Suddenly the messy kitchen was too depressing to endure. “Let’s go into the living room, Mom.”
Barbara flinched. “I don’t want to look at the—”
“There’s nothing wrong with the TV. Once I hook it back up, I’ll show you that it’s as normal as the one upstairs. There’s no space on this table for me to open your mail. Come on, let’s go.”
Erin scooped up the mail on her way in, trying not to notice her mother’s stumbling, shambling gait behind her. She flipped on the lamp in the living room. Something was odd. She hadn’t noticed it before, distracted as she’d been by the disheveled state of the TV. “Why is the clock turned to the wall? And Grandmother Riggs’s mirror?”
Her mother’s blank, startled gaze lit on the stained wooden backing of the antique mirror. The wire that held it to the hook barely cleared the ornate gilded frame. Her eyes widened. “I never touched it.”
Erin dropped the mail on the couch, and lifted the mirror off the wall. It was incredibly heavy. She turned it around.
The mirror was shattered.
Cracks radiated out of an ugly hole, as if someone had bashed it with a blunt object. Glinting shards of mirror glass littered the carpet. Her mother’s horror-stricken face was reflected in the jagged pieces.
Their eyes met. Mom held up her hands, as if to ward off a blow. “It wasn’t me,” she said. “I would never do that. Never.”
“Who else has been in the house?” Erin demanded. “How on earth could you not have heard the person who did this?”
“I…I’ve been sleeping a lot,” her mother faltered. “And a couple of times, I, ah, took some Vicodin for my headaches and my back pain. And when I take a Vicodin, an army could troop through here and I wouldn’t hear them. But God knows, if there’s one thing I would never forget, after everything that’s happened, it’s to lock the doors!”
Erin laid the mirror carefully upright on the floor against the wall and wrapped her arms around herself.
Seven years of bad luck. As if they hadn’t had their quota.
Another thought struck her. She glanced at the grandfather clock, another of the treasures that had come with Grandmother Riggs from England at the end of the nineteenth century. She turned it around.
The face of the antique clock was shattered.
She drifted to the couch and sat down. The pile of mail beside her suddenly seemed much less important than it had minutes before.
“Mom, maybe you should talk to someone,” she whispered.
Barbara’s reddened eyes swam with desperate tears. “Honey. I swear. I did not do this. Please believe me.”
A heavy silence fell between them. Silence that was like darkness, teeming and writhing with terrible possibilities.
Erin shook herself and got to her feet. “I’m going to clean up that broken glass. Then I’m taking the frame and clock to Cindy’s room until we can repair them. And then we’re going to clean up your kitchen.”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetie. I’ll do it.”
“No, you won’t,” Erin said.
Barbara tightened the sash of her bathrobe with an angry tug. “Do not take that tone with me, Erin Katherine Riggs.”
Her mother’s sharp response made her feel better, oddly enough.
She murmured a garbled apology and hefted the mirror, shaking as much glass as she could out onto the floor. Busy was better. Activity blocked thinking, and she didn’t want to think. She preferred to scurry around, hauling the mirror and clock upstairs, gathering up slivers of glass from the carpet and putting them into a plastic bucket.
That was better than chewing on the two possibilities available to her: Mom had done it and didn’t remember doing it, or Mom hadn’t done it. Which meant that someone else had.
She wasn’t sure which notion terrified her more.
She shouldn’t leave Mom at a time like this, but she couldn’t afford not to go to Silver Fork. They needed that money so badly. Her mind ran over the problem the way the vacuum cleaner was running over the rug. Each time she thought she was done, she heard another little ting. Always more of them, hidden in the deep pile carpet like tiny, cruel teeth awaiting unwary bare feet.
Barbara ran a sink full of hot, soapy water, and was washing the dishes when Erin came back in from emptying the garbage. It was bad enough to have admitted to those hallucinations, or whatever they were, but to have her daughter think she was so far gone as to smash family heirlooms…that was unthinkable. Heaven knew, if she were to smash a Riggs family heirloom, she would damn well remember doing it.
