“Was I right?” she whispered. Her face had gone pale, almost gray, and her eyes lost their blue, turning dull and colorless.
“She was asphyxiated,” he said, holding her gaze. “Joe got the results yesterday.”
Diana was silent, and as the quiet stretched, he found he was having to force himself to remain seated. Not to go over to her.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, offering comfort the only way he felt he could. “For you as much as for me. I loved your aunt. She was a great friend and more than a little bit of a mother. And to know that someone did that ….” Rage prickled through him. Joe had promised he was doing everything he could, investigating the break-ins, the vandalism, and now a murder. But it wasn’t fast enough. It wasn’t enough.
“Thank you for coming here to tell me,” she said at last. She hadn’t moved except to rest her pen neatly on the desk blotter.
He shifted in his chair, then rose to walk to one of the windows. He looked down onto the gray line of a street, studded with toy cars and dotted with people, and to keep his thoughts calm. But there were things that had to be said. “Diana, have you thought about the fact that you could be in danger as well?” He took a step away from the window, toward her, as she sat stiffly in her chair.
She rose. “That’s ridiculous. Whatever the person wanted they’ve either found by now, or determined it didn’t exist. Aside from that, they’ve got what they wanted—me away from the house. Problem solved, I’m out of the picture.”
Ethan shook his head. “No, Diana, problem not solved. They could think you have the item.”
“I’m here in Boston,” she said. “I’m not even in Damariscotta. Whoever it is couldn’t think I’d be a danger here to whatever their problem is back there.”
“Diana, you can’t know what this person is thinking. I’m not trying to frighten you, but you should be aware of the possibility that you are at risk. This isn’t simple vandalism and breaking and entering. Your aunt was murdered.” He searched her eyes with his, noticing that they were almost the same level with his, due to her heels. “What does your instinct tell you?”
She stared at him without speaking, her face etched with weariness, then turned to look out the window. “I pulled a card from the Tarot deck. I...was sitting there one night, and for the first time, I actually concentrated and drew a card.” She expelled a shuddering breath, touched her face with fingers that trembled. “It was The High Priestess again. She is showing up so often and seems to be adamant that I...open my mind. So, to answer your question: my instinct tells me that I should be worried.” She looked as if she was about to say something else, but she stopped abruptly.
Her breathing had become rough and when she turned back to look at him, he was shocked by the haunted expression in her eyes. “What is it?” he asked.
She looked away, out into the distance, somewhere far away. “Something happened...I wanted to call you ….”
He mercilessly shoved away a spark of hope and remained silent, waiting as she groped for the words. This was not the same woman who’d given him such a cool set-down the morning after they’d made love. This was one filled with anguish and confusion. Part of him wanted to gather her into his arms and help her work through it—all of this. But the other part forced himself to take an emotional step back. This was work...an addendum to his research. It couldn’t be anything more.
All at once, she blinked and her face changed. The reserve was back, accompanied by a distant cast to her eyes. It was as if a door closed, or curtains shuttered her face.
Just as well, Ethan decided. And he put on his scientist hat. “When you looked at the card, or later, when you thought about it, did anything pop into your mind? Was there anything else there?”
She swallowed audibly. “Nothing that meant anything. I thought about all of the newspapers that Aunt Belinda had in her den, and about the quilting group. I...thought about Jonathan...and ….” She stopped, her voice trailing off and she turned again to look out the window. “If...if...Aunt Belinda was right, and I do have some kind of...psychic ability, wouldn’t it be telling me something—who this is, or what they want?” Diana’s voice had risen a bit.
With effort, he kept himself detached and replied, “If it’s true, you’ve been suppressing the ability for years. You aren’t used to interpreting the feelings or thoughts that may accompany precognitive abilities. It’s not always—in fact, rarely is it—a clear vision or picture, like in a crystal ball. At least, that’s how it was for your aunt. If indeed you really are opening your mind, it’s a bit rusty, and it’ll take time for you to learn to interpret and trust your instincts. As I said once before, Diana, cards don’t read the future or tell us how to live our lives. People do. If they can learn to understand their instincts.”
She stared back out the window, and just as she turned, the intercom buzzed.
“Diana, I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s Jonathan. He says he needs to speak with you. He’s insistent and is threatening to show up here if you don’t take the call.”
She hesitated for a moment, her face going from surprise to apprehension. Avoiding Ethan’s gaze, she replied reluctantly, “I suppose I’d better. Send it in.”
Ethan walked back to the window, up to the ceiling-to-floor glass, and stood against it, almost touching it, and listened unashamedly to the one-sided conversation.
“Yes...” she murmured, obviously trying to keep her voice down. “We’ve been getting calls all week …. Jonathan, I don’t—No. I’m not going to change my mind …. . I don’t expect you to …. You can tell him that. Good-bye.”
He waited until he heard the receiver placed on its cradle before he turned. She sat at the desk, staring down at her unmoving hands, as if oblivious to his presence. He saw that she was breathing heavily, slowly, as though trying to regain some control.
“Diana?”
She jerked, and raised her face to look at him. “Was there anything else?”
