Joe uttered a harsh laugh. “You really are relentless.”
“Because like it or not I’m involved!” she snapped back at him, summoning what was left of her courage. “And believe me, I’d prefer not to be. But Monday night put me in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ever since, my life has been turned upside down. I’m tired, I’m a nervous wreck and I’m up to my rear end in trouble with my boss. The way I look at it, you owe me an explanation!”
He remained still and quiet, his gaze boring into hers as though he willed to strip away her veneer and see the truth for himself. Then he blurted out, with no inflection whatever, “Garth had the woman I was seeing murdered.”
Debilitated by the man’s relentless inspection, and expecting the worst, the word murdered made Rachel’s legs all but buckle beneath her. She sought and found the support of the cooler tiles behind her. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” But she needed to know now. “Tell me why—please.”
At first he looked as though he would refuse, as though he couldn’t believe he’d said as much as he had. But after a moment he awkwardly began. “Her name was Terri. Terri McCall. She was a remote-camera operator for one of the Houston TV stations.”
“You’re from Texas?” She bit her lip when he scowled at her interruption.
“We were at her place one afternoon when she happened to look out the window and spot Garth going to the apartment across from hers with a woman Terri recognized. Someone who was known to have a strong affiliation to a rapidly growing white supremacy group.”
Rachel didn’t know what to say. Everything she did and everything she focused on was directed to helping people, not on what caused strife or bloodshed. In the end she said nothing.
“Terri grabbed for her personal camcorder and called me to the window at the same time,” Joe continued, clearly caught up in his own memories and pain. A white tension line appeared around his mouth. “She got some great footage. Enough to implicate Garth as being more than casually acquainted with the group. What neither of us realized until too late was that we were both spotted. Before the night was over, Garth had Terri…silenced. But not before she managed to get the tape to me.”
“Is that the tape you think I wanted?” Rachel asked. When he didn’t reply, she drew her own conclusions. “Why haven’t you turned it in to your superiors?”
“Because Garth threatened my partner and his family,” Joe shot back, his expression a mask of fury and pain. “Oliver’s black. Do you understand how ugly it could get? He’s been married barely a year and a half, and his baby girl isn’t four months old. I couldn’t subject him to that kind of danger, so I decided to try disappearing to buy time.”
“Of all the places you could have gone, why here?” Rachel had been in Nooton long enough to have learned it was part of Gideon Garth’s home parish. She’d even heard some sardonic comments that he owned most of it.
“I thought I’d be safest where he felt the most secure.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” As soon as she said the words, she knew. “His declaration to run for the U.S. Senate,” she breathed.
Joe inclined his head, his look unwavering. “And nothing’s going to stop me.”
Rachel tried to take in this new revelation. She felt sorry for his friend. His lover, she amended, feeling a helpless, painful twist inside at the thought of him with another woman. But she also felt a new surge of fear. For him. Joe Becket. Either of them. Both of them.
“Dear heaven, that’s got to be what I’ve been seeing on the bridge night after night,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “You’re going to get yourself killed because of that tape.”
Joe uttered a sound of exasperation or maybe even disgust. “For crying out loud, what’s it going to take for you to stop that nonsense?”
She gave herself a mental shake and offered an apologetic smile. “I agree it’s bizarre. But if you’ll give yourself a chance to think about it, you’ll see it makes as much sense as anything else. I suppose what we should do now is find out when you’re supposed to get shot…and then we can focus on how to stop it.”
“Do you hear what you’re saying?” Joe said, making no pretense of hiding his scorn.
Rachel nodded, rubbing her arms because she suddenly felt cold again. “Yes. But I feel he’s the only one who can give us any answers.”
“Wait a minute,” Joe said warily. “Who can?”
As though she’d been racing down a road only to find herself at a dead end, Rachel realized that not only was Joe totally confused about what she’d been telling him, he had no intention of opening his mind to any possibilities, either.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“You,” Rachel told him gently. “Or specifically the you on the bridge. I’m going back there tonight and see if I can learn more.”
“I must’ve been nuts to think you would play straight with me.”
His anger was understandable, if disappointing. Rachel had to rely on her greater, although modest, knowledge of the situation in order not to let it defeat her. Finished with his hand, she reached for and began rinsing out her stained shirt. “I know it’s hard for you to—”
“Not hard,” he ground out. “Impossible.”
“Yes.” How well she understood; up until Monday she thought she had a cool, logical mind herself. “I’m still finding myself looking back to my chemistry and psychiatry classes for something that might explain this. And on Tuesday, when no one was looking, I actually ran some tests on myself to make sure I hadn’t developed something that was making me hallucinate.”
So she most definitely understood how this mystery was thrusting Joe in unfamiliar, unwelcome territory. Unlike her, he hadn’t had the added benefit or influence of seeing the apparition and was no doubt feeling at a loss as to how to deal with this. It was too abstract. Too uncontrollable.
Which was why, when she finally hung the shirt over the shower rod to dry, she was neither surprised, nor did she resist as he took hold of her wrist and pulled her down the hall. She simply snatched up her bag and let him.
