Epiphany (Legacy of Payne)

by Christina Jean Michaels

  “I don’t drink much anyway.”

  “We’ll have to fix that sometime. Are you corruptible, Bonnie?”

  I corrupted his leather jacket. Did that count? It was all I could do not to snicker.

  “Ah, never mind. You don’t seem the type.” He grinned at me, a full-fledged, dimples-and-all kind of grin that made my belly simmer. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” He tossed back the alcohol like it was no big deal.

  Good God. He needed distracting. Or I did. “So,” I began, “thirty today. You’ve got plenty of time before you reach over-the-hill status—at least another twenty years before mid-life crisis hits.”

  He didn’t say anything at first, and I wondered if he’d heard me at all. “Crisis can rob you at any age,” he said, his tone soft enough that I had to lean closer to hear him. “I should’ve been a father by now.”

  I wasn’t sure what I’d expected him to say, but that definitely wasn’t it.

  He pushed the empty shot glasses in my direction. “Keep them coming, Bonnie. Birthdays only come around once a year, right?”

  “That they do, and if you want to see another one, I think it’s time you slowed down.” Tonight was not the night for him to get wasted, though I feared he’d already passed that stage by the time I’d found him sitting there.

  “You worry too much. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “All the time. I still can’t serve you more alcohol tonight.”

  “Seriously? You’d do that to a man on his birthday?”

  “Sorry.” I shrugged, doing my best to appear nonchalant. In reality, I was sick with dread. It sat in my gut, gnawing on my insides like a piranha.

  “And to think I was gonna add you to my Christmas card list.” He stood on unsteady feet. “Thanks for nothing, Bonnie.”

  Something in my chest tightened as I watched him go. He’d gone from brooding, to playful, to angry in a matter of minutes. He stormed through the exit, bumping into a man dressed as Dick Tracey on his way out.

  I sprang into action without hesitation, ignoring a customer who was trying to get my attention by holding up his empty glass. Spotting Six, I grabbed her arm and halted her swift pace toward Elmo.

  “I have to go. Cover for me?”

  She frowned. “What are you talking about? You can’t just take off.”

  “It’s important. I’ll explain later, I promise.”

  Her eyes strayed to the spot Aidan had vacated. “Go. I’ll smooth things over with Mike.”

  “Thanks,” I said, though Six didn’t hear me. She was too busy asking Elmo if he knew of any after-parties.

  My hair whipped around in the frigid wind the instant I stepped outside, and I sped down the sidewalk as fast as my feet allowed. The scene became familiar—the same masks and costumes, the same uneven sidewalk . . . why hadn’t I recognized it earlier? Fog clung to the ground, a misty orange from the glow of several jack o’lanterns.

  I spotted Aidan stumbling along the bumpy concrete about a block ahead of me. A crowd of people exited an old warehouse-turned-haunted house, and I wanted to scream. Their faces blocked my view of him for several moments, and when I finally got through, he was nowhere in sight.

  What if I couldn’t find him? Or what if I did find him and it was too late? I broke into a sprint and then skidded to a stop two blocks down the street. An alley veered off to the right. Instinct warned me away, reminded me how evil people lurked in the shadows. I stared into the darkness and listened. Absolute silence. Someone saner would have turned back.

  I inched forward.

  The quiet set my teeth on edge. No voices, no footsteps, not even an animal. Heck, I would have settled for the sound of a scampering rodent. Anything to assure me I wasn’t alone. The thought had barely formed when I realized I wasn’t. A soft grunt rent the air, and the shadow of two men materialized as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. One slumped to the ground.

  I froze, terror choking me as the man left standing pulled something from his pocket. The click of a switchblade echoed off the walls, and the blade glinted in his hand, sharp and lethal.

  Oh God . . .

  “Help!” An endless, high-pitched scream poured from my throat, and I didn’t stop until he ran off in the opposite direction. My breath escaped in foggy bursts, and as footsteps sounded behind me, I finally forced my feet to move.

