- -
- 100%
- +
It wouldn’t have been the first time on Thanksgiving that she’d imagined the presence of another person in her home.
Her bathroom was as empty as the rest of the place.
She was alone and no one had been in her apartment. The day had gotten to her, that’s all. Her imagination—and her memories—were conjuring ghosts.
Her shoulders slumped and Alex leaned weakly against the tiled wall, taking a deep breath. Then the heat came on, and all at once she caught a whiff of gardenias. Her mother’s favorite fragrance.
Alex knew what she smelled wasn’t really there—it couldn’t be—but her body went cold, her blood refusing to go through her veins. She held her breath for as long as she could, then she slowly released it and inhaled again. The scent was gone.
Letting the bat slip from her fingers, she waited for her heart to slow, the beats gradually subsiding from a pounding rhythm to a steady pulse. After a bit, she looked into the bathroom mirror and shook her head at what she saw. Her face was an oval of white, her expression frightened and anxious. She lifted her hands and nervously fingered her hair, the strands still limp and damp from her shower at the pool.
Returning to the living room, she sent her glance to the corner of the room. For years, she’d had nightmares after Los Lobos. She dreamed the same thing each time; she’d come home, unlock the door, and there would be a man waiting in the living room. Grabbing her by the arms, he would pull her toward the wall, then the wall would disappear, a huge hole replacing it. Looking straight into her eyes, he would pitch her into the darkness. Before she hit the bottom, she always woke up, shaking and screaming.
The man was faceless. But she knew who he was.
Turning abruptly, she went into the kitchen. She grabbed a plate from the cabinet above the sink and dumped the container of pad thai into its center, sticking it into the microwave and punching the buttons with a trembling finger. She forced her mind into a blank state that didn’t allow for any thinking.
Hours later, she woke up on the couch, her neck stiff from the hard cushions, her legs cramped. The clock read one-thirty, her dirty dishes were spread across the coffee table and the movie she’d rented had stopped on the DVD. She stumbled to her feet and thought about cleaning up, then rejected the idea. The mess would be fine until morning—she didn’t want to wake up enough to deal with it. Her mind would grab the opportunity to go into high gear again and she’d never get back to sleep.
Feeling her way to the bedroom, Alex peeled off her clothes and dropped them at the foot of her bed, reaching for the nightgown she’d left on the chair. Her eyes half-closed, she found the silky garment and slipped it over her head. She didn’t bother to wash her face or brush her hair. She simply yanked back the covers and fell into bed, her gaze flicking automatically toward the frame on her bedside table. Looking at those long-ago lost faces was the last thing she did every night and the first thing she did every morning.
She blinked once, then once again, her groggy brain not understanding the message her eyes had just sent. Finally, she reached out with a trembling hand and turned on the bedside lamp.
The nightstand was empty. Her sketch was gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
PARALYZED BY WHAT she didn’t see, Alex held her breath and tried to understand. She was sure the drawing had been there that morning. She distinctly remembered sitting in the bed and holding it in her hands, staring at it, in fact.
Had she dropped it? Knocked it off the table? Put it somewhere else? Her heart lurched as she recalled the perfume she’d thought she’d smelled earlier, but she instantly pushed the idea aside. She was crazy to even think about it. Her mother was dead.
Throwing off the covers, Alex fell from the bed to the floor where she began to search. Looking around to the back of the table and then underneath the bed frame, she found nothing but dust balls. No glint of silver, no paper with charcoal smudges…nothing.
She jumped to her feet and ran into the bathroom. The countertop was as uncluttered as always, a box of tissues and her makeup bag taking up one corner, her toothbrush, a can of hair spray and some jewelry clustered at the other end. Feeling foolish, she drew back the shower curtain. The empty tub gleamed.
Her consternation grew, but as Alex made a quick circuit of the apartment, she realized the rooms were exactly as she had left them when she’d gone to sleep on the sofa. Not a thing had been touched, not even the cash she kept in a jar in the kitchen for emergencies. Nothing was missing. Except for the sketch.