Once they were back in his room, Joe quickly released her. Not missing the undercurrents of that, Rachel placed her bag on the floor by the bureau and gave him the space he seemed to need by setting herself on the far side of the room against the wall by the window. Joe remained posted by the door. At least this time he didn’t close and lock it, she thought. Every extra bit of air helped keep her from feeling suffocated.
“You don’t have to stand guard,” she told him, unable to keep totally silent about the way things looked. “I’m willing to stay…at least until around 1:00 a.m.”
“You’re not going anywhere then either.”
“I have to. I told you, it’s our only chance to learn more.”
She was pushing her luck; he let her know it by shooting her a hard look from under his dark eyebrows. But she also saw him finger the package of cigarettes in his pocket. It gave her the courage to try another approach.
“There’s another alternative to arguing,” she murmured, careful to keep her voice low and empathetic. “You can come with me.”
He laughed. It wasn’t a reassuring sound. “Just what I want, an escort to an ambush.”
“What’s it going to take to convince you that I am not involved with those people?” she cried, leaning toward him.
“Someone else confirming your story, for one thing.”
“You don’t ask for much.”
“Uh-huh. Isn’t it slightly strange that no one else has seen anything out of the ordinary going on up there, except you?”
“Yes, it’s bothered me. And I’ve come to the conclusion that if someone has, they’re afraid to say anything for fear of being ridiculed. Then again, the phenomenon seems to happen strictly at night. In the three days I’ve been seeing you—it,” she amended, when he again glowered at her, “I’ve only seen two trucks crossing the bridge. Considering the speed they were going, and add to it the poor visibility, I have to face the pro
bability that I’m the sole witness.”
“How convenient.”
Rachel sighed and combed her hands through her hair. “So what do we do now?” she asked, as silence stretched between them. “Just stand here and stare at each other?”
“Have a seat, if you want.”
She glanced at the bed. The thought of curling up and shutting her eyes and mind for a few hours was more than a little appealing, but she couldn’t. Not on his bed—it reminded her too much of the way they’d been lying there before. To keep her imagination in check, she went to the chair by the bureau and removed several days’ worth of newspapers piled there, dumping them on the floor.
Once she sat down and stretched her legs before her, Joe slid to the floor, his back braced against the doorjamb, his view of her unimpeded. Rachel considered his quiet scrutiny and knew she needed some other questions answered. “Do you watch me a lot?”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on everyone.”
“That must cut into your rest a great deal.”
“I’m not going to fall asleep, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”
His sarcasm did nothing to offset the chemistry churning between them; on the contrary, it amplified it. Rachel decided to use the chemistry, because without some powerful impetus, she and Joe had little hope of achieving any real communication.
“I’m not,” she said. “I just feel sorry for you, that’s all.”
“Well, don’t.”
She waited a few seconds before asking, “Don’t you want to know why?”
“Did you hear me ask?”
Ignoring the rebuke, she continued, “Up until this week I’d always assumed cops found the role of voyeur as natural, maybe even entertaining in a way, but I think it’s been difficult for you. I mean, following my every move, but fighting not to get emotionally involved.”
“Fishing for a compliment, Doctor?”
“No. I’m trying to tell you that I know you’re being deliberately cruel as a result of your ambivalent feelings toward me.”
“Ambivalent? And what makes you think they’re that? No,” he said, grimacing. “Let me guess. You’re going to say ‘hindsight’?”
Rachel nodded. “Whenever he’s looked at me, talked to me…there’s been an instant intimacy between us that’s poignant as well as comfortable. I’ve come to the conclusion that it couldn’t exist if you were going to continue chewing me up and spitting me out as you’ve been doing.”
Joe leaned his head back against the doorjamb with a thump and shut his eyes. “What’s it going to take to convince you that I don’t want to hear any more of this?”
“Let me go see him tonight,” Rachel said again, sitting forward eagerly in her chair. “And come with me. See for yourself what’s happening.”
“Nothing’s happening except that you’re driving me nuts.”
She sprang from her chair and crossed to him. At the door she hunkered down so they were eye to eye. “You have to trust someone sooner or later.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“Yes, you do, Joe. What’s more, I think I’m your last hope.”
She could no more keep from touching him than she could block from her mind the memory of those heart-wrenching scenes on the bridge. The man might have huge walls built around his emotions to keep her out, but she had only to touch his wrist to feel his pulse leap and she knew—she knew—something strong and important bound them.
“Are you really?”
The feel of him grasping her hand and pressing something unpleasantly slick against her palm had her nearly falling on her backside. She wasn’t aware he’d picked it up again until she found herself staring at Jewel’s balled-up candle wax.
Joe watched Rachel throw it to the floor and rub her palm against her thigh. “Get rid of that thing,” she said. “Please.”
Instead he scooped it up and, fascinated by her wary and repulsed expression, began tossing the ball in the air, then catching it. “Why, Doctor, don’t tell me you actually believe in the voodoo queen’s mumbo jumbo?”
“It reminds me of that hideous thing she keeps in her pantry.”
