Shadows Fall

by Denise A. Agnew

  Melissa smiled, even with the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Thanks.”

  The small bandage on her right jaw made him long to growl in anger over her injuries. The larger bandage on her forearm drew his gaze and he stared. Damn, I need to get a grip.

  “What kind of explosion was that?” Melissa asked.

  “Don’t know.” He scratched his own jaw in sympathy. “Might have been natural gas. Were their any workman around?”

  “I didn’t see any,” Henrietta said.

  “Did you see any suspicious activity before the explosions?” he asked.

  “No,” Henrietta said. “But Jilly Gomez visited us.”

  Surprise struck him. “The girl who kept screaming about the devil at the haunted house?”

  “The very one.” Melissa said. “But you wouldn’t believe what she told us.”

  The waitress arrived with their coffee carafe. After pouring them each a cup, she left the carafe and departed. Henrietta and Melissa explained Jilly’s visit and the things she’d said. His surprise grew larger by the minute.

  “I can’t believe this.” He rubbed the back of his neck to erase tension building there. “Then again, I can. It’s hard to say what’s going on with Jilly, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

  “We can’t know if her parents are treating her that badly,” Henrietta said. “Sure, they might be conservative and ...” She shrugged. “... repressive. But I wouldn’t judge without seeing the evidence. She obviously gets away with something. She was wearing black nail polish and a ring on every finger. One of the rings had a pentacle. Her parents would freak if they saw that.”

  “Probably.” Melissa fiddled with an ornate ring on her right middle finger. “She probably puts that stuff on after she leaves the house. I was really good at that when I was her age.”

  “Your parents were conservative?” Roarke asked.

  “A little. But they weren’t that bad. I was a troublemaker.”

  He heard the guilt in her tone and it made him want to ask more. Later. He’d ask when he got her alone. He thought about that a minute. Why do I want to get her alone? He cut off his own dangerous thoughts with another question. “She’s pulling your leg about seeing dead people. She’s a troubled kid and looking for help.”

  Melissa sipped her coffee, and he saw a different skepticism in her eyes. “How do you know?”

  He shrugged. A little confession time. “I was like that when I was a kid. I made shit up.”

  Henrietta chuckled. “I find that hard to believe.”

  The woman’s doubt bothered him a little. “I decided to rebel against my dad’s strict authority. I joined this group that wore black a lot and claimed to worship the devil.”

  Melissa’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wow.” Henrietta sipped her coffee. “I never would have guessed that in a million years.”

  “My dad found out and grounded me for the rest of the year. No football. No sports at all. Nothing but reading at home. No television.”

  “No television for a year?” Melissa’s snickered slightly. “That probably didn’t hurt you. But grounded for a year? That seems a bit extreme.”

  Roarke couldn’t defend it. “Yeah, it was. The group was harmless, but Dad made quite a few assumptions about the situation without asking questions.”

  “And you never do that.” Melissa’s tone sounded accusatory.

  If they’d been alone, Roarke would have straightened her out. A wave of desire came on the heels of his frustration with her. Yeah, maybe if he kissed the hell out of her—Shit, O’Bannion. Pull back. Instead, he ignored her slight jab. “Jilly’s probably like I was. Stuff at home bothers her. She needs counseling. Not an exorcism.”

  “We agree on that point,” Melissa said, her voice weary and anger-tinged. “I’m not sure what to do to help her.”

  Roarke saw the pain in her eyes and wanted to reassure her. “Don’t worry about her right now. You’ve got the shop to be concerned with.”

  “Jilly could be lying,” Henrietta said suddenly. “My son Jacob used to make stuff up. He’s twenty years old now, and he admits he used to. Still ... Jilly seems too mature for that. I believe her.”

  Henrietta’s cell phone chirped, and she dug in her purse. “Glad I grabbed this purse.” It was her husband again, and she laughed softly after talking to him a moment and telling him where they’d ended up. “Sure. That’s good. Okay, I’ll be here. Love you.” She hung up and stuffed the phone back in her purse. “He’s going to pick me up in a few minutes. He can’t get through town the old way because too many streets are blocked off.”

