Identity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance

by H. D. Thomson

  “The money.” Peter felt like his pet boa, George, powerful, deadly and silent as he edged across the cement floor toward Ferguson, enjoying the other man’s reaction. The wider Peter’s smile, the deeper and more pervasive the fear radiated from Ferguson’s face. “I didn’t forget. But I’m thinking you owe me a bit more than the fifty we discussed earlier.”

  Movement flickered at the corner of Peter’s vision.

  Shit.

  The kid. He’d slipped behind Peter. He’d been so focused on Ferguson, he’d let his attention drift from the boy.

  Peter leaped forward. He slammed the side of his hand into Ferguson’s throat. The boy’s footsteps echoed on the metal stairs. He caught a glimpse of the other man clutching at his neck and dropping to his knees before he pivoted and raced after the boy. Duct tape still bound the kid’s wrists together, but he must have pulled off the hood from his face.

  Shit.

  With his vision clear, there was no stopping the kid. Peter dove up the steps, grabbed for the boy’s ankle. He missed and clutched at air instead.

  Lurching up another three steps, Peter missed again. The kid opened the door and slipped out and onto the main floor. The door clicked shut. The green light on this side of the alarm by the door flashed to red. Peter pulled and twisted the doorknob. He slammed a shoulder, then a foot against the metal.

  The door didn’t shift a centimeter.

  Peter pivoted and looked down to Ferguson struggling across the floor toward the gun yards away. He’d never get to the weapon before Peter. “The code. Give me the code.”

  Ferguson gasped. Pain flashed across his features. Words tumbled from his lips, none of them intelligible.

  “Shit.”

  Peter leaped down the stairs, grabbed the gun, then Ferguson by the collar of his shirt and half-dragged, half-carried him up the flight to the alarm. He shoved him up against the wall with an arm and checked the safety on the gun before he tucked it into the waistband at the back of his pants. “Punch the numbers in. Hurry!”

  Nine. A trembling finger hit another button. Four. Two more wasted seconds. Seven. Peter bit back a curse. Zero.

  The flashing light turned green.

  He dropped Ferguson, uncaring if the other man tumbled down the stairs and broke his neck. All that mattered was the kid. If Peter lost the little shit, he’d never be able to really pay back Skye for all the humiliation and pain she’d put him through.

  After one swift turn of the knob, Peter opened the door. Gun in hands, he rushed down the hall and into the kitchen. A throng of noise swarmed through the house and throbbed through the walls. The high-pitched wailing of the car and house alarms screamed into Peter’s head. The clock on the microwave flashed off and on.

  The kid was going berserk.

  Focused on the most logical escape route, Peter ran from the kitchen and into the living area where music blared from the stereo system and joined the alarms. The front door gaped open.

  The little shit had already fled outside.

  Peter ran outside, down the entryway and into the front yard. Alarms from neighboring properties screamed their abuse and fought for precedence with the ones coming from Ferguson’s property. The garage door to the left rolled to a stop, fully open. Another escape route the boy could have taken.

  Then silence. Abrupt. Deafening.

  Peter blinked at the sunlight that flooded his eyes. His shirt clung to his sweaty back. He stood unmoving, his hand on the gun tightening as he focused on getting the rapid sawing of his breath under control. The drum of his pulse eased.

  It sounded like the whole neighborhood blew a fuse. The kid was scary as shit. He couldn’t be human, not the way he’d short-circuited the electricity. Now Peter understood why Ferguson wanted him. The kid was a human weapon, an unbelievable asset to any government or corporation. Given enough years and training the boy would be worth a fortune.

  A bird’s song filled the air. The rumble of a lawn mower sounded from somewhere in the distance. But no scrape of a shoe or tell-tale noise gave the boy away.

  “Come on kid. Tyler. How about you just show yourself and stop wasting both of our time?”

  No answer. Not that Peter expected any. If the boy was anything like Skye, he’d inherited her intelligence even though Peter hated to admit a positive trait of any kind from her.

