Darker Than Midnight (38 page)

Dawn turned for the door, but her father still held her hand, and surprisingly, he wouldn't let go. “Don't,” she snapped. “I have to go, I have to—”

“Help him, Sunny,” Mordecai whispered. “Help him. Look inside yourself. You know what to do.”

Frowning, she turned back to look at the tormented spirit. He seemed to be wilting. “Stephanie,” she called. “Stephanie, come here. Bring the baby. And don't show up looking all toasted, either. Your body burned, not your soul. You can look any way you want to, now. So can the baby.”

Instantly, Stephanie appeared. And she looked at herself, and at her baby, with amazement in her eyes. Maybe she
hadn't known. Hadn't realized. But they were both beautiful now. No more soot or burns or scars.

Stephanie's eyes met Ethan's, and she smiled gently.

“You don't belong here,” Dawn told them both. “You have another life to live now, a different one. You need to let go of all of this.”

Stephanie's look of peace vanished, and she whirled to face Dawn. “Not yet. It's not done, not yet. You have to stop her. You have to save Cassandra. My River—he needs her.”

Her father's hand fell away from hers, and they were all gone. Just that fast.

Stunned, Dawn turned toward the door, where she saw Bryan standing, watching her. She drew a breath, lifted her chin.

“So what did Melrose have to say?” he asked.

She blinked at him, stunned that he would put the insane question so matter-of-factly. But there was no time to tell him how much that meant to her. Not now. “It was his wife all along,” Dawn said. “And I think she's going after Jax.”

B
en had left the house, yet again.

Jax was curled on the sofa, with a cup of hot cocoa, her mother sitting on the other end and a roaring fire in front of them. Rex sat close by, leaning against Mariah's legs, his head in her lap. He closed his eyes every time she stroked his head, and released an occasional sigh of pure ecstasy.

“Dad
has
figured out I'm a cop, hasn't he?” Jax asked. She set her cocoa mug down and snuggled her head into the pillows her mother had piled beneath her. “He does know I can take care of myself.”

“He's lost one daughter. He's petrified of losing another,” her mom said softly.

“I don't like him out there patrolling alone in the dark every half hour. He's sixty years old, for God's sake. What's he going to do if someone
does
try to get in? He wouldn't even take my gun.”

“He hates guns. You know that.”

Jax closed her eyes. “I know. I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have offered it, given…” She let her voice trail off.

Mariah continued stroking the dog, her hand moving in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. “You know, I've been asking myself all day why you chose to help this—this Corbett fellow.”

Jax opened her eyes and faced her mother. “My first night
here, I fell through the ice of that frozen pond across the street. He pulled me out. Saved my life.” She shrugged. “I guess I figured I owed him the benefit of the doubt.”

Her mother nodded slowly. “I think it was a little more than that. I think it's almost eerie, the way all this has played out.”

Sitting up, Jax looped her arms around her blanket-covered knees and faced her mother. What was she getting at?

“The way he pleaded insanity—just the way the man tried for killing your sister did.”

Jax frowned. “It's just a coincidence.”

“No. No, I don't think it is. I think it's…some kind of…karma. Is that the word? You know what I mean, anyway. I think you're doing what…what your father and I can't do.”

Jax felt her heart beat a little faster. “What are you talking about, Mom?”

Mariah met her eyes. “I think you know.” She licked her lips. “Don't you, Cassie? You know that the man your father killed was innocent. Just like your River Corbett is innocent.”

Jax went stiff, and when she could tear her gaze from her mother's, she shot it toward the door in case her father had heard. He was nowhere in sight.

“Does Dad know?” she asked, keeping her voice to a whisper.

Mariah sighed. “He doesn't talk about it. But he sends all his extra money to Jeffrey Allen Dunkirk's sister out in California—she's the only relative we know of. And he visits the grave, every time we're back in Central New York. I'm supposed to think he's golfing with his old friends. But no. He mows around the headstone, plants things in the summer, leaves flowers in the winter.” She shook her head. “It's been eating at him, what he did. All this time. I honestly believe if he could change places with Dunkirk, he would. I don't know
if he knows the man was innocent or not. I'm not sure it even matters. Ben was a healer. And he took a life. In a way, I think he died, too, that day. He hasn't really been alive since.”

