“Well, all right.” He still looked like something was bothering him. She could have made a comment to relieve his concern—that she understood, that it was no problem—but, perversely, she didn’t. “You’re going to close up now, aren’t you? I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“What, do you think a skeleton might leap out and grab me?” she countered, smiling slightly. “I’ll lock up if you’ll just give me a minute. I don’t want you to keep—your friend waiting, but I appreciate you staying around.”
Moments later, he bid goodnight to her at her yellow VW, leaving her with a kiss that left her breathless…and with trembling knees.
Chapter Twelve
It was past dark, but lights illuminated South Street’s sidewalk so Fiona wasn’t nervous about strolling along by herself. After Gideon had left, she’d pulled her car out of the secluded back alley and found a parking place on the street two doors down from Charmed Antiquity. Despite what she’d told him, she hadn’t been ready to return home, and decided to get something to eat and stop at the herb and vitamin store…refusing to let herself think about Gideon picking up Leslie at ten o’clock at night.
The problem was, she’d met the elegant, self-assured, polished woman…so it was no hardship for Fiona’s mind to conjure up all types of images and scenes—detailed and very disturbing. Why should she trust Gideon anyway? Why should she even care?
Her stomach felt hollow—like she hadn’t eaten for days. She hadn’t eaten since lunch and dinner would be a waste of money at a place like the Jack of Clubs, late as it was. For crying out loud—one night with a man, and she was miserable the next time he had to run off to take care of a problem.
Of course, since the problem was a woman—she assumed—that made it all legitimate.
At least he’d brought roses for her.
Comforting herself with that undeniable fact, Fiona sauntered along the street, swinging the crinkly plastic bag with its small bottles of lavender and bergamot essential oils, and thought about the first time she’d visited the little antiques store. Then, it had been pouring down rain, and it was early spring, but the memory was strong and, thinking back about all that had happened, Fiona could hardly believe it had been less than four months since she’d met Mr. Valente.
And only a month ago she’d met Gideon for the first time—H. Gideon Nath the Third, she reminded herself with a wry, tight grin. She couldn’t believe she’d ended up in bed with the stuffy lawyer. And that it had been so incredible.
Fiona shivered—partly because of the chill night air coming in from the Delaware River, and partly at the thought of her mother’s reprimand—a reprimand that had reverberated in her head since she was ten.
“Don’t get attached to them, don’t rely on them, don’t feel for them,” Haley Murphy had told her over and over again. “They’re good for a good time, but we don’t need them for anything else. They’ll only take advantage of you.”
Not that Haley spoke from experience. No, she’d never been the one to tell the men in her life when to come and when to go—up to and including Fiona’s own father, and the father of her half-brother, Ethan, and the other men who colored Haley’s life. It wasn’t that her mother was promiscuous—she didn’t sleep with men indiscriminately. She just didn’t have much use for them other than sex, and to move heavy things around the house.
She had instilled in Fiona the need to be in control in any situation with a man, and to always call the shots, but nothing Haley had ever told her had prepared Fiona for the confusing feelings Gideon Nath created in her. The problem was, as irritating as he could be, as arrogant and stuffy as he was, she liked him, liked being around him…and, horror of horrors, had begun to actually care about what happened to him.
And that was exactly why, she told herself firmly, it was good that Leslie—for who else could it have been?—had called. It served as a reality check for Fiona, and she was going to force herself to remember that getting involved with a man was the last thing she wanted or needed to do.
Fiona spewed a huge puff of air from her mouth and rolled her eyes heavenward. What she really should do was back off from the man for a couple days to catch her breath. There’d been too much intensity too soon.
Of course, it had only been one night…one glorious, crazy, incredible night. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe—
Fiona stopped short in front of her shop door, keys dangling in her hand. There was only a faint light in the back of the store. She peered in the window, cupping her hand around it even though the awning blocked the bright streetlights.
Sure enough, the store was dark except for the faintest flicker of light shining from the rear of the shop. Hadn’t she turned the front lights on? After the break-in a few weeks ago, she’d always left at least three or four of them on. She must have been in too much of a hurry when she walked out with Gideon.
Sighing, Fiona fitted the key into the lock of the door. A little prickle skittered up her spine as she opened the door. Now that she had found the skeleton—especially now that she had found the skeleton—she was a bit nervous about being in there alone, at night.
“I’ll just step in and turn on a few lights,” she said to calm her nervousness. “Right at the front. The tall one right by the door, and the table lamp on the other side.”
The bells tinkled faintly in the silence, seeming to echo in her ears long after they stopped. She reached for the lamp next to the door and yanked the chain. Light, welcome light, spilled into the store, casting a golden glow around her at the front door.
Fiona was just reaching for the table lamp on the other side of the entrance when she noticed a metallic glint on the floor by the desk. Frowning, forgetting her apprehension, she stepped into the body of the store and the door tinkled shut behind her.
