Blank Slate (23 page)

Erik placed the tray of food Mrs. Cooper had prepared for him down on the coffee table near the fireplace. The room had a chill in the air, and he could hear the water running in the bathroom. O’Connell would be cold. He flicked the switch on the wall, and the fireplace sprang to life, the flames dancing across the fake logs.

He sank into a chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into the fire. He’d had time to cool off now, and he thought again of what she’d said to him.

The sweat hadn’t even dried on their bodies before she was putting an emotional distance between them, demanding he acknowledge that it had meant nothing. At first, he’d been hurt, angry, confused. It had taken stepping back and looking at the situation from the outside in for him to see.

Erik knew a lot about Clarissa O’Connell. He’d been tracking her, studying her, for over a year. Given the dreams she’d shared with him and the time he’d spent with her, he knew even more now.

A woman like her didn’t survive the world she inhabited without developing a healthy distrust of everyone and everything. Erik imagined she’d learned that lesson the hard way, and had ingrained the belief that the only person she could count on was herself. Well, she was wrong about that. She wasn’t alone, not anymore, and he’d prove that to her…somehow.

And pray her memory didn’t return.

The bathroom door opened, and O’Connell stepped out. She was wrapped in a robe, her hair a damp mass of tangles. She eyed him, judging his mood, he supposed.

“Come eat,” he said. “You’ve got to be starving.”

She obeyed, coming to sit on the rug in front of the fire. The tray he’d brought held grapes, strawberries, crackers and assorted cheeses, and a bottle of Perrier with two glasses. Erik watched as she perused the selection before making her choices.

Sitting cross-legged, O’Connell munched on her plateful of goodies, absentmindedly running her fingers through the tangles in her hair as she watched the fire.

“Are you angry?”

She spoke so quietly, still staring into the flames, Erik wouldn’t have even heard had he not been watching her so intently.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then why aren’t you eating?”

“Too busy thinking.”

She raised an eyebrow, casting him a sideways glance. “About what we do next?”

“About you.”

O’Connell swallowed, then took a drink of water. Erik wondered if she was going to say anything to his straightforward reply.

“It’s not worth going hungry over,” she finally said. Her pragmatism almost made Erik smile. Ever practical, she wasn’t a typical woman, at least not in his experience.

Grabbing a cluster of grapes, she scooted between his spread legs.

“Gotta eat, Langston,” she said, leaning to rest against his chest as she held a grape to his lips.

Erik watched her as she fed him, the firelight making her hair appear the shade of the sunset. Regardless of what she’d said earlier, it seemed she didn’t want any more space between them than he did, returning with more food when the cluster of grapes was gone.

“So what now?” she asked.

“Now I want you to tell me what I’ve done to make you not trust me.”

O’Connell’s body went stiff. After a moment, she tried to draw back, but Erik had a hold of her robe and she didn’t get far.

“I’m telling you the truth,” he said. “This isn’t just sex for me, and I wouldn’t be here with you now if I didn’t care about you.”

“This is pointless,” O’Connell said. “It doesn’t matter what you feel or what I feel. In the end, I’ll be — ” She stopped.

“You’ll be what?” Erik prompted. She didn’t speak. “Dead? Is that what you meant?” He could tell by the resignation in her eyes that he was right, and it made him angry.

“I’m not going to let that happen,” he vowed. “I promise you. I won’t betray you, and I won’t leave you.”

“You have to,” she insisted. “I won’t let you throw your life away trying to save me.”

“It’s not your decision to make.”

O’Connell’s eyes searched his.

“Do you believe me?” he asked.

Hesitantly, she nodded, her brow furrowed as though she were in pain.

Erik pulled the tie at her waist, loosening her robe. A brush of his fingers and it fell in a cascade to the floor, baring her to his hungry gaze.

“You’re beautiful,” he rasped. “And I don’t want to be without you. Tell me you feel the same, Clarissa. Tell me I’m not imagining what’s between us.”

Clarissa felt not only physically naked, but emotionally as well. She was stripped bare to Langston, her innermost fears and hopes laid out for him to see. Hope that, impossibly, this would end and she’d survive…to be with him.

He leaned forward, his lips caressing the line of her jaw. “Tell me,” he whispered.