“Oh, Mom.” Jax felt like crying. “He—he hasn't talked to you about it, then?”

Mariah shook her head. “No. And I can't bring it up with him. I mean, I think he knows the truth. But what if he doesn't? I don't know what it would do to him….”

“I understand. I'll never tell him, Mom.”

Her mother nodded. “How long have you known?”

“Since Jarred's suicide. His mother came to me.”

Mariah sighed. “She told me, as well. I guess she needed to get it off her chest.”

Jax frowned toward the door. Her father wasn't back yet, but she was glad she'd had a few minutes alone with her mom. “You're right, you know. Knowing the truth—how easily Dunkirk was believed guilty of a crime he didn't commit, and how easily he was convinced that an insanity plea was his only way out—it had a huge bearing on my decision to give River the benefit of the doubt.”

“How could it not?” her mother asked.

“But only at the beginning.” Jax sighed. “As soon as I started to get to know him, I knew…”

“There's something between you. I could see that at the police station.” Her mother patted Cassandra's hands where they held her knees. “Do you love him, Cassie?”

Jax would have repeated the question in disbelief, if she could have forced the words out, but they stuck in her throat. “I don't know. I never thought I wanted that kind of thing,” she said, and it sounded lame.

“What kind of thing? Love?”

She shrugged. “Giving another person that much control
over me. Being worried about, taken care of, told what to do.” She grimaced.

“Do you think that's what your father and I have done all these years? Controlled each other? Told each other what to do?”

She looked at her mother slowly. “Sort of. I mean, not in a bad way. It's more…it's different with you two.”

“Love isn't about control, Cassie. It's about caring.”

She supposed she had to concede that much. “So how do you know? I mean, there's the attraction thing, of course. But how do you know when it's real?”

“When you care more about another person than you do about yourself. Oh, I don't mean you subjugate your needs to theirs. It only works if they care more about you than they do about themselves, as well. That way no one's got more power, more control. It's all about giving and caring.” She shrugged. “You risked your career—even your life—to help this man. To me, that says it all.”

To Jax, that only said half of it. She rolled her eyes. “I must have hit my head harder than I thought to even be discussing the
L
word. Probably some brain damage the doctor missed.”

“Probably,” her mother agreed, but her smile said she thought she knew better. Sighing, she got to her feet. Rex stood up as soon as Mariah did. “You need some more cocoa, hon?”

“No, I'm fine, for now.” Jax glanced again at the front door. “Dad should be back by now.”

“He'll be along—”

Mariah's words were cut short by the long, low growl that came from the dog beside her.

“Rex?” Jax got off the sofa, ignored the metal cane, snatched up her gun instead and limped to the door to peer through the curtain.

Rex was at her side, and the fur along the center of his spine and haunches bristled in a way she'd rarely seen.

“Something's wrong,” Jax said. She checked the gun's clip, worked the action. “Call Frankie, Mom.”

Her mother hurried across the room as Jax opened the door, standing to one side, listening.

“There's no dial tone,” her mother said. “Oh, God, Cassie, don't go out there.”

Jax turned to see her mother on the edge of panic. This was not the kind of situation Mariah was used to. Imagining her only surviving daughter in danger every day of her life was bad enough. But witnessing it—she was living out a nightmare. “Mom, try the phone upstairs in the bedroom. Take Rex with you. Lock yourself in up there and call for help.”

“Cassie…” Mariah put a hand on Jax's shoulder.

“Dad might be in trouble, Mom,” she said softly. She covered her mother's hand with her own. “Please.”

“All right.” Mariah tore herself away and ran upstairs, and though he didn't want to go, Rex let her tug him along. Jax waited to hear the bedroom door close behind her mother, and then opened the door wider and stepped outside, onto the porch.

“Dad?”

No answer. Nothing but silence greeted her.