  He searched the yard. No one, not even a small, skinny boy, could hide amidst the manicured bushes along the front of the house and adjacent to the driveway.

  Peter stood and listened again. A gust of wind swept across his face and sent the leaves slapping at each other from the tree to his right. A few downtrodden leaves raced across the lawn. He stared down the drive to the closed wrought iron gate. There was no possible way the kid could have opened it, slipped outside and have it close behind him that quickly. Peter had been only behind him but minutes.

  The eight-foot cement brick fence was impossible to breach by a nine-year-old kid.

  But the boy wasn’t normal.

  Still... Peter rubbed the back of his neck, then rolled his shoulders to get the kinks out. The kid’s powers seemed to involve computers and electrical wiring, not leaping over or through metal or brick barriers. He eyed the wrought iron gate with narrowed eyes. The electricity might be down right now, but the city might get it up and running sooner than Peter wanted.

  He strode toward the gate and rammed the gun’s handle repeatedly against the electronic box attached to the cement wall until the thin metal crumbled and wires pulled from their moorings. After sliding the gun back inside his waistband, he grabbed the sensor protruding from the side of the drive and yanked it back and forth until it hung limply to one side. He tested the wrought iron bar in the center of the fence. One quick push and the metal gave beneath his touch.

  The kid could easily slip through and escape.

  Swearing under his breath, Peter walked back up the driveway and into the garage. While keeping his gaze on and off the gate, he rummaged through the cabinets until he found a thick metal chain and lock. After grabbing both, he walked back to the fence and wrapped the chain twice around the two center bars, then effectively locked it with a thick padlock. He pocketed the key and stared back up at the house.

  He just needed to quickly dismantle the alarm and phone and he’d have both Ferguson and the boy trapped. There was no way in hell either would get past him and live.

  Peter smiled with pleasure. He was back to being in control. Within the hour, he’d have the kid and cash. As to Ferguson...that was a different story.

  ~~*~~

  David cradled Skye against the wall. With her slender body molded to his from breast to thigh and the wild beat of her heart pounding against his chest, a wave of fierce protectiveness surged through him. For the briefest moment, he savored her scent, the warmth of her body, and the texture of her skin as he brushed his lips against her temple. He’d missed her far more than he’d ever thought possible. Knowing that scared the hell out of him.

  Somehow he’d let her into his life, his heart, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about these crazy feelings for her because it was too late. He already cared.

  He eased his palm from her lips with a shaking hand. Her rapid breath washed across his throat, and a shiver raced through the complete length of her body.

  “Who?” she asked in a trembling whisper.

  “I don’t know,” he replied in an equally quiet voice. “I think there’s only one person, but whoever it is, he’s on the same floor by the front of the building. There’s a car parked not far from here too. I’m going to check the building out, but I want you to stay here.”

  “The hell I will.”

  His heart rate kicked up. This furious need to guard her against herself and the scum who had taken her son overwhelmed him. He thanked God he’d found her unhurt, but what if he’d come across a different situation—a scenario where the person stealthily moving through the building had attacked her and left her injured or wo
rse? David didn’t even want to wrap his mind around that.

  The moment he’d stepped from the airport in Boston, he’d hailed a taxi and given the driver the address to October House. In full control of his telekinesis, he’d focused on the locks on the front door. The knob, though noisy and rough from disuse, turned easily beneath his hand, and he’d stepped into the building as if he’d belonged. Like sticky cobwebs, memories of the building, the children and employees clung to his mind. Yeah, he’d been here.

  Shaking off their fragile strands, David searched the building. He’d started with the basement but found nothing. As he’d climbed to the main floor, he’d heard the fall of footsteps, sounding cautious, furtive but strangely deliberate, as if the person wanted to mask their movements. Then he’d heard the slide of metal and he’d followed that noise on silent feet.

  That’s when he discovered Skye and someone else was in the building. More important than the person moving in the other part of the building was the need to get Skye safely away.

