After Moonrise: Possessed\Haunted (24 page)

Or not.

“No,” Bright said with a shake of his head. “You’ll come with
me. Your girl’s art gallery was just torn to shreds.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Horrified, Harper peered at her surroundings. She
hadn’t meant to hurt the first—and now only—person to give her a break into the
art world, and she hadn’t meant to destroy the building, but she’d walked in,
tried to talk to him, tried to touch him, and like Peterson had predicted, she
had failed. Clifford Rigsby had gone about his day, showing patrons his current
pieces, then closing up for lunch.

Frustration had risen inside her, but she’d kept herself under
control by repeating, “This is a dream. I’ll wake up. And if not, there’s some
other answer to what’s going on.” But then Cliff had entered his office. His
secret office. It wasn’t the one he used for public business dealings; obviously
it was meant only for his private use.

He had a portrait of Harper hanging on the wall. In it, she was
splayed on the same metal slab
she’d
painted, naked,
cut and bleeding.

A bright light flashed in her mind but quickly faded—and as it
faded, a gruesome scene took its place.

“Say cheese,” her captor said. He was blond and handsome, with
a smile any dentist would be proud of, and he was holding a camera, the lens
directed at her.

Cold, hurting, trembling, hating the very fabric of his evil
being, she scowled at him. “You will pay for this.”

His chuckle reverberated through the room. “Such a naughty
girl. But don’t worry, you’ll learn the proper way to address your new master
soon enough, I promise you.”

Another flash of bright light. This time it faded and she found
herself back inside Cliff’s private office. Her limbs trembled. For a moment,
she had trouble catching her breath. Except, she was dead, wasn’t she, and had
no need to breathe.

Dead.

Dead
.

She really was dead. She’d truly been tortured by a monster,
killed by his blade. Peterson had tried to tell her, but Harper had fought the
realization. Had fought the truth. Maybe because accepting her death meant
accepting what had happened to her—what her mind had been trying to remind her
of for weeks.

The room spun…spun…and other portraits came into view. Other
women, each in a similar position to Harper, lying flat on a cold slab of metal,
with similar wounds decorating their bodies. One fact became excruciatingly
clear: Cliff and Topper knew each other.

Perhaps they were friends, if demons hiding in human skin were
even capable of friendship. If so, Cliff had served her to Topper on a silver
platter.

Another flash of light. Another scene crystallized.

Suddenly Harper was in the center of the gallery, dressed in an
ice-blue cocktail dress with thin straps and a Tinkerbell skirt. On her feet
were clear heels with jewels encrusted on ties that wound up her calves. Her
hair flowed down her back, curling at the ends, though the sides were
elaborately twisted at her crown. Usually she got ready in thirty minutes or
less, brushing her hair, throwing on a little mascara and lip gloss and pulling
a T-shirt and jeans from a drawer. Today she’d taken two hours, wanting to look
her best to properly represent her (amazing) art.

After the last customer left, Cliff took her into his office
where they celebrated her success with a glass of champagne. They’d talked and
laughed as she’d sipped, but the moment she’d finished, he’d yawned and
practically shoved her toward the front door.

“Go on home,” he said. “You’ve outdone yourself and made me a
ton of money. Now I want to count my cash.”

She chuckled, not insulted in the least. This was too wonderful
a day. People had loved her paintings. They’d stared at them, felt happy things,
sad things, some even moved to tears. Not one painting had been left behind.

“Well, don’t forget to count mine,” she replied.

“No worries. Your check will be cut tomorrow.”

Her chest swelled with satisfaction. “Thank you, Cliff. Thank
you so much.”

He waved her away. “Go on. Get.”

The bell tinkled as she left the gallery. Smiling, she dug her
keys out of her purse. Her car was parked a block away, in the closest available
lot. The moon was high, luminous and so beautiful she could barely take her eyes
off it as she walked. But then she tripped and nearly fell, which would have
ruined her knees and her dress, so she forced her gaze to remain ahead.

And yet, she soon tripped a second time as a wave of dizziness
crashed through her. Her smile fading, she stopped to lean against a building.
What was wrong with her? In and out she breathed, thinking the sensation would
pass. But, of course, it only grew worse.

Practically blinded because of the spinning, spinning,
spinning
world, she opened her purse to pat inside for
her phone. The moment her fingers wrapped around the case, a sharp sting buzzed
in the back of her neck, electricity flowing throughout her entire body.