Her countenance had the life of a clay mask, her eyes like dull ebony pits. His insides dropped like a pile of stones. “Jesus, what is it?” he asked, coming to her, taking her cold hands.
She shuddered once, then withdrew her fingers, looked away. “He’s ruining me.”
“Jonathan?” Ethan was incredulous. Fury swept over him. “Over what? Over...us?” The words slipped out before he could catch them.
She stared at him in surprise, then her lips moved. “No, oh no, over nothing that trivial.” Her voice strengthened, gathering bitterness and sarcasm. “No, and it’s not my former fiancé who’s ruining me...it’s a colleague of his. Someone whose case I had to drop.”
“You dropped a case?”
She nodded. “I couldn’t defend a person who wasn’t innocent, and I told him so. I guess perhaps I...don’t have a true understanding of the law...a true belief in it. Everyone is entitled to representation, even the basest of murderers...I just found that I can’t argue for someone who doesn’t take his profession seriously, or cautiously.” She was speaking, but not looking at him. He thought perhaps she wasn’t looking at anything.
She drew in a deep breath, then let it out. It wavered. “Jonathan warned me that this man could make or break me. I guess he’s decided to break me.”
ELEVEN
Later, Diana wouldn’t be able to recount just how she ended up with Ethan at the house she was subleasing...but she did, and, at the time, she was distressingly grateful for that fact.
“Nice place,” he said, opening the door and gesturing her in as if it were his own place. “You’re not expecting Jonathan, I presume?”
“No,” she said, looking at him sharply. “I don’t see him anymore.”
“But you take his calls even after you told your people not to disturb you,” he reminded her. “Even after you said to hold all your calls. Interesting.” The tone in his voice was flat, almost accusatory.
She turned away, but not before she had the image of Ethan, standing tall and dark a
nd strong in the foyer of her temporary home. He was taking in the details, just as she had done when she visited him. Her insides fluttered at the memory of his log cabin and what had transpired there, and she felt warm and weak all at once. This was not good. She did not want to succumb to the temptation of Ethan Tannock again, giving him more material for his work.
Pride—the only defense she had—kept her from telling him what she’d seen in his office. After all, if she admitted she’d seen those notes, admitted the hurt and the betrayal she felt, he’d know just where she stood. How vulnerable she was. How she’d begun to feel for him.
But the longer she was with him, the weaker her resolve seemed to become. And so she said, “Ethan, I really appreciate you seeing me home, but—”
He stepped in further and stood right by the open door to her bedroom. He gestured toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I’m starving. Do you want to order something in, or are you in the mood to cook?” He glanced into the bedroom, where the large four-poster bed sat, neat and made up, just as she’d left it this morning. Beyond, there was the door to the master bath, and across the hall was the second bedroom, or den. “Nice place. Is it yours or Wertinger’s?”
“Neither,” she said. “I needed a place to stay after I moved out, so I’m subleasing it from the parents of a colleague. They’re in Alaska for the summer.”
That made him stop and look at her more intently. “You did end things with him.”
“I told you I did,” she replied.
His face relaxed a bit. “Good. At least I don’t have to worry about him showing up here. Now, what should we do about something to eat? It’s nearly seven.”
“Ethan,” Diana began...and then she stopped. What would be the harm in having dinner with him? She didn’t really want to be alone, anyway, while her business was collapsing around her. And with the news about Aunt Belinda. “Dinner,” she said. “That’s it. And then you have to leave.”
“If that’s the way you want it.”
“That’s the way I want it,” she replied firmly, noticing the way his eyes wandered back to the open bedroom door behind her. A flush threatened to rush up and over her chest and throat. “What happened before was...like I said, it was nice. But—”
“Nice?” he repeated. “I don’t think that was the word you used before. Mind-blowing comes to mind.”
She kept her expression bland, her voice even. “Mind-blowing? Is that what I said? I’d forgotten.”
“You’ve forgotten?” His voice became smooth and silky, and dark challenge came into his eyes.
Suddenly, she was afraid...and more alive than she’d ever felt. Her skin prickled and her chest squeezed and she felt light-headed, trapped by his eyes like a doe in a pair of headlights.
Her mouth turned to cotton as he closed his fingers around one of her narrow wrists, drawing it behind him so that she was forced to step up to him, just a hairs-breadth away from his solidness. Diana’s breath caught and she couldn’t breathe for a moment as she struggled to regain her senses.
“Perhaps I should remind you how good it was,” he murmured, his voice thick, his eyes hooding as he continued to look down at her. “How...mind-blowing. Toe-curling.”
“Ethan ….” She meant to stop him, but her voice sounded like it was begging, as it came out breathy and husky. She pushed at him, in her last vestige of sensibility, and he deftly caught her fingers, transferring them to join the others in the bondage of his left hand.
He traced a light forefinger over her jaw and chin, down the length of her neck and along the unbuttoned neckline of her blouse. She struggled to breathe, and her chest rose as if to meet the tip of his finger. His hand slid further, just brushing into the warmth of her cleavage, and back over the swell of the top of one breast. Her skin leapt and danced beneath his touch, and she had to close her eyes for a moment to remind herself where she was. Who he was.
