True Vision

by Joyce Lamb

  “I was in the bathroom. I’d just showered and was getting ready to dry my hair. I heard the knock at the door, assumed it was room service. I heard Alex open the door, and then a . . . loud crack or pop. I guess it was the gunshot. Then a thump, like someone had fallen. I opened the door and Alex was . . .” She paused, swallowed. “She was on the floor. Bleeding.”

  Logan, paler than before, stared down at his notebook for several seconds. Gathering his thoughts or gathering his control, Noah wasn’t sure. He started to say perhaps Logan should take a break when the cop raised his gaze to Charlie’s face.

  “And the . . . person who shot her?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Where was he?”

  “Gone. I tried to stop the bleeding and yelled for someone to call 911.”

  Noah realized what she’d said at the same time that Logan’s tense expression turned to puzzlement.

  Noah cleared his throat. “Let’s go through it again, Charlie. And take your time. Exactly what happened.”

  “I was in the bathroom. I heard the gunshot, opened the door and saw Alex on the floor.”

  “And where was the shooter?” Logan asked.

  “I told you. He was already gone.”

  “You saw him running away?” Noah asked.

  “No, all I saw was Alex.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “It happened fast, within seconds.”

  Logan tucked away his notebook then looked at Noah and angled his head toward the door. “Could we talk in the hall?”

  “Sure.” Noah was reluctant to leave Charlie alone, but he also wanted to hear what Logan had to say. To Charlie, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

  In the hall, after the door was firmly closed, Logan said, “I’m worried about her. She seems confused.”

  She seemed adamant to Noah, but he couldn’t argue with Logan. At least not logically. “She said it happened very fast.”

  “She had to have seen the shooter to know it was the same person from the other incidents.”

  “The trauma of what happened could be messing with her memory,” Noah said.

  “But when did she see the shooter? She was very specific that the shooting happened while she was behind a closed door. I can’t imagine any potential killer being stupid enough to shoot someone in the chest and then stand there, in a public place, for a few moments afterward.”

  “Did anyone at the hotel see the perp run away?”

  Logan shook his head. “Charlie’s room is at the end of the hall. The shooter most likely took off down the stairs.”

  “What about the exit to the stairwell? The shooter would have had to leave the stairwell when he got to the bottom.”

  “He could have gotten off at any of the four floors below Charlie’s, ditched the disguise, and walked out like any other guest.”

  “Security cameras?” Noah asked.

  “I’ve already had the recordings pulled. Another detective’s going over them, but I don’t know how much help they’ll be. Donna Keene, the hotel’s owner, said the elevators tend to run slow, so it’s not unusual for first- and second-floor guests to use the stairs. Plus, a lot of the employees use the stairs to avoid holding up the elevators.”

  “Christ,” Noah muttered.

  Logan hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, but instead of squaring his shoulders, they rounded as though weighed down. Vertical lines on either side of his mouth deepened. “I’m going to need to question her further.”

  “Maybe that could wait until things with Alex settle down. She’s obviously not thinking straight right now.” He paused. “And you seem a bit emotionally involved.”

  Logan ran his hand behind his neck. “I want to find that bastard who shot Alex and take his fucking head off.”

  Noah could relate. “You don’t have to worry about Charlie. I’ll take care of her.”

  Logan nodded. “I figured. So you’re planning to stick around for a while?”

  “Yeah,” Noah said. “I’m sticking around.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Charlie couldn’t stop shuddering. And smelling blood. Alex’s blood. Her brain seemed to spin in circles around the fact that her sister had been shot instead of her, unable to make sense of it yet unable to rebuff the horror of it. Alex might die. She didn’t think she could live with herself if that happened. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if it didn’t.

  Noah stepped into the room and gave her a reassuring smile. “Do you need anything?” he asked. “Another blanket?”

  Realizing her shivering was visible, she clasped the blanket more securely around her shoulders and tried to quell the chills. “I don’t think adding layers will help.”