  Aidan lay sprawled on the ground, knocked out cold as blood oozed from a gash in his forehead.

  5. Anger's Alibi

  Time ticked by so slowly I could watch a raindrop fall. One landed on my cheek, reminiscent of a tear. I wiped it away, wishing I could turn back the clock by thirty minutes, wishing I hadn’t succumbed to biting my nails again. Judd stood in front of me, thin lips moving, his angular face bathed in the strobe lights atop the emergency vehicles.

  Wait. Was he talking to me?

  “. . . what happened?” he asked.

  “Huh?” I barely remembered calling 9-1-1. My attention remained on the scene behind him where two paramedics worked over Aidan. He came to when they lifted him onto a stretcher, and a low groan escaped his colorless lips. My stomach turned as the contents of his spilled out.

  “Easy . . .” The paramedic said more, but Judd’s words drowned out the rest.

  “I said did you see what happened?”

  I shook my head as I watched the doors to the ambulance shut behind Aidan. “Which hospital are they taking him to?”

  Judd gave me an “are-you-kidding-me?” look. “The only one in town. Watcher’s Point General?” His eyes narrowed. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded. “There was a man with a knife.” I turned the words over in my head and wondered how they’d come out so calmly. I was a mess on the inside, partly afraid for Aidan, and partly afraid because finding myself alone in an alley with an armed man had been enough to bring back memories I didn’t want to think about.

  Judd studied me with eyes as dark as Aidan’s. “Can you give me a description?”

  I folded my arms as a chill went through me. “Not really. It was dark, and he was wearing a hood.”

  “What brought you this way? Weren’t you working?”

  “I left early. Is Aidan gonna be okay?”

  Judd ignored my question. “He was at the Pour House tonight, right? How much did he have to drink?”

  “A few shots? I’m not sure.” Guilt chewed at my gut. If only I hadn’t served him those last two shots. Why hadn’t I tried to talk him into staying? Forced coffee down his throat? I should have done something. Worry and regret burned my nose, threatened to spurt from my eyes.

  One of the firefighters sauntered up just as the ambulance pulled away. “So what’s the verdict?” he asked Judd.

  “He’d been drinking. Witness says there was a man with a knife. Probably an attempted mugging,” Judd said.

  “Halloween makes people nuts, especially in this town. He got lucky to come out of it with only a bump to the head.” The guy punched Judd on the shoulder. “Aren’t you on duty a little early?”

  “Wasn’t supposed to be for another hour,” Judd replied. “The old man and Jameson are busy rounding up the usual suspects on Watcher’s Island. I was close by anyway.”

  The other man chuckled. “What’s it this year? Haunting or buried treasure?”

  “They broke into the lighthouse, so I’m putting my money on haunting.”

  “Gotta love Halloween. Well, we’re outta here. Don’t work too hard.”

  Judd smiled. “Things will settle down in a few hours.” He returned his attention to me as soon as the other man left. “Do you need a ride home?”

  “No, thanks. My apartment isn’t far.” I resisted the urge to chomp on another nail. “Can I go now?”

  Judd’s radio squawked, indicating another incident he was needed at, and he waved me away. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Getting to the hospital didn’t take long at all, though waiting for word on Aidan turned out to be a lesson in patience. Three hours h
ad passed and they still hadn’t told me anything. Would they tell me anything? So far the nurse I’d spoken to hadn’t been helpful in that department.

  Aidan suddenly crashed through the door. He stumbled and knocked into the triage station, sending a stack of forms and a blood pressure kit careening to the floor. His bloodshot eyes landed on me, and he did a double take. I froze in shock.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I found you,” I explained. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  The ER doctor appeared behind him. He pushed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses onto a nose that was too small for his face and looked up at Aidan. “Where are you going?”

  “Home. What does it look like?”

  “At least let me prepare the discharge instructions first.”

  “And spend another hour waiting on some damn paperwork? I don’t think so. I waited for the CT scan, now I’m outta here.”