Erin leaned against the porch doorway. Barbara’s heart ached at the pinched, anxious look in her daughter’s face.
“Thought I’d get to work on this mess,” she said awkwardly.
Erin looked relieved. “Great idea.”
“I’ll just load up this dishwasher and set it running. Maybe we can nuke a couple of Budget Gourmets. Have you eaten?”
“I should get home. I have to pack for my trip tomorrow. Let’s put one in for you.” Erin peered into the freezer. “Swiss steak and chicken teriyaki are your choices, Mom.”
Barbara’s stomach lurched unpleasantly at the thought of food. “Leave them for now, hon. I’ll have one later. What’s this trip of yours?”
“I’m going to the coast. Another consulting job for Mueller.”
“Oh, that’s lovely! You see? Cream always rises to the top, no matter what happens. You’re going to do just fine, sweetie.”
“We all will, Mom,” Erin said. “But you’ve got to stay on top of your mail, and we’ve got to work out a plan for paying the bills. And you’ve, uh, got to cool it with the Vicodin. You need to be more alert. If…if somebody is coming into the house.”
Barbara nodded, and tried to smile. “Of course.”
“I’ll help as much as I can, but I can’t do it alone.” Erin’s voice shook.
“Yes, I know,” Barbara hastened to say. “I’m sorry I scared you, baby. I’ll pull myself together, and we’ll all be fine. You’ll see.”
“Cindy, too. Maybe we could set up a meeting with the scholarship committee, convince them to give her another chance. She can’t just quit school. I’ll call her tonight.”
“Yes. You do that. She looks up to you,” Barbara encouraged. “I appreciate your help, hon. I really do.”
Erin pulled on her jacket and hesitated, gazing at her mother with big, worried eyes. “Are you sure you’re going to be OK, Mom?”
“More than sure,” Barbara assured her. “You go and get packed. Have a good trip. Call when you get there, OK?”
“I can’t,” Erin said. “Your phone’s cut off.”
Barbara flinched. “Oh, God. Well, don’t worry about it, hon. I’ll take care of it right away.”
“I’ll do it when I get back, Mom,” Erin offered. “I don’t mind.”
“Don’t worry. Run along and get ready. You have to be at your best tomorrow,” Barbara urged.
Erin gave her a tight, lingering hug and a kiss, and left.
Barbara peered out the window and watched Erin run down the sidewalk, light-footed and graceful. She turned the corner and was lost to sight.
Barbara straightened up and looked around with a new sense of purpose. She twitched the crocheted throw on the loveseat back into place and rearranged the pictures on the mantel. She gathered up the mail and rifled through the envelopes with a semblance of her old efficiency, shaking her head at all the past due notices.
It was time to stop moping and working herself into a state. Making her little girl worry herself sick. For heaven’s sake.
She stared at the TV with hostile eyes, and finally knelt down, plugged in the power strip, reattached the cables, and pushed it back to its place against the wall. She took the remote in her trembling hand and held it out in front of her like a weapon, challenging the blank screen. The mail crumpled against her chest in her shaking hand.
Enough foolishness. What she had seen was the result of too many
sedatives. And it would be nice to watch the evening news.
She turned it on.
Gleaming, naked bodies, grunts and moans…the film flickered, but the images were horribly clear. Her husband. His mistress. She stabbed at the remote. The TV did not respond. She stabbed at the off button on the TV itself. Nothing. The thing was possessed.
She knocked the appliance onto the floor, but the bodies kept on grunting and heaving, lewd and bestial. Cackling, demonic laughter echoed in her head. She lunged for the fire iron by the fireplace and smashed it down against the screen. It sparked and popped, spraying glass all over the carpet. The demon TV was finally silenced.
Barbara Riggs stared at the fire iron protruding from the TV’s shattered belly. She lifted her hands to her face. Envelopes fluttered down around her like snow, forgotten.
