by Debra Webb
The next voice she heard in her dream whispered to her.
I’m here, Rowan. Waiting for you.
Julian. Rowan’s head came up. Her breath snagged in her throat and the room spun a little.
A dream. Just a dream.
She shivered uncontrollably. A few moments were required for her to realize the water had gone cold. How long had she been dozing?
Freud lifted his head and whined.
“It’s okay, boy. Just a bad dream.” Rowan pulled the plug and the water growled loudly as it circled the drain.
She climbed out of the tub, still shivering, and quickly toweled off. Since only the ends of her hair were wet she used the towel to squeeze as much of the water out as possible rather than bother with dragging out the hair dryer. When she had pulled on a nightshirt and lounge pants and her necklace, she washed her face and brushed her hair. She gathered her stemmed glass and the nearly empty bottle of wine and went down the stairs to the kitchen.
She washed her glass and left the wine on the counter. She doubted she would finish it, knew without doubt that Billy would not. He hated red wine. Feeling restless, she decided to take a walk through the funeral home and check on things and to let Freud out to relieve himself. With her cell phone and keys in hand, she summoned him and headed that way.
At the second-floor landing she glanced at the banister and moved on. She hadn’t dreamed of her mother in a while. Most of her dreams lately had only involved Raven. Dreaming of Julian was new.
And certainly not welcome.
Downstairs, she checked her office, the restrooms and the refreshment lounge. From there she moved back through the lobby, noting the mail lying on the table next to the main entrance, and walked through the chapel and the parlors. All clear, tidy and ready for tomorrow evening’s viewing. She moved on into the corridor marked Employees Only. Numerous bouquets of flowers had already arrived for Ms. Donelson. They were stored in the small walk-in cooler. Beyond that cooler was the refrigeration unit. Ms. Donelson was there.
“Night,” Rowan called out to her. Her father had always spoken to the clients when he entered or exited the room where they were. Never in front of anyone except Rowan and Raven, when she was still alive. Rowan suspected her father was only showing respect. She was relatively confident he hadn’t believed they could hear him. She smiled at the memories. Though once or twice she had found him chatting away with a client he was preparing. The work was lonely. She caught herself doing the same thing on occasion.
She closed the door and locked the unit. Since the Santos body had been stolen she’d kept this unit locked at all times. To have anything stolen was bad enough, having a body taken was the worst possible scenario.
She grabbed the mail in the lobby and climbed the stairs once more. Any lingering effects of the alcohol were gone. She shouldn’t have overindulged. Of all people, she knew how foolish too much alcohol and a hot bath could be, particularly with her home alone.
With the mail under her arm, she and Freud went back into the living quarters and locked the door. Billy’s voice reminding her to keep all doors locked echoed in her head.
“Yes, sir,” she murmured as she flipped the dead bolt.
Freud trailed her to the kitchen. She turned on the flame under the kettle. Tea would be nice. Maybe it would chase away the chill that still lingered from her dream and her snooze in the tub.
She rummaged through the mail. The usual flyers and invoices. A greeting-card-size envelope was tucked between the pile of sale flyers. She picked up the rose-colored envelope and read her name on the front. She turned it over, no return address. The postmark showed it had been mailed from Tullahoma.
Maybe an invitation or a belated birthday card. Having hit forty on her last birthday, she’d had no desire to celebrate—a smile spread across her lips—but Billy had planned a party without her knowledge. The cake had been beautiful, the food and drink and company splendid. He’d given her the stunning necklace. A plain platinum chain with a single teardrop-shaped diamond. She loved it. She fingered it now. Didn’t like to take it off but she always did when she bathed and when she went to bed for fear of damaging the delicate chain.
She opened the envelope and removed the card.
Deepest Sympathies
She stared at the card. Would someone wait almost a year before sending a card regarding her father’s death? She opened the card and a photograph fell onto the counter.
Billy.
Her heart crowded into her throat. In the photograph Billy was coming out of city hall, descending the steps.
She stared at the words written inside the otherwise blank card.
Rowan,
You cannot protect him if you don’t recognize the enemy.
Julian
Her heart slid back down her throat and started to pound. “Son of a bitch!”
* * *
Billy was tired when he finally made it home. The briefing and conference calls with the task force had taken endless hours and had offered nothing new. How the hell could this many people be focused on finding one damned man and get nowhere?
The Julian Addington task force spent more time chasing its tail than making any headway on the investigation.
He locked the funeral home’s main entrance and rearmed the security system. The night shift officer was still on the side street. Pryor’s man was in the front parking lot. He’d waved to Billy when he arrived. Billy imagined Rowan was still livid about Pryor’s innuendos.
She needn’t worry, Billy had set him straight.
Rowan had no idea where Addington was and she had been just as surprised as Billy was to learn Dressler was missing.
As usual, the damned FBI was not only barking up the wrong tree, they were in the wrong damned forest.
