His fingers tightened on her shoulders. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Not the word Justice the way he’d said before without giving it any thought. That’s probably what he’d programmed himself to believe.
She closed her eyes and gave in to the solid strength of him. His arms went more fully around her. She could feel him breathe deeper, but not in the same sexually charged way when he’d kissed her. This was softer breathing, laced with resignation. His arms tightened, and she felt his cheek rest against the top of her head.
It was that moment when she knew what was most important to her. Not her work. Not her parental guidance campaign. Only to be held like this. To love, and be loved back, a foundation for everything else.
He hadn’t answered her, but she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, he was coming to the same conclusion. If he admitted it out loud, he couldn’t take it back. She had to get him to say the word. Not justice.
Love.
“Chris,” she said, using the shortened version for the first time. The accessible version. He tightened his hold. She wanted to stay there, but she needed to see his face. She backed away enough to look up at him. There was something raw in his expression. Say the word, Chris. Say it.
That’s when she saw movement in her peripheral vision. She turned in time to see eyes set in a gold mask surrounded by black feathers.
“Someone’s out there! On the balcony,” she said in an urgent whisper.
He jerked around to catch the shadow of someone running toward the end of the balcony. “Stay put and lock the door,” he ordered and rushed out to give chase. She ran to the doorway, frozen in fear at the thought of someone standing there watching them.
Christopher climbed over the railing and dropped to the ground. With her heart pounding, she ran to the edge of the balcony and tried to see what was going on. His dark form raced through the courtyard and struggled through the tangle of trees at the corner. Then he disappeared, and his footsteps faded into the distance. Suddenly she felt vulnerable and alone, standing where some masked stranger had stood.
“Oh, my God, the door… it was open.” She remembered the French door in Christopher’s room, the drawings on the floor…as though someone was about to abscond with them. A shiver shook her. She’d been in the room just seconds after the stranger had been. Stranger…and murderer.
She couldn’t tear away from the railing where she watched for Christopher’s return. Her fingers gripped the ironwork so tight the edge bit into her palm.
Was this what it felt like to care about someone? To experience this nerve-shattering fear that they would be hurt, that they might never come back?
“Chris, please be all right.”
She listened to the sounds of the night: the rustle of wind in the trees, music, voices, laughter. People having fun while Christopher chased some shadow into the darkness of New Orleans.
Like her terrified run to save him from his alleged jump, fear settled into her being. This was far worse. Last time the villain would have been Christopher’s despair.
This time the villain was an unknown evil. And Christopher was in real danger.
CHAPTER 15
Christopher walked back through the trees, limping but in one piece. He saw Rita at the balcony. Her body sagged when she saw him, relief palpable in her eyes.
He stopped below her and looked up. “I want you to go home.”
He hadn’t even caught his breath yet when she opened the kitchen door to let him in a minute later. He had the crazy urge to hold her but held back, mostly because she looked like she was contemplating the same thing.
She opened her mouth to say something, but he beat her to it, emphasizing each word. “I want you to go home.”
“Why?” She sounded breathless, too, but it was her bewilderment that stuck to him.
I can’t do this again. The pressure in his chest had nothing to do with exertion or the ankle he’d twisted. The feeling that she’d been followed, the guy knowing she was staying in a house, the missing letter opener, this creepy Xanadu thing…it added up to something sinister. He could not let her get dragged into it.
He turned on the lights in the courtyard. The shadows from the branches reached like fingers across the floor. He pushed her back against the refrigerator and blocked her with his body as he watched the backyard. He detected no movement out of the ordinary.
“What is going on?” she whispered, soft and afraid and too damned close to his ear.
He turned to her, planting a hand on either side of her face. He wanted to kiss away the fear. Instead he had to compound it. “I don’t know. I lost the guy in the crowd for the parade.”
“The guy?”
“Ran like a guy. If it was a woman, she’s in damned good shape.”
“Aris was pretty fit.”
“Yeah, but what about the guy who wanted to walk you home? He may be involved in this, too.”
“We can’t discount him, but we can’t be sure he’s involved, either.” She took him in. “Are you all right? You were limping.”
“I twisted my ankle when I jumped. I’m fine.” Her concern wrapped around him. What was most important? Justice, his brain screamed. Justice and keeping her safe. “I’m fine,” he repeated, and felt her muscles relax. “You were right. Something is going on here, and it probably has to do with whatever Xanadu is. This Sira has been in the house.”
“I know. When I went to get the sketches from your room, the door to the balcony was open. I thought the wind had opened it.”
“No, in the house before tonight.” He held up the letter opener with the ‘X’ on it. “Look what he dropped.”
“Who has access to this house?”
He shrugged. “Someone at the hotel, maybe. Anyone with a pick kit.”
“Emmagee has a key, and she’s certainly in good shape.”
He shook his head. “I’ve known her most of my life. I can’t see her involved in something like this.”
“But you haven’t been in touch with her for years.”