  “I’ve a taxi outside waiting.” He needed to get her out of here and fast. He didn’t want to risk her safety even if the other person wasn’t dangerous. “I want you to get in that taxi and leave.”

  “I can’t do that. And anyway, I already have my rental across the street. But that doesn’t mean anything. I’m not running away.”

  He swallowed down his frustration. “Please, Skye. I don’t know who this is.”

  “He just might be a janitor or property manager.”

  “Do you honestly believe that?”

  Her chin inched upward. “No. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It means everything. When we get Tyler back, he’s going to need his mother fully alert and functional.”

  “That isn’t playing fair,” she hissed, her body tensing with obvious anger.

  “I don’t care. I’m determined to protect you even if you’re not willing to do it yourself.” Reluctantly, he took a step backward and pulled his arms from around her body. “If you won’t leave, promise me you’ll stay here and not try anything crazy?”

  David waited. Finally when she nodded, he pivoted and forced himself not to look back as he moved carefully from the office and into the main waiting area. From there he eased from the room just as a man stepped into the hall. Dark blond, with shoulder-length hair, tall and strong enough to be a threat, the man turned, and for a brief moment, their gazes locked.

  “Hey!” David cried out.

  The man stared back for a brief moment. He pivoted away from David and hurried toward the back exit. Ten feet and he’d be at the door and outside.

  Jaw tightening, David followed quickly after him, his gaze centered on the knob and the deadbolt. David locked both with his mind. The guy wasn’t leaving here without giving him answers. Satisfied that David had him cornered, he slowed, his breath matching the rapid beat of his heart.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” David called out.

  At the door, the blond paused and turned, his gazed narrowed. “Watch me.”

  From the wall to his right, the metal enclosure holding a fire extinguisher snapped open and the red cylinder barreled toward David. Metal slammed into his gut. Air whooshed from his lungs and a black fog edged along his vision as he went down, slamming his knees against the wood flooring as he battled for air. Pain scored down his shins, up his thighs and into the rest of his body.

  The extinguisher rolled to rest against the wall. Shock banded around David’s throat. The guy was one of them. Had to be the way he’d yanked the cylinder from the wall and thrown it without using his hands.

  Gasping, David scrambled to his feet. His stomach muscles contracted in pain. He glanced up. The door stood open. The sky stared back. Empty. Shit. He couldn’t let the guy escape. They needed answers, and this man was the only person right now who could give them any.

  David rushed onto the landing and outside into the brittle grass. Still no sign of his assailant. He raced around to the side of the yard, the weeds slapping across his ankles, and saw a flash of movement. There. A man. Leaping over the chain link fence to the street beyond.

  A woman’s cry ripped through the air behind him. Shock pounded against David’s chest. Oh, God. Skye.

  Chapter 21

  David’s assailant bounded across the street to a white car parked further up the shoulder from what had to be Skye’s rental as David swiveled back around toward Skye. Twenty yards behind him, arms outstretched, she crumbled to the grassy yard.

  Throat tight with panic, David rushed back across the yard and dropped to the ground on his hands and knees beside her. “Are you alright?”

  She pushed off the ground, sat up and flung back her chestnut hair dotted with dirt and grass. With a tentative hand, she touched the abrasion to her chin and winced. “Yeah. I tripped over a stupid tree root or something.” Rising, she brushed impatiently at her jean-clad legs. “Forget me. Where did he go?”

  He glanced over his shoulder and along the length of the street and intersection. No sign of the white car or the man. David frowned as he scrambled to his feet. There was something about that car. It looked too familiar. “He took off in a car. I swear it’s the same one I saw back in Vegas. White and easily forgettable, except it nearly ran me down in a parking lot in Nevada.”

  “What are you talking about?” She frowned up at him. “The same car? Has someone been following us?”

  “I think so. I’ve never gotten a chance to see the driver.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I forgot.”