She could move faster without the bum ankle, she thought angrily, as she made her way onto the porch. She walked—limped—across the porch in her pajamas. She hadn't grabbed a coat and it was a cold night.

“Dad, where are you?”

She paused at the top of the porch steps, squinting at something on the ground in the distance. It looked like…

“Dad?”

Going down one step, as her heart leaped into her throat,
she realized that her father was lying motionless out there in the snow. But she got no farther.

Something heavy cracked down on the back of her skull, and the ground rose up to smash her in the face. She felt the blow, anticipated the pain of her landing, but was out cold before she ever touched down.

* * *

Joshua drove. Dawn sat in the back seat beside Bryan, and tried not to let her fears show in her eyes. So many fears.

She was afraid of the ghosts that had been plaguing her for days. But not in the same way she'd been afraid of them before. She was afraid, now, because they had left her, and she alternated between praying they would return and being terrified that they wouldn't. She was afraid she might be losing her mind, because she was so sure that she wasn't. This was real. She had to be nuts to believe that so strongly, didn't she? And more than anything else, she was afraid for Jax.

What was happening to her right now?

Fire.

Dawn blinked and looked around. “What did you say?” she asked. “Bry?”

“Me? I didn't say anything.”

“No one did. Are you all right, hon?” Beth asked.

Fire!

“Oh, God, not again.” She closed her eyes and nodded. “I need a cell phone. I left mine at the inn.”

Joshua handed her one, his eyes full of worry. “What is it, hon?”

She dialed 911 and waited. And when the operator answered, she said, “There's a house on fire. One-ten Snowshoe Lane. It's pretty bad. Send ambulances. Police, too.”

She hung up even as the operator was asking questions, and handed the phone back to Joshua.

Beth said, “Honey, what makes you think Jax's house is on fire?”

“I just know.”

“But—”

“I know things, Beth. I know things the same way Mordecai knew things. I don't want to—but I do.”

The look of horror on Beth's face, the way she shivered, told Dawn this hadn't been the right time. But she knew Beth had already been figuring it out. Beth looked at Josh, and the glance he sent her was full of worry, but tempered by love.

“Can you drive any faster, Joshua?” Dawn asked. “I don't think there's much time.”

* * *

River waited only until Frankie ushered him into the guest room and closed the door. She'd offered him food, but he'd said no, that he was tired and just wanted to rest. She had to know he didn't plan to stay. But she pretended to believe him, told him good-night and left him alone.

He went to the bedroom window and opened it, climbed outside, closed it behind him, and went looking for transportation. Transportation that awaited him like a gift. An ATV was parked near the back porch, with the keys in the ignition. And he knew Frankie Parker was not stupid enough to have forgotten it was there. The softhearted police chief might as well have taped a bow to the handlebars.

He whispered a silent thanks as he pushed the machine around the house and down the road until he thought he was out of earshot. Might as well play along, give Frankie plausible deniability so she wouldn't have too many blemishes on her record when she retired a week from now.

He started up the four-wheeler and drove it over the narrow winding roads toward Cassandra's house. His house.

Hell, he barely knew how to think of the place anymore.
He didn't know how to think of
her.
So much had happened, there had been no time to sit down, to spend time just talking about their feelings and goals, and what they wanted in life. In a relationship.

There was so much to be said and done. And now, thanks to Cassandra, maybe he was going to have the chance to have a life again. It sure as hell looked that way.

He rode the little machine, enjoying the cold night air blowing in his face, and the bounce of the seat underneath him, and the thrill of high speeds and sharp curves. He felt alive—more alive than he had since…since before Steph had died. And maybe for a long time before that.

He gunned it a little harder, and deliberately drove over the bumpier spots in the road, smiling fully, every cell in his body singing with anticipation at seeing Cassandra again.

He loved her. God help him, he loved the woman.

His smile, and that feeling of elation, began to die at the first hint of the familiar scent that touched his nostrils. Hot, acrid, it was a smell he knew. It had been haunting his mind for more than a year now. It was the smell of smoke. And not the warm, almost comforting kind that came from a campfire or a wood stove. This was the distinct, menacing smell of smoke that came from a burning house.