Dark of the Night Page 20

  “I didn’t think so, because I couldn’t imagine that Larsen had found anything big enough to warrant my death. And because I wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. But I’m not so sure anymore. I talked to Walter. And from what I can tell, it’s entirely possible my being at the rally was a setup.”

  “You mean someone orchestrated your being there?” Riley stared at Jake, gooseflesh crawling up both arms. This was fast turning into a Robert Ludlam novel.

  “Exactly.” Jake sat back with a frustrated sigh. “But that’s where it ends. I don’t have a tie-in to Michaels’s suicide. And there’s certainly nothing in what we know that would connect to Caroline. So we’re stuck.”

  “Not completely,” David said. “The reason I was waiting for you is that I think I’ve linked Larsen’s fire to the clinic bombing. The fingerprint is the same. So all I have to do is ID the bomber, and once I have him, I’ll have whoever is pulling the strings. Which ought to give us some answers. Unfortunately, this kind of thing takes time.”

  “Which is something we don’t have a lot of.”

  “Not with people trying to run you down.” David’s look turned fierce, and Riley pulled the afghan more tightly around her.

  “Evidently, I’ve developed a penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She shrugged, trying for lightness, the tremor in her voice invalidating the effort. “Hit and run, car bomb,” she ticked off two fingers, “and then there was the man last night.”

  “Last night?”

  “There may have been someone following Riley last night.” Jake frowned. “Outside my apartment. I arrived before anything happened.”

  “Did you get a look at him?”

  Jake shook his head. “He was gone by the time she could tell me about it.”

  David turned to Riley. “How about you?”

  She lifted her hands in frustration. “It was dark.”

  “Well, I’m betting it was lead foot.” David’s tone was still grim. “Look, the important point here is that whatever is going on, the people behind it all are playing for keeps. Which means that until we find answers, the two of you are going to have to sleep with your eyes open.”

  Chapter 18

  “SO TOMORROW YOU talk to the witnesses?” Riley stopped pacing around Jake’s living room long enough to ask the question. Since David had gone, she’d felt like a caged cat. All energy and nothing concrete to do with it.

  “First I have to find them.”

  “Well,” she smiled, “if anyone can do it, I’d put my money on you.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but it’s been nineteen years.”

  She nodded, rubbing the back of her neck. “At least you know where to find Daniels.”

  “Yeah. But we have to prepare ourselves that he may be less than cooperative. He’s a convicted killer, after all.”

  “I don’t see how you do this day in and day out.”

  It was Jake’s turn to smile. “I guess the truth is there’s something very satisfying about taking seemingly unrelated bits and pieces and weaving them into something whole, putting it all together after the fact.”

  “Maybe you should have been a cop.”

  “No, there’s more freedom in journalism. I pursue what I want to. Besides, a cop rarely ever sees the outcome. The end of the story, if you will. If he’s successful, he takes it through to an arrest, and maybe an opportunity to testify, but the story doesn’t end there. I get to follow through to the very end. I like that.”

  “You make it sound exciting, but I’ve just spent an evening reading through some very dry material.”

  “And almost getting run down by a crazy man.”

  “Okay, so it was a little exciting.” She crossed to the window, looking out on the traffic. Everything seemed so normal, people driving their cars, blissfully unaware of everything that had happened.

  “So you really don’t think your father knows about this?” Jake came to stand beside her, his presence comforting.

  “Caroline’s pregnancy, you mean?”

  He nodded, his eyes on the traffic below.

  She shook her head. “It just doesn’t track with the way things played out.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “We’re Catholic, Jake. Irish Catholic to boot. If Daddy had known that Caroline was pregnant when she died, then there would have been a service for her child.” She turned to face him. “But there wasn’t.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make this more painful for you. I just want to get to the bottom of what’s happening.”

  Riley sighed, suddenly feeling the full effect of the events of the past twenty-four hours. “I know.” Tears welled. “It’s just difficult to imagine Caroline in trouble, with no one to talk to.”