  Noah sat beside her on the bed and slid his arm snugly around her shoulders. “Maybe body heat will.”

  She relaxed against him, leaned her aching head on his shoulder. She felt weak and dizzy, as though she’d lost as much blood as Alex had. Alex, oh, God, Alex. She searched for something to say to Noah. If she didn’t focus on something else, she was going to dissolve. “What were you and Logan talking about in the hall?”

  Noah rested his chin on the top of her head, idly threading his fingers through her hair. “We can talk about that later.”

  “I’d rather do it now. Is there a problem?”

  He sighed. “You’re not going to let it drop, are you?”

  “I need to know if there’s a problem.”

  He didn’t respond right away, and his hand stopped stroking. “Your story is a little off,” he said.

  “Story?” She stiffened and pulled away from him so she could see his face. She expected to see doubt when he released her, but his green gaze didn’t waver from hers. And she didn’t see one scintilla of uncertainty. “What’s off about it?” she asked.

  “I can’t help thinking it’s best that we don’t do this right now. You’re too shaky.”

  “I’m not too shaky to help the police find the son of a bitch who just shot my sister. Tell me what’s off.”

  He got off the bed and leaned against the wall across from her, as though he needed the distance. “You’re able to identify the shooter, yet the sequence of events you described makes that seem impossible.”

  “I saw him, Noah. He wore the same black shirt and pants as he did the other times. He had on the ninja mask with no opening for the mouth. Exactly like the other times. I know what I saw.”

  “I believe you. I’m just wondering when you saw it.”

  She opened her mouth to protest further but stopped when the disconnect in her story clicked. She’d seen the shooter through Alex’s eyes, not her own. “Oh.”

  Noah straightened from the wall. “What?”

  She stared at him, baffled about how to proceed. He’d think she was crazy if she told him the truth. And, yet, did she have a choice?

  “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you’re thinking.”

  She began to shiver in earnest, a chill in every cell. She tried to reconfigure the shooting in her head, tried to find a spot where she could say, Oh, yeah, I saw the shooter when I came out of the bathroom. But then they’d probably want to know more specifics, such as which way the guy ran, and she had no idea. If she fed them details that were wrong, she could throw off the investigation. Oh, God, now what?

  “Charlie,” Noah said, his tone firm. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

  She rubbed at her temple. Thinking hurt. Trying to figure out how to lie hurt.

  When she didn’t respond, he approached the bed. She straightened as he braced his hands on either side of her thighs and looked deep into her eyes. “I need you to tell me. It’s important.”

  She closed her eyes against the caress of his breath against her lips. She could smell his soap—Dial, the same she’d used this morning at the hotel—yet his body chemistry seemed to give it a musky twist that teased her senses.

  “I’m not thinking anything,” she said, hearing the tremor in her voice.

  “Open your eyes
and look at me, Charlie.”

  She did as he said, immediately pierced by a gaze as hard and bright as emeralds. He no longer looked like the man who’d made her come multiple times last night. He looked unyielding and a little scary.

  “I’m a cop. I know when people are lying. And when people lie, it’s because they have something to hide, some involvement in the crime.”

  Her whole body tensed. “You don’t mean—”

  “A lying witness,” he cut in, his gaze level, “goes at the top of my suspect list.”

  She raised her chin. “Trying to intimidate me isn’t going to work.”

  “I’m not trying to intimidate you. I’m telling you how cops operate. Logan knows you pretty well, so he’s not going to put you at the top of his suspect list until he has a damn good reason. But the way your story doesn’t add up is going to make it tough for him.”

  She let her shoulders sag, the effort to keep them square too much. “I don’t know how to explain it. I saw the shooter. My memory is fuzzy about when, so you’re going to have to take my word for it.”

  “That’s enough for me. The question is whether it’s enough for Logan.”

  “It has to be. That’s all I have.” She shivered as the chills returned, ramping up the throbbing in her head.

  “Do you think hot coffee would help?” Noah asked.

