Zara said, “I don’t want to be here, Logan. Take me home.”
Home.
A squalid, roach-infested warehouse.
“Zara—” he began.
“Please.” She grasped his hand with both of hers, her dark eyes raised imploringly. “I hate hospitals. I can’t rest here. Please, Logan.”
He turned to the doctor. “Will she be all right if she doesn’t stay?”
Dr. Prince scowled. “She seems to be out of danger, but it’s routine to hold a patient for observation in cases like this. But I can’t force her. Does she have someone to stay with her?”
“That’d be me,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep a close eye on her.”
Dr. Prince sighed and addressed Zara. “Don’t exert yourself. You’ve got a good man here who’s willing to wait on you. You just sit back and let him do that, you understand?”
Zara nodded obediently.
Chapter Seven
The ambrosial scent of clean sheets chased the lingering vestiges of sleep. Eyes closed, face snuggled in a pillow, Zara inhaled the mingled perfumes of Tide and Sta-Puf and knew it had all been some horrible dream. Mac Byrne. The pills. The pool.
She took a deep breath and stretched, a long, languid, feline arch. Finally she allowed her eyes to creak open.
Late morning sunlight filtered through a gauzy ivory curtain swelling with a gentle breeze. She struggled to recall that window, those curtains, this feminine bedroom. She looked down at the pastel floral sheets and matching comforter. Nothing looked familiar.
“Good morning.” Logan’s large form blocked the light and the breeze as he squatted next to the narrow twin bed. He touched her shoulder. “How do you feel?”
She rubbed her face and croaked, “Peachy.”
“I made you some tea.” He nodded toward the night table, where steam curled from an oversize stoneware mug.
“Tea?” She grimaced.
“Tea’s supposed to be good for you when you’re under the weather.”
“I’ll pass.” She struggled to sit up, only then noticing that she still wore Emma’s pink cotton blouse and khaki pants. “I was hoping it had all been a nightmare. Where are we?”
“Lou’s house in Amityville.”
“Amityville?”
“South shore of Long Island. Just over the border into Suffolk County.”
He stroked her hair off her forehead, threading his fingers through the strands and over her scalp. Her eyes drifted shut. It felt like heaven.
He said, “I didn’t have the heart to take you back to the warehouse. Not in the shape you were in.”
She looked up at him. “Is this place safe?”
“Safe enough for the moment. Don’t worry.” He stood up. “You were pretty out of it when we got here last night—this morning really, about 2:00 a.m. Slept all the way from the hospital. You just kind of fell into bed as you were.”
She plucked her wrinkled shirt. “Trust Emma to own clothes you can sleep in.”
“Lou offered to undress you, but I said—”
“Lou offered? Well, wasn’t that generous of him!” How many men were going to see her naked before she got her life back!
A female voice from the doorway said, “Logan, you jerk.”
Zara turned to see an attractive woman, midthirties. Long, kinky blond hair like a cloud, pulled up at the sides and secured with a barrette.
“What?” he said defensively.
“‘Lou wanted to undress you,’“ the blonde mimicked. “You ever bother to tell her Lou’s short for Louise?”
Logan had that put-upon male look that said, Outnumbered!
She strolled into the room and held out her hand. “Louise Noonan. I know who you are. And yes, you can call me Lou.”
Lou had a solid handshake. She subscribed to the Emma Sutcliffe School of Fashion, with her washable navy pantsuit and sensible shoes.
Zara said, “Thanks for sharing your home.”
“No problem. Logan knows I can never say no to him.”
Zara watched the two of them exchange a teasing grin, steeped in shared history. Was Lou the lucky Ms. Ribbed for Her Pleasure?
She recalled the dream she’d had at Emma’s, before Mac Byrne had awakened her. Logan touching her, wanting her, leaving her on the searing brink of fulfillment. She felt like a fool.
He turned to Lou. “You going?”
She nodded and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Watch your back. Don’t forget. He knows you better than you know him.”
He tugged a billowing strand of blond hair, an intimate gesture of long standing, Zara suspected. “Don’t worry about me. Watch your own damn back.”
Zara looked away, feeling like an interloper. She heard the sound of a quick kiss and didn’t know whether it was on the lips or cheek. She hated herself for wondering.
Lou said, “Get some breakfast into her, Logan.” She paused on her way out the door to wag a finger at Zara. “Make him cook for you. He knows his way around my kitchen.”
Zara nodded and tried to smile.
When they were alone he said, “Hungry?”
“Starved.”
“It’s no wonder, considering you, uh.”
“You can say it.” Lost my supper? Tossed my cookies?
“Barfed your guts up.” He helped her to stand. She swayed a bit, and he steadied her. “Easy now.”
“Just point me toward the bathroom.”
He did more than that, he located a new toothbrush, earning her undying gratitude. She emerged a few minutes later, with her hair damp-combed and her face scrubbed free of her smeared makeup.
“My God,” he said, “you look so much like Emma.”
“Right down to the fetching ensemble.”
“What have you got against practical clothes?”
“Life’s too short for practicality. I smell coffee.” She followed him to the kitchen.
