’ve been…with another woman.”
Jules slowly turned to face her. He towered over her, and Desirée was suddenly aware of how tall he was. They seldom came close to one another anymore, aside from those hours of sleep, where they lay miles apart in the same bed. She stared up at him now, part of her terrified. Another part – a small, angry part – dared him to deny it. She took a breath and stuck out her jaw.
“Oh, you think so, do you?” He stepped right into her space, face inches from her as he growled the words at her. “Well, what if I have? What the fuck would you do about it?”
Desirée blinked. “I…I…” She had expected him to deny it, but this left her speechless. Jules gave a sharp bark of laughter, and spittle sprayed her face. She stood motionless, still speechless as he turned on his heel and stalked out. Desirée wiped her face with the sleeve of her pajamas, then reached into the refrigerator and took out another bottle of wine.
◆◆◆
The winter morning light was just filtering through the living room window when Desirée woke up the next day. She’d fallen asleep on the couch, and her body
was stiff from the cold. She groaned and sat up, glancing at the wine bottle on the table in front of her. From the bedroom, a snore rattled the silence of the apartment, and she groaned again, rubbing her face. Last night’s conversation came back to her in a flood. Desirée shuddered. She’d known he was cheating on her, but part of her wanted to ignore it. Imagined it would all go away somehow. That wasn’t going to happen now.
Desirée swung her feet off the couch and stumbled to the bathroom, turning the taps on and stripping down as steam filled the small room. It fogged up the mirror, which was a relief because, for some reason, the thought of looking at herself was disturbing. She stepped into the cubicle and soaped herself vigorously, as if trying once again to scrub the events of the past few days from her body. Then she stood beneath the stream and let the hot water wash over her, staring down as soap swirled down the drain, her hair clinging wetly to her shoulders and back. For several long moments, she stayed that way, inhaling and exhaling deeply until her raging emotions calmed to a mild panic.
“Time to face the world, Miss Wright,” she muttered to herself, then climbed out of the shower and stood at the bathroom sink. And stopped abruptly. A large, fat heart had been drawn into the fog of the mirror. Desirée blinked and then reached up with her towel and scrubbed it away abruptly. Jules’s idea of a joke? Probably snuck in while she was showering and did it to mess with her head. She reached angrily for her toothbrush and scrubbed the taste of stale wine from her mouth. Her teeth still bore a tinge of pink from the cabernet, and she polished furiously until they shone pearly white.
Wrapped in a towel, with another holding her hair turban-style atop her head, she strode into the bedroom, ready to face the music. Jules was still snoring loudly, fast asleep beneath the covers. Desirée frowned, certain he’d been up…who else would draw the heart? Or had there even been one? Had it just been her imagination? Perhaps just a blurred shape that her addled mind had misinterpreted? She shook off the confusion and tiptoed to the closet to take out clothes for the day, then moved soundlessly out of the bedroom to get dressed in the lounge.
Clad in a neat navy skirt, crisp white shirt, and navy blazer, she stood at the kitchen counter and drank a hasty cup of coffee, toweling her hair as dry as best she could before tugging it back into a damp bun. It would probably give her a headache, but there was no way she was going to use her hairdryer and risk waking Jules. Swallowing the last gulp of her coffee, she set her cup down…then stared in confusion at the sight of a large bouquet of red roses arranged in a vase in the middle of the counter.
“What on earth?” she murmured. Had Jules brought roses home the night before? She was certain that hadn’t happened. She’d heard him cursing about a vase – had he brought her flowers? But then why would he scream at her? This made no sense, and her mind couldn’t process it right then. She slipped her feet into a pair of navy heels she’d left in the hall closet the week before, reached for her keys and slipped out the door.
At least work would take her mind off things for a bit.
Chapter 6
Her office was silent when she arrived. There was something strangely otherworldly about the place that left her unsettled. She was often the first in, but today she was particularly early, and the lights were still off. Even Bud, the elderly security guard who manned the front gate, was nowhere to be seen as she trailed through the small garden off the office parking lot. The morning light seemed oddly filtered, as if dawn hadn’t broken yet.
“Bud?” she called, wondering where he might be. “You around?”
No answer came from his security office - she assumed he was doing his rounds. It didn’t trouble her much. There’d never been much call for high-security at the little convent school. Bud was there mainly to set the minds of parents at ease. In a world occupied by predators, nobody felt safe leaving their children unguarded. It made Desirée a little sad. But the proximity of the church and its quiet community of sisters gave her a sense of safety in this place. As if nothing bad could breach the walls onto holy soil.