Joe’s interest sharpened. “You’ve seen what’s in there?”
“Unfortunately. There’s a shrine around something she calls ‘Black Hawk.’ She treats it like some…deity, but it has to be the most gruesome thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, well. So we agree on something, after all. I don’t know whether to be reassured or concerned.”
Rachel frowned. “When did you see it? Jewel doesn’t usually encourage visitors to her kitchen.” Before he could reply, realization lit her face. “The beer.”
“I keep myself alert by trying to get in and out of there without her catching me. For all she knows, her spooks are ripping her off.”
“Don’t you think she’s figured it out when she finds the empty cans up here?” she replied, her tone turning as droll as her expression.
“I usually carry them to the garage inside a rolled-up section of newspaper.” Joe thought about his encounter with Jewel’s icon and allowed a grim smile. “Spotting old Black Hawk, as you called him, must’ve taken ten years off my life.”
It was the fading of Rachel’s own smile that made him realize what he’d said, and Joe’s fleeting humor went out like a snuffed candle. The thought that he probably didn’t have ten days, let alone ten years, made him wish he had an entire six pack right now, and that the few brief moments of camaraderie they’d just shared could have lasted longer. Life, he concluded dismally, was getting damned stingy with its gifts.
“You know, sometimes I’ve heard footsteps in the hallway…or at least I’ve thought I have. I feel better realizing they must have been you.”
She sounded almost shy, a dangerously appealing dimension to a woman he was learning could be multifaceted at will. God, he needed to get out of here before he gave in and made a fool of himself with her. But there was nowhere to go—at least, not yet. A few days from now would be another story. Garth’s deadline to announce his candidacy was only days away. He thought if he could survive just a few more days…
Crushing the wax in his fist, he said, “I want to believe you, but this is my life we’re talking about here…Rachel.”
A myriad of emotions flooded her lovely eyes—surprise, pleasure, hope…gratitude. And then she surprised him by placing her palms together and touching her clasped hands to her lips as though in prayer.
“I know,” she whispered. “Believe me, I do know.”
Maybe. But where did that leave him? He knew her to be correct on one point—he wasn’t going to get through this without someone else’s help, even if only to have that person running interference for him, keeping the duchess and the voodoo queen off his back, and the like.
He eyed the black ball. Was Rachel the one to do that for him? Could his instincts be so off that he could want her to the extreme that he became blind to what lay beyond that desire? Up until this mess, he’d always been such a sharp judge of people.
“Ask me any question you want,” Rachel said, scrambling closer and onto her knees. “Make any condition you want. I’ll swear on anything you want that I’ll stay in here with you without complaining. You can even handcuff me to the bedpost, if you want.”
“This is not a good time to tell me you’re into kinky stuff, Doctor,” Joe drawled, because bad humor was a helluva lot safer than telling her how the idea and her rapt expression appealed to him.
“Please, Joe. Come with me to the bridge tonight. Let me see if I can make contact one more time.”
Maybe if she hadn’t used his name, his first name, he might have found the will to resist. But she did, and it sounded so right coming from her lips that his masochistic mind replayed it again and again; all the while he saw her, them together, a tangle of limbs, a blending of shuddering breaths, until reality and fantasy became a red blur of need.
He exhaled in pain. “One condition.”
“Anything.”
He uttered another silent oath as his body reacted swiftly to her offer. “I don’t want to hear another word about…about what you think we’ll…”
“Do?”
“Exactly.”
Rachel’s glance dropped down to the ball he was caressing with his thumb. “All right. May I have that?”
“No. I’m going to go flush it down the commode. You got a problem with that?”
“Since I had a similar idea, none whatsoever. I’ll wait here.”
That reminded him of his gun, and the tape he’d noticed she hadn’t yet located. As much as he hoped she wouldn’t use his absence to try to reach either, he would be a fool to assume anything. “On second thought—” he tossed the hunk of wax to her “—who am I to deny a lady?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Are you okay?”
Rachel’s question had Joe drawing in a deep breath—to purge some of the tension strangling him as much as to replenish himself with the night’s moist air. After checking the gun tucked in the waistband of his jeans, he replied, “Yeah, but I’d feel even better if we were away from the porch light.”
Fog or no fog, it made them sitting ducks; so, allowing himself to barely touch Rachel’s arm, he directed her up the dirt road to blend in with the elements. Except for a quick glance that told him she’d noticed his restraint, she obliged him. She moved with the sleek, smooth speed he couldn’t help but admire. Having repressed his awareness of her for over twelve hours now, he told himself that at any moment he should be adjusting to the psychological torture. He was more than ready. But he felt as though he was carrying a lead weight in his belly. No doubt the sandwiches they’d eventually gotten from downstairs helped. But it had less to do with the fact that he disliked the bread the voodoo queen had used than his inability to ignore his feelings for Rachel.
She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
“What’s up?” Joe asked, instantly alert and peering into the dense night. All his senses were keyed to sense trouble before it found them. When he didn’t notice anything, he demanded, “What’s wrong with you?”
Night Mist Page 11