She sank to her knees. A high-pitched mewling sound was coming from her mouth. Shards of glass ground themselves into her knees. She barely felt them. Her heart pounded. Her lungs wouldn’t take in air. She was coming apart. Shaking to pieces.
The terror filled her mind like black smoke, bearing her under.
Chapter
3
The car pulled to a stop beside Erin. She jumped and cowered back against the ivy-covered stone wall until she heard Connor’s voice coming out of the dark interior of the vehicle. “It’s just me.”
Relief, anger, and excitement all mixed and fizzed in her belly. She brushed herself off and groped for her dignity. “You scared me!”
“Yeah, I noticed. Pretty spooked, aren’t you?”
She could think of no reply to such an obvious statement, so she just started walking again.
The car followed her slowly. “Come on, Erin,” he cajoled. “I’ll give you a ride home. You’re safe with me. Get in.”
She glanced down at her watch. The next bus wouldn’t pass for twenty minutes. “It makes me nervous to be followed around,” she snapped.
“That’s tough. It makes me nervous to see you alone on the street at night,” he replied. “Get in.”
She got in. The window whirred shut, the locks snapped down, and she was alone in a car with Connor McCloud. The fierce barbarian warrior who had played a starring role in her sexual fantasies for years.
“You need a full-time bodyguard until Novak’s back in custody,” he said sharply. “You can’t wander around by yourself. It’s not safe.”
“A bodyguard?” She snorted in derision. “On my budget? I can barely afford to feed my cat.”
“I’m not asking for pay.”
“You?” She stiffened. “Good God, Connor, you can’t—”
“Put your seatbelt on, Erin.”
Her stiff, chilly fingers struggled with the belt. “I don’t want a bodyguard,” she said nervously. “I particularly don’t want you for a bodyguard. Nothing personal, but I don’t want to have anything to do with the Cave. I don’t want to see Dad’s ex-colleagues ever again.”
“I’m not with the Cave anymore,” he said. “Haven’t been for months. They don’t think you need protection. I do. This is my idea, and I’ll take responsibility for it.”
“Oh. Uh…” She searched desperately for words. “I, um, really appreciate the thought, Connor, but—”
“You don’t take me seriously,” he said. His voice was sharp with frustration. He flipped on his turn signal, and turned onto her street.
“Novak is probably busy plotting to take over the world by now,” Erin said. “I’m sure he has better things to do than bother with the likes of me. And how do you know where I live, anyway?”
“Phone book.”
“That’s not possible. I’m not in the book yet.”
He slanted her a wry glance. “You’re in the database, Erin, even if you’re not in the book. Anyone could find you.” He parked in front of the decaying facade of the Kinsdale Arms and killed the engine. “This place is grim. What happened to your apartment on Queen Anne?”
Another surprise. “How did you know about—”
“Ed bragged about you when you got that hotshot job at the museum and moved into your own place,” he said. “We all knew.”
She winced at his mention of her father, and stared down at her lap. “This place is cheaper,” she said simply. “Thanks for the ride.”
His car door slammed, and he followed her into the lobby. “I’ll walk you up to your apartment.”
“That’s not necessary, thank you,” she told him.
Her words were futile. He fell into step behind her as she started up the staircase. She had no idea how to deal with him. He was so stubborn and determined, and she didn’t want to be rude to him.
Six flights took forever, with his huge, quiet presence behind her. She stopped in front of her door. “Good night,” she said pointedly.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and stared down at her with unnerving intensity. “Erin. I really didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m all right,” she whispered. It was a lie, but she couldn’t resist the impulse to comfort him. She’d always been a hopeless softie. She found herself staring at the hollows under his cheekbones. The sensual shape of his lips, bracketed by harsh lines. It had been so long since she’d seen his gorgeous, radiant grin.
The words flew out of her mouth. “Do you, um, want to come in?”
“Yeah,” he said.
Her stomach did a terrified back flip. She unlocked her door.
He followed her into her apartment. She flipped on the floor lamp she’d found at a rummage sale years ago, with a wicker laundry basket she had rigged for the lampshade. It cast a strange pattern of warm, reddish slices of light and shadow around the cramped room.
