He turned her around and hooked his arms over her shoulders. “Stop worrying about Quinn, Devon. Like I said, I talked to him a few days ago, and he’s got plans—and he’ll probably enjoy that more than some Christmas deal where he almost feels obligated to behave himself.”
“Any reason why he wouldn’t behave himself?”
“With Quinn? Always.” He dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. “You know those loner types? Quinn makes the typical loner look social. He’s not much for people, especially people he doesn’t know.”
Rising on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his chin. “Still . . . he’s your brother, Luke. Wouldn’t he want to spend the day here?”
Restless, he shrugged. “With Quinn, it’s hard to say.” Silently, though, he couldn’t help but think he’d screwed up on that front . . . even if he was trying to be considerate of Devon, he’d messed up. Blood mattered; he’d let his worry about her override that simple fact. But it was a little too late to do anything about it now.
“Go call him. Even if he’s out roughing it in the wilds of Vermont, you can at least tell him Merry Christmas.”
Luke lifted his head. She smiled up at him, her hair hanging long and loose, and her eyes so deep, so dark and soft, he could drown in them. “Hmmm.” He covered her smiling mouth with his and kissed her lightly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’ll do that.”
THIRTEEN
THE bed shifted just a little as Luke rolled out of it. Devon opened one eye to glance at her clock, and then she rolled onto her belly and groaned. Five a.m. Luke wouldn’t leave home until six, but she imagined he would go for a run and then shower, some coffee . . .
Burying her face in the pillow, she drifted back into sleep. Not even the thought of a naked, wet Luke and a steaming-hot cup of coffee was enough to entice her out of her bed or into anything other than sleeping. She was too damn tired.
Time drifted by, Devon caught in those moments between awake and asleep. A warm hand stroked down her back, and she arched, smiled. His mouth touched hers. Humming under her breath, she opened for him. His taste . . . damn, but she loved his taste. Sliding a little more into wakefulness, she curled her arms around his neck and wondered if maybe she was interested in a wet, naked Luke. Except he wasn’t naked anymore. She ran her fingers through his hair, and the damp strands curled around her fingers. His lips slid over her cheek. “You’re not naked,” she whispered.
He chuckled, nuzzled her neck. “Am I supposed to be?”
“Ummm. I was thinking that maybe I’d like to wake up now if you were wet and naked.”
Lifting his head, he smoothed her hair back from her face. “I can get wet and naked real quick.”
She glanced at the clock. “You’ll be late for work.”
Grimacing, he muttered, “Yeah, there is that.” His lips brushed against her once more, and then he settled back on his heels. “Speaking of work . . . today is your first day back. You sure you’re ready?”
Lifting a brow, Devon said, “I’ve been off for three weeks, Luke. If I don’t go back to work soon, my kids might forget what I look like.”
He sighed and laid a hand on her cheek.
In the dim light, she could see the concern on his face. “Luke, I love you.” She reached up and hooked her hand in the neckline of his shirt, tugged him close. “But if you don’t stop hovering, I’m going to scream. I have to get out of here. I’m going stir-crazy.”
Grinning, he dipped his head and kissed her, quick and hard. “Well, that’s a huge improvement over the girl who didn’t even want to leave the house to go Christmas shopping not too long ago.”
In a lofty voice, she reminded him, “I made up for it on the after-Christmas sales.”
He winced. “Don’t remind me. I still haven’t recovered from that.” He pressed his lips to her cheek and then straightened. “I better go. I love you.”
He turned, and she sighed, tugged the blankets around her, and snuggled into the pillow. “You have a good day.”
From the doorway, he smiled back at her. “You, too.”
Rolling onto her side, she stared out the window, watching until his headlights splashed beams of light on her wall as he pulled out. The sound of his car faded, and she closed her eyes and slid back into sleep.