  “You have a concussion.” The doctor took a long-suffering breath. “Do you have a way home? Someone to look after you for the next twelve hours?”

  Aidan’s jaw twitched and his heavy gaze settled on me. “Sure I do. My good Samaritan can take me, right?”

  My heart thumped. “Sure. I can take you home.”

  “See, Doc, all taken care of. Now where the hell are my clothes?” He gestured toward the hospital gown that fell to his knees. “Or are you gonna make me leave here in this?”

  “Your clothes are back in the exam room.”

  Aidan turned, and my jaw dropped as he headed through the door. His gown gaped in the back . . . and the sight stole my breath. He had one seriously sexy ass. I felt my face go hot. By the time he returned, fully dressed, I’d worked myself into a tight ball of anxiety.

  “Ready?” I asked, trying to gauge his mood. The white gauze over his left eye didn’t detract from his good looks in the least; if anything it gave him more sex appeal.

  “It looks worse than it is,” he muttered. He gestured toward the sliding doors, now slick with rain, and took off without a backward glance.

  I hurried after him. “I’m over there,” I said, indicating my beat up Honda Civic. I slid behind the wheel as he sank into the passenger seat.

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem.” The air crackled with awkward silence. I started the car and backed out, trying to come up with something to say to break the ice. His words went a long way toward the opposite.

  “Why’d you freak out over a lighter?”

  My hands tightened around the steering wheel. “What lighter?”

  “And I’m the one with the concussion? You know what I’m talking about. That guy lit up and you lost it. You bolted the second you realized what you’d said.”

  “Where am I taking you?” I asked, easing up on the accelerator once we approached the first turn-off into town. “I don’t know where you live.”

  “Keep going south. I’m on the outskirts.”

  I pressed down on the gas pedal and pushed the speed limit. The car hummed over the wet pavement. Neither of us said anything for a while, and just when I thought he’d let the subject drop, he spoke again.

  “You know something, though I have no clue how or why.” His arm brushed mine, causing my stomach to roll. He was too close. The awareness was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

  “You’ve lost me, Aidan. What am I supposed to know?”

  “Did McFayden tell you?”

  McFayden? He was speaking in riddles. “Who?”

  “The sheriff’s son.”

  “Judd?” I asked in disbelief. Was he serious?

  “The sheriff isn’t stupid enough to let something like that slip. It had to be his son.”

  I burst out laughing—the kind of laughter one faked in order to hide something. Like the truth. “You think Judd and I talk? I don’t even know him.”

  “He knows you.” The weight of his stare heated my face. “I’ve seen him watch you. Makes his girlfriend bat-shit crazy.”

  “You’re the one sounding crazy right now.” I sneaked a peek at him. “What happened tonight?”

  His sigh filtered through the car. I heard his clothes rustle as he settled into the seat. “I don’t remember.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, noticing how he’d closed his eyes and taken to massaging his temples.

  He didn’t answer right away. “Yeah.” Another sigh. “Take a right at the next street.” I followed his instructions. “I’m all the way at the end.”

  The pavement turned to gravel. His street was deserted, save for a few trees on either side. As we bumped over a pothole, I realized that if Aidan suspected me of knowing something, then there was something to know. And how did he know whatever that something was?

  “What do you think the sheriff’s son told me?” I glanced at him again. The idea that I’d dreamed of Chloe Sanders’ murder in accurate detail sickened me.

  He opened his mouth, as if to answer, but mashed his lips closed instead. “Never mind. Forget I mentioned anything.” He pointed toward a beachfront home, gigantic in comparison to my own apartment. “This is me.”

  I pulled into the driveway and gazed at the house. A two-car garage took up part of the first floor, while a steep staircase led to the front door on the second. Did he take up all that space by himself? Or did he share it with someone? The thought brought me back to the doctor’s words. “Do you live alone?” As soon as the question left my mouth, I realized how it could be interpreted. “I mean . . . is there someone here to keep an eye on you?”

