Night Mist

by Helen R. Myers

  Yes, he hated wanting her. If the day came when she realized how fast and thoroughly his craving for her had grabbed hold, it would give her a power that could destroy him. But he didn’t know how to shut it off. More accurately, the harder he tried the less he succeeded.

  “Finish,” he said thickly.

  Did she see the internal war he was waging with himself? Whatever the reason, she seemed to relax. Relieved, Joe withdrew his hand. She appeared grateful, too, and retreated to the far side of the bed where she leaned against the window frame. But even that distance wasn’t far enough for him to ignore the droplets of moisture pooling at the hollow of her throat, or the debilitating impulse he felt to absorb that liquid with his lips and tongue.

  “I walked,” she said again. She crossed her arms beneath her firm breasts. “The town was more quiet than usual. The lounge had already closed and most of the traffic was gone. No doubt the weather had something to do with that, since the mist had already settled in. You might recall it started moving in around nightfall. I remember taking a coffee break and watching it descend almost in slow motion.”

  “You can skip the melodrama. I don’t spook easily.”

  “I used to say the same thing,” she replied, casting him a look he almost believed was sympathetic. Then she refocused on the view out the window. “As I began across the bridge, the mist grew so dense, it seeped through my clothes and clung to my skin. I could barely see two steps in front of me. And that’s when I heard it. I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”

  “Heard what?”

  “A man’s gasping voice call, ‘Help me!’”

  Joe watched Rachel absently rub away the goose bumps on her arms. At that instant he was convinced she’d forgotten he even existed. “What did you do?” he asked, despite the tingling he could feel at the back of his neck and along his arms.

  “What I’m trained to do when someone’s been hurt. I ran to find him.”

  “Did you?”

  “Oh, yes. He was on the opposite side of the road, lying against one of the steel buttresses.”

  “Who was he?”

  She closed her eyes. Just when Joe wondered if he had to repeat the question, she said in a lower pitch, “I didn’t know. Not at first. Being relatively new in town, all I could tell was that I hadn’t seen him at the clinic or anywhere else. I only knew his condition was critical, so I crouched down, intent on helping him any way I could. But the moment I reached for him,” she added, her voice growing tense, “the moment my fingertips…” She shook her head and met his direct gaze. “He vanished.”

  Joe felt as though she’d turned a firehose on him. “He what?”

  “I know it sounds incredible, but please hear me out.” She pressed a hand flat to her chest. “Believe me, by the time I got back here, I had myself convinced the whole thing had been a figment of my imagination. But the next day I woke to find the weather the same. That was still all right, except that during the day more and more people started commenting about how unusual it was for this time of year and, naturally, it made it virtually impossible to put the incident behind me.”

  She paused, but Joe remained silent, determined not to help her make a fool out of him.

  “Well, after closing the clinic I got to walk back here again. I was glad, hoping it would quiet my over-active imagination, as well as resolve my doubts once and for all.”

  “You’re not suggesting it happened again?”

  “No, not suggesting. It happened. Except that I was a little earlier this time. Not much, maybe a minute or so.” She looked directly at him, but made him feel as though he was as transparent as refrigerator wrap. “It made a difference, at least in that he was somewhat more coherent. But also as before, when I tried to help him, he vanished.”

  Joe uttered a short, disgusted laugh. “I deserve this.”

  “Don’t get angry.”

  “Angry? Lady, I should—”

  “Listen to me!” She left the window and rounded the bed. “Yesterday I got a hunch. I thought, What would happen if I closed the clinic a few minutes earlier? Would he still be there? Would I arrive at a point where we could communicate more? My curiosity was relentless. I don’t think I slept more than a half hour all night. By morning, when I saw the weather hadn’t changed, I decided I was going to try it.”

  Joe thought that must have gone over real well with the hierarchy.

  “It was a risk,” she said, as though reading his mind. “One I’m paying for now. What I said to Jewel is only partly true. Sammy does think I’m suffering from fatigue. But the reason he’s put me on mandatory leave is because I closed early and…and because I wouldn’t tell him why.”

  What could he possibly say? That he was sorry? That nothing had changed and he still thought she was crazier than those two troublesome females downstairs?

  “Was it worth it?” he found himself muttering.

  “Frighteningly so.” She moistened her lips, winced and touched the bruised one fleetingly. “Because my hunch was right. I reached him while he was still standing. Shot, like before, but standing. Once again he called out, but…this time when I approached him, he said my name as though he knew me. As though we were…as though we’d known each other for some time. Then,” she added, bowing her head, “he said something that was even stranger.”

  Joe uttered a brief, harsh laugh. “So far everything you’ve said defies credibility.”

  “He begged me not to come back here,” she continued, the urgency in her voice growing. “Not to meet someone. He said he was beginning to understand some of what was happening and that he didn’t want me involved. And then…then he touched me. I’d been determined not to make contact with him, despite the obvious pain he was suffering, but I couldn’t get out of reach fast enough. Just as his fingers brushed against my cheek, he disappeared again.”