“Ethan,” she said in a voice that was meant to be strong, but wavered. She tried again to step away, to free her wrists, but he kept her imprisoned. “Don’t....”
He stilled, and there was only the rasping, rhythmic sound of their breathing for a long moment; then suddenly he released her hands and stepped away. “I haven’t forgotten about it, Diana, and neither have you.”
Then, as if annoyed with himself, he spun and walked into the kitchen. She heard him open the refrigerator, and rummage around in there.
“Make yourself at home,” she muttered, trying to instill a bit of humor into the tense moment. Then she went into her bedroom to change out of her suit.
By the time Diana reappeared from the bedroom, Ethan had managed to gain control of himself and his rashness, and was seated on the living room sofa, drinking a glass of wine. There hadn’t been any beer in the refrigerator so he’d resorted to a Pouilly-Fuissé.
He should have left, he told himself when Diana walked hesitantly into the room...but there were a few things he wanted to talk with her about. He had his hormones under control now, but there had been a moment there, where he could see a glimpse of her bedroom from the hallway, that he’d almost tossed her on the bed to really tear up the sheets. Probably’d be the first time they’d really be mussed up, he thought to himself with a complacent grin. Unless she’s been sleeping with someone else now that she dumped the douchebag doctor.
His grin disappeared and anger sliced through him at the thought. Then he forced himself to do a mental shrug. She did it with you, why wouldn’t she do it with someone else?
He looked up and realized she was still standing in the doorway, watching him as though she feared he would leap across the room at her. The vulnerable look on her face struck him, blasting some sense into his sex-crazed brain, as he remembered all that was going on in her life right now.
His irritation with her evaporated.
He stood, facing her, and said, “If you want me to leave, I will. But I’d like to stay and...be here for awhile. I know you’re going through a lot, and it might help to have someone to listen if you want to talk. That’s all.” He spread his hands, holding the wine glass out over the coffee table.
She was silent, measuring him with her eyes as if to see what trick he intended this time. But Ethan’s motives were, probably for the first time since he’d met her, purely unselfish in that he wanted nothing from her: not to observe her, not to judge her, not to sleep with her.
“Thank you,” she said at last. She didn’t directly accept his offer, but instead, said, “Would you like something to drink other than wine? No beer, but I have Scotch and gin.”
“Thank God.” He set the wine glass down on the table and gave her a genuine smile. “Scotch would be appreciated.”
“There’s a good pizza place around the corner that delivers, and also a Thai place up the street, if you’re still hungry.” She seemed to be trying to smooth the awkwardness between them, and he was glad to let her. He believed she didn’t want to be alone anymore than he thought she did—even though she might not admit it.
They ate on a small patio in the back of the brownstone, sharing a pizza and antipasto salad. Diana drank red wine, and instead of the offered whiskey, Ethan had dashed to the store for a six-pack of beer, which he drank right from the bottle.
She’d told him as much as she dared about the Merkovitz situation, and how Jonathan’s dire prediction was coming true: that the orthopedic surgeon, who wielded an inordinate amount of influence in Boston’s medical community, was obviously blackballing her name so that her clients would withdraw. Today when he called her office, Jonathan had told her if she’d reconsider, he was certain he could get Merkovitz to stop sabotaging her...but she would not.
Now, they sat in companionable silence as the orange ball of the sun finished dipping behind the rooflines of the houses in the distance. It was still early—just past nine o’clock—but Diana wondered whether Ethan planned to drive back to Damariscotta that night, or to take a room somewhere in the area. No matter what happened, he wasn’
t staying there, she promised herself.
“So, Diana,” his smooth voice rumbled, interrupting her thoughts, “have you given anymore thought to who might have had a reason to murder Belinda?”
She stiffened as the reality of it all came back. “I’ve tried not to think about it too hard, but I know I should.” She looked at him in the lowering light. “You probably have as good an idea—or better—as I do.” She said it without rancor, just regret, that it should be true.
His smile flashed for a moment, then he sobered. “I don’t know. Let’s talk about motive, first. The classic motives are money, passion, revenge, and fear. I’d say money is the most obvious in this situation, since Bee was loaded.”
Diana nodded. “She didn’t live like she was as wealthy as she was, though—did the people in town know?”
“Did they know? Does Helen Galliday live in Damariscotta? Hell, yeah, they knew.” He finished off his beer, and Diana caught herself being distracted by the long, sinewy cords in his neck as he tilted his head back. “So who would gain by Belinda’s death?”
“I would.”
He nodded. “I know. You’d be the most obvious suspect, in a classic case, especially since you only got back in contact with her a year ago. How did that happen, by the way, if you thought she was dead?”
She looked at him, wondering if he was making an implication, or if he was just curious. “It was odd, but I got a letter from her—out of the blue. I suppose she must have either kept track of me, or found a way to track me down. Or maybe she saw something in the paper about me and a case I was working on.”
Ethan was nodding. “I do remember that. She was very excited to have located you.”
Diana felt the old guilt creep up, followed by the continuing anger toward her mother for keeping her apart from her great-aunt. “I called her right away, but I never got a chance to see her.” I never made the chance to see her.
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 23