  “Then concentrate on the idea that there was someone. Maybe someone she loved.”

  She fought to pull her emotions into control. It wouldn’t benefit anyone for her to fall apart. “But even if there were someone, we don’t know who.”

  His thumb stroked the contour of her cheek, the motion strangely soothing. “We’ll figure this out, Riley. You just have to give me a chance.”

  She stared into the blue of his eyes, trying to lose herself, to pretend that none of this was happening. “What I really want is to wake up and find that this was all a dream.”

  “All of it?” His question had nothing to do with Caroline.

  “No.” The word came out on a whisper. “Not all of it.”

  “You’re an amazing woman, Riley O’Brien. Do you know that?” He ran a finger across her lips, the touch more sensual than a kiss.

  She smiled awkwardly, his words embarrassing her. “I’m not sure you know what you’re talking about.”

  He moved closer, his gaze locked with hers. “I always know what I’m talking about.”

  She licked her lips nervously, wondering why breathing had become so difficult. He was so close now she could see the gold flecks in his eyes. Lapis lazuli. His breath caressed her, igniting a flame deep inside.

  And then he kissed her, his touch hard and demanding. Almost possessive.

  Riley pulled away, uncertain of her feelings. She wanted to say no. To tell him there was no future between them. But her heart was overriding common sense. Just at the moment, for now, she needed him. Needed to feel his heart beating next to hers, needed his warmth, his humanity. She needed him to keep the dark at bay, to hold onto her until the storm had passed.

  A slow smile lit his face as he watched the parade of emotions that she knew must be playing across her face. Her breathing became difficult again, and he closed the distance between them, his arms circling her waist, drawing her closer.

  His kiss was gentle, his lips barely brushing against hers, but there was something sensual in the act. Something spiritual too. She pressed closer, wanting more. With a groan, his kiss became more demanding, his hands sliding under her shirt, fingers massaging, caressing, circling.

  “Tell me that you want me.” His voice was tight, hoarse with passion, and she felt the fires inside her begin to spread.

  “I want you.” She was surprised to hear a tremor in her own voice, evidence of the way he moved her.

  With one smooth gesture he reached beneath her knees and swung her up into his arms. And just like that all her doubts dissipated. Leaving only Jake, and the naked desire shining from his blue-black eyes. He carried her to the sofa, placing her carefully among the cushions.

  When she reached for him, he shook his head, his crooked smile beguiling. “Tonight, I want everything to be perfect. No storms. No chance for regrets. Just you and me, Riley. All the other baggage left at the door. Do you think you can do that?”

  She nodded wordlessly, knowing her heart was reflected in her eyes. His smile deepened, and he walked to the fireplace and opened the screen, adding logs to the already blazing fire. Then, with the flick of a switch, the room was clothed only in the soft gold of firelight.

  H
e laid a quilt on the floor, and after adding cushions from the sofa, he reached for her hand and slowly pulled her up, until her breasts pressed against the hard expanse of his chest, their breathing becoming as one. Her legs fit between his as if they had been made to do so, their bodies joining together as if they were halves of what had once been whole.

  They danced then, to music no one could hear. Swaying together, gazes locked, making love with nothing more than their eyes. Riley reached up to trace the planes of his face, relishing the contrast between the smooth skin of his cheek and the beard-roughened texture of his chin.

  He bent his head, first kissing her eyes and then the line of her nose and the curve of her brow. Then finally . . . finally kissing her lips, the sweet intoxication of his touch almost more than she could bear. She opened her mouth, taking him inside, her tongue tracing the line of his teeth, his taste at once familiar and exotic.

  She wondered if she could ever truly get enough of him. Or if she would forever be doomed to wanting more. She smiled against his mouth, realizing there were far worse fates. They moved backward, dancing toward the fire, until they reached the makeshift bed. Together they knelt, still face-to-face, bodies touching, hands joined.