“It’s not much,” she said hesitantly. “I had to sell most of my stuff. Here, let me move this pile of books. Sit down. I can make you some coffee, or tea, if you’d like. I’m afraid I haven’t got much to offer in the way of food. A can of tuna and some toast, maybe. Or cereal.”
“I’m not hungry, thanks. Coffee would be fine.” He wandered around, studying her pictures, scanning the titles of the books piled against the wall with evident fascination. Edna jumped down from her favorite perch on the bookshelf and stalked over to investigate him.
Connor crouched down to pet her cat, and Erin hung up her jacket and put the kettle on. His eloquent silence unleashed too much dangerous speculation in her mind. She turned around.
The chitchat she’d been rehearsing froze in her throat. The raw force of his gaze sent a shock wave of feminine awareness through her. He was staring at her body, measuring her with intense interest. She felt naked in her jeans and T-shirt. “You’re thinner,” he observed.
Her instinct was to back away, but the sink was already pressed against her back. The room was terribly small with him in it. “I, uh, haven’t had much of an appetite, the past few months,” she said.
“Tell me about it,” he murmured.
Edna arched and purred beneath his hand, which was very odd. Edna was a nervous, traumatized ex-alley cat. She’d never let anyone but Erin touch her, and now look at her, flinging herself onto her back. Writhing with pleasure beneath Connor’s long, stroking fingers.
Erin wrenched her gaze away from the unsettling spectacle. “This has been the one time in my life I’ve managed to lose weight without trying,” she babbled. “And I’m too stressed out to enjoy it.”
“Why did you ever try? Your body is gorgeous.”
His tone was not flattering or flirtatious, just a flat request for information. “Well, I, uh…I’ve always been a little too—”
“Perfect.” He rose to his feet with sinuous grace, still studying her body. “You’ve always been perfect, Erin. You don’t need to lose weight. You never did. Try not to lose any more.”
She was completely flustered. “Ah…OK.”
A sweet, brief smile transformed his lean face as he sat down in the chair she’d cleared for him. Edna promptly leaped into his lap.
Erin scooped coffee i
nto the filter with trembling hands. Busy, busy, busy—
“Erin, can I ask you something personal?”
Her skin prickled at his tone. “That depends on the question.”
“Last fall. At Crystal Mountain. That guy, Georg. Tell me the truth. Did you go to bed with him?”
She froze into agonized stillness, keeping her back to him. “Why does it matter to you?” Her voice was small and tight.
“It just does.”
His question brought all the burning shame rushing back. She turned, and lifted her chin. “If I say yes, that means you’ll lose all respect for me, right?” She flung the words at him.
“No,” he said quietly. “It means that when I hunt him down and start beating him to death, this time I’ll finish the job.”
The kettle began to warble. She couldn’t respond to it. She was paralyzed by the bleak intensity of his eyes. The warble rose to a shriek.
Connor jerked his chin toward it.
Erin grabbed the kettle with shaking hands. “I think you’d better leave,” she said. “Right now.”
Her voice sounded tight, breathless. Not authoritative at all.
Connor’s gaze did not waver. “You promised me coffee.”
His face was implacable. He would leave when it suited him, and not before. And she had no one but herself to blame for inviting him in.
Connor placed Edna gently on the ground. He got up and wandered over to her desk, studying the photos and cards pinned to the corkboard. The travel itinerary and the printed-out Mueller e-mail lay on the desk in plain view. He picked them up and examined them. “Going someplace?”
“Just a work thing.”
He frowned. “Didn’t you say you lost your job?”
“I work for myself now. I’ve started my own consulting business.”
“And you’re getting by?” His gaze swept the tiny, wretched room.
“I’m not supporting myself with my business yet,” she said stiffly. “I’m temping to make ends meet. But I have high hopes.”
He held the e-mail up to the light and read it.
“Excuse me, Connor, but those are my private papers, and I did not invite you to look at them.”
Standing in the Shadows Page 5