He hadn’t really known her that well. She’d been the tagalong younger sister of a friend and a bit of a tomboy misfit. “I’m going to get a locksmith over to change the locks tonight.”
“Should we call Connard now that we have something?”
He couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped. “The police are no help. Not without proof.” He could see another woman begging the police to help her. He pushed away the memory. “All we’ve got is our story about someone lurking outside the balcony, maybe a woman who we know was in the house, but we can’t prove it.” He looked away, trying to control the anger and feelings of helplessness raging through him. Not this time.
“You’re right, I suppose. Connard already thinks I’m a kook.”
“Go home. I’ll keep digging and keep you posted.”
She was shaking her head. “I can’t sit back a thousand miles away and wonder what’s going on. I can’t leave.”
“Stubborn, narrow-minded—are you plain out stupid?” He held up the letter opener. “It’s not a knife, but it would do in a pinch.”
Instead of being afraid, she asked, “What if there were fingerprints on it?”
He let out an agitated breath. “She wore gloves. I couldn’t see any skin at all. Besides, this isn’t a common criminal we’re dealing with. We don’t even know what we’re dealing with or what she wants. Even worse, there may be two of them. Rita, you have to go.” His voice had gone hoarse with those last words, and he could see her expression as she detected desperation.
In a soft voice, she asked, “What are you afraid of?”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She reached out and touched his raspy cheek. “I’ll be all right.”
He closed his eyes at her touch. Her hand was cool, yet her skin burned into him and made him want to press up against her and kiss her the way he’d really wanted to up in his room. He wanted to shake her silly and tell h
er that her promise was useless.
He’d only known this woman for mere days, yet she had him so twisted up, so worried now that her delusions weren’t…delusions. He removed her hand from his cheek before he did something rash, like he’d done earlier, but he didn’t let go. Her hand was small and soft. He squeezed it in his grip.
“Do you know what it’s like to have someone stalking you? Do you know what it’s like to live in constant fear, knowing he wants to kill you, knowing he’s ruined your life without even touching you? But that’s not enough for him. No one can help you, not the police or your parents or your friends. And even though you promise to be careful, to stay alive, you know deep down inside that he’ll probably get you anyway.”
She tugged her hand free. “You’re not talking about me, are you?”
He turned away from her. “Just go home.”
“No.” She stepped in front of him. “This isn’t about me at all.”
“Oh, yes, it is.”
“All right, but it’s about someone else, too. The reason you put sea monsters in your moat, I’ll bet.”
He walked away to call the hospital and warn the guard to keep a sharper eye out than usual. Rita hovered nearby, fear shadowing her eyes. Good. She needed to be scared, and more precisely, scared away. He walked into the parlor where the light from the chandelier washed down over the room. He heard the sound of her breathing, felt her warmth as she took hold of his arm. She looked beautiful, ready to fight him, ready to pull out his heart and tackle every tear and hole with needle and thread.
“I’m not even thinking about leaving until you tell me why you’re so adamant that I go.”
He held his breath for a moment before releasing it. “If you stay, then I’ll be responsible for you. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone again, but especially not you.”
“Why me, especially?”
Why did he want to hold her when all she wanted to do was drag answers out of him? “I don’t know why. Maybe because I know you, because—”
“I remind you of her?”
“No.” Even he did not want to examine why. “It’s as plain as chicken broth. My brother was into something, and someone may have tried to kill him because of it. We don’t even know what this someone looks like, other than your description of the nurse and possibly the guy who tried to escort you home. This person is not going to stop at Brian to get whatever it is she wants.” He lowered his voice. “And if you’re in the way, you’ll be killed.”
He let that sink in and hoped to God he’d convinced her to go.
“My motivation for staying isn’t as clear as broth,” she said at last. “It’s as murky as gumbo. I can’t leave until I know what happened to Brian and why. He came to me in the gray place, and I believe he asked for my help.”
“You’ve convinced me that he was pushed. Mission accomplished. Time to pack up and go. Bye, have a nice trip.”
She looked away, then back at him. “But I’m involved now. With Brian. And with you.”
It was happening all over again, that feeling of falling into a dark pit, his hands scrabbling for purchase. Not knowing what awaited him at the bottom. “Let me handle this.”
Damned stubborn woman was shaking her head. “I can’t leave. I can’t. I’m not going to end up like her, whoever she is. You’re going to have to accept that. But you don’t have to accept responsibility for me. I don’t want you to.” She wrapped her arms around herself but dropped them again. “I’ve been taking responsibility for my life for a long time, for my risks, fears and hurts. I’m not letting you take that away now. This is my choice, my decision.”
“Damn you, Rita.” Not only for staying, but for parting with those words that revealed too much of her soul.
She winced at his words, at the passion in them that surprised even him. He walked away from her, wishing he could walk away from all of this. But he owed Brian, and he certainly couldn’t leave Rita to handle it alone.