Back into dreams. Luke was back in the bed beside her, his body hard and strong against hers, his hands sliding and stroking. The dream changed, faded, and realigned; they weren’t in bed anymore, but walking through the mall. An empty mall. None of the stores was familiar, and Devon found herself wandering through a huge room filled with freestanding doors. The doors led nowhere, she discovered as she opened one and peeked through. She stepped through, looked around, and saw she was still in the same room. Another door, another . . .
“What are you looking for?”
She looked behind and saw Luke standing there, his hands jammed in his pockets and his head cocked. He looked . . . different. His eyes were different. “You.”
He glanced at the doors and then back at her. “I’m not inside any of those.”
Devon shrugged and continued to open the doors, one after the other. Then she came to a door that wasn’t like the rest. It was set into a wall, and when she opened it, a huge dark maw awaited her—seriously dark, so dark that the light shining over her shoulder couldn’t penetrate the darkness.
She looked back at Luke.
“I’m not in there.”
But she stepped inside anyway. Of its own accord, the door swung shut behind her, and that huge darkness was suddenly stifling, pressing in on her. She sucked in a desperate breath of air and turned, searching for the door. But her hands encountered blankets. Endless swathes of cloth that wrapped around her body.
Back in bed—she was back in bed. And she wasn’t alone. He watched her face as he reached for the hem of her nightshirt and stripped it away. Then he came to her. The body pressed to hers wasn’t familiar, although the eyes that glittered down at her were Luke’s eyes. His hands were hard, strong, and cruel. They closed around her neck and started to squeeze.
Terror exploded through her, and she fought, struggled, and beat against his chest. The air supply in her lungs dwindled, and in a panic, Devon opened her mouth to try to scream. He was kissing her, though, and her scream was muffled against his lips. Kissing her, choking her, killing her—
“Killing. It’s what I’m good at.”
His words were spoken so casually, so easily, as he squeezed and squeezed . . . Then there was something covering her face, something that blocked his face from view, pressing tighter . . . tighter . . .
Devon came awake with a scream, jerking upright in the bed and huddling in the middle of the bed with her face pressed against her knees. There was a nasty, noxious taste in her mouth, and her throat hurt.
Early morning light shone in through the window, and a quick glance at the clock told her she must have been sleeping for a good hour. Felt like longer. Her skin was all sweaty and itchy, and her head had a weird, muffled feel. “Oh, shit,” she muttered.
Fighting her way free from the sheets and blankets tangled around her, she sat on the edge of the bed and scrubbed her hands over her face. Talk about a bitch of a nightmare. It clung to her like an oily film, and she shoved her hair back from her face, grimaced at the sweaty tangles. When her alarm clock went off a few minutes later, she reached over and shut it off, standing with a sigh.
But she hadn’t taken more than two steps before the chilly air on her bare flesh registered. Her mouth went dry, and she stopped in her tracks, staring down at her bare body.
A whimper escaped her.
Her eyes raced over the room, but she stood completely still, terrified to move.
There. Hanging over the doorknob of the closed door was her nightshirt.
Spooked didn’t quite describe Devon’s state of mind. There were logical reasons for what had happened . . . right? Maybe she’d forgotten to put it on. Or maybe Luke had stripped it off of her before he lef
t. It wasn’t like she’d been completely awake.
Rationalizing it away, or trying to, didn’t do a damn thing to make her feel better, though. She kept feeling that hand on her throat, squeezing not quite hard enough to bruise. More like the promise of a threat than an actual one.
I can hurt you if I want to . . . See how easy?
No words had been spoken, but in that weird, terrifying dream, that was the message she’d gotten.
Part of her mind insisted, Not a dream.
But the logical part denied even the possibility. Luke wouldn’t hurt her. Curtis Wilder couldn’t hurt her, not when he was dead and cold in the ground.
That part of her mind that was almost frozen with fear rebelled as she went through the motions of getting ready for work, showering, getting dressed. Every few seconds, even when she tried not to let herself, she realized she was searching the room, peeking around the corners, listening for footsteps that would fall so very softly on the stairs.