  “Only if I can go with you to get it. I don’t know why they want me in here anyway. There’s nothing wrong with me.” Not that a doctor could cure, anyway.

  “Then let’s go.” He held out his hand for her to take it, and she eased off the bed and shed the blanket, leaving it in the middle of the bed in a heap.

  “Jesus.”

  At his harsh exhalation, she looked at him. He was staring in white-faced shock at the front of her tank top. She glanced down at herself as she remembered. Even so, her stomach flipped at the sight of white cotton thick with dried blood.

  “Wait here while I get you something clean to put on,” Noah said, then left her alone.

  Noah paused outside her door and took several deep breaths. He’d seen plenty of blood in his career. Blood, guts, and other gore he didn’t want to think about. But he hadn’t seen it on someone he cared about since his first partner had been killed.

  Hearing raised voices, he looked up to see John Logan at the nurses’ station having an intense conversation with another man in wrinkled khakis and a royal blue dress shirt that showed large sweat stains under the arms. Noah thought he heard Charlie’s name and started in that direction just as the man whirled away from Logan and slammed his fist into the yellow concrete wall. Logan grabbed the guy’s arm and levered him back against the wall and started speaking to him in a low, urgent voice.

  Noah decided to focus on getting Charlie something clean to put on. Then, once they heard the all clear on Alex, he’d take her somewhere safe and never let her out of his sight. He’d make love to her for hours on end to make her forget seeing her sister bloody and on the brink of death.

  A nurse set him up with some pale green scrubs. On the way back to Charlie, he noted that the sweaty guy was leaning against the wall now, his head down and nodding, under control, as Logan talked to him.

  Noah pushed through the door and found Charlie standing in the center of the room with her back to him. She turned to face him, and his gut flinched. She was crying again. God, it ripped at him when she cried.

  “Scrubs,” he said, indicating the folded pile in his hands.

  She wiped the wetness from her cheeks, but other than that she didn’t move, staring at him as though her world had been destroyed and she had no idea how to put it back together. Her eyes seemed to ask him, Where do I start? What do I do?

  Setting the scrubs on the bed, he went to her and folded his arms around her. “Try not to expect the worst,” he murmured.

  He felt her fist rap weakly against his shoulder. “I feel so helpless,” she whispered.

  He rubbed his hands up and down her back, knowing exactly how she felt. His helplessness wasn’t focused on Alex, though. Setting her back from him, he said, “Let’s get you into the scrubs, okay? Maybe by the time we get back from having coffee, there’ll be some good news.” He grasped the hem of her blood-crusted tank top. “Raise your arms.”

  She glanced up at him in surprise, and he smiled. “Yes, I’m going to help you change.”

  Her damp eyes darkened. “Someone could walk in.”

  He took two steps backward, drawing her with him, until his body was against the door, serving as a backstop. “Raise your arms,” he said again.

  She held his gaze as she obeyed, and he drew the tank over her head and tossed it toward the bed. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and he stared down at her breasts, wanting to touch, to caress, but knowing the timing wasn’t appropriate. But, God, he wanted to. They were so perfectly shaped, like succulent peaches tipped with rosy nipples that invited a taste. His mouth watered, and he swallowed.

  As he watched, those nipples hardened, and his breathing went shallow. Blood seemed to geyser into his cock, pressing suddenly aching flesh against the fly of his jeans. He couldn’t stop himself from touching her, just a soft stroke of his hand up her rib cage to the underside of her right breast, his thumb pausing just beneath the nipple he desperately wanted to stroke.

  “So soft,” he murmured.

  She caught his hand, but instead of pulling it away, she moved it so that he covered her, her nipple nudging against his palm. He raised his other hand and did the same, and her head dropped back on a sharp intake of breath.

  The sight of the long column of her throat made his belly erupt with fire. He stepped closer and switched their positions, backed her against the door and lowered his lips to her exposed throat. She moaned, and her arms slipped around him, her hands sliding down to grasp his butt. Everything left his head but Charlie and throbbing need. He reached down with both hands and grasped the backs of her thighs, hiking her up so she could wrap her legs around him and he could fit his erection to the vee in her thighs. She tensed, and her breath stopped, then shuddered out when he pressed harder.