Her muscles knotted, becoming unusable. Her back bowed, her
bones vibrating, just as unusable. Even her jaw locked up, trapping her scream
in her throat.
Dying,
she thought.
I’m dying.

When the vibrations stopped, her knees collapsed. Trembling
arms banded around her before she hit the ground, and suddenly she was floating.
Relief cascaded through her. Someone had noticed her, was taking her to the
hospital.

Something creaked.

No. Wrong, she realized. Someone was stuffing her inside a
small, dark space. The air was stuffy, with old perfume caught in some of the
pockets. She blinked, trying to orient herself. A blond man, his face blurred by
the haze of her vision, stood above her. There was a streak of white; his teeth,
maybe. Was he smiling?

“We are going to have so much fun, you and I.”

More creaking, then a loud whoosh. A click. There was only
dark, no hint of light. No fresh air.

Yet another flash of light, and Harper was back inside the
gallery, Cliff eating a sandwich as he plugged away at his computer. Fury rose
inside her. Fury like she’d never before known. The champagne…he must have
drugged her.

Fury…growing…growing…

The walls around her began to shake. One of the paintings fell
to the ground with a loud crash. Frowning, Cliff set his sandwich down and
glanced around.

He’d known what would happen to her, but he hadn’t cared. Had
probably enjoyed every minute of her torture through the photographs Topper had
taken.

Growing…

The walls shook a little more. Two more paintings fell.

Cliff pushed to his feet.

As long as Topper kept his mouth shut, Cliff would probably
never be caught. And why would Topper betray his buddy when that buddy could
continue hurting women, taking pictures, painting pictures and sending them his
way?

Growing…growing…

The entire building rocked on its foundation. Cliff gripped the
edge of his desk, a fine sheen of sweat dotting his brow. Harper longed to grab
the paintings and beat him with them. But she couldn’t touch him, and she
couldn’t touch the paintings, because she was dead. Dead.

Dead!

One of the paintings flew from the wall and smacked him in the
back of the head. A grunt parted his lips. He dove for the floor and crawled
under his desk.

Harper’s eyes widened as another painting flew at him, crashing
into the desk and cracking in two.
What are you doing?
Stop. You shouldn’t destroy the evidence.
You have to show Levi. He’ll tell his detective friends and
Cliff
will
get what’s coming to him.
But
it was too late. The shaking never stopped, and the artwork never stopped
flying. Around and around each piece twirled before hurtling itself at Cliff.
The door rattled, too, before ripping from its hinges and slamming into the far
wall.

Harper stood in the center of the turmoil, completely
unaffected. She could hear Cliff’s sobs, but that only angered her further.

A flash.

Suddenly she was the one crying, begging for Topper to stop.
But her cries only spurred him on. Mercy was not something he possessed.

“Harper!”

Something hard slapped against her cheek, causing her head to
twist to the side. She blinked rapidly and found herself back inside Cliff’s
office, a scowling Levi in front of her. His hand was raised, as if he meant to
slap her (again?) out of her hysteria.

“Levi!” Relief swept through her, and her knees buckled.

He caught her, holding her up. “You have to calm down,
sweetheart. Okay? Yes? I don’t want you to destroy the entire building. You
could hurt innocents and go… Just calm down, okay?”

Yes, she could calm down…would calm down.... Anger would not
get the better of her.

At last the building stilled.

“Good, that’s good.” He hugged her close. “Are you okay?”

Tears burned the backs of her eyes. “He…he…drugged me. Set me
up.
Gave
me to Topper.”

Levi pulled away to peer down into her eyes, but he didn’t
release her. A good thing, because she needed the strength of his arms. “He was
working with Topper?”

A nod as she motioned to the paintings on the floor, the tears
spilling out, trickling down.

Levi bent down, taking her with him, and lifted one half of a
painting, dug around—the things on Cliff’s desk had shattered and scattered
across the floor, too—and found the other half.

The moment he put the halves together, his nostrils flared.
“They were accomplices,” he said, emotionless.

One of her tears landed on the top of his hand. His gaze
lifted. Seeing her upset, he straightened. “You remembered,” he said.

All she could manage was a nod.

“I’m sorry,” he added. “So sorry for everything you had to
endure.”