The glint formed the shape of a circle as she drew closer, and when she stooped to pick it up, Fiona saw that it was a flashlight—its glass face reflecting the light at the front of the store. Her stomach plummeted as she realized that it had not been on the floor by the desk when she and Gideon left that evening.
Just then, something stirred behind her and she shrieked, whirling, just as pain and darkness crashed down upon her.
~*~
“Thanks so much for rescuing me, Gideon,” Leslie said as she slid into the leather seat. She smiled her brilliant smile, displaying perfect teeth and great self-confidence, as she clicked the seat belt buckle into place.
“No problem,” he replied, steering the car out of the parking lot where Leslie’s silver Lexus sat waiting for service. “I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
“Good. Want to grab a bite? I’m starving.” She settled back in the seat, resting her head against the headrest. “I’m so tired.” Her eyes fluttered closed.
“You’ve been running yourself ragged with that IPO of yours,” he said automatically, then kicked himself for bringing it up. He was supposed to be her escort to the party the night of the IPO. She wasn’t going to be too happy when he backed out of it.
“I know. I thought that I’d be so energized by Interworks going public that I’d get through these weeks like a breeze…but maybe I’m just getting old. It’s starting to wear on me.” She turned, opening her eyes to glance at him. “What did you need to talk with me about?”
He swallowed. This really shouldn’t be that difficult. “Leslie, about the…about us. I—”
She sat upright and turned her full attention on him. “Yes?” Was there a bit of concern in her eyes? It was hard to tell when the only illumination was the rhythmic flash as they sped under streetlight after streetlight on the Schuylkill Freeway.
“I—uh…our arrangement has suited me—both of us, I hope,” he glanced at her. “But I think it’s time we—er—reevaluated things.”
She stared at him for a moment, and he didn’t have to look at her to feel the assessment in her gaze. Then, to his shock, she smiled and gave a little laugh. “You’ve found someone, haven’t you, Gid?” He
r short chuckle was laced with a bit of hardness, and he tensed, closing his fingers tighter around the soft leather steering wheel.
“Well, yes. At least, someone I’d like to…pursue…without feeling like I have other obli—uh, string—interests.” Even as he said the words, corrected himself, he knew he’d blown it. A woman didn’t want to think of herself as an obligation, or a string, to any man. He clenched his teeth, waiting for the explosion. It wouldn’t be tears with Leslie—no, she wasn’t that type. It would be anger or—he shivered at the thought—calm, cool, female manipulation that he had absolutely no idea how to combat.
“That redhead at the fundraiser, right? Fiona Murphy. She owns that little antiques shop on South Street. I saw the article in the Inquirer.”
Gideon swallowed back bile in his throat. This was going to be worse than he expected. “What makes you think that?” he asked casually.
She laughed again, and this time it sounded more natural. “It was pretty obvious, darling Gideon. You were practically drooling all over her right in front of everyone.”
“Drooling?” He tamped back his irritation, knowing that he needed to keep his cool if he were to make it out of this scene with his dignity. Still, he didn’t like to think he’d made such a spectacle of himself in front of his colleagues.
Her laugh was beginning to grate on his tightly-strung nerves. “I think it’s wonderful, Gideon. I liked her—even though she did look at me with a bit of an evil eye. But I suppose I would have done the same thing in her shoes.”
There was a long silence as Gideon tried to figure out what that meant. Was she not angry? Did she not get that he was trying to end things? Or was she refusing to acknowledge what he thought he was making very clear?
Or was this the manipulation he’d expected, and had no way to identify?
“So…are you trying to tell me that our arrangement is…defunct?” she asked lightly.
“Yes.” Tension seeped from his shoulders to his neck and the back of his head.
“All right.” She sighed, her lips frowning slightly. “I knew we couldn’t go on this way forever, but I guess I thought it would end…differently.”
“Oh.” Running a hand through his hair, Gideon knew he couldn’t just leave it as it was. He and Leslie had been together—well, sort of together—for three years, and he did care for her. “Les, I hope you…I hope you’re all right with this.” They’d exited from the highway and stopped at a light at the end of the ramp, so he turned to look at her.
She nodded. “I am—I’m happy for you. I hope this is something…good for you.” She wiped her eye with a forefinger, and Gideon felt his heart sink.
The blare of a horn behind them jerked his attention to the front, and he saw the green light. He jabbed the accelerator and they leapt forward. “Dammit, Les, I’m sorry. I—”
“No, Gideon, it’s not you. Honest. I’m sorry—I’m just…emotional.”
“What’s going on?”
She rested her head back against the headrest and spoke through a definitely weepy voice. “I’m just under a lot of stress from the IPO, and work, and…to tell the truth…I always thought it was going to be me who found someone and wanted to end it.” And with that, she burst into tears.