  “How could you forget something like that?”

  At the antagonism in her tone, he stiffened and struggled to rein in his temper. “Well, let’s see. You show up in my life, threaten to ruin my show if I don’t let you stay att my house. Then there’s—”

  “You’re right.” Her gaze darkened, and she pulled a wayward, chestnut strand behind one ear. “I’m sorry.”

  He brushed the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, wanting to wipe the look of guilt from her face. “Don’t. You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” David wondered if he’d always act an idiot when it came to Skye. “Tyler. You haven’t found—”

  “No.”

  One word, simple but dripping with anguish. She looked down at her running shoes, but not quick enough to hide the sudden sheen of tears in her eyes.

  Jesus. He couldn’t swallow down the constriction around his throat. He fisted his hands to stop himself from touching her, holding her. In Las Vegas, he’d let her walk away. If he hadn’t shown up today—

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, glancing from her shoes to the street beyond, her voice thick with hostility. “You should be in Vegas with your dogs and your magic show.”

  “I’ve got a neighbor watching the dogs, and my show... I had my publicist take care of everything with the hotel and let them know that I had to back out indefinitely. I guess the Pharaoh decided to temporarily replace me with an acrobatic show.”

  David stared at her stubborn profile and firm, taut jaw. He deserved her antagonism. Hell, he deserved more than that. He cleared his throat, growing awkward and unsure.

  She turned then to face him, her face dramatically softening. “It’s not your dad. He’s not—”

  “No. He’s still in a coma. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Then why?”

  “I couldn’t keep on doing what I’ve always done. Look the other way. Pretend I wasn’t involved.” Shame burned into his face. For far too many years, he’d been a complete ass. He searched in his pockets for his antacid tablets and came up empty. Hell. It was just as well. They really didn’t do a damn thing. “I knew it was a long shot, but this is the only place I could think you might show up. Then I get to this property, find you here with a possible kidnapper or murderer in the building—”

  “I would have been fine.”

  “How do you know that?” The skin across his cheeks and jaw tightened with
anger and frustration. “You could have been hurt, possibly killed. Do you have any idea how much that would have made me...”

  “What?” She hoisted her chin skyward. “And why would you care. You made it pretty obvious how you felt.”

  “Of course I care!” With two steps, he devoured the distance between them, clutched her upper arms and jerked her up against his chest. He wanted to shake some sense into her, he wanted—

  Hell, he wanted to kiss her.

  David captured her mouth, wrapping an arm around her waist to drag her more fully against his body. Stiffening, Skye dug her fingers into his biceps, then after a brief moment, softened. Those same fingers slid up along his arms and shoulders to dance across his nape and the stubble of his hair. She moaned against his lips and kissed him back with equal fervor.

  Memories of her body, hot, hungry and arching beneath him stormed his mind. God, he’d missed her determination, her self-confidence, even her pig-headedness. How could one woman twist his insides, leave him breathless and wanting more?

  David’s hand lingered over the smooth silk of her upper arm as he drew away from her mouth with a shaky, reluctant sigh. He looked down to find an unmistakable flush to her face that David liked to believe wasn’t from the heat. With dark and turbulent eyes, she stepped away and glanced over to the house.

  “I can’t seem to keep my hands off you,” he muttered with a mixture of dismay and frustration. He followed her gaze to the house. Beyond the brick, unanswered questions and shadowy memories remained. “Let’s get out of here. There’s nothing here for us but an empty building. I have a taxi waiting down the street.”

  Lips firming into a grim line, she nodded and straightened her shoulders. “You’re right. But let’s take my rental. That way, we won’t have to worry about being overheard.”

  After he paid off his driver, David followed Skye down the block to her vehicle and folded himself inside the passenger side of Skye’s rental. He leaned his head against the backrest and started to wonder if he’d ever return to his old life. It exhausted him to think of the multitude of lies he’d fed his friends and fans and to realize his childhood was equally strife with layer upon layer of fabrications.