  Aidan gave me a speculative stare.

  “I overheard the doctor. He sounded worried about your concussion,” I explained, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.

  “Don’t worry about me.” He unfolded from the car and then popped his dark head back inside. “Thanks for the ride.” He stood, and his body tilted like a six-foot Leaning Tower of Pisa.

  I bolted from the driver’s side and rounded the hood. “You’re not fine! You’re full of shit is what you are. You can’t even stand straight.”

  “Then why don’t you leave so I can go crash?”

  “With a concussion? Aren’t you supposed to avoid sleep or something?”

  “Or something.” He laughed, the sound a mockery of joy. “Listen, Bonnie . . . forget about tonight, okay?”

  The name threw me for a loop until I remembered I was still wearing my costume. “Mackenzie,” I corrected. “Bonnie was blond, remember?”

  “Whatever. Like I said, I’m fine. You can go home with a clear conscience. You did cut me off—I’d probably be shit-faced right now if you hadn’t.”

  “Maybe if I’d cut you off sooner, you wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital.”

  “You should’ve left me there.”

  “At the hospital?”

  “No,” he choked out, “in that alley.”

  His words sucker punched me. “Why would you say something like that?” A chill broke out on my arms. “Do you have a death wish or something? You could’ve been stabbed . . .”

  He blinked away the sudden brightness in his eyes. “Now we’ll never know, will we?” He turned and stalked away, muttering “go home” as he climbed the stairs. I ignored the order and rushed to keep up with his long stride. He reached the top and whirled around. “I don’t need you nosing around in my business!”

  “Yeah, I get that,” I said, clinging to the wooden rail to keep from falling. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I don’t want your help, and I sure as hell didn’t ask for it.”

  “So you expect me to just forget what happened tonight?”

  “I expect you to go home, but obviously you’ve got a good Samaritan complex getting in the way.” He rummaged in his pocket and withdrew a key. “Just . . . butt out. Wipe tonight from your mind. Better yet, forget you met me.” The lock clicked after three tries, and he swung the door open. My bathroom couldn’t compete with the size of his foyer. I envisioned th
e space bathed in light as the sun’s rays seeped through the skylight. A pair of oversized windows provided the main focus of the living room.

  Aidan blocked the doorway, as if I was a psycho stalker threatening to force my way into his home. “Anything else?”

  I crossed my arms. “No, I guess not.”

  “Then consider your good deed done for the day.” He slammed the door in my face and turned the lock.

  “I should puke on you again, you jerk!” I kicked the door for good measure. “And you’re welcome!”

  Shivering from a mixture of anger and predawn air, I stomped down the stairs. For the second time that night, I wished I had a coat to keep me warm. I figured the heaviest coat imaginable wouldn’t ward off the inner chill I felt—a chill having nothing to do with the weather.

  6. Irate

  It had already been one of those kinds of nights—the kind of night where every fourth customer had a complaint. I couldn’t do anything without dropping something, breaking something, or pissing off someone, and it didn’t help that Six had the night off. Lack of sleep didn’t help my lousy mood either.

  And neither did obsessing over Aidan.

  Would he show tonight? Better yet, did I want him to? I held my breath every time someone walked through the entrance of the Pour House, reliving the moment when he’d slammed the door in my face. The more I thought about his behavior the previous night, the angrier I became. The emotion vied with my growing curiosity. I didn’t know Aidan. Sure, his face was so familiar that I could draw his likeness in my sleep, but I knew next to nothing about him. Except that he had a temper. And he was hiding something; of this I had no doubt.

  The door opened again, and like the last two dozen times, I glued my gaze to the entrance. Only the man who walked through had blond hair and a cocky bounce to his step that was far from Aidan’s style. I stifled a groan as Brad weaved a path through the scattered crowd. One of those nights, indeed.

  “Hey,” he said, leaning against the counter and settling those unnerving blue eyes on me. “I heard you had an exciting night last night.”