“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the vinyl-cushioned dinette booth.
“Are you autocratic about everything? Even breakfast?” She sat, too drained to even consider defying him.
“Especially breakfast. Most important meal of the day and all that.” He unerringly located an electric waffle iron in the cabinet under the microwave.
“Lou was right,” she said coolly. “You certainly do know your way around her kitchen.”
He opened the fridge. “Bacon? Sausage?”
“I don’t know if I can stomach that much grease right now. Give me some coffee or I’ll hurt you.”
He grinned. “Black, right?”
“Right.” He was wearing a white polo shirt. Not the gray one he had on yesterday. Which meant he probably kept clothes here.
Where had he slept last night? Not in that dinky little guest bed with her, she knew.
Stop it! she commanded herself.
He set the coffee in front of her and pulled a mixing bowl out of a cabinet. He moved to the work island where he could face her while he made the waffles.
She said, “Is my sister all right?”
She saw chagrin as he looked up from his work. “That was a mistake. Not telling you earlier.”
Oh, God. “Is she?”
“Yes. She’s fine. Safe. I told you she hooked up with Gage Foster. He took Emma home with him to Arkansas. She’s safely tucked away with him somewhere in the Ozarks, waiting for me to call with word about your mother.” As he talked he collected utensils and ingredients. “Which I haven’t done yet. What would be the point? I don’t have anything concrete to tell her.”
She closed her eyes on a sigh of relief. “You have their phone number, then?”
He nodded. “We’ll call after breakfast.”
“What did you hope to accomplish by keeping me in the dark, Logan? By keeping me from talking to her?” She raised her palm. “And don’t tell me it was for my protection.”
“It served my purpose.”
“Which was to keep me docile, manageable.”
“Yes.”
He broke eggs into a bowl. “If I’d thought you were going to bolt like that.”
“Can you blame me? What would you have done?”
He measured and mixed in silence. “You know what they say about hindsight.”
Were her ears deceiving her? “Are you saying you made a mistake?”
He kept his eyes on the batter he was thrashing.
“I’m saying maybe I could’ve been more up-front, okay? Maybe if I had, it would’ve kept you from pulling an asinine stunt like running off to your sister’s without even considering that the man who wants you dead might be watching the place.” He glared at her.
As apologies went, it was less than impressive—yet at the same time, more than she’d hoped for. Too, she couldn’t deny her foolhardiness. They were both to blame for what happened.
“You saved my life,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
Something flitted over his features for a split second before he directed his gaze to the bowl. Something that told her he was more affected by her near demise than he wanted to let on.
She said, “How did you know I’d gone to Emma’s?”
“That was a no-brainer. You were determined to talk to her.” He flipped open the waffle iron and poured a sizzling cup of batter in it.
“Was Mac still there when you arrived?”
His face hardened. “Yeah. He was there.”
“And he got away.?”
“I had no choice, Zara.”
And then she understood. He’d let him go so he could save her. The object of his single-minded pursuit had been right there, within reach, and he’d let him get away.
For her.
She opened her mouth, and closed it. She didn’t know what to say.
He offered, “He’ll slip up. And when he does, I’ll be there.”
“What did Lou mean? When she said he knows you better than you know him?”
His jaw worked. “I must be pretty predictable, as far as my brother is concerned. Whereas Mac, well, he’s more of a wild card. Let me put it that way.”
“Wild card? I already figured out he’s nothing like you.” And she thought she and her twin were different!
“He’s brain damaged, Zara. It happened when he was eighteen.”
She was stunned, until she remembered the scar under Mac’s hairline. “What happened?”
He eased up the top of the steaming waffle iron to take a peek. It was still sticking. “Mac and I…we weren’t exactly the Hardy Boys growing up. We got in our share of trouble.”
“You? What kind of trouble?”
He shrugged. “Some vandalism. Petty theft. Boosted a few cars.”
“You stole cars?”
“Just for joyriding. Not to sell.”
“Oh,” she said dryly. “That’s okay, then.”
“There was nothing okay about it. I’m not making excuses, Zara. I did some things and took my licks. And I straightened myself out.”
“And Mac?”
“There wasn’t much of a gang life in Smithville, our small town, but what there was, he found. I knew those guys were bad news, and I gave them a wide berth myself. But Mac…he was into it, the whole tough-guy mystique. He wanted to be baaad.”
He got his wish, she thought.
He continued, “Only, in his zeal he made what one might call a tactical error.”
“Which was.?”
“Seduced the gang leader’s girlfriend.” He lifted the crisp brown waffle out of the iron and deposited it on a plate. He circled the work island and placed it in front of her. “Syrup or powdered sugar?”
“So what happened?”
“Mac’s new pals jumped him in a parking lot. Beat him to within an inch of his life, put him in a coma. He spent weeks in the hospital. Was never the same after.”
His pain was still close to the surface. She could see it, in the flat expression, the too composed features.
She said, “Your parents must’ve been devastated.”
He fetched the syrup and poured a second waffle. “They’ve never gotten over it. They’re very. protective of him.”