His touch was like a drug, and her eyes slipped closed. She tilted her head to the side, allowing him access to her neck. His hands drifted down her back to her waist.

“I do,” she whispered. The words were difficult to get out, like she was making a promise she knew she couldn’t keep.

Clarissa felt more than heard his growl of satisfaction, then he pushed her backward, his arm at her back as he gently laid her on the floor. He stripped off his clothes, and Clarissa was captivated by each inch of skin he bared.

Recriminations echoed in the back of her mind, but she ignored them. She wasn’t going to throw away a few hours of happiness just because it wouldn’t end well. She had no memory of anything else happy — only nightmares. She was entitled to a small bit of happy, dammit. Wasn’t she?

Then all thoughts were driven from her mind as she gave herself up to the moment, and to Langston.

“…and that was my first fistfight.”

Clarissa smiled. “Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you’d risk getting beat up by trying to help the little guy.”

Langston shook his head. “I just hated bullies. Still do.”

They were lying in the bed underneath the sheets and comforter. The sun was nearing the horizon, and still they lay, propped on their elbows facing each other, talking. Clarissa had a burning desire to know as much about Langston as she could, so she’d gotten him talking, asking questions about his childhood, his career, past girlfriends, his hobbies. The picture she’d drawn in her head from his answers made her heart ache a little.

She’d never actually believed men like him existed.

Between talking and making love, the hours had passed as though they were stolen out of time. And Clarissa knew they were. The clock ticking inside her head told her so.

“I want to go see Raven again tonight,” she said.

“Why?”

“I want to know why she betrayed me.” That and Raven should know how to reach Solomon, but she didn’t say that to Langston.

Langston shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“We’ll be careful.” He still didn’t look convinced. “Please,” she said. “I have to know.”

He finally gave in. “All right, but we don’t stay long enough for her to warn Solomon. We get out when I say.”

“Agreed.”

Bourbon Street was already busy despite the fact that the night was still young. Erik tucked his gun into the back of his jeans and pulled his shirt down to cover it. O’Connell stood on the sidewalk, waiting for him.

Her jeans were skintight, as was the short-sleeved T-shirt she wore. He took a moment to appreciate the view. Erik didn’t want to be taking her into danger again. If it were up to him, he’d have locked her in their room, and he would have gone to confront Raven alone.

As if O’Connell would have let that be an option.

She glanced at him and he gave a curt nod. He followed her into Queens of the Night. The crowd was thicker than last night. Erik trailed O’Connell as she walked up to the bouncer guarding the stairs that led to the top floor.

She asked him a question that Erik couldn’t hear, and he shook his head. They exchanged a few more words and he shook his head again. Then O’Connell did something Erik couldn’t see, and the guy froze, his face turning white, then a mottled red.

Frowning, Erik looked closer, then grinned. O’Connell had the guy’s balls in a viselike grip. Erik couldn’t help admiring her guts, not to mention he found it a complete turn-on when she was a badass.

The guy gritted something out at her, his face a grimace of pain, then she let go, turned around, and headed back outside.

“What was that all about?” Erik asked once they were free of the noisy club.

“She’s not here.”

“Then where is she?”

“It took a little persuasion, but he gave me her home address,” she said. “Let’s try there.”

Getting back in the SUV, they drove to the address. A few blocks up from Bourbon, the house they pulled up to was a two-story redbrick home, the wrought-iron terrace on the second floor giving it French Quarter flair. A large magnolia tree in front lent privacy to the residence, though it was situated right on the street.

Erik parked and they went up the stairs to knock on the door. Before long, the door opened, revealing a man dressed in black slacks and a black T-shirt. Asian in descent, Erik guessed him to be late twenties.

“May I help you?” he asked politely.

“We’re looking for Raven,” Erik said, flashing his badge. “Is she here?”

The man hesitated, then nodded. “Come in. I’ll see if she’s available.”

He led them into a parlor, the decor quite feminine and akin to the upstairs of Queens of the Night with the antique furniture done in pink pastels and creams.

O’Connell went to a sideboard in the corner where a decanter filled with amber liquid sat. She grabbed a glass and poured herself a drink, downing half of it in one swallow.