  As though rising from a trance, she looked at him, her expression bruised-looking but direct. That, as much as anything else, edged Joe toward fury.

  “What’s supposed to happen now? Do you expect me to tell you that I believe you?” he ground out. “Well, I don’t.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then why waste my time?”

  “Because that poor soul on the bridge had suffered a gunshot wound to the stomach,” she cried, her hands clenching into fists. “Oh, God, do I have to spell it out for you? When I asked him his name, he told me he was you! Joe Becket.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Twice now she’d managed to knock him off balance and twice he’d stood there and let her do it. With his hands placed on his hips, Joe counted nails in the hardwood floor. It seemed a lot safer than shaking the truth out of her.

  “Maybe you think I’ve been smelling too many fumes from those diesel trucks racing up and down that road out there,” he said at last, “but, lady, I’ve got news for you. I’m not far enough gone to buy into what you’re selling.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Knock it off!” he roared, needing an outlet for his temper and taking it out on the open closet door. He’d meant to slam it shut, but instead missed, slicing his palm against the edge. With a curse he was sure the good doctor had never heard in the refined halls of her privileged home, he grabbed his hand and bent at the waist.

  “Now you’ve done it,” she muttered, rushing to his side.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “It’s probably bleeding again.”

  Hell, it should be falling off, considering how it felt. The strobe lights hadn’t stopped flashing in front of his eyes yet, but he felt a telling dampness beneath the gauze, confirming she was right.

  “Come with me into the bathroom and I’ll see how bad the damage is.”

  He thought his bitter, answering laugh delineated his slim hold of his control. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough? No, of course not. You won’t be satisfied until I’m dead, will you?”

  “Need I remind you that you’re the one who’s been threatenin
g me?”

  “Keep it up and I promise I’ll do more than threaten.” Despite her stung expression, he held on to his ire. “You’re either ringy as hell or one helluva lousy actress. Whichever, get this—I don’t need or want a Florence Nightingale in my life. Insist on sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, and you’re asking for major trouble. Understand?”

  “I’m going to get my bag.”

  But before she could do more than unbolt the lock, he had her spun around and pressed flat against the enameled-white door. He held her there with his body to save his hand. “I’m the one who says where you’re going and when,” he said, his face so close to hers he could count the charcoal-brown lashes on her eyelids.

  There’d been more than a few hard-core felons who had backed down from him when he’d been in this mood; Rachel Gentry merely met his glare with shaky but impressive determination. “Or else what?”

  Her solemn defiance ate away at his resolve in the same way her sleek curves tempted needs and dreams long repressed. “You don’t want to know,” he countered, a simmering something compelling him to skim his hand over her cheek and down her throat. But the moment he saw the streak of blood he left on her shirt, it stunted his temper and ardor like a blunt hatchet. He recoiled, staring.

  After noting the damage herself, she murmured, “I’ll go change. I can rinse this out after we see to your hand.”

  This time he didn’t stop her, but he didn’t give her any privacy, either. He followed, halting in the doorway of her room because, he reasoned, she might have a gun herself.

  She went straight to her dresser, self-conscious—he saw that in the arrow-straight line of her back—but unbuttoning her blouse regardless. It gave him the strategic benefit of a dual view, thanks to the dresser’s mirror. He wasn’t, however, willing to admit that he’d been fantasizing about finding himself in a moment like this for a long while.

  She pulled open the top drawer and, reaching inside, lifted her gaze to his in the mirror. The glass was old, the kind that darkened with time and tended to create a surreal, shadowy reflection rather than a real one. It made the moment all the more dangerous—and erotic. How far would she go either way? he wondered, mesmerized.

  Ever so slowly, purposefully, Rachel brought out a violet-blue tank top and placed it on the dresser. No fast moves. He admired how quickly she understood the rules. After carefully sliding shut the drawer, she eased the blouse off her shoulders, leaving her in only a woman’s white T-shirt.

  Maybe she understood them too well, he thought, his mouth going dry. When she pulled the shirt from the waistband of her jeans in an unhurried glide, he had his answer.

  Desire slithered through him. It felt like a snake in writhing torment.

  Still, he watched.

  Her arms crossed, she lifted the top, exposing smooth skin and a shape that had as many angles as it did subtle curves. It gave her a focused sensuality that spoke to him far too fluently.

  Still he absorbed.

  Exposed to the heavy, damp air and his gaze, her nipples beaded. When she finally drew the shirt off in one fluid sweep, he saw they were also toffee brown and small, and his desire became as ruthless as a dull knife. It dug deep into his gut…deeper, until he sought relief by imagining himself closing the distance between them, cupping her from behind, caressing the tight buds, and learning how long it took to make her come apart while they both watched.

  Still he stayed rooted in place.

  By the time she slipped the tank top over her head, he was as taut as blistered skin. But he endured the bittersweet eternity it took her to finish tucking the hem neatly into her jeans before drawling, “Not the shy type, are you?” although his throat felt fresh from a dip in a blasting furnace.

  “You’re the one calling the shots.”