Climbing the stairs zapped the last of his energy. He needed to see Rowan’s face and then have a shower and a beer. Maybe food.
Freud met him at the door. Billy was thankful Rowan had kept that door locked as well. He wanted her safe. To make that happen, he needed her to cooperate.
Lately he’d been toying with the idea of finding a way to send a message to Addington. If he could lure the bastard into the right situation, he could finish this and ensure Rowan was safe. Except there was a law against vigilantism. Billy had been a lawman most of his adult life and still he despised the idea of the law protecting someone as depraved as Addington.
But the law protected all people and Billy had sworn to uphold it.
He peeked into the bedroom. Rowan was asleep. Her silky hair spread over the pillow. He smiled. She was so beautiful and he loved her so much. He thought of the ring he had tucked away in the glove box of his truck. He’d wanted to give it to her before now but the case had gotten in the way.
Something else that made Billy want to kill the bastard.
Freud climbed back onto his mat at the foot of the bed. Billy took the shortest shower in the history of showers, ate a peanut butter sandwich and guzzled down a beer, brushed his teeth and then climbed into bed with Rowan. He didn’t feel complete until he had her in his arms.
He reached to turn off the lamp on the bedside table.
“You’re home awfully late,” she said softly.
He drew his hand back without turning off the light and peered down at her, couldn’t help the broad smile that stretched across his lips. “You can thank our new friend, Agent Pryor.”
Pryor had been in the background for the past year. He’d kept his finger on the pulse of the task force’s investigation but never got involved on the ground. He outranked Dressler and the others on the task force. But with Dressler missing, Pryor had evidently decided he needed to be more hands-on.
Rowan rolled her pretty blue eyes at his comment. “I hardly know him and already I dislike him immensely.”
Billy laughed. “I’m right ther
e with you.”
A soft hand settled on his bare chest. “Any updates I need to know about?”
“Not one thing. The entire evening was a monumental waste of time and resources. It’s like they’re going in circles. If Pryor has been running this show from behind the scenes all this time, it’s no wonder Addington hasn’t been found.”
She frowned, those velvety fingers tracing the contours of his chest. “I’ve had my differences with Josh and the Bureau in general, but I’ve never known them to perform so inadequately. What we’ve seen the past few months feels unreasonably inept.”
He reached down and trailed a finger along her cheek, loving the feel of her smooth skin. “Maybe there is a leak and that leak is somehow creating an information gap.”
“I suppose that would do it,” Rowan agreed. “Have them going in circles, I mean.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Billy’s mind had shifted from work to other ideas.
“I went to see Beulah Alcott, but don’t worry. Charlotte went with me so I wasn’t alone.”
“She wasn’t home?”
“I knew you had someone following me.” Rowan laughed, the sound rumbling against him making him want to roll her over and take her without any foreplay.
“I wasn’t sure about her not being home. I only knew that you weren’t at her house for long enough to actually have spoken with her. Ms. Alcott has her own way of getting around to things in a conversation.”
Rowan sighed, her warm breath fanning over his skin. “She left a note for me to come back tomorrow. I have no idea how she knew I was coming but somehow she was expecting me.”
“She has her ways.” Billy didn’t know why he bothered to say more. He knew the answer before he made the comment. “I suppose you’re going.”
Of course she was.
“I am. Charlotte will go with me.”
“Okay.”
Rowan rose up onto her elbows. “Okay?” She felt his forehead. “Are you ill? Where’s the usual argument of why I can’t go without you?”
He grinned as he lay back against his pillow. “You’ll have plenty of backup.”
She shook her head and folded her hands on his chest so she could rest her chin there. “True. So I guess you really don’t have to worry about me anymore.”
He chuckled. “Right.”
She was silent for a moment and apprehension started its slow creep into his gut.
“There’s something I should show you.”
“Oh hell.” One of these days maybe they would have five minutes of time together without Addington somehow managing to worm his way into the moment.
She sat up and reached for something on her bedside table. She thrust a sympathy card at him and a photo of him coming out of the office.
A frown worried his forehead. “What’s all this?”
“Read the note in the card.”
He laid the photo aside and opened the card. Fury bolted through him. “When did you get this?”
She was bad to keep things from him for a period of time. He had hoped she would stop holding back but he tried not to be too pushy on the subject. Rowan was an experienced investigator. She didn’t need him telling her what she was supposed to do and when she should do it. She was well aware; she simply chose not to do them sometimes.
“It was in today’s mail, but I didn’t see it until tonight when I let Freud out.”
He uttered a few choice words. Didn’t do a damned thing to help the situation but somehow it made him feel better.
“My sentiments exactly,” she agreed.
He placed the photo and the card on the table on his side of the bed and pulled her into his arms, her cheek resting against his chest. “We’re going to get him. I promise you that.”
“I know. I just worry that someone else will be hurt before that happens. I spoke to Charlotte about her name being on that list we found. She refuses to take a leave of absence.” Rowan lifted her head so she could look him in the eyes. “Did you know she wears a thigh holster with a snub-nosed .38?”