Somehow, she found her voice. “And you…did you remember?”

“Yeah.”

Part of her wanted to slink away in embarrassment. He’d seen
her there at the end, at her weakest, her worst. Part of her loved that he’d
thought to come to her rescue, that he’d reacted on instinct. And yet… “I wish
you had survived.”

His hold tightened. “I’m not one of those people who believes
everything happens for a good reason. I actually think that’s stupid. No. But I
do believe the bad stuff can be worked to our favor.”

“How can
this
be worked to our
favor?”

“Sweetheart, you just unearthed a very bad man. I’d say we’re
on the right track.”

He was…right, she realized. She twisted, eyeing the man in
question. Cliff had crawled out from under the desk, his eyes red and watery. He
rushed around the office, trying to gather the paintings. To save them or hide
them, she wasn’t sure.

“Without you,” Levi said, “he would have squeaked by without
anyone knowing the part he played.”

“How do we let the police know?”

“Detective Bright, the one I have looking for Lana, is almost
here.”

Pounding footsteps sounded.

“Scratch that. He’s here.”

Two firemen rushed inside the room.

“Or not,” Levi said with a sigh.

The two firemen spotted Cliff, paying no attention to Harper or
Levi—and even misting through them to get to Cliff. She felt the heat of their
bodies and gasped.

“Are you all right, sir?” one of them asked.

“Yes, yes,” Cliff said with a tremor.

“Anyone else in the building with you?”

“No, I’m alone. What about the rest of the gallery? Show me.”
He spread his arms, blocking the firemen from stepping deeper into the office.
“What happened? An earthquake?”

“No!” Harper screamed, reaching out to stop him.

Levi stopped
her
. “It’s okay. Let
them go.”

The firemen once again walked through them, and she once again
experienced that strange wave of heat. The pair explained that Cliff’s building
was the only one that had been affected by…whatever had happened, and they’d be
looking into it.

“But…but…” she sputtered.

“My guy will be here,” Levi reminded her. “Let’s wait at the
front door and show him what you found. The man who betrayed you will be
arrested before the day is over, you have my word.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Levi had lied. Clifford Rigsby wasn’t arrested by the
end of the day. He was arrested by the end of the hour.

Later that day, Harper sat in on her first interrogation,
though no one but Levi and the detective asking the questions knew she was
there. Her nerves were frayed as she listened to Cliff claim the portraits had
been mailed to him anonymously. As if! Topper wasn’t a painter—Levi told her
there had been no art supplies in his home—but Cliff was, which was why he’d
first opened the gallery.

If he got away with escorting women to their slaughter…

The walls of the interrogation room began to shake, and Levi
squeezed her hand. She forced her mind to blank. He’d tried to talk her out of
coming, but she had insisted and so he had insisted on coming with her in an
effort to keep her calm.

“If they were gifts, why didn’t you turn them in?” Bright
asked, casting Harper a dark frown. He was a handsome black man, and he’d stood
at the gallery’s entrance, pretending to look the building over as Levi told him
what she’d learned before going in to check things out.

He’d left with Cliff, who’d been cuffed and crying.

She and Levi hadn’t needed to enter the police car with the
men. They’d thought about the station and simply appeared there. The swiftness
of the location switch had startled her, but the need to see Cliff behind bars
had overwhelmed everything else.

Now she released Levi to pace as Cliff answered. “I didn’t know
they were real,” he said. “I didn’t!”

Bright arched a brow, looking curious rather than suspicious.
“You don’t watch the news?”

“No.”

“But you do know the paintings are real now, when we haven’t
told you anything of the sort? When we’ve only asked you how they came to be in
your possession?”

She stopped, standing behind Cliff, unsure what she wanted to
do. Levi came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I know this is hard,” he whispered, “but you have to maintain
control of yourself. Otherwise, you’ll have to leave. Bright has to do his
job.”

“All right.” With tears of frustration burning her eyes, she
rested her head against him. The mint of his scent enveloped her. His heat
comforted her.

Cliff stuttered for a bit, but managed to collect himself with
a few deep breaths. “I heard about Cory Topper on the news. Heard what he’d done
to those women. I
guessed
they were real.”

“You said you didn’t watch the news.”

“I misunderstood the question.”

“So why didn’t you come forward the moment you realized what
you had?” the detective asked, as calm as ever.

More stuttering. “Well, I, uh, well.”

