Keirah furrowed her brow. “Are you sure?” Dr. Hawkins reminded Keirah at least three times every week not to schedule any appointments until 1:30. Keirah might have been new, but she had been interning here for the past three weeks and was competent enough to understand what no appointments meant. Maybe this was all Becky’s doing, the other intern more interested in nail polish and Facebook status updates than getting good grades in class. However, when she checked the computer, there was no appointment listed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking up at the commissioner. “I don’t have an appointment scheduled. Would you like me to call her?”
“There wouldn’t be record of the appointment,” he told her, his voice gentle. “It’s last minute. When do you think she’ll be back?”
“1:30.”
Commissioner Jarrett turned to the uniformed officer, their voices hushed murmurs. All Keirah heard was “press conference” and “watch the prisoner,” but that was probably because her eyes locked onto said prisoner. Keirah was normally careful to avoid any contact with the clients; all serious criminal offenders who had problems came to see Dr. Hawkins. She was the best in the field, internationally acclaimed. Her clients’ recidivism rates were on the decline, a feat unto itself. It was one of the reasons Keirah wanted to intern with her. She was a world-renowned criminal psychologist and Keirah wanted to follow in her footsteps. However, her interactions with criminals were minimal at best. While she had turned eighteen over the summer, she was still in high school which meant she had to be protected. Besides observing them walking to and from the room, Keirah never saw them. She was forbidden to talk to them, and while they leered down at her, they never addressed her in any way.
But this was different. He was different. No one knew his real name or where he came from. No one knew why the right side of his face was so hideously burned. It looked as though someone pressed a heated iron on his skin and held it there until his face sizzled, leaving him permanently disfigured. Scariest of all, no one knew why he did what he did. He didn’t target a specific demographic, he had no known motive, he didn’t care about money or love. As far as the public knew, he couldn’t actually feel anything. It was probably why he would be seeing Dr. Hawkins. The Onyx media dubbed him Noir. He was like a villain from a black and white movie, especially with his chosen attire. It was hard to believe he was real.
Keirah was just surprised he was here, in shackles. He never got caught. No matter how many cops there were armed with all kinds of weapons, he always escaped. Yet now he was here, staring at her with his piercing gold stare. She couldn’t help but swallow, and try as she might, she couldn’t look away. He looked taller on the news and in pictures. Stronger, too. In real life, he couldn’t be more than six feet tall if that, and while he appeared to have muscle definition under his orange jumpsuit, he was more lean than strong. His curly, dirty-blond hair was short, falling into his face, and while his teeth were straight, they were also yellow.
“I’m afraid I can’t wait,” Commissioner Jarrett said, breaking the spell—curse?—Noir placed on her. She forced her eyes to look at Jarrett’s safe face. “She was aware I would be here between 1 and 1:30. Would it be all right if we placed him in a room with Officer Hiro guarding the door?”
“Of course.” She stood up and happened to notice that with her heels on, she was about eye-level with Noir, give or take an inch. “I’ll show you to the room.”
Commissioner Jarrett surprised her by shaking her hand. “Thank you, Ms. …” His voice drifted off.
“Shepherd,” Keirah said, forcing herself to speak as she shook his hand. “Keirah Shepherd.”
“Ms. Shepherd,” Jarrett repeated. “Will you do me a favor? Will you call me when Dr. Hawkins comes in? I’ll probably be speaking at a press conference, but would you leave me a message? I just want to make sure everything’s all right. Besides Officer Hiro at the door, two unmarked police cars will circle the building just in case. It was nice to meet you, Ms. Shepherd.”
This was madness. Keirah had only been here for three weeks, but she had never seen this kind of special treatment for a client before. Should she be worried?
Who was she kidding? Of course she should be worried.
“Right this way,” she said after clearing her throat.
As she proceeded to lead the two into Dr. Hawkin’s meeting room, she shoved her hands in the pockets of her blazer. She didn’t want Noir to see them shake. With each step he took, she heard the clang of the chains, like he was following her down a dark alley and was close to catching her. The fact that neither of them were running only made it more ominous.
