Hello, Darkness

by Sandra Brown

  “I hated like hell that it happened, because of the embarrassment to my mom. But at least it made the old man think twice before he lit into her again, especially if I was around.” He glanced at Paris; she’d never seen him look as vulnerable. “But it scared the hell out of me, Paris. I can’t even describe it. A red rage? It consumed me, blotting out everything else.

  “My dad launched into fits like that all the time. That night I learned that whatever caused him to be the way he was, it’s inside me, too. It came out that once. I live in fear of it happening again.”

  Reaching across the console, she laid her hand on his arm. “He provoked you in the meanest way. You reacted. But that doesn’t mean that you have this latent rage that can ignite in an instant. You’re not like him, Dean,” she said with emphasis. “You never were and never could be.

  “As for Gavin, it’s allowed to get angry with him. Kids anger and disappoint and make their folks crazy. That’s what they do. It’s inherent in being a kid. And it’s all right for you to get mad at him when he does.

  “In fact, Gavin might doubt that you love him if you didn’t get mad at him. He needs to know you care enough to get angry. He’s going to test you often, just to reassure himself that you still care.” Then she laughed. “Listen to me. You’re the psychologist and the parent. I’m neither.”

  “Everything you’re saying is right, though, and I need to hear it.”

  She smiled at him gently. “As long as you praise him at least as much, if not more, than you punish him, you’ll be fine.”

  He mulled it over for a moment, then winked at her. “Smart as well as beautiful. You’re a dangerous woman, Paris.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s me. A regular femme fatale.”

  “Maybe that’s what attracted Lancy Ray Fisher. Your element of mystery appealed to his criminal instinct.”

  She rolled her eyes. “He wants my job.”

  “So he says.”

  “You think he’s lying?”

  “If he is, he’s convincing. He’s either sincere or a damn good con artist.”

  “That was my impression, too.”

  “What’s it like to be someone’s idol?”

  She gave him a sad smile. “I don’t recommend that anyone pattern his life after mine.”

  Just then his cell phone rang. He answered it with one hand. “Malloy . . . Huh, speak of the devil. No, Paris and I were just talking about him.” He mouthed Curtis and she nodded.

  “What about Lancy’s home away from home?” He listened for a moment, then said, “Probably not a bad idea.” Curtis had more to tell him, then Dean signed off with, “Okay, stay in touch.”

  After disconnecting, he updated Paris. “He ‘drilled Lancy Ray good,’ is the way Curtis put it. But Lancy is sticking to his story.”

  Officers sent to the apartment where he had been holed up reported that Lancy had been there, but it didn’t appear that anyone else had.

  “No sign of Janey being held captive there?” Paris asked.

  “None. No amateur photo lab. Nothing naughtier than one issue of Playboy. So Curtis is hotter than ever for the dentist. He’s about to have a heart-to-heart with Toni Armstrong.”

  “Hmm, what a dilemma for her. On the one hand, she wants her husband apprehended so he can get help, but on the other, she’s incriminating him.”

  “He incriminated himself.”

  “I know that. I’m thinking as she will. She loves him and wants him to be healed, but if he’s beyond healing, how long can she be expected to stand by her man?”

  “Good question, Paris.”

  Too late she realized that what she had said about Toni Armstrong could apply to herself.

  Dean pulled his car to a stop at the curb in front of her house. Cutting the engine, he turned to face her, ready to speak, but she cut him off before he could.

  “Jack needed me.”

  “I need you.”

  “Hardly in the same way.”

  “That’s right. You were with him out of obligation. I want you to choose to be with me.” He held her stare for several seconds, then pushed open his car door and got out.

  As they went up the walkway, she stopped to collect her mail, which had been neglected for the last two days. Once they were inside the house, she tossed the bundle onto the entry table. “Lord knows when I’ll get to that. My desk at work is even—”

  That was all she had time to say before Dean pulled her into his arms and kissed her. While doing so, he removed her sunglasses and dropped them on the table. Then he embraced her tightly, drawing her up against him. Immediately responsive, her arms slid beneath his to encircle his torso. She dug her fingertips into the muscles of his back.

  As his mouth fused with hers, he gathered up the fabric of her skirt until he could stroke her bare thigh. Her insides melted, but she pulled her mouth free of his kiss, gasping, “Dean, I’ve only got an hour.”

  “Then that’ll be a record for us. So far our sexual encounters have lasted no longer than three minutes.” He buried his face in her hair. “This time, I want to see you naked.”

  Laughing deep in her throat, she moved her head against his. “What if you don’t like what you see?”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  He pushed his hands into her panties and gripped her ass. She made a low sound of pleasure but the voice of reason was louder. “What if Curtis calls?”

  “I’ve learned to live with disappointment. But all the more reason for us to get busy.”

  Taking her by the hand, he walked purposefully toward the bedroom, dragging her along behind him. A girlish giggle bubbled up from Paris’s chest. Her heart began to race. She felt terribly wicked and wonderfully, gloriously alive.

  Dean was laughing, too, as he dealt with the stubborn fabric-covered buttons on her top. “Damn these things.”