“Bright’s got him now,” Levi whispered.

Bright glanced up at them and gave an almost imperceptible
shake of his head—a gesture for silence.

Levi lowered his voice and said, “Come on. We’re distracting
him. He’s got this. You know that. Let’s go home.”

So badly she wanted to witness Cliff’s end, but if she stayed,
she would eventually speak up. She wouldn’t be able to help herself. She would
distract Bright far more than she’d already done and possibly cause him to screw
up the interrogation. And if Cliff got away because of
her
…

“Okay,” she said on a wispy catch of breath.

“I want a lawyer,” Cliff growled. “I know my rights. I’m not
saying another thing until—”

He did say another thing, but she didn’t hear it. One moment
she was in the mirrored room with him, the next she was standing in her living
room—just because she wanted to be there. It was as easy as that. There was no
dizziness, no recovery period.

“That’s a nice little perk,” she said, pretending she wasn’t
freaked out.

Levi, who was still behind her, placed his hands on her
shoulders and spun her around. There was a grave cast to his face, a
seriousness, a somberness she’d never seen before. Made sense, though. He’d just
learned that he was dead, but she hadn’t been there for him. Had focused only on
herself. Guilt filled her.

“I know you’re upset,” he said.

She cupped his cheeks, scraped her thumb against his stubble.
“I’m not the only one.”

“What happened to us was terrible.”

“Yes.”

“But we’re here, and we’re together.”

Together. Yes. “Kiss me, Levi.”

He swooped in, pressed his lips to hers and thrust his tongue
into her mouth.

They kissed for minutes, hours, days even, tasting each other,
relearning each other, comforting each other. They were here, and while the rest
of the world might consider them dead, they were alive to each other. That was
enough.

As passion flowed through her veins, consumed her, it was
difficult for her to believe that her life had ended, that she was no more. She
was on fire, aching for Levi’s total possession. How much more real could a
woman get?

He tugged at her shirt. She tugged at his. He removed her
pants, and she removed his. Underwear was the next thing to go. And when they
were both naked, he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

Looking down at her, he grinned. “If this is the end to a
crappy day, I’m all for crappy days.” With that, he tossed her on the bed.

She bounced once, twice, and on the second descent, he was
there, pressing her down into the mattress, pinning her with his muscled weight.
The heat of him had intensified, delighting her in every way. His skin was a
study of masculinity, rough in some places, smooth in others, with patches of
dark hair on his chest and legs.

“You feel so good,” he praised. “I don’t think I ever want to
let you go.”

“Then don’t.” Just then he was her anchor. And she so
desperately needed that anchor. She was afraid of floating away and never
returning, of losing him, and losing herself.

“Grab the headboard.”

“Why?”

“Because King Levi said so.”

Unable to stop her own grin, she obeyed. The moment her fingers
curled around the iron railing, he bent his head and laved her body from top to
bottom. He bit, he sucked, he licked, ratcheting up her already inflamed desire.
His tongue was like a stroke of fiery silk, tantalizing her, making her gasp and
pant and beg for more…then plead with him to stop and finish her.

“Levi! If you want me to start beating you, keep doing what
you’re doing.”

A warm chuckle, his breath tickling over her in the most
decadent caress.

“I’m serious.” She released the iron and waved a fist at
him.

He playfully nipped at her fingers. “Back on the railing,
princess.”

So commanding. So wonderfully carnal with her. “Fine.” She
tried for reluctant, but merely came across as snippy. “But you had better do
everything in your power to make this princess happy or you’ll lose your
head.”

He gave another of those sexy chuckles. “You can’t behead a
king. Now do as you’ve been told before things get ugly and I have to summon my
guard. He may look exactly like me, but he isn’t as nice as I am.”

Moaning, she obeyed him. The moment she did so, he returned to
his play. Only, his hands were rougher, his mouth more insistent. He worked her
over, worked her just right, so that she was arching into him, following his
every move, desperate, so desperate for completion.

“Levi!” she shouted. “Enough! You have to… If you don’t…”

“I’m a king, remember?” The strain in his voice delighted her.
He’d break soon. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. “I do what I want, when I
want.”

“Well, I do damage to—”

“He’s coming for you,” a familiar voice said from beside the
bed. “Oh, uh, never mind.”