Panic swept over her. She fought the crushing weight, but it was stronger than she was and all at once she couldn’t breathe. Nausea came with the suffocation. She clawed at her throat, then gave up. Half running, half stumbling, she made it into the living room and grabbed the phone at the end of the couch.
She meant to dial 911, but her fingers punched out a different number. It was already ringing when she realized what she’d done.
“SEÑOR! Señor Bradford…”
Gabriel halted his unsteady progress across the hotel lobby as the clerk behind the counter called out his current alias. Sunburned, cranky and more than halfway tanked, Gabriel had actually gone fishing late that afternoon. By the time he and his guide had cleaned their catch, cooked it and finished the beer, midnight had come and gone. Glancing to where the clerk stood, Gabriel decided to blow him off. Then he looked at the man’s face. He wore such an anxious expression Gabriel immediately changed course and went straight to the desk.
“You have a message.” The clerk reached behind the counter. “Several of them. A woman has been calling you more than one times. She did not believe me when I told her you weren’t here. It is not good news, señor. You have my condolences…”
A ripple of unease went down Gabriel’s spine and the bit of buzz he’d had left instantly.
Without a word, he took the pink message slips from the clerk. There were three of them and they each had the same message.
Grandmother has died. Call home immediately. Your loving sister, Samantha.
Gabriel stared at the writing and willed the words away, but when he looked again, they hadn’t disappeared. He had no sisters by that name or any other. His grandmother had been dead and gone for twenty-five years, his father for five. His mom had disappeared when he was seven and no one had seen or heard from her since.
This message was from his drop number. Someone had called him.
With the clerk’s repeated sympathies still ringing in the lobby, Gabriel made his way to his bungalow. He never left the country without calling the Agency and giving them his itinerary. It was a good thing old habits die hard, he guessed, his heart beating against his ribs.
Once inside, he went straight for his bags. Digging into his duffel, he found his phone—a palm-size unit that used an encoded satellite line. He dialed the number from memory then glanced at his watch as it rang. It was almost one-thirty in the morning, but where he was calling they didn’t sleep.
The woman who answered didn’t acknowledge him in any way. She simply began to speak.
“You had a call at 1:40 a.m. central standard time.”
He calculated quickly. The south of Baja was an hour behind CST. The original call had come into the center more than forty-five minutes ago. He waited for the operator to continue, but she said nothing else.
“No message?”
“The subject hung up. The number was private. It originated from Austin, in Texas—”
His chest suddenly felt as if someone had put a vise around it and was squeezing hard. Gabriel interrupted the woman’s mechanical voice, his own a growl. “She didn’t say anything? Are you sure?”
“No verbal communication was recorded.”
Gabriel digested the answer, his brain flashing through a thousand possibilities, none of them good. In the silence that followed, the woman spoke again.
“Do you have instructions?”
“If she calls back, give her this number.” Gabriel read off his cell phone number. “Then you call me and let me know she phoned. Try to get her to talk to you.”
“Anything else?”
Find out what’s happened and why she’s calling me after all these years. Ask her if she still hates me. Ask her if she’s okay.
Ask her if she can ever forgive me.
“No,” he said after a long moment. “That’s all.”
He punched the end key on the phone and stuffed the tiny unit into his pocket, stunned disbelief coming over him. Why now? What was going on with Alexis that she was desperate enough to call him?
Totally disconcerted, Gabriel walked out to the sandy beach. At the water’s edge he stopped and stared. The Pacific rolled in and out as steadily as it had before, but all at once the waves looked more hazardous, the empty blackness more menacing.
The world was suddenly a more dangerous place.
