Between Darkness and Daylight (38 page)

Now that she was here, seeing him in the flesh—close enough to touch him, close enough to smell his musk—she didn't know what to say first.

She wanted to tell him about her visions, especially the most recent one, but didn't want to seem the desperate-for-attention damsel in distress.

Everything else she wanted to say seemed trite, everything else she needed to say seemed off-the-wall nuts to her own ears; she knew how it would sound to Zane.

She decided she could handle it herself. She'd just keep her eyes open and be on the lookout for the guy or anything peculiar.

But she wouldn't tell Zane; she didn't think
he
could handle it right now, if ever.

Her mother must have rubbed off on her, because the first thought that came to her mind when she stared into his tea-colored eyes was that he 264

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was troubled. She could feel it, the frustration and irritation emanating off of him in giant waves; she could see the discoloration of his aura, a true sign of distress, though he was doing a good job of trying to hide it.

She felt the ripples as he backed away from her and took the seat behind his desk, waited for the thoughts and feelings that would follow, but nothing came.

Was he intentionally blocking her?

Nova sighed. It felt like she had taken several steps backwards and had to recover ground, starting all over again instead of picking up where they'd left off.

She took the seat in front of his desk like a kid who'd misbehaved all day and had finally been sent to the principal's office.

"Tell me something, Zane."

He arched a brow, pyramiding his fingers under his chin.

"If I had called you, would you have taken it?"

"Of course."

"You haven't been very communicative in the last couple of weeks."

"We've talked."

She laughed and said nothing, hoping he realized just how inadequate was his response.

"Nova—"

"We made love, Zane. For Pete's sake, I'm not one of your students or a client. Although with the way I've been feeling lately, I probably do need some kind of counseling or psychotherapy." She hadn't meant to say the last part out loud. But it got a rise out of him, and anything was better than the emotional wall he'd erected between them.

He came from behind the desk and sat on the edge of it, leaning forward to take her hands in his. "I don't know what you want me to say, Nova."

She shook her head. "Neither do I."
I just know I don't want you to say
it's over.

A scream jerked their attention towards the outside office. Dora, the young assistant, burst into the office, hysterical, and screamed,

"Somebody found a dead body outside!"

Zane lurched to his feet, and Nova squeezed his hands as she stood and blocked his departure. "Don't go out there."

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"I have to."

"Zane, please…"

He freed a hand, pushed hair out of her face, and cupped her cheek.

"Do you know something I don't?"

Nova nodded, swallowed hard, but she couldn't tell him. He wouldn't believe her. She didn't believe it herself. All that she did know was that it wasn't him lying dead in a pool of blood outside the school and she was glad.

* * * *

Zane hadn't stopped pacing since two homicide detectives left him in one of the interrogation rooms and told him someone would be with him shortly.

He knew the drill. He expected Leary to walk through the door any second and figured he could handle whatever the detective threw at him.

But he didn’t think Ransom could handle it, or that he should have to.

How was he handling being in the precinct again for another round of questioning?

This was different,
too
different, and too fearsome for the kid to have to deal with.

It hadn't just been any dead body the kids had found at the back exit. It had been Trevor, the man to whom Zane had spoken only a short while before his murder, the man with whom he had argued in front of Ransom.

Leary came in and shut the door behind him, poker face in place as he took a seat at the time-worn table. He glanced up at Zane. "Have a seat, Youngblood."

"I prefer to stand."

"Suit yourself, but this may take little while."

"Am I under arrest?"

"You're free to go as soon as you answer a few questions."

Zane rolled his eyes and sighed. "We both know that's a load of shit."

"You calling me a liar? I'm hurt."

"How's Ransom?"

"Better than you, at this point."

"You think so?"

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Leary cocked a brow. "Any reason he shouldn't be?"

"You know the victim was his father."

"So I've heard."

Zane changed his mind, walking over to the table, pulling out the chair opposite Leary, and taking a seat. He folded his hands on the table, leaned forward. "Look Leary, let's cut the bull. There was no love lost between Trevor—"

"The deceased."

"There was no love lost between him and me. The bastard treated my sister like crap and batted around my nephew like a baseball. I'm not sorry he's dead."

"Sure you don't want a lawyer present?"

"I didn't kill him."

"Ransom said Cross had been in your office a little before the murder."

Zane nodded.

"Tell me about that."

"There's nothing to tell. We talked."

"Sure it wasn't more than that?"

Zane took a deep breath as he raked a hand through his hair, wondering what Leary was driving at. Had he found the check? And if so, when was he going to reveal that bit of information? Right before he put on the cuffs or after?

No matter what, Zane decided, he wouldn't ask. He wouldn't make Leary's job any easier. He wouldn't allow anyone or anything to take him out of Ransom's life, to deprive the boy of another father figure, not if he could help it. "We just talked, Leary. That's all."

"Know anyone who might have had a reason to off the guy?"

"Besides myself, of course?"

"Of course."

Zane shrugged. He couldn't think of anyone specific, just a general bunch of unsavory characters Trevor had always made it a habit of hanging with. A fast crowd, avaricious and mercenary and bent on getting two things out of life: beautiful salacious women and limitless supplies of money. Any number of individuals who ran with
this
crowd were capable of doing in Trevor Cross. The problem was narrowing the suspects down to someone other than Zane.

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Weary, he shook his head. "I can't think of anyone in particular, but a guy like Cross, I'm sure he had enemies."

"One thing I've learned in this business, Youngblood: we all have enemies. We may not know who or where they are, but we've got 'em."

Leary didn't need to tell him. He knew this all too well.

"Okay. That's it for now."

"For now? You mean I'm free to go?"

"You want me to arrest you?"

"At this point in my life, that might be an improvement."