“What the—” Harper hurried to cover herself. Levi jumped up,
clearly intending to murder the black-haired girl who’d been haunting them all
over again, but she vanished just before he reached her.

He stood there for a moment, silent and naked, and clearly
floundering about what to do. “I want to chase her, but I don’t want to leave
you.”

An unexpected laugh bubbled from Harper’s throat. Levi spun
around and glared at her.

“You think this is funny?” he demanded.

Unable to speak through her giggles, she nodded. And, oh, the
amusement felt as good as his touch. As dark as the day had been, she hadn’t
expected to find excitement, arousal, fulfillment, acceptance, comfort or
humor—much less all of those things at the same time.

With a mock scowl, he stalked back to the bed. “Well, I’ll make
you sorry for that. If I can’t tackle her, I’ll have to make do with you.”

She laughed all the harder. He pounced.

The air whooshed from her lungs. Without any more
preliminaries, he claimed his woman. Her laughter was cut off, becoming a low
groan of pleasure. She wrapped her legs around him, wrapped one arm around his
waist and one around his neck, all while arching her hips to meet his next
thrust.

His lips returned to hers, and, oh, this kiss was so much
better than any that had come before. The passion was rawer, the need sharper.
His hands were everywhere, all over her, no place left untouched.

“Harper,” he growled. “Yeah, just like that.”

They strained together and breathed together and panted
together, and his pace increased, faster and faster and faster, until the entire
bed was shaking, until she was groaning as the pleasure split her in two and he
was roaring with satisfaction.

He collapsed on her and rolled to the side, dragging her with
him. She found herself sprawled across his chest as he fought to breathe.

“That was…that was…”

“Worth dying for?” she said, then wished she could snatch the
words back. “Sorry. Too soon for that kind of—”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding confident. “Worth dying for.”

Darling man. As replete as she was, sleep tugged at her. She
resisted with all her might, suddenly afraid that sleeping would be the thing
that pulled her out of this world—out of Levi’s arms.

It didn’t before,
she reminded
herself and relaxed. “So what’s next?” she asked through a yawn.

“Tomorrow we’ll return to the station and find out what else
Bright learned from Cliff.”

“And then visit Topper,” she said, a statement, not a
question.

Levi sighed. “I knew you’d want to do that.”

“Yeah, because I told you so. I need to know why I painted
Lana’s hair… I…” A bright flash in her mind, a memory tearing free of the
darkness. Suddenly she was lying on that metal slab, cold, so very cold. She
could hear a woman crying a few feet away, could hear metal rattling.

The cage. The woman trapped in the cage. A woman who was next
in line for the table…which meant Harper had to die. Room had to be made; a new
toy had to be played with.

“Well…I know you can’t see her, but the
girl in the cage is—drumroll, please—your only real friend. You remember
her, don’t you? Of course you do. She’s the pretty one.”

Harper had tried to look, but she had
failed.
“You’re lying, trying to hurt me because
you’re a miserable little runt whose heart has rotted and you can’t find any
other way to get to me.”

“You think so? Well, why don’t you ask the
girl and find out whether or not I spoke true.”

“Say something,”
she had commanded the girl.

Such terrible silence had filled the
room.

Ultimately a chuckle had broken through
that silence, and it had far more terrible.
“My
deepest apologies, but she’ll not be saying anything. She’s mouthy, your
friend. You know she is. I’m afraid I was forced to cut out her
tongue.”

Hearing that, Harper’s fury had gotten the better of her. She’d
thrown taunts at Topper, and he’d retaliated with taunts of his own—followed by
a brutal stabbing that had finally stolen her life.

The pain…oh, the pain… She’d endured so much, those last few
minutes should have been more of the same. But she had felt the sting all the
way to her spine, had felt her blood leaving her, pooling around her. Had
noticed her eyesight dimming. Any second now and she would—

“Aurora Harper!” Levi shouted. “You pay attention to me right
now.”

Using his voice as a lifeline, she tugged herself back to the
present. She blinked into focus, saw him looming over her, knew she was on the
bed and swallowed bile. “He threatened Lana,” she croaked. “He said she was
next.”

Levi brushed his fingers over her brow. “She wasn’t in the
cage, sweetheart. I promise you.”

“But what if Cliff wasn’t the only person helping him? What if
Lana is still a target? She’s in danger, Levi. I feel it. Deep down, I know
it.”