ALEX FINGERED the silken teddy, her eyes searching the lingerie department for Libby. Ben’s daughter had pointed out the expensive pink and ivory confection when they’d first seen it, and Alex had decided right then it would make the perfect Christmas present for the young woman. Looking around, Alexis spotted Libby’s tall form and red hair in the next section—she’d already moved on to the sweaters. Quickly locating the proper size, Alex took her selection to the counter and waited in line to pay for it, her mind slipping away from the task at hand and back to the subject she most wanted to forget.
A week had passed since she’d called Gabriel O’Rourke, and every day she’d cursed herself for being so stupid. She’d hung up without saying a word, but why on earth had she even dialed the number? It had been a ridiculous move and pointless as well. There had to be some reasonable explanation for why her drawing was missing. Her apartment had been locked and nothing else disturbed. No one could have gotten in without picking the lock, and why do that without stealing anything but a sketch? She must have put the picture somewhere and just forgotten about it. She’d been completely stressed out the past few weeks—it was entirely possible she’d done just that. Scary but possible.
The feeling had persisted—intensified even—that someone was watching her and maybe following her, as well. She’d even thought she’d seen a figure dressed in black standing beside her car the other night after she’d left the movies. She’d managed to convince herself she’d been imagining that, too, but…
Someone said something to her and Alex realized she was at the head of the line and others behind her were waiting. Paying for her purchase, she slipped the box into her larger shopping bag and stepped away, determined not to think anymore about her situation.
She found Libby at a display counter, her hand caressing a blue cashmere pullover.
“That’s gorgeous,” Alex said, reaching out and touching the sweater. “The color matches your eyes perfectly. Why don’t you try it on?”
Libby looked up from the sweater then around at the confusion of people and decorations. Usually outgoing and happy, she shook her head dejectedly as “Jingle Bells” blared from overhead speakers. “I’m just not in the mood, Alex. Christmas is going to be so sad…I don’t want any presents.”
Alex smiled gently and put her hand on top of Libby’s fingers. “I know, sweetheart, and I understand completely. But your dad doesn’t feel that way. He wants you to have a good Christmas.”
“A good Christmas isn’t possible. Not with him so sick.”
“I feel the same way, but your dad’s feelings are the ones we need to worry about right now.” She picked up the cashmere and handed it to the young woman. “Go try it on. Then come out and show me.”
Libby nodded reluctantly and Alex watched as she headed for the dressing rooms, her heart breaking over everything Libby was having to go through. The girl wasn’t at all prepared to lose Ben and had no idea what to do. Her mother had passed away during childbirth and Ben had pampered his only child ever since, trying to make up for the loss, his own and hers. Because of this overindulgence, Libby had never been responsible for anyone, including herself. She was naive and idealistic, a college student without goals. And soon she’d be all alone.
Alex turned back to the sweaters, emotion twisting in her stomach. She’d been younger than Libby when she’d run off with Esteban, but her return home had matured her quickly. Too quickly.
Libby came out of the back and saved Alex from further thought. The sweater looked as lovely as Alex had known it would and she bought it immediately. Ben had handed her his credit card and told her to get whatever caught Libby’s eye. But so far, not much had. She was too despondent.
They shopped a few more hours, then Alex drove Libby home. She and Ben lived off Town Lake in an expensive enclave of huge homes. Ben had been a stockbroker until he’d been forced by his illness to quit. He hadn’t needed to work at that point but he’d enjoyed it. When Libby invited her in, Alex didn’t have the heart to turn her down. The house felt empty and silent with Ben so sick. She couldn’t imagine how quiet the enormous place must seem to Libby.
They went in through the back, stopping for a minute to talk to Margaret, the housekeeper. She’d been with the family for quite some time and Alex was grateful that at least she was there to help keep Libby company.
Climbing the stairs to the upper floor, Alex girded herself. Each time she saw Ben it seemed as if he’d shrunk another inch or two, his tall and robust frame becoming smaller and smaller. His attitude was always terrific, though, and today was no exception.
“Hey!” he said, brightening up the minute they walked into his bedroom. “How are my two favorite girls? Did you spend all my money? I hope you did.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.