When they reached the open door, Officer Hiro made a point to stand outside. She looked back at him.
“I can’t go in there,” he said. He glanced over at Noir with obvious disgust in his dark eyes. “This guy may be the worst kind of scum, but the law says he has rights, even the right to privacy. Not that he talks much.” A pause. “Well?” he asked his prisoner. “What are you waiting for? Get in there.”
Keirah pressed her lips together. Officer Hiro was right; Noir was the cause of thousands of deaths, innocent victims in his fatal games, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a person. She led the prisoner into the room.
“I’m going to head to the bathroom while we wait for the doc,” Hiro announced. “Just down the hall, right?”
Keirah’s eyes widened. Was he really going to leave her alone with him? She couldn’t answer, but Hiro left anyway. Just because Noir was shackled did not mean she was safe.
“Well, well, well,” the prisoner drawled once he was certain Hiro was out of earshot. He stepped into the room, his eyes never wavering from hers. “Well-ah, look at you.”
He couldn’t be older than she was. Twenty years old, tops. Who was this person and how could he have so much hate at such a young age? She wouldn’t look at him, afraid he might find something in her appearance to use against her. He was good at that.
Noir slowly continued to walk toward her. Keirah was rooted in place by the couch where he would either be sitting or lying down, whichever he preferred, talking to Dr. Hawkins. Her chair was across from the couch, with a squared-shaped coffee table in between. Keirah’s heart continued to race. Logically, she knew he couldn’t do anything to her, not with his hands and feet indisposed, but there was something about him that instilled fear in anyone who happened to be in his presence.
From her peripheral, she watched as he smacked his lips together before continuing. “You are, might I say, uh, bee-you-tee-full.” She watched his eyes, those lecherous hazel eyes, study her without mercy. “I never get ah … the pretty ones.” Keirah still would not lift her eyes. It seemed to aggravate him because after another moment of silence, he barked, “Would you look at me?”
She pursed her lips, curling an errant strand of dark brown hair behind her ear before finally meeting his eyes. He smiled at her, his lips causing the scar on the right side of his face to twitch. Had that smile been on anyone else’s face, it might have been deemed as charming. In fact, the scar on his left cheek masked a dimple. Because it was him, however, it made Keirah’s skin crawl.
“Are you, uh, nervous, princess?” he asked her in that dark, velvet tone of his as he tilted his head to the side more so than what was necessary. He was only a foot in front of her and she still couldn’t move.
“N-no.”
Noir’s eyes twinkled in amusement at her obvious lie. Without warning, he leaned toward her so his chapped lips nearly brushed her ear and whispered, “Liar.”
Before Keirah could respond, Dr. Hawkins appeared in the doorway. “Keirah?” she asked, surprised. “What are you doing away from the desk? You know you can’t be alone with a client.”
Keirah babbled something—an apology, an explanation, she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that the minute she reclaimed power over her legs, she hightailed it out of there, closing the door firmly behind her. Hiro gave her an odd look, but she ignored hi
m. She could breathe again, and she wanted to take full advantage of it.
3
She dreamt about him again. It shouldn’t have surprised her, not when she’d been dreaming about him every night since she woke up from her coma, which was exactly one month ago. The crazy thing was, Reese never saw him as whole. It was the eyes, though. His eyes, sometimes clear blue like the sky, other times dark brown like the mud, continued to watch her in her dreams. Apparently, it was some miracle that she had woken up. That was what her parents had said. Her brother, three years younger than she was and galaxies smarter, said there was a perfectly reasonable, perfectly scientific explanation for why she woke up. But she knew better. She knew that he had woken her up somehow. Whether he was just a piece of her subconscious or a real person, she didn’t know, but as she opened her eyes, his was staring down at her. It wasn’t, couldn’t be, a dream.
A knock broke her out of her thoughts and Reese turned from her vanity to call, “Come in!”