  Five minutes later her husband found them. Bradley Pike marched into the cafe, a mountain of a man with a big frown. His bearded face was full of worry for his wife, and she leapt out of the booth to hug him tightly.

  “Thank God you two are all right,” Pike said. His brown gaze sized up Roarke. “This must be O’Bannion?”

  Roarke stood to shake hands. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Thanks for looking after my wife, O’Bannion. She told me that you snatched them out of the jaws of harm.”

  “They escaped on their own. Resourceful women.”

  Bradley grinned, and Roarke had a feeling he’d passed muster. “Well, Henrietta told me you were running to their rescue anyway. I’m grateful. Come over for dinner sometime. I make a mean chili.”

  Roarke smiled, liking the genuine warmth in the man’s offer. “It’s a deal.”

  Bradley hugged his wife to his side. “What about you, Melissa? You’re doing all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Melissa’s smile looked weak to Roarke. “I’ll make my way back to the shop as soon as the coast is clear and let you know what the damage is.”

  Roarke’s protective instincts rose. “That isn’t going to be for a while yet.”

  Melissa frowned at him, but didn’t speak. Henrietta grabbed Roarke’s hand and shook it with both of hers. “Take care of my Melissa, you hear?”

  Once they’d left, Roarke sank down in the booth beside Melissa. He rolled his shoulders to ease more tension from his muscles. Melissa lifted her cup but her hand trembled, and she set it back in the saucer. Roarke touched her hand to steady it.

  She swallowed hard and lifted her gaze to his. “I don’t know why I’m shaking.”

  “Reaction setting in. It’s nothing to worry about.” He folded her right hand in his and savored the small fingers nestled with his much larger hand. The wrist brace got in his way. “Wrist still hurt?”

  “It aches. I talked with the doctor’s office the other day, and they said to keep it wrapped up a few days longer. I guess this is my month for mishaps.”

  “I hope not. There’s three more weeks left.”

  She used her left hand to clasp her coffee cup. “My business is ruined.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “You’re optimistic.”

  “I have to be. If I’m not, it’s too easy to slip into the abyss. My mother has disappeared, my father doesn’t seem worried, and there isn’t a damn thing I seem to be able to do. Sometimes I fell pretty ineffectual.” She withdrew her hand from under his, and he wondered if his emphatic declaration fell into self-pity. He didn’t like it in others, and he sure as hell didn’t like it in himself.

  “I’ve always considered myself an optimist, Roarke. But facts are facts.”

  When she turned her gaze on him, a glacier inside him thawed another inch. She looked vulnerable, like she needed a hug. “You’ll get through this, Melissa.”

  Her crooked smile said she didn’t believe him. “You’re very nice to say that.”

  Her praise heated him inside. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he liked her approval and craved it. That made her doubly dangerous. “Don’t kid yourself.”

  She tossed him a half-disgusted look. “You sped here to help Henrietta and I. You would have gone into a burning building for us.”

 
He realized he would have, and that threw him back. “I’m used to danger in the Marines. It’s just what I do.”

  She smiled. “Well, even if it is ...” She cupped the back of his neck and brought him down so she could kiss his cheek. “Thank you again.” Then, as if she hadn’t just given him a sweet and gentle kiss, she said, “I really should go back to my apartment and call my insurance agent or something.”

  They left the coffee shop with Melissa wrapped up in his parka again, and headed down the street. They quickly discovered they couldn’t get much farther than where Roarke had parked his motorcycle. Smoke rose up from the buildings downtown, but from what they could see Melissa’s building hadn’t caught fire.

  Melissa groaned as she looked toward the fire. “There’s going to be a lot of water damage to the shop.”

  “Maybe. Looks like you’re also going to have to ride my motorcycle. Come back to my apartment and sit this out. We’ll check back later.”