Outside, remnants from the crowd wandered in the streets, loaded down with beads, not a care in the world other than planning for the next parade. Someone out there lurked with other intentions, ones he couldn’t fathom. He turned around.
She was still standing by the bottom of the stairs, watching him with those analyzing blue eyes. Maybe once he could have stalked toward her and intimidated her into backing down, but something had changed since that first day here in the parlor. She had grown stronger.
He had one last chance to sway her, and it had nothing to do with his stature or venom. All he had to do was keep the pain from his voice, keep the armor tight around him. He stayed in the shadows, checking outside the window for movement.
“Her name was Sherry. Her ex-boyfriend was stalking her.”
He didn’t want Rita close while he told the story, but she walked over anyway. She kept a distance of a few feet, leaning against one of the gilt-edged chairs. He didn’t—couldn’t—look at her now, focusing instead on the lit stairs winding up to the balcony behind her. His gaze strayed to the two swords, increasing the ache in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to see the apprehension on her face or what he thought was concern in her eyes. He wanted to hate her for making him go this far.
“Damen wouldn’t leave her alone. She’d come home and find him sitting in her apartment waiting for her. We were friends, and she came to me for help. The police couldn’t do anything until he actually made a move toward her. The restraining order only pissed him off more, and he did everything he could to let her know he’d been within five hundred feet of her.
“I moved her into my apartment and later…into my bed. I thought she was safe there. I didn’t want to get a gun, or any kind of weapon, not after what happened with the swords. I was stupid enough to think he’d give up when he couldn’t get her alone. We were going to wait him out. I promised to keep her alive.” He swallowed, finding a wad of virtual cotton lodged there. They had made love hours before she died. “And she promised to be careful, to stay alive.”
Rita wrapped her arms around herself. Maybe he was getting to her. Maybe tearing out his guts would be worth it.
He continued. “Damen hated being kept from anything he wanted. I didn’t know he had a full set of locksmith tools. While we were at work, he picked his way into the apartment and unlocked a window so that when he was ready, he could simply nudge it open. He picked the room in the back where he could enter undetected. This time he wasn’t going to leave a tantalizing clue. This time he was going to make sure no one kept him from Sherry again.
“She had nightmares. I left a nightlight on for her.” He took a breath, gathering strength for the demons that would come in the form of memories. The demons that still haunted his nightmares, that lifted their heads and growled every time he saw the scar. “When I heard her scream, I thought she was dreaming again. Until I saw the knife coming at me.”
She gasped, covered her mouth.
“I shoved her out of the way and threw myself at him, not knowing he’d already stabbed her. When I saw her blood, and heard her crying, I wanted to kill him. She needed my help, but I had to deal with the bastard first.” To be unable to hold Sherry as she whimpered in pain and shock nearly did him in. “I rushed him. Wrestled the knife away. I would have killed him, but he got out from under me. He crashed through the window. Only he didn’t go all the way through and ended up impaling himself on the glass.”
She winced. Then she pushed away from the chair and came closer. “What happened to Sherry?”
He had scarcely been aware that he’d been cut, hadn’t noticed the pain searing his chest. He went to Sherry’s side, where she lay bleeding all over his bed. He held her, called 911 and commanded her not to die. But he knew by the glassy look in her eyes and all the blood she’d lost that it was too late. He pressed the sheet against the hole in her chest and held her tight until the paramedics got there.
With every long second that passed, he closed himself away, moving farther from Rita and
the parlor. “She was still alive when help arrived, but the moment they took her from me, she died.”
As he sat there while the paramedics did what they could to revive her, he knew his father had been right. He could never be the good prince; only the bad prince who was cast to lose every time. He looked away, hiding the pain he knew wracked his features.
He didn’t know that she had walked close enough to trace a finger from his shoulder down to his chest. “You were stabbed, too, weren’t you? That’s how you got the scar.”
“The knife just grazed me.” He should have died that night, and Sherry should have walked away with only a scar.
Her hand flattened over the place where the scar was. “You left that little detail out.”
“It was a little detail compared to what happened to her.”
He had dumped all of that out to scare her into leaving, not to make her look at him as though she wanted to enfold him in her arms like a baby. Just the thought of that made his throat tighten.
“Did you love her?”
He swallowed. “I loved being needed by her.”
She cocked her head at an angle, studying him. “That’s why you don’t want to be responsible for me. You blame yourself for her death.”
“Of course I blame myself. I promised to keep her safe.”
“That’s a mighty big promise. You did the best you could.”
“It wasn’t good enough. My point in telling you all that was not to elicit your sympathy.”
“I know.” She placed her other hand on his chest. “Earlier you accused me of getting my feelings about Brian mixed up with you. I think you’re getting your feelings for Sherry mixed up with me.”
“I don’t have any feelings. Go home, Rita.”
“I’m not going to let you off that easily by dying,” she said, using his earlier phrase. “Or by leaving.”
He swore under his breath. She had no idea what she was doing to him. He felt himself spiraling downward, helpless to stop. “Let me get you a gun then.”
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