“Seriously?” Billy laughed. “That’s kind of sexy.”
Rowan lowered her cheek back to his chest. “I suppose now you’ll want me to start wearing one.”
“You’re as sexy as hell just as you are. But I am glad you keep your weapon with you. I don’t want you to stop.”
Her leg moved into the part between his and she eased her upper body farther up onto his torso. “I didn’t know you thought I was sexy. You never said so before.”
He forked his fingers into her hair and held her face so that she stared directly into his eyes. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. Every part of you, every move you make, is sexy. Just watching you walk across the room makes it hard for me to breathe.”
She kissed him. Slow and soft at first. Then she kissed him harder. He rolled her onto her back and took control of the kiss. If he died tomorrow he would die satisfied having made love to this woman. The one thing he wanted more than anything else was to show her how incredible she was...to show her how much he wanted her. He wanted to do exactly that for the rest of his days.
Later, she fell asleep in his arms and Billy was certain that nothing would ever feel as amazing as simply holding her close like this.
Fury burned through those softer emotions as he considered that Addington was still watching her. He was still close enough to strike. Too damned close.
Billy had to finish this. Soon.
Eight
Wednesday, March 11
“You look just like her.”
Rowan smiled no matter that she didn’t feel like smiling. “I get that all the time.”
Anyone who had known Rowan’s mother swore Rowan was her spitting image. After her mother’s death, the words had not warmed Rowan as they had previously. The one person who had never told her she looked like her mother was her father. Had he, too, resented Norah for how she had decided to leave them? After all, Rowan wasn’t the only one Norah deserted when she hung herself.
Beulah Alcott studied her closely with her one green eye and one blue eye. “She loved you very much.”
Rowan blinked, startled at the idea that this woman seemed to know what she was thinking. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought. Who loved me?”
“Why, your momma, of course.” Beulah chuckled. “She was too sensitive. Too caring. It was the death of her. You’re like her in that way, too.”
Rowan kept her lips pinched closely together. The woman was quite elderly. At least ninety, she would estimate. Silvery hair framed her dark face, the contrast as calming as it was eye-catching. The flannel shirt and long denim skirt swallowed her tiny body. Despite her small statue and her frail-with-age voice, there was something strong and powerful about her presence. The air literally vibrated around her.
“My mother hung herself,” Rowan reminded the elderly woman.
“Sometimes sacrifices must be made, child,” she warned. “Don’t let all them book smarts get in the way of seeing what needs to be seen.”
“What do I need to see?” Rowan tried very hard to keep resentment from her tone, but it was difficult.
“You can’t forgive her for leaving you and she couldn’t live with the idea that she hadn’t left soon enough.”
What was that supposed to mean? “I really have no idea what that means, Ms. Alcott. I do want to understand what motivated my mother, but I haven’t discovered anything that suggests what she did was a selfless act.”
“She blamed herself for Raven’s death.” Beulah nodded somberly. “She couldn’t get past it. As much as she wanted to pretend it wouldn’t happen again, she knew it would. So she did the only thing she could. She stopped fighting it. Took herself out of the equation. She really thought that would end it, but it didn’t.”
Frustration tightened its grip on Rowan. �
�End what?”
The older lady stared at her. “You know what. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
Rowan summoned her patience. “If I already had the answers, I wouldn’t have come to you with questions.”
“I can’t make you see what you don’t want to see, Rowan. You have to see it with your heart, not with your eyes.”
“Tell me what you saw in my mother.”
Alcott stared at her for a long moment. “Your mother saw things.” She shook her head and scrunched up her face. “Bad, bad things. Things no one should ever have to see. She tried to fix the trouble, but she only made things worse for her.”
Rowan tamped down her frustration before it purged from her in a storm of fury. This lady was trying to help. Enough time wasted on the subject of her mother. Rowan opened the photographs app on her phone and moved to the older woman’s side. She crouched down next to her chair and showed her the first photograph.
“There are tattoos on the bodies of two men who were somehow involved with Norah. Have you seen anything like these before?”
Alcott looked at the photos, one by one, taking her time. Rowan wasn’t sure what to make of her not reaching for a pair of reading glasses. Most people her age had vision issues. Perhaps she only pretended to study the photos.
“This one—” she tapped a photo of Santos “—was very close to your mother.”
Since there was no face in the photo, only the tattooed torso and arms, Rowan wasn’t sure how Alcott made that call.
“How do you know?”
She pointed to the photo again. “The black birds. They stay close and watch. He was more than a black bird. He watched, stayed close, but he also acted.” She tapped the screen again. “The two circles intertwined. See them? They were linked. This one and your mother.”
“What about these images?” Rowan slid the screen to another photo. “They look like the parts of a puzzle. They don’t seem to have any other significant meaning other than the absence of the whole or a broken link. They go with something else and represent nothing in their own right.”