  “Your motorcycle?” Doubt filled her face.

  He grinned. “Yep.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  Chapter 9

  Melissa climbed off Roarke’s motorcycle, her muscles tight from holding on to him for all she was worth. They stood in the south parking lot of Tranquil View. He’d parked next to his SUV, which he promised he’d use to bring her home later.

  “All right?” he asked with a grin as he helped her undo the chinstrap buckle on his helmet. He’d insisted that she wear it and the parka.

  “Me? I’ll survive. Aren’t you freezing?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll turn on the fireplace when we get in the apartment. I have some brandy, too.”

  Brandy sounded great. Anything to settle her nerves sounded wonderful. Worry about her business tanking played with her emotions. One moment she felt in shock, and the next, angry.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “It’s going to be all right. You’re safe and that’s all that matters.”

  Disconcerted, she sighed. “You can see it on my face?”

  “Yeah. You’re stressed out and that’s understandable.”

  They headed into the rotunda lobby and thankfully didn’t see a soul. A little peace and quiet after all the drama would be excellent. They took the elevator to his apartment, and once inside, he poured her a large brandy and settled her on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her. He switched on the gas fireplace and disappeared into his bedroom. She held the brandy snifter between her hands and savored the blanket and fireplace. To say she’d frozen on the way up to Tranquil View described things perfectly. As she lifted the brandy and took a sip, her hands shook again. This was crazy. She needed to get a grip. Her mind bounced from thing to thing as she stared into the flames. How did she end up here again in his care? She needed to nip this intimacy in the bud before she wanted something she couldn’t have. Before long, he returned to the living room in blue sweats, these declaring United States Marine Corps across the front.

  “Feel all right?” he asked as he walked into the kitchen and poured a brandy for himself.

  “Yeah.” She wasn’t sure, but what could she say?

  He sat beside her, but leaned against the arm of the couch and kept a fair distance between them. He didn’t crowd her, and Melissa liked that. She felt like she’d experienced enough overwhelming stimulation for the day. They stayed silent for a long time, sipping their liquor.

  He stared at her over the rim of his glass after he took a sip. “You can take a hot bath in the whirlpool tub in the guest room if you like.”

  God, but that sounded good. “I’ll get a soak later when I get home.” She turned her gaze on him. “Thanks again for bringing me up here.”

  “No problem. There’s probably a lot of people at your apartment taking shelter somewhere else right now. They probably evacuated the whole area.”

  “Do you really think it was a gas explosion?”

  “On a guess, I’d say it makes sense. Old buildings like that are notorious for gas leaks because the pipelines are so old.”

  “Gee, that makes me feel safe.”

  “Doesn’t happen often.” He left his snifter on the coffee table and rose to stand near the fireplace. “Plenty of worse places to be. Gas line stuff is a fluke. You were very, very lucky.” He grabbed the television remote and snapped on the flat screen TV high above the fireplace. “Maybe there’s more on the news.”

  Sure enough, two stations from Denver were covering the explosion. Naturally, the conjecture and supposition ran wild. The reporter made sure the entire event had an extra dramatic flare to it. The gas company had confirmed it was a break in a gas line caused by deterioration. The main strip through town would be closed to all foot and car traffic for at least the next day for cleanup and to assure the entire area was safe.

  “Great. I’m stuck here,” she said.

  He turned the television to a music station and left it there. A smile flickered over his face for a second and he sat on the couch again. “I’ll try not to get too many cooties on you.”

  She made an exasperated sound. “I didn’t mean that. I’ve imposed long enough. I could stay at a hotel.”

  “No need to spend the money. I’ve got plenty of room. You can take the guest room and you have a bathroom all to yourself.”

  “I don’t have any clothes with me. Nothing to sleep in.”

  “If you want, we can head to the mall anytime you want and pick up necessities. Or you can borrow a sweat suit to sleep in, and I have an extra new toothbrush.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t suggest I camp out.”