In walked her mother, a mirror image of Reese except with botox, a boob job, and a tummy tuck. She already looked fabulous, even though it was just after seven in the morning. She wore a Chanel business suit and higher heels than even Reese couldn’t wear without falling down, and that was saying something. Her bleach-blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun and she was wearing her signature red lipstick. This was why she was known as the Black Widow in the courtroom.
“Hi honey,” she said as she stepped into Reese’s room. “Now, are you absolutely sure you’re going to be okay going to school? You’re a smart girl; catching up with all the work won’t be a problem.”
Reese felt her lips curl up into a small smile. “I’ll be fine, Mom,” she said once again. She had lost count of how many times her parents had asked that last week and her answer was still the same. To be honest, Reese was looking forward to getting back to the normal life sixteen year old girls were supposed to have, and that meant school. Technically, she was supposed to be in her senior year after skipping the third grade, but since she had been asleep her entire junior year, she’d be returning as a junior to high school.
“All right, we’re leaving in ten,” her mom said. “If you head down now, you can grab a couple of extra pancakes your father made for breakfast.” Her eyes descended on Reese’s outfit to do a quick appraisal, as she always did. “Love your skirt, darling. It’s good to see that things don’t change.”
Reese’s smile only deepened as she tried to flatten the accordion folds of her plaid skirt. After being woken up, she tried to hold onto the familiar, and that was her plaid skirts. They were always short, always plaid though the colors varied, and either accordion-pleated, like the one she was wearing now, or pressed flat. She always wore matching knee-length socks and ankle boots, ballet flats, or Mary Janes on her feet. It comforted her to know that even though she was gone for a year, she hadn’t changed all that much.
She stood up, grabbed her bag, and after sliding on her black Mary Janes, headed down the stairs, hoping she could snag a few pancakes before her brother woke up and ate them all.
“Hi Daddy,” she greeted, grabbing a couple of the pancakes sitting on the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room.
“Pumpkin!” he exclaimed, walking out of the kitchen in order to hug her and plant a kiss on her cheek. “Are you ready for your first day?” He was in one of his golf outfits, down to his hideous checkered pants and a beret on his head with a poufy ball on top of it. She couldn’t help but laugh out loud when she saw him. Her mom was right; some things never change.
“You know it,” she replied.
“That’s my girl,” he said, rubbing the top of her head.
“Daddy, my hair!” Reese exclaimed, but she grinned. She decided to leave her hair down today; it was simple, easy, and one less thing for her to worry about. “Where’s Brody?”
“He’s getting ready,” her father replied as Reese began to nibble on the still-warm food. “He doesn’t start school until 8:30.”
“Sweetie?” Her mother’s head popped into the dining room from the laundry room. “Ready?”
“Coming!” She plopped a quick kiss on her father’s cheek. “Have fun today, Daddy. I’ll see you later.”
“Knock ‘em dead, pumpkin.”
Reese hopped in the passenger seat of her mom’s Mercedes. Technically, it was Reese’s sixteenth birthday present, but she had never gotten the chance to drive it. Once she re-passed the driver’s test, she’d have ownership over it. For now, her mom was breaking it in, so to speak.
The drive to Onyx High was a good twenty minutes. It was located in the heart of the city, but even so, it had two football fields, two soccer fields, and two Olympic-sized indoor pools. The high school was all indoors, separated by subject, all connected by hallways filled with lockers. Reese had yet to actually see the school in person, but she wasn’t too sure how she felt about the whole indoors part of it. She was a Southern California girl born and bred, and all of her previous schools had been outdoors.
“Well, we’re a little late, darling, but you’re new so I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” her mother said after she pulled up to the curb just in front of the main office. “Call me if you need anything or if you want to come home early. I have court all morning, but I have a couple of hours of free time in the afternoon. Leave me a message.”
“Will do, Mom,” Reese said as she unbuckled her seatbelt.
“If I don’t hear from you, I’ll pick you up at three,” she said, leaning toward her daughter. “Kisses!”