  She was more deft. His shirt was soon open and she pressed a kiss against the warm skin just below his left nipple, feeling his heart beating against her lips.

  Finally having succeeded with the buttons, he removed her top and unclasped the front fastener of her brassiere. Then his hands were on her, kneading her breasts with his strong fingers.

  She watched his face as he looked down at her. His expression was at once passionate and tender as he saw her nipples responding to the glancing touches of his fingertips. His eyes met hers for barely a second before he dipped his head and took one into his mouth.

  She unbuckled his belt and lowered his zipper, then worked her hand into the waistband of his underwear. He was velvety smooth, hard, throbbing with life. She rolled her thumb across his glans and he shuddered.

  “Paris, stop,” he said, stepping out of her reach. “If you . . . You can’t do that. I’ll come. And I want this to last.”

  She shrugged off her bra, then reached behind her to unfasten her skirt, pushed it past her hips, and stepped out of it. Feverishly, his eyes moved over her. In one swift motion, he removed his slacks and underwear. She gazed at him with frank appreciation, but when she reached for him again, he staved her off.

  Then he dropped to his knees and kissed her through the silk bikini. His hands splayed over her bottom as he held her against his face. The heat and moisture of his breath filtering through the fabric made her weak. He kissed her again. And again. She closed her eyes and used his shoulders to brace herself.

  Then the silk seemed to dissolve because the barrier was no longer there. His lips were hot and quick on her a heartbeat before she felt his tongue, separating and seeking and stroking. She gave herself over to the pleasure, and it was immense.

  But she retained enough control to beg him to stop when it became critical. He came to his feet and enfolded her in his arms. They held one another tightly, her breasts crushed against his chest, his sex making a deep impression in the softness of her belly.

  Finally, they lay down face-to-face on her bed, virgin until now. Her hand coasted over his torso, down past his navel, and into the dense hair surr
ounding his sex. She drew her finger up the length of his penis. He covered her hand with his and guided it up and down. “Jesus,” he groaned.

  “I can’t quite believe this is happening.”

  “Me neither.” He kissed her nipple, caressed it with his tongue. “I keep thinking that I’ll wake up.”

  “If you do, please leave me in the dream.”

  He separated her legs and positioned himself between them, then entered her by degrees, giving her body time to accommodate him, pausing to test each new sensation before pressing deeper, until he was sheathed snugly and completely inside her.

  Soaked in pleasure, they kept from moving as long as they could endure it, but it only got better when he withdrew, then thrust into her.

  chapter 31

  Dean shook water from his ear as he raised his cell phone to it. “Malloy.”

  “Curtis.”

  “What’s up?”

  “What’s that noise?”

  “The shower,” Dean replied, turning to wink at Paris, who was rinsing the shampoo from her hair. Head thrown back, soapy water streaming over her breasts and funneling between her legs. God, she was gorgeous.

  “You’re showering?”

  “So I can look as fresh as you. What’s up?” he repeated.

  “One of the other detectives has been chatting with Lancy Ray. Remember when Paris asked him why all the subterfuge, why he hadn’t just come to talk to her?”

  “He was shy.”

  “That . . . and he didn’t want to move in on another guy’s territory.”

  “What guy?”

  Paris looked at him with puzzlement as she stepped from the shower. He handed her a towel.

  “Stan Crenshaw,” Curtis said.

  That was possibly the only statement that could have diverted his attention from Paris’s naked form. “Pardon me?”

  “That’s right. Lancy Ray was operating under the misconception that Stan and Paris are lovers.”

  “Where’d he get that?”

  “From Crenshaw.”

  Dean cupped the cell phone’s mouthpiece and told Paris to hurry and get dressed. His urgency must have communicated itself to her, because she rushed back into the bedroom. “Tell me,” he said to Curtis.

  “Crenshaw told the janitor not to bug her. Made up some bullshit about it being company policy that he was the only one allowed access to her, told him she didn’t like people staring at her because of her sunglasses, that she liked the darkness for reasons that were nobody’s business.

  “Lancy Ray wanted to keep his job, so he went along, kept his distance and rarely even spoke to her for fear of Crenshaw getting jealous and having him canned. He said the guy was jealous of anyone who went near her.”

  “Why didn’t Lancy tell us this the first time we talked to him?” Dean asked as he struggled to dress himself with one hand.

  “He took it for granted that everyone knew they were a couple.”

  “My ass. There’s something about Crenshaw that isn’t right. I knew it the night I met him. He took that proprietary stance with me, too, but I thought he was just a prick.”

  “Maybe he is just a prick.”

  “And maybe not. I want him turned inside out, Curtis. I want to know every fucking thing about him, and I don’t care who his uncle is or how much money he has.”

  “I hear you. This time I’m skipping Uncle Wilkins. We’re going straight to the Atlanta PD, the district attorney’s office, the damn governor of Georgia if necessary. One good thing, he’s carrying on business as usual. He’s at the radio station. Griggs and Carson are there and just called in.”

  “We’ll be on our way momentarily. Tell those rookies to keep him there if he tries to leave. Have you checked his phone records?”

  “Under way.”

  “Who’s doing the digging into his background?”

  “Rondeau volunteered.”