By the time she was dressed and ready, she was strung so tight, her hands shook as she made herself a pot of very strong, very black coffee. It hit her empty stomach like she’d just taken a couple of shots of espresso. “Ick,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her belly.
Instead of trying to sweeten it or cover that bitter taste with milk, she dumped the coffee and grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge. It wasn’t a huge improvement, but at least she managed to drink some of it without feeling like getting sick.
With a headache pounding behind her eyes, her hands trembling ever so slightly, she finished getting ready to leave. Coat, bag, purse. Keys in hand, she headed outside, shutting the door behind her with a sigh of relief.
“That’s seriously messed up,” she muttered, shaking her head. People were supposed to be relieved when they came home, not when they left home. But as she walked toward her car, she had to restrain herself from looking backward.
Back at the house.
The skin on the back of her neck crawled. She walked faster, climbing inside the car, locking it—and then she looked back at the house, the windows dark, the lights off. The thin winter sunlight shone down on the house, but she couldn’t dispel the dark, ugly fear sliding through her veins.
“Nerves. That’s all it is. Just nerves,” she said, closing her eyes. Her attempt at a few calming deep breaths failed miserably. Her hands still shook, her belly was still all slimy cold with fear, and when she tried to swallow, the memory of the hands closing around her throat had her wincing.
Three days ago, she’d left Lydia Marsh’s office after brushing the receptionist off when offered another appointment. Devon had no plans of going back to see Lydia, not since the counselor had spoken with Devon’s boss. Lydia couldn’t see any logical reason why Devon shouldn’t be back at work, if Devon felt ready.
She could have kissed the counselor at the time.
But now . . . now, as she sat shivering with fear in the driveway of her own house, she wondered if maybe she tried to rush out of the counseling too soon. Under her breath, she swore. Then, resolute, she shoved it all to the back of her mind and started the car.
She had a job to get back to, and she wasn’t going to let the memory of some dead psycho keep her from that one more minute.
LUKE pulled into the driveway just as Devon climbed out of her car. She gave him a wan, distracted smile as he came around the car.
“Hey.”
“Hey back.” He studied her face and didn’t like what he saw. She was pale, tired, and there were little lines fanning out from her eyes. “Looks like you had a bad first day back at work.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Not bad, really. Average. I’m just . . . I don’t know, Luke. Edgy.” Her lips curled in a wry smile, and she added, “Plus, I didn’t sleep worth a damn once you left.”
Sliding a hand around the back of her neck, he tugged her close. He pressed a kiss to her lips and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Hmmm.” She pulled back a little and licked her lips, smiling at him. “I feel better now.”
Wanting to keep that smile on her face, he grinned down at her. “That was easy. And here I was thinking that maybe I should make us something to eat while you took a bubble bath or something.”
He hooked an arm over her shoulders, and together, they walked toward the house. Devon slid away while he unlocked the door, and when he glanced back at her, he saw her staring at Danielle’s house. “Hey.”
She started. When she looked back at him, her face was even paler than before.
“Are you okay?”
Giving him a weak smile, she said, “I’m fine. Just tired. Edgy.” Luke glanced at the house over her shoulder and thought once more about burning the damn thing to the ground. “It’s just going to take a while, baby.” He linked their fingers, lifted her hand to his lips. “Come on inside.”
“IT’S going to take a while.”
Two weeks later, Devon was still telling that to herself, but now, it was more mocking than encouraging.
Yeah, getting over an attack would take a while, but she’d started to get better. And then, with one dream, she went crashing back to rock bottom.
No. This was worse. She’d hit rock bottom when she was a teenager, and she hadn’t thought there was anything lower than rock bottom, not until now. She’d sunk to an all new low, and it was sheer hell.
Climbing out of the shower, she went to stand in front of the mirror and stare at herself. Much worse. She was so damn skinny, her hip bones jutted out. She could see her ribs.