Leary chuckled, then stood and went around to Zane's side of the table.

He clamped him on the shoulder. "Want to bet it's the same knife that killed your wife?"

Was he hearing right? Was he off the hook? "Same knife?"

"It's a long shot, but I'm waiting for the forensic report as we speak.

Probably won't be able to get anything for a day or so though."

"Exhausted all those favors, huh?"

"Not only that, brass has been chewing my ass about the manpower and tech I've been putting into a cold case. Have to play this new evidence slow and tight, make a concerted effort to connect the dots to Martinez."

Leary grinned. "But if I'm right, I think I can have your case reopened, officially, start making some moves towards closure and catch the guy."

It all sounded like a good idea, but Zane didn't hold out much hope.

Enrique Martinez had so far proved a slippery bastard. He’d been on the street, running free for years now, always several steps ahead, evading detection and sliding through the cracks.

He searched Leary’s expression, but the man gave nothing away. For all he knew,
he
was still on the hook and Leary had his men running the check through some sort of spectrograph for prints, not that they’d have to with his signature on it. Twenty-five-thousand was a sizable sum and certainly denoted motive.

He hadn't thought twice before writing the check when Trevor had thrown out the figure, would have gladly paid more and thought that Sage would forgive him for using some of the house sale proceeds towards such a worthy cause.

Zane wondered about Martinez's motive, however. Was it just to hurt anyone close to Zane—Sinny, Manuela, Cross? God help him, what was 268

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keeping Ransom safe? Martinez couldn't have gotten any closer, or hurt Zane any more, than through his nephew. Did the man have special plans for Ransom, maybe even Nova? Plans that involved slow and steady terrorism and torture over a course of time?

The period between Sinny's murder and Cross's was an inconceivable amount of time. Zane couldn't imagine holding onto all that hate and rage for so long—plotting, planning, waiting… The mark of a true serial killer, according to Leary.

He'd never had any experience with jungle warfare or torture, but he had to admit that
if
the vandalism and stalking were Martinez's doing, then he seemed to be a master at it.

What set him in motion, after all this time? What is different, what is
new in my life besides Ransom, what…Nova!

"Ransom and your girlfriend are outside waiting whenever you're ready to split this joint." Leary stepped aside, motioning toward the door with a wave of a hand.

Zane had a hand on the knob and was turning it when Leary's voice stopped him.

"Oh yeah, I did have one more question."

He closed his eyes and swallowed before turning back to the detective, expecting to see a hunched, rumpled, trench coat-clad TV detective with a hand to his head, squinting at him.

Instead he was greeted with the familiar sharp blue-green gaze of Dwyer Leary.

A predator about to pounce.

"About your girlfriend?"

"What about her?"

"Can you vouch for her whereabouts before the murder?"

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Chapter 24

Vouch for Nova's whereabouts? Hell, he couldn't vouch for his own, didn't know anymore whether he was coming or going. The only thing that had saved him this time was that the murder had occurred while he was in his office counseling a student.

But Nova… Where had she been before coming to see him? Had she come directly to him from work? And why had she dropped by so out-of-the-blue?

She'd seemed antsy in his office, with something heavy on her mind.

He understood most of her mood; they had unfinished business and she was eager to finish it. But had she had other unfinished business to settle with someone else? Had that business been murder? Had she seen it or perpetrated it? And if she had seen it, had it been live or in a vision?

The ideas were too preposterous to consider. Nova didn't know Trevor any more than she'd known Manuela and her family and had no reason to want Trevor dead. She had no motive.

You were under the same impression about her not knowing you
before you met her, but that picture she was carrying around proved
otherwise.

He'd been raised in the Baptist faith, had seen people fall out, foaming at the mouth, holy sanctified, and galvanized by the holy ghost, all around him when his mother took him and Sage to her church. But he still wasn't sure he believed the whole psychic vision phenomenon, despite all that he'd seen, despite all that he'd felt with Nova. Because if she was psychic like she said, and her visions were telling her that he was in danger…

Like a parent who didn't want to know the sex of his baby before it was born, Zane didn't want to know about what lay in store for him, especially if there was nothing he could do to stop whatever it was from happening.

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* * * *

By some unspoken agreement, he gravitated to the passenger side of Nova's SUV at the curb as she unlocked the doors, and Ransom climbed into the back—one big happy family.

Zane felt their eyes on him all the way home, but neither of them dared say anything to him about what had happened at the school.

Ransom looked at him as if he was just waiting for the right moment to ask
the
question:
Did you kill my father?

He didn't know what he would say to the boy if he asked. The truth wasn't nearly enough to encompass what had gone on between him and Trevor. He may not have murdered Trevor physically, but because of the man's arrogance and past transgressions, Zane had damn sure killed him over and over again in his mind.

Ransom got out of the SUV before it had even come to a complete stop and ran inside without a backward glance. Nova sat behind the wheel, so still and for so long, Zane felt like he was sitting beside a statue. He looked back at her as he opened the door and put one foot on the sidewalk.

"You coming up?"

"Am I welcome?"

"You're always welcome, Nova."
Now more than ever.

Zane had no idea how he was going to deal with Ransom all by himself. He needed a buffer and felt bad using her this way, but figured he'd make it up to her, if it was within his power to do so. "You want to, don't you? Come up, I mean?"

She just smiled at him and got out. Zane reached for her as they headed up the stairs, interlocking his fingers with hers, sinking into the softness of her hand. He savored the intimate contact, the familiar sensation of having her next to him, not realizing how much he'd missed her until this very moment.

When they reached the apartment, Ransom was nowhere to be found.

Only the loud notes of a familiar, jaunty hip-hop record drifting through his bedroom door indicated his rebellious teenage presence in the loft.