  There was magic in the dark velvet of his eyes, and she let herself go, knowing that for the moment there was nothing but the two of them and the soft glow of the fire. Their own special island in the night.

  Jake marveled at the emotions rocketing through him. Emotions that she inspired. There was desire, certainly, more than he’d ever known, but there was so much more than that. There was a kind of fierce possessiveness, a protective urge as old as time itself. Something he’d never felt before.

  And even more surprising, there was a gentle tenderness, the need to cherish, and revere, the power of his need almost unmanning. And finally, there was a selflessness, as foreign to him as breathing under water. He knew in that instant that he would give anything, do anything, if it would make her happy.

  She smiled up at him, her eyes like a storm-tossed sea. And with a groan, he captured her mouth with his, telegraphing through his touch all that he was feeling. They fumbled with buttons and zippers, still kneeling together, until they were skin-to-skin, bodies caressing each other. Satin on leather.

  With a fluid motion he laid her back against the cushions, watching the firelight glitter in her hair and play upon her breasts. Dipping his head, he took one swollen peak into his mouth, his tongue dancing with her taut nipple until she cried out, the sound filling him with pleasure. Sucking harder, he caressed the other breast with eager fingers, unable to get enough of her, secretly willing the night to last forever.

  Her fingers twined in his hair, urging him onward, her body like a fine instrument, primed and waiting— waiting for a musician. Waiting for him. He smiled at his own rhetoric, wondering when he’d become a poet.

  Slowly, he inched downward, his tongue tasting first the soft skin of her belly and then, lower still, trailing soft kisses along her inner thighs, his tongue stroking her skin, his desire demanding he take more, that he taste all of her, that he make her once and forever his.

  Shifting slightly, he pushed her legs apart and bent to kiss her, lapping at her delicate softness, drinking in her sweetness. Her hands tightened in his hair, her body arching joyfully upward, meeting him, wanting him.

  Needing her now more than life itself, he rose above her, eyes locked on hers, feeding on the soft sounds of her passion. With one swift stroke he was inside her, feeling her heat as it pulsed around him.

  Together they established a rhythm—in, out, in, out, harder and faster, until there was nothing but the motion, the friction, the incredible union of their bodies, their souls. He called her name, and felt her hands in his, felt her tighten around him, felt the spasm of her release, and then the world exploded.

  And all he could see was the sparkling silver of her eyes.

  It was still dark, which meant he hadn’t been asleep long. Riley was sleeping on her side, one arm thrown across him, her hair fanned out on the quilt. She was a beautiful woman. And a feisty one. She held on to her beliefs with a fierceness he envied.

  One of the downsides to his job was cynicism, and he had it in spades. But Riley brought something else out in him. Something hopeful. He smiled at his thoughts. Jake Mahoney hopeful. Now there was a laugh. He slid out from their makeshift bed and walked to the window. Stars still twinkled and a pale moon still hung high in the darkened sky. He took a deep breath—a sigh, really—and leaned his head against the cool glass.

  Riley’s father certainly wanted her away from him. Which, under the circumstances, he wasn’t sure he blamed him for. He certainly seemed to be inviting trouble these days.

  Any notion he’d entertained that all of this died with Michaels had been put to rest at the courthouse. The man who’d stalked Riley and almost run her down wasn’t being paid by a dead man. No, there was someone else out there calling the shots.

  And then there was Caroline O’Brien. A pregnant teenager who’d fallen from a balcony to her death over twenty years ago. How the hell did she fit into all of this?

  He glanced down at the street below. Everything was quiet. The world asleep. Behind him, Riley thrashed against the quilt, calling for her sister. He spun around, concern knifing through him. It was the same as the other night, her voice sounding childlike, plaintive. It sent chills running down his spine. He dropped down beside her and took her shoulders, shaking her gently.

  “Riley, sweetheart, wake up. It’s only a dream.”