At this time of day, the grounds were quiet, still waiting for the noise and bustle that came with the influx of girls and young women, ready for their school day. Yet today, things seemed unusually quiet. Almost as if there was a dull echo to the place that didn’t belong there.
As she left the warmth of her office to head for the coffee station, she waited for the sound of activity to pick up around her as people settled into their desks for the day. The place remained silent, still echoing eerily. It should feel like any other day, yet somewhere, on the periphery of her consciousness, a memory lurked. A sense of…something.
She kept feeling that if she turned around suddenly, she would see someone there, following her. The growing sense of being watched began to play on her nerves. Somehow, imagining it would be him…the stranger. She kept looking up, expecting to see a pair of glittering turquoise eyes focused on her.
“Dammit, Desirée, get a grip!” she muttered to herself as she returned to her desk, still wondering where everyone was.
‘Did I come in on a public holiday?’ she wondered. She idly brushed a fleck of lint from the navy of her skirt, her fingers brushing her thigh as she did. The movement stirred up a whirl of memories through her head. His hands on her thighs…trailing over her skin.
Finally, the silence began to weigh on her, and she headed out to wander through the building in search of her colleagues. She glanced at the slim silver watch she always wore on her wrist, surprised when she realized it wasn’t there. It had been a gift for her 21st birthday, and she seldom took it off unless she was asleep or in the shower. ‘Maybe I forgot to put it back on,’ she told herself as she trailed through the building.
The hallway was deserted as she headed in the direction of the little garden past the front door. The heels of her shoes clicked sharply on the wooden floorboards. She looked down, surprised to see she was wearing the insanely high heels she’d worn to the club on Friday.
‘Why on earth did I put those on?’ she asked herself. The shoes were great for parties but certainly not for work. ‘Must’ve been a bit groggy this morning,’ she mused.
The building was at least a hundred years old, and many of the original fittings were still in place, well-tended and loved by the nuns; the floors gleamed under a coat of wax and hours of polishing. As she walked, her footsteps rang out…and then, another sound. More footsteps. Boots? Desirée stopped and turned around.
Nothing.
She walked forward again, listening intently. The sound of her footsteps echoed. Then the boots again. There was definitely another set of footsteps echoing hers. She spun around again. Still nothing, although now, she was sure she had sensed a shadow that trailed along the wall behind her. She sucked in a breath.
“Hello?” she called out.
No response. She walked forward hurriedly, making for the bright rectangle of light that marked the doorway out into the sunlight. Somehow she was sure that nothing could follow her out into the light. As she reached a hand to the heavy oak door, a murmur seemed to shiver down her spine.
“Desirée…”
She shot into the sunlight like a hare evading a pack of dogs, gasping for air as she emerged into the light. Her heels almost skidded on the tiles outside the door as she slid to a halt, spinning to stare through the stained glass panes in the door of the door. She couldn’t see anything there, although the heavy panes were too opaque to see clearly. Somehow, she was almost certain there was a shift of a shadow on the other side. She clutched a hand to her chest.
“For heaven’s sake!” she muttered to herself, rubbing a hand over her eyes. She stood outside the door for a few long moments before shaking herself abruptly and heading out to the small garden that was shared by the admin staff. A little bench was set beneath an ancient tree, and she lowered herself onto it heavily. She dropped her face into her palms and took a few deep breaths.
“Pull yourself together,” she told herself. She�
��d lost count of the number of times she’d said these words to herself that day. “Your imagination is playing tricks on you, stupid.” She stared down at the floor, to where the heels of her shoes sank into the grass. A scattering of crimson rose petals swirled around her feet, and she had to bite back a little cry of alarm.
“Look up,” a voice said. “Look up, Desirée.”
“Stop it!” she muttered into her hands. “Stop it, stop it!” Yet she raised her face. On the outskirts of the building, past the perimeter of the carefully tended grass that was littered with stray red petals, a dark figure leaned casually against a gleaming motorcycle. And she shivered as she felt the touch of glittering turquoise eyes roving over her.
“I’m here.”
Desirée leaped to her feet and bolted back to her office.
◆◆◆
He was standing in the hallway when she made her way back to her office. Leaning casually against the wall, like something off a James Dean poster.
‘What the hell is he doing here?’ her mind raced. ‘Where is everyone?’ She couldn’t shake the bizarre feeling that she was swimming through water – sounds and images seemed distorted and warped. Everything seemed real…and yet not. ‘What the hell is going on?’ she asked herself. Fear dissipated to be replaced by annoyance. How had he found her? What was he doing here? They’d had a brief dalliance, a drunken mistake, no more. What made him think he could harass her at work?
Saving Her Page 6