“You all right?” Erik asked, concerned.

She gave a curt nod and drank the rest.

“Clarissa! Oh my God!”

Raven rushed into the room, the pink gossamer dressing gown she wore billowing behind her as she ran to O’Connell and threw her arms around her.

“I was so afraid they’d kill you!” she said, her voice choked with tears.

In seconds, O’Connell had Raven on her knees, her arm twisted behind her back, and a knife to her throat.
Where the hell had she gotten a knife?
Erik certainly hadn’t given her one.

“You betrayed me,” O’Connell said.

“I didn’t want to,” Raven replied. She was very still, the knife millimeters from her skin. Mascara stained her cheeks, and her eyes were red from crying. “I had no choice.”

“Why? You had to have known they’d kill me.”

“I swear to you, he told me he wasn’t going to kill you, that he just needed you to give him something.”

O’Connell’s grip tightened on Raven’s hair, jerking her head back farther. Erik stiffened.

“You’re not stupid,” O’Connell hissed. “Solomon can’t be trusted.”

“It wasn’t him!” Raven’s eyes were wet now with more tears. “It wasn’t Solomon. It was the FBI. I swear.”

“The FBI?” Erik asked. “What are you talking about?”

“This man came by two days ago. Wanted to know where you lived. Said I was supposed to call him if you came by.”

“And you gave me up, just like that?” Erik winced at the bitterness in her voice. “I thought you were my friend!”

The look in O’Connell’s eyes was one he had seen before, and it alarmed Erik. He didn’t want her to kill Raven, no matter how she’d been betrayed.

“Mom!”

Erik turned, just in time to catch the teenage boy who’d run into the room, straight for O’Connell. The boy struggled, but Erik held him fast.

“What the hell, Clarissa?” the boy yelled. “What are you doing?”

O’Connell stared wide-eyed at the boy.

“Hush!” Raven commanded. “Jake, stop!”

The boy went still, his chest heaving from his exertions.

“Jake’s why, Clarissa,” Raven admitted. “I know you don’t remember him, but you were teaching him. He loves computers, found you online. It’s how we met. The FBI, they threatened to take him away. Said it would be easy to pin something on him, that he’d hacked into something and stolen credit cards, something like that.

“I had no choice,” Raven continued, and now tears streaked her face. “Don’t you think I knew this was exactly what would happen? If you survived, I knew you’d come looking for me, would kill me. But it was me or my son. I love you, Clarissa, but I’d do anything for my son.”

O’Connell hesitated, her eyes lifting to meet Erik’s, then dropping to stare at Jake.

“Please don’t kill my mom,” Jake begged. He was crying now too.

Shit. What a clusterfuck this was turning into.

“She’s not going to kill your mom,” Erik assured the boy, though he couldn’t say for sure whether he believed that. His hands were full holding Jake. Erik didn’t think he’d be fast enough to stop O’Connell if she decided to use the knife.

“Don’t do it in front of him,” Raven said to O’Connell, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s all I ask.”

O’Connell gritted out a curse, then abruptly released Raven and sheathed her knife. “I’m not going to kill you,” she said.

Raven’s eyes slid shut as her body slumped with relief. Erik released Jake, who ran to his mother and threw his arms around her.

Langston sidled up to Clarissa. “So where’d you get the knife?” he asked.

“Try to take it from me and you’ll regret it,” she said evenly.

Their eyes caught. He didn’t look pleased, but neither did he make a move to disarm her.

Raven stood, her arms around Jake, and faced Clarissa. She looked nothing like the self-assured diva of last night.

“I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely.

Clarissa wanted to believe her, but she’d been burned too much, so she just nodded.

“Tell me more about this FBI guy,” Langston said. “What was his name? Was it Kaminski?”

Raven shook her head. “He said his name was Clarke.”

“Clarke?” Clarissa turned to Langston. “Isn’t that your boss? I thought you said Kaminski was the mole.”

Langston looked momentarily stunned, then his jaw tightened. His eyes were cold when he glanced at her. “I thought he was. Clarke’s been after Solomon for years, poured blood, sweat, and tears into this case. I never would have thought he’d sell out.” He turned his attention back to Raven.