  Oh, God, he wanted to fuck her until she screamed. He wanted to fuck her for eternity, be this close to her forever. He thrust against her again, fierce and frustrated by the barrier of clothing between them.

  “Is this wrong?” she whispered.

  He stilled. Shit, was he being a completely selfish bastard? “Does it feel wrong?”

  “It feels right. Everything about you feels right.”

  Thank God! “Then it can’t be wrong,” he said, and caught her earlobe between his lips. “I want to be inside you right now,” he murmured. “I’m so hard it hurts.”

  She shuddered again, moaning at his next driving thrust. He buried his mouth on hers and swallowed the moan, turned-on even more by the vibration of her voice against his tongue. He shifted, wanting to touch her, to feel her wet and ready against his fingers, and used one hand to undo the button on her shorts. She leaned back, her breathing uneven as she let her legs fall open farther to allow him easier access, and watched as he slowly lowered the zipper. Then he worked his hand into her khaki shorts, sliding a finger against the crotch of her panties.

  She gasped, quivered, arched her head back. “Oh!”

  She was so aroused he could smell it, and his head swam with her sexy scent. He moved his fingers, eager for more than dampening panties. He wanted flesh. He wanted to make her forget, just for a while. He deftly angled his fingers around the material of her underwear, found what he was looking for and sank his middle finger into her.

  She went rigid around his hand and pressed down. The shift in position sent his finger deeper, his other fingers spreading her until he felt the heated slide of soft, wet satin against the pads on his palm, his one finger still deeply embedded inside her. He flexed that finger, curled it, pressed it against an unyielding spot that he thought might be the spot and began to rub.

  She came with a whimper, her head bac
k, her legs spasming on either side of him before they slid a few inches down his thighs as though she no longer had the strength to hold onto him. He angled his head so he could watch her face, fascinated by the roll of ecstasy that tightened her features, her body. He’d never made the effort to watch a lover climax before, and not only did it make his heart feel like it inflated, but it made him burn to be inside her, to feel the clutch of those hot inner muscles around his cock.

  But he was also painfully aware that the door wasn’t locked, and even though they had it blocked, someone might try to come in at any moment.

  He lowered his head and kissed her parted lips, easing a few inches away from the door and lifting her. She slid down his body, coming to rest on top of his hardened dick, and he held her suspended there, wishing like hell they were naked. He’d be slipping into her right now, and she’d be riding him, clamped around him like a tight, wet fist.

  The knock he dreaded killed the moment, and they both jerked to awareness.

  “Oh, no,” Charlie breathed.

  Noah stepped back, letting her feet touch the floor, and grabbed the scrubs top off the bed. He thrust it into her hands, then drew her behind him and turned to shield her just as the door opened.

  The sweaty guy he’d seen talking to Logan earlier stopped in midstride, eyes widening as they landed on Noah. “Who the hell are you?” the guy demanded.

  Noah opened his mouth to ask the same question when, behind him, Charlie said, “Mac?”

  The guy’s narrowed eyes cleared. “Charlie, thank God.”

  She stepped out from behind Noah, fully dressed and dragging both hands through her hair. She was flushed and much less shaky than she’d been a few minutes ago.

  “Noah, this is Mac Hunter,” she said. “Managing editor at the newspaper.”

  The muscles in Hunter’s face clenched as though she’d just hurled a terrible insult at him. Then he looked at Noah with fire in his eyes, not extending his hand in the customary friendly gesture.

  Noah was glad. He didn’t want to shake hands. He’d just had his fingers inside Charlie, and he wasn’t interested in sharing. He rubbed their tips together at his side, noted they were still slightly damp, and resisted the urge to lift them to his nose. He was still hard, aching and heavy with unfulfilled need.