  He frowned. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  She sighed and put her brandy on the coffee table. She couldn’t seem to stop baiting him, waiting for his big warts to show. “There was a fire in my house when I was five. Dad barely got us out alive. Mom and I were crying our eyes out. Terrified, of course, while our house and all our possessions burned to the ground.” Shivers raced over her skin as she remembered the night like it was yesterday. She closed her eyes and allowed the images to come for her. “I saw my dead grandmother standing nearby. She’d only been gone a year when the fire happened. She was smiling at me like everything was going to be all right. I stood there in my pajamas, crying my eyes out and pointing to where my grandmother was standing. When I told my father what I saw, he told me I was a stupid little girl. That was the last time I ever mentioned being able to see dead people. And he told me if I didn’t stop crying like a little sissy that we’d camp out on the property.”

  She opened her eyes and Roarke stared at her with a serious frown. His brow was slightly wrinkled, and his eyes held anger. “He actually said all that to you?”

  She took a shuddering breath. “Yes.”

  “You were only five.”

  “He started boot camp mentality early.”

  A long silence gathered until he said, “Sounds like we both have fathers that are assholes.”

  She laughed softly. “Your father is that bad?”

  “Yep. I’ve worked my whole life not to be like him.”

  She wondered if that was all true. “You joined the military.”

  He slid down on the couch and stared into the fire dancing in the hearth. “That’s all I have in common with him. I wanted to be in the military from the time I was seven.” He straightened up and reached for his drink. “Stay unless you don’t feel safe with me. You can always lock the guest room door, put a chair under it. Whatever makes you feel safe. Or ... go to the hotel. It’s all up to you.”

  She didn’t respond at first, analyzing her feelings. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “Never.” He swirled his drink and stared into the amber liquid. He caught her gaze and held it.

  A slow burn gathered inside her. “Why are you being nice to me, Roarke? You don’t even like me.”

  “Where did you get that idea?”

  “You’ve been contemptuous of my belief in the paranormal.”

  “Just because I don’t beli
eve in it doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

  That revelation made her feel warm in a few places she probably shouldn’t. She smiled. “At thirty-five I expected to be immune to this.”

  “This?”

  “I like that you want to protect me. But I don’t like that I like it.”

  He didn’t smile, but she saw calmness in his eyes. “Friends protect friends, don’t they?”

  Friends. There. The word stuck out. Plain and simple, he’d defined their relationship so she didn’t have to wonder what he expected. Relief mixed with uncertainty. “It’s a deal. We’re friends.”

  “You don’t trust very easily do you?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  She put off answering by taking a generous sip of her drink. “Lots of reasons. Situations in my life where trust meant getting burned.”

  “What happened?”

  She was surprised he’d asked, but surprised herself more by answering. “My father, like I said, was in the military. He was gone a lot flying. When he came home he was disconnected. He didn’t support what my mother wanted to do. He’s not that into the family life. He spends so much time on his own activities and projects, he’s disconnected from me and my mother most of the time.”

  “You say your parents are conservative?”

  “Fiscally. Not necessarily socially.”

  “You got into trouble as a kid?”

  She cradled the snifter in her hands and drew in the brandy’s heady scent. “I was a juvenile delinquent by the time I was fifteen. I tried pot, and I almost helped my boyfriend steal a car. I talked him out of it.”

  “Uh-huh. I don’t picture you doing that ... I mean being a pain in the ass teenager. Were you trying to get your parents’ attention?”

  “I was trying to get my father’s attention.”

  “You stopped being a delinquent?”

  She stared into the fire, remembering a time and place she tried not to recall often. “After my boyfriend was charged with trying to steal another car, my mother forbid me from seeing him. I didn’t see him again until I was eighteen and by that time I’d started college and thought I’d forgotten all about him. He turned up at college and that’s when—” Realizing she was confessing too much, she stopped.