  She didn’t hear him, her nightmare holding her captive, her pleading growing more intense as she stopped calling for Caroline and began to call for her father. She was sweating, but her body felt icy cold. He pulled up the quilt, wrapping it around her, and tried to wake her again, this time stroking the side of her face.

  “Wake up, Riley. You’re dreaming.” Whatever was tormenting her, it was something awful, and judging from the tone of her voice, something to do with the past. “Riley, listen to me. It’s Jake. Wake up.” His voice was harsh, fear adding an edge.

  Her eyes flickered open, and she reached for him, tears glistening along her cheeks. “Jake?”

  He pulled her close, startled to hear the racing beat of her heart. “It was just a dream, sweetheart.”

  She sucked in a ragged breath and then exhaled slowly, as if gathering strength. “I’m okay.”

  He doubted the truth of that but admired her resolve. “What happened? What were you dreaming about?”

  She shook her head, her face pressed against his chest. “I honestly don’t know. It’s always the same, but it never makes any sense.”

  “You’ve dreamt this before?” He assumed it was the same as the one the other night, but he needed to be certain.

  “Yes. Mainly when I was little. But it started again recently.” Her voice was muffled against his chest.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” He kept his voice gentle, one hand stroking her hair.

  She tipped her head so she could see him, her eyes still shining with tears, but her breathing was back to normal, and her heartbeat wasn’t as frantic. “There’s nothing much to tell. It’s pretty abstract. I’m walking down a corridor. And it’s storming. There’s wind and lightning. Everything is black and then white. Blinding white. And I’m alone. Except for Mr. McKafferty.”

  “Mr. McKafferty?”

  She nodded, her voice lost in the dream. “Caroline’s bear. She sometimes let me play with him.”

  “Then what happens?”

  “I can see a light at the end of the hall, but as I get closer, everything turns red, and I’m so afraid I can’t move. I try to scream but no sound comes out, and then suddenly I’m back in my room, awake.” She shuddered at the memory, and he pulled her closer.

  “And it started when you were a kid?”

  “Yeah. Sometime after Caroline died. I thought it had gone. I mean, I haven’t had it in years. Not since I was about t
en.”

  “It just disappeared?”

  “Well, I suppose spending a million hours in therapy probably helped.” She laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “But now it’s back. I guess the stress of the last few days has set off my subconscious or some similar mumbo jumbo. The worst of it is that it’s got me thinking about Caroline again.”

  “And that’s a bad thing.” His tone was somewhere between a statement and a question.

  “It shouldn’t be. I know that. But it is.”

  “When did the dream first come back?”

  “The night after we found Michaels. Makes sense in an odd sort of way, I guess. Anyway, I decided I needed to face things head-on. Exorcise my ghosts, so to speak. That’s why I was in the graveyard. I thought if I went there, if I faced them, maybe the dream would go away.”

  “But instead I interrupted.”

  “I don’t think it would have done any good anyway. I’m not sure I can ever truly let it go. In some ways everything that I am is built on Caroline’s death, and the aftermath.”

  “Sounds pretty bleak to me.”

  “I don’t mean for it to. It’s just that I’ve never really been able to let it all go. I just manage to keep it sequestered off somehow—out of my day-to-day thinking. But I guess with everything that’s been happening, I opened the floodgates.”

  “You’re talking like there’s something more than the dream.”

  She rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if warding off something evil. “No. Not really. It’s just that my imagination has been on overdrive because of it. I thought I smelled her perfume. And there was a book—” She broke off, obviously hesitant to continue.

  “A book?”

  She nodded. “This is going to sound stupid. But it was her favorite book, and it was in her room. Open. As though she’d only just left it there. And the next night—” She paused, moistening her lips with her tongue. “—the night I came to find you, it appeared on my bedside table. Only, the next morning, when I got back, it was gone again.”

  She stared down at her hands, her fists clenching and unclenching. “I know there are a thousand logical explanations, Jake. Or maybe I just imagined the whole thing. But with everything else that’s happened, I feel like I’m going crazy.”