“Even now? I don’t understand.”
“I think they’re in touch with Mac. I think they could lead me to him, if they wanted to. In fact, I’m sure of it.” He gazed out the window. “They despise me for what I’m doing.”
She saw it then. Logan had been forced to make choices no one should have to—no brother, no son. He’d been placed in an impossible position, having to align himself against not only his malevolent brother but his parents, as well. She was deeply moved by his willingness to share this part of himself with her. She began to comprehend his aloofness, his all-consuming dedication to this mission.
She said, “What will you do when you catch up with him?”
“Have him committed. He belongs in a mental facility.”
“You still love him, don’t you? After everything.”
He braced his arms on the countertop. “He’s my brother, Zara. I should have done more. I should have kept him out of that gang.”
“Sounds like Mac had a mind of his own.”
“He did, and back then I told myself it was none of my business what kind of mess he got himself into. But if I’d stuck closer by him, that beating never would’ve happened. He’d be…he’d be normal today.”
“You can’t blame yourself. He made his own choices.” And here was Logan, the good brother, picking up the pieces.
He didn’t respond to that, just nodded at her plate and said, “Don’t let it get cold.”
“I’ll wait for you.” Her hunger had suddenly abated. “When you said you didn’t think Mac would want to hurt my mother, what did you mean?”
He removed his waffle from the iron and carried his plate to the table. At last, something resembling a smile. “You’ve seen Candy’s old movies. The skimpy outfits. The suggestive dialogue. The whole vampy, campy scream-queen thing. Eat.” He dug in to his own meal.
“What do those old films have to do with this?”
“He was smitten. Well, me, too, when I was twelve and we’d watch those cheap horror flicks on TV. She sure was something.”
Zara smirked. “Hey, that’s my mother you’re talking about!” She poured syrup on the waffle and tried a bite. It was delicious.
He said, “I think you’re on the mend.”
She looked at him quizzically, mouth full.
“You’re doing that thing with your shoulders.” He smiled at her look of chagrin. “Don’t be embarrassed. I like it. It’s sexy.”
Averting her eyes, she squeaked the waffle down her gullet and chased it with a gulp of coffee.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I got over my adolescent crush on Candy Carmelle about the time I discovered real girls. My brother, though…he was never a hundred percent grounded in reality. I think watching those movies, over and over, influenced his concept of female perfection.”
“Good God.”
“No matter what he may threaten, I don’t think he could bring himself to do in the object of his adoration. I’ve seen some recent photos of Candy. Far as I can judge, she doesn’t look much different from when she shrieked her way through those Atomic Bride pictures.”
“Good genes and a better plastic surgeon,” she said. “I hope you’re right.”
“Mac’s weirdness escalated after the beating—what my folks so benignly refer to as his ‘accident.’ He became firmly entrenched in a fantasy world—movies, role-playing games like Dungeons & Dragons, and later, computer games.”
“And your parents didn’t discourage it?”
“They indulged him. A function of their own guilty consciences, no doubt. His behavior became more bizarre, more violent. At the same time he saw me working hard to turn my life around. I got in with a better crowd, improved my grades, went to college. Eventually I joined the Bureau.”
“What was Mac’s reaction?”
“I think he was jealous. And that resentment helped set him on the opp
osite path. He started out as a legitimate art dealer. Educated himself, slimed his way into the right circles. Brain damaged or not, he was always smart, resourceful. I actually held out hope he was a legitimate businessman, that he’d left the rough stuff behind.”
“When did you realize he hadn’t?”
Logan pushed away his empty plate. “I suspected for some time. It just didn’t scan—that he could support his lavish life-style on the amount of business he was doing out of that little office of his. He was pretty good at covering his tracks, but at the Bureau I had access to state-of-the-art surveillance and information-gathering techniques. When I realized he’d diversified into stolen art and collectibles, I tried to intercede, get him to straighten out. I was determined not to make the same mistake twice. Waiting and watching until it was too late.”
“I take it he was unreceptive to your brotherly concern.”
“Understatement of the year. So I backed off. Figured, let him dig his own grave. It was only a matter of time before one of his scams would backfire and he’d be put away for a while. But as I kept tabs on him, I realized the stakes were getting higher. He’d gotten hooked up with some real nasty characters, the kind who’d think nothing of killing you if they thought you were trying to put something over on them.”
“And let me guess. Mac tries to put something over on everyone.”
“You got that right. As far as I could see, he’d pulled out all the stops. Extortion, assault, you name it. I knew then that he had to be stopped, before he did the unthinkable.”
The unthinkable. “Tell me what he did to Emma.”
“He pushed her in front of a subway train.”
Zara’s hand went to her mouth, as if to contain her anguished cry.
He said, “It happened when she was on her way to meet him. He followed her onto the subway platform, snatched her bag—obviously thinking it contained the ray gun—and pushed her.”
“And-and Gage saved her, you said?”
“He’d followed her, too, thinking she was you, infuriated furiated because you’d stood him up for your meeting. Turned out she was hiding the gun inside her raincoat.”
Twice Burned Page 9