Her appetite had dwindled back down into nonexistence, and although she knew she needed to eat, she was existing on coffee, Diet Coke, and what little food Luke could coax her to eat.
The only time she was able to sleep was when Luke was with her. Up until a few days ago, it hadn’t been too bad, but this week he was on night shifts. No matter how hard she tried, Devon couldn’t get much more than a catnap in here and there.
It wasn’t just the dreams, though. She was hearing things, seeing things. From the corner of her eye, when she knew she was alone in the house, she’d see a shadow. But when she turned to look, it was gone. Driving to work, she’d see a car behind her, following her—speeding up when she did, slowing when she slowed—but then, it was gone. Hell, poor Noelle probably thought Devon had gone off the deep end. They’d been riding out together to visit a child both of them had worked with, and Devon had thought they were being followed. She’d seen the car three times, but when Noelle had looked, the blue sedan hadn’t been back there.
On her way in to work, she’d get a crawling sensation along her spine, like somebody was watching her. At night, she heard strange noises.
As each day passed and she slept less and less, she started to question her sanity.
Grimacing at her rather pathetic-looking reflection, she grabbed a towel and started to scrub her body dry. She tried damn hard not to think, but the ugly nightmare from the past night lured her like a moth to a flame. She’d fallen asleep on the couch. She didn’t even remember sitting down, much less lying down, and when her eyes opened, at first, she hadn’t realized where she was or that she was dreaming.
He appeared. Luke—only not. Luke didn’t have that malice in his eyes or that cruelty. He looked just like Luke, sounded just like him, but he didn’t feel like him, didn’t smell like him.
The dream had ended abruptly, too abruptly, but not before he’d touched her everywhere, leaving her feeling dirty and in desperate need of a bath. Worse, when she climbed off the couch, her head all muffled and thick, her shirt had been tangled and twisted up under her armpits, exposing her breasts.
“This is getting ridiculous.”
No, it had gone beyond ridiculous a week or so past.
As she’d stood in the living room, fighting to straighten out her shirt and still the tremor in her hands, Devon had known it was time. More than time. Staring at her shaking hands, she’d told herself she’d call Lydia come morning.
She
hated the thought of going back to a counselor. She’d seen more than her share growing up, and going back to one was at the very bottom of her list of things to do.
But lately, she was starting to question her sanity.
Worse, she was starting to question Luke.
WHEN Luke came home from work, he found Devon already up and moving around. Standing at the new island her dad had given her for Christmas, she huddled over a cup of coffee. Her skin was paler than normal, and there were bags under her eyes that she’d tried to hide using some makeup. She rarely wore any, but she’d done a decent job covering up the signs of her exhaustion.
Luke saw beneath it.
Concern and that nagging, restless sense of guilt and anger kindled inside him, She smiled at him, and he pushed his worry aside, moving up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Hey, beautiful,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.
At first, she didn’t react, holding herself still, stiff. Then, almost like she had to consciously force her body to relax, she leaned back against him and laughed. “You need to get your eyes checked. I look like a hag.”
“Nothing wrong with my eyes.” Not one damn bit. Devon had always been delicate, almost too slim. But she shouldn’t feel so frail in his arms. Over the past few weeks, she’d lost more weight, and it wasn’t like she had any to spare in the first place. But Luke knew better than to mention that to her. She’d get self-conscious, and there would be no way in hell he could get her to eat anything for breakfast.
She’d been living on coffee and soft drinks ever since she’d gone back to work. When he wasn’t around, he suspected she didn’t even attempt to eat. But he was here now, and she didn’t need to leave for work for another hour still. She usually wasn’t up and ready so early.
“I’m starving,” he said, resting his chin on top of her head. “Think I’m going to make some waffles.” He squeezed her waist gently and then moved away, digging out a mix, the waffle iron. As he made the batter, he asked, “You eaten anything?”
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