  “Rondeau.” Dean made no effort to mask his displeasure.

  “He’s going to run a thorough computer check.”

  “He was supposed to have done that already.”

  “I told him to go deeper this time.”

  “Would’ve been nice if he’d dug deeper the first time.”

  “What’s with you and him? I sense tension.”

  “He’s cocky.”

  “That’s it? You don’t like his personality?”

  “Something like that. Look, we gotta run.”

  “Maybe Paris shouldn’t do her show tonight. Give us a chance to check out Crenshaw.”

  “Tell her that. She’s determined. Besides, I’m not budging from her side. Later.”

  Before the detective could say more, Dean hung up and hustled Paris out of the house. Once in the car, she asked for details. “From what I could gather, his call was about Stan.”

  He filled her in on what Lancy Ray Fisher had divulged. She let out an incredulous laugh. “I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s not funny.”

  “No, it’s hysterical.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Dean,” she said, giving him a fond smile, “in light of recent, ahem, events, I can understand your male posturing. I’m flattered. I wish there were a dragon you could slay for me. But don’t waste the machismo on Stan, for heaven’s sake. He’s not Valentino.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “I know. He’s a prick, just as you said. And it upsets me that he misled Marvin—Lancy. And God knows who else. But he hasn’t got the brains or the balls to be Valentino.”

  “We’ll soon see,” he said as he whipped his car into the station parking lot.

  • • •

  Griggs and Carson waved from the front seat of the squad car as she unlocked the door. As usual, the building was dark and the offices deserted. Harry, the evening deejay, gave her a thumbs-up through the window of the studio as they went past. Dean had learned the layout of the building and led the way through the dim hallways.

  They reached her office, to find Stan seated at her desk, feet propped on the corner of it, desultorily sorting through her mail.

  “Stan Crenshaw, just the person I wanted to see,” Dean said as he strode in.

  Stan lowered his feet from the desk, but they’d barely touched the floor before Dean took him by the front of his shirt and hauled him up from the chair.

  “Hey!” Stan objected. “What the hell?”

  “We need to have a little talk, Stan.”

  “Dean.” Paris laid her cautionary hand on his arm. He released his grip on Stan’s shirt.

  “You’ve been telling lies about Paris.”

  Taking umbrage, Stan pulled himself up straighter and smoothed his hand over his rumpled shirt. But he might just as well have tried to defy a redwood, and he seemed to realize it. His gaze shifted to Paris. “What’s your boyfriend talking about?”

  “Lancy said that you told him—”

  “Who the hell is Lancy?”

  “Marvin Patterson.”

  “His name is Lancy?”

  “You told him that you and Paris were sleeping together.”

  His head swiveled back to Dean. “No I didn’t.”

  “Didn’t you insinuate that you and she were more than coworkers? Didn’t you warn him to back off, leave her alone, and not even talk to her?”

  “Because I know how she is,” Stan declared.

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. I know she’s a private person. She doesn’t like to be bothered by other people, especially while she’s concentrating on work.”

  “So you told him to lay off in order to protect her privacy?”

  “You could put it that way.”

  “I don’t need you to screen the people I associate with, Stan,” Paris said. “I didn’t ask you to and I dislike the fact that you did.”

  “Well, gee, I’m sorry. I was trying to be a friend.”

  “Only a friend? I don’t think so,” Dean said. “I think you’ve been enter
taining fantasies about Paris. You’ve deluded yourself into believing there’s a romance between you two somewhere in your future. You’re jealous of any other man who expresses an interest in her, even a platonic one.”

  “How do you know Marvin’s interest is platonic?”

  “He said it was.”

  “Oh, and he’s to be believed over me? A janitor who’s using an alias?” He made a scoffing snort. “You’re the one who’s delusional, Doctor.” He headed for the door, but Dean’s next words halted him.

  “That possessiveness could be a strong motivator.”

  Stan turned around quickly. “For what?”

  “Let’s see, creating an ugly situation for which Paris would be partially blamed. Placing her job at risk. Placing her life in jeopardy. Shall I go on?”

  “Are you talking about that Valentino business?” Stan asked angrily. “Paris brought that on herself.”

  “I see. It’s her fault that Valentino kidnapped and murdered a seventeen-year-old girl.”

  “A girl who went asking for trouble.”

  With deceptive calm, Dean sat down on a corner of her desk. “Then your opinion of women is basically low?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, you didn’t come right out and say it, but I sense a large chunk of hostility against the fairer sex lodged deep inside your psyche, Stan. Like a seed caught between two molars. It bugs you like hell, but you can’t get it out.”

  “Wooooo.” Stan waggled his fingers an inch from Dean’s face. “Don’t try that psychological hocus-pocus voodoo on me. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  Dean’s jaw bunched with anger, but his voice remained calm. “So I’m to believe that all your dealings with women have been perfectly normal and problem free?”

  “Has any man’s dealings with women been perfectly normal and problem free? Have yours, Malloy?” He cut his eyes to Paris. “I think not.”

  “You’re not Dean,” Paris said quietly. “He doesn’t have your history.”

  His mocking smugness vanished. In the next heartbeat, he was seething. “Did you tell him about the harassment charge?”