“Kisses,” Reese replied. They didn’t actually kiss—air kisses ensured hair and makeup would not be ruined—but it was their inside way of showing affection.
With that, Reese grabbed her bag and headed to the main office, trying to appear more confident than she felt. She rolled her shoulders back, tilted her chin up, and smiled. It was a trick her father taught her when she was going into fourth grade instead of third grade and she didn’t have her favorite pair of flip flops to wear because she forgot them at a sleepover two nights before. The trick still worked. Entering into an environment she was completely unfamiliar with, her smile instilled the confidence she so desperately needed.
The receptionist, a matronly woman wearing big hoop earrings and cat-like glasses with a nameplate that read Phyllis, looked up at Reese and offered her a smile.
“How may I help you?” she inquired in a raspy voice.
“Hi,” Reese said, her smile becoming genuine. “I’m new here.”
“What’s your name, dear?”
“Reese Lespoir.”
“Reese,” a dark, lilted voice said from behind her. Reese craned her neck over her shoulder to see who had addressed her and was met with a pair of dark brown, almost black, eyes. “What a lovely name.”
She furrowed her brow at the oddity of the old-fashioned statement coming from someone her age, so she decided to respond with a safe, “Thanks.”
“Ms. Dillard,” he greeted, walking beside Reese so she could smell the subtle masculine cologne radiating from his body. Not just cologne though. Something else. Something cold and clean, like the sky right before a storm. “I’ll show her to her first class.”
Reese watched the look from Ms. Dillard’s face transform from warm and welcoming to lined and almost fearful. That was … odd. Why would she be afraid of a student?
As the receptionist printed out all the necessary paperwork for her, Reese took the time to study the student next to her using her peripheral vision. He wasn’t all that tall, but at least half a foot taller than she was, which would make him five foot seven. He was also slight, didn’t have broad shoulders, and was wearing a black long sleeve collared shirt, a red skinny tie, black jeans, and black Converses. Weird. He had shoulder length, dusty brown feathered hair, his bangs falling into his face in the shape of a heart, the ends caressing his cheekbones. He also had dimples, which made him look youthful.
It was something Reese had never enc
ountered before, the fact that he was both attractive and unattractive. From certain angles, he could look eighteen while from others, fifty. She had never seen anyone quite like him.
Why did she feel like she knew him?
“Here you go,” Ms. Dillard said, handing Reese the paperwork while keeping her eyes on the guy next to her. Reese didn’t even know his name.
“Thank you.”
“Right this way, my dear,” he said to her. Reese could detect a slight accent. English? Irish? Scottish? And had he just called her dear? “It says you have Biology first period with Mr. Frampton.”
Had he snuck a peek at her schedule?
“Um, yeah.” She glanced at him. “So, you know my name. What’s yours?”
He smirked, a crooked thing that caused his dimples to pop and those black eyes to sparkle mysteriously. “People call me Henry,” he said.
“Henry,” she said, testing the name on her lips. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
The main office was connected to the web that made up Onyx High School. He held the door open for her before the two stepped into a hallway filled with lockers—she would have to pick a vacant one out during break.
“It’s good to see you awake,” he commented, giving her a sideways look.
“What?” she yelped. She stopped walking and reached out to place her hand on his forearm in order to halt him as well. “What did you say?”
Reese had made her parents and Brody promise they wouldn’t tell anyone she had been in a coma for a year. They agreed and she trusted them. She didn’t want to talk about the car accident, how her friend who had been in the passenger seat at the time had died, how Reese had nearly shared that same fate. The family concocted up a story where they moved to Onyx thanks to her father’s new job as Vice President to Phillip Enterprises rather than acquiring the best medical treatment for Reese. Since it was actually true, it worked perfectly. The only question she had to work on deflecting was, “If you’re from Southern California, why the hell would you move to Onyx?” Reese didn’t have an answer to that one.
The Dark Paradise Trilogy Box Set Page 2