~*~
Fiona forced her eyes open to darkness broken only by irregular shafts of light. Her head screamed with throbbing pain, just above her left temple, and the rest of her body was one big ache. And she couldn’t move.
She was tied, trussed like a turkey, arms behind her back, ankles lashed together, on her side…somewhere.
Something disgusting filled her mouth—a cloth—sopping up every bit of lubrication she might have had or mustered, and she couldn’t spit it out even if her tongue could have worked, for something like tape was stuck from jawbone to jawbone.
She closed her eyes, nausea flooding her, and prayed desperately that she wouldn’t have to vomit. Deep breaths, she told herself, repeating the mantra over and over, and tried to pull in soothing gulps of air, sprinkled with dust, through her nose. She didn’t allow herself to think of anything else until the danger of puking was past.
When her stomach finally settled, it was some time later. In fact, she may have weaved in and out of consciousness a few more times. The ache in her head had lessened, but the pain was now centered in her shoulders and wrists from her arms being pulled back. Fiona blinked several times while her eyes focused in the darkness. The same slashes of light fell awkwardly across the floor and over the wall, and that was when she recognized where she was.
Chills crept up her spine when she realized she was in the very spot where the skeleton had been found, and only the fact that there was light in the small alcove under the stairs told her that she hadn’t been boarded up in the darkness herself. Gulping back terror, her throat scratchy and dry, Fiona cleared a path through her addled mind and tried to calm down. She was alive, basically unhurt, and in her shop. Since there was filtering light, she knew she wasn’t enclosed in the closet. Whoever had done this must be gone, for there wasn’t enough illumination, or any sound, to indicate that someone might be there.
Using her elbows, she shifted and squirmed, rolling over to her other side. Now she could see out into the shop from under the stairs, and could see that all was still. She had no idea what time it was, but if the deep darkness that hung around the edges of the shop was any indication, it was the dead of night. The lamps she had come in to turn on were off, and only one light cast a pool of warmth into the shop…and it was, of course, The Lamp.
Fiona closed her eyes as terror welled inside her—cold chills sending wracking tremors through her body. She knew without a doubt that whoever had left her here had done so in the dark. She knew that with the same certainty that she knew the lamp was not plugged into the wall, even though it was illuminated.
Yet, nothing happened—nothing was going on. There were no breezes, no clinking of chandeliers, no flickering lights…all was still. Almost peaceful.
And, she told herself, grasping at one logical aspect: it was no ghost who’d bashed her on the head and tied her up. That had been the work of something very human. Her trembling lessened and she forced herself to breathe easier.
At the worst case, she would lie here on this cold, musty floor—at least it wasn’t dirty, thanks to the meticulousness of the forensic detectives earlier today—until tomorrow morning, when Dylan showed up for work…or, perhaps, that was the best case. After all, she had no idea whether her attacker would come back…or whether the ghost would have something to say about the situation.
Fiona shook her head hard, scraping it against the hardwood floor. She would not think that way. She would not. She would think about other things…nice things.
Clenching her hands, wriggling her fingers to keep the numbness at bay, she focused her thoughts on Gideon, and for a long moment, as she basked in the memories, warmth seeped through her. And then she remembered his phone call tonight, and, with a lurching stomach, realized that right now—at this very moment, whatever time it was—he could be with Leslie.
That path was not an attractive one for her mind to take, and she firmly steered it away.
She was just about to try and roll herself out of the closet in hopes of making her way to the phone when she heard a rattling at the front door. Tensing, fear shooting through her, Fiona followed her first instinct: to roll as quickly as she could back into the depths of the closet.
The door rattled again, then there was the telltale tinkling sound of the bells as it swung open. Her heart in her throat, Fiona inched her way into the farthest corner she could, out of the wavering light.
“Fiona?”
The sound of her name in a voice she recognized was enough to allow the tears to burst forth.
“Fiona, are you in here?”
She rolled again, this time toward the shop, out from under the stairs, as Dylan walked back into the shop, turning on lamps as he went. “Fiona!” He came to a screeching
halt when he nearly stepped on her. “My God, what happened to you?”
In a flash, he was kneeling beside her, tearing the tape none-too-gently from her face and helping her to sit up. She couldn’t help the tears that gushed from her eyes, and her running nose, and she buried her face in his coat.
“Let me get something to cut you loose with, baby—I’ll be right back.” Dylan stood and hurried away, his dark trench coat fluttering behind him. He was back almost immediately with a packing knife, and made short work of the ropes.
Fiona could not stifle a groan as her arms were freed and fell forward back to her sides. Her wrists and shoulders screamed with pain, and her skin was chafed from the rough bonds. Her head still pounded, pain resonating through her forehead, and she reached up gingerly to touch the tender spot at her temple. When she tried to talk, to thank Dylan, nothing would come from her desert-dry mouth except a little mew.
The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) Page 17