  Rachel wondered if he would feel the heat of her embarrassment as she passed him and stepped into the hall. One thing was for certain—she didn’t dare analyze what had compelled her to behave so outrageously. Not that she’d ever thought of herself as a prude. No female raised in a male-dominated family, who’d gone into a male-dominated profession, could walk away with any puritan attitudes intact. But she shouldn’t have been so blatant, so intentionally provoking, just because he’d made her angry and had hurt her feelings.

  Face it. Realizing he has to be Joe is making you lose it.

  It was true. Subjected to the juxtapositioning of realities, she felt trapped in a psychological web. When she looked into this Joe’s eyes, no matter how angry he seemed to get at her, she kept having flashes of the other Joe and how he gazed at her with torment and yearning. It left her confused and too vulnerable.

  Rachel entered the bathroom and set her bag on the tub. “What’s going to happen now?” she asked, turning to deal with the man’s dislike as well as his wound.

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  After loosening the adhesive strips, she began unwrapping the gauze. “You can’t keep me hostage up here.”

  “Can’t I? You said yourself that you’re not expected at the clinic.”

  “What about your own job?”

  “I got away to check on what you were up to. Mudcat’s not going to doubt me if I tell him that my doctor insists I need some time off for this to heal,” he said, nodding at his injury.

  “All right, but then there’s Jewel. She’s suspicious of you. What if she goes to the police?”

  “Something tells me that she doesn’t like dealing with them any more than they must like dealing with her. In any case, you’d better pray she doesn’t do anything foolish.”

  For a moment Rachel gauged his threat, but finally sighed and tossed the soiled gauze into the trash. “I’m not going to fight you.”

  “Smart decision.”

  “But I have one condition.”

  “I make the conditions.”

  “Tell me why you came here.”

  “Why did you?”

  Confused, she shook her head. “You know why. I have a contract committing me to the clinic.”

  “Maybe that’s your cover. What’s your connection to Gideon Garth?”

  Rachel thought she’d heard wrong. “The state senator?”

  “Soon to be U.S. senator if he has anything to say about it. Are you going to tell me that as the daughter of one of Washington’s most powerful lobbyists you’ve never made his acquaintance?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’ve always made a point to avoid my father’s business connections.”

  “What if I told you that I saw you talking to Garth’s right-hand man this morning?”

  She gave up trying to concentrate on the task at hand and stared at him. What in the world…? Oh.

  Joe Becket smiled without humor. “What’s the matter, giving up? You don’t want to try to convince me that you don’t know Wade Maddox either?”

  “Actually, I do know him. Not well, but more than I’d care to.” The uneasiness she’d felt while in Maddox’s company returned anew, and she didn’t bother trying to hide her revulsion. “He brought someone into the clinic one night. The man’s injuries looked suspicious, but when I questioned him about it, he dismissed them as a joke.”

  “And your meeting with him on the bridge?”

  So, he’d been watching then, too. “That was a coincidence.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing. He was just…talking.”

  Joe’s mouth flattened into a hard, cruel line. “If you expect me to try to trust you at all, you’d better start again.”

  “He wanted us to go out, okay?”

  “And what was your answer?” Joe snapped back.

  “What do you think it was?” Exasperated with the man, she secured the new bandage a little more tightly than she’d intended.

  Joe swore and jerked free of her grasp. “Watch it.”

  “No, you watch it. Maybe I’m beginning to understand your need to be cautious about people, but I resent being linked to that—
” she couldn’t find a word that adequately described Wade Maddox “—person.”

  “I suppose you are more Garth’s type.”

  “Detective…” she ground out.

  Before she could finish, he had one arm snaked around her waist; he jerked her close and clamped his good hand to her mouth so tightly she could barely breathe. “Don’t call me that, damn it! Especially, not by an open door right above a frigging stairwell.”

  The speed and violence with which he’d moved once again exposed her to a ruthless side of him that she’d hoped was for intimidation only. But she was beginning to suspect she might be wrong. Knowing there was no way he could miss the subtle trembling of her body, she averted her gaze in defeat.

  Slowly, he removed the hand over her mouth. Their bodies, however, remained intimately locked together as an unignorable threat.

  “My God,” she whispered, as a terrible revelation swept over her. “Please don’t tell me this trouble you’re in is because you did something wrong?” Although she hadn’t known him long enough to feel such things, she knew with a certainty that was as bitter as a cold winter morning that she would be devastated to hear it.

  “Oh, that’s good. That’s very good,” Joe drawled. “Play innocent until you learn where the tape is. I’ve got to hand it to Garth, he really hit gold by hiring you for this job.”

  The man was beginning to sound like a broken record, and she was getting heartily sick of it. “I told you, I’m not…What tape? Is this about blackmail?”

  “No. Justice. I’m going to bring the SOB to his knees for what he did to a friend of mine. And for what he’s planning to do to his constituents and this country. That is, if I can stay alive long enough. But believe me, if I don’t, it won’t be because I let you put a knife or a bullet in my belly.”

  Rachel decided it would be a waste of breath to declare her innocence again. On the contrary, she wanted, needed more information. “Why don’t you tell me what he’s done?” she suggested instead.