Darkness Becomes Her (7 page)

“I would never underestimate what he might do. You shouldn’t, either.”

“All right, we’ll make it short. I have to be there at seven.”

She turned and walked out the door to the courtyard, into the cool early morning air. It was still dark, no hint of dawn yet. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold. She knew what he meant when he’d said he could feel her out there watching him. She felt him watching her leave.

Nothing’s changed. You’re in no position to get involved with anyone. Not Magnus. And especially not Lachlan, for way too many reasons.

Still, she turned back and caught him standing at the wall of glass watching her.

Chapter 7

L
achlan hooked the half-lang sword he’d been working with that morning to his hip. He usually practiced with the replicas, but now he wanted the real thing. Made in the 1400s, this sword had been used in real combat all those years ago, no doubt responsible for many a death.

Back then, Highlanders were either on foot or horseback. Much easier to maneuver with a sword that way than to get in and out of vehicles with one. He donned a dirk, a smaller knife, on his other hip, hidden under his loose black sweater, then slid into his long black coat.

His hand remained on the hardwood handle of the dirk, fingers tightening. That strange energy flowed through him, and a flash of memory bombarded his mind: a hand clutching a similar dirk, swinging the blade down into the chest of a man in the coat and breeches of a British infantryman. Blood spurted out over his hand—not
his
hand, but the rough, blunt hands he’d seen earlier.

“Ready?”

He jerked out of the memory, of Culloden no doubt, and spun around to find Jessie standing in his open doorway.

“I need to go to my apartment first, get my clothes.” She gestured to herself, wearing his black T-shirt.

She looked damned good in that T-shirt, even though it was large on her. There was something oddly intimate about her wearing his clothing. In his mind, he could see again that tantalizing hollow between the curves of her cleavage. He’d wanted to hear her say she’d made hot, sweaty love to Magnus. He needed that mental image, strange as it was. Not the details, but the idea that she was physically Magnus’s. All the better if Jessie thought he was a weirdo. What he needed so bloody bad was to think, as he looked at her, that Magnus had nuzzled that hollow, slid his hands down between her legs. That would have dampened anything his crazy hormones were throwing at him. Maybe they hadn’t had sex, but there was more to a relationship than that.

“Hello?” She waved her hand in front of his face, bringing him round again.

“Sorry. Let’s go.”

She pulled her black coat, trimmed in fake fur, from the back of the chair. “You were thinking about Magnus, weren’t you?”

“Aye.”

Lachlan punched in some buttons on the security system’s panel.

“You called him Maggie.”

He rolled his eyes. “Our childhood nicknames for each other. I hated when he called me Locky, so I called him Maggie. They stuck.”

They walked out into the chill morning air.

She came to a dead stop, looking up. “Wow. Beautiful.”

He glanced up. “What is?” He looked back at her, the way all her different lengths of shiny brown hair sprayed over her shoulders and made her look wild and windblown, even though there wasn’t a hint of wind.

She gestured to the sky. “How can you not see that? Look at the colors, pinks, the most vivid orange I’ve ever seen.” Her voice was saturated with awe, her eyes glittered, and her luscious mouth curved into a smile.

He now saw the splash of color against the steel gray sky. “Nice.” He’d seen plenty of sunrises in the last year but never noticed the colors. “I’m going to put Magnus’s car in the garage first. He ever give you a ride in this thing? He’s a madman behind the wheel.”

“We should check on him,” she said as Lachlan opened the car door.

“Already did, first thing this morning. He’s still sleeping restfully. His temperature’s even, pulse is good.”

Her smile returned, but not as bright. “Thank God.”

“He’ll forgive you. He’s big on not holding onto anger or blame. And he’ll need you as he comes to terms with his Darkness.”

She nodded but didn’t look especially convinced.

“I’ll take responsibility for making the decision,” he added. “Our relationship’s already been through hell. But in the end, we’re brothers. We’re all we’ve got.”

He got in and pulled the car up to the garage, pressing the remote to open one of the doors. Magnus made a game out of driving in as fast as he could, hitting the brakes at the last possible moment. Life was a game to him. How would he feel about life once he woke?

As Lachlan got out, Jessie walked in through the open bay to where he’d instructed her to park her vehicle. “I could pack my things,” she said, “take care of the carnival, and go. You can put your energy into helping Magnus and not risk your life going after Russell. Magnus is safe, and if I go away, you will be, too.”

“But you won’t be safe.” He had started closing the garage door behind Magnus’s car.

“What? I couldn’t hear you,” she said when the doors had come to a stop.

He opened the door behind Jessie’s vehicle and stopped in front of her. “
You
won’t be safe.”

“This is my problem, and besides, you’d be doing me a favor. I already feel horrible about Magnus. If something happened to you . . .” Her chin trembled. “No, I won’t let you do this.”

He tilted his head at her. “If something happened to me, what?” It couldn’t affect her worse than something happening to Magnus. “Never mind. I know guilt; he’s a good friend of mine. But this isn’t your choice. I need to get rid of this guy.”

She shook her head, but the trepidation didn’t leave her eyes. “Why do you need to?”

He studied the wall covered in tools and auto parts. “Because it’s the one thing I can make right.”

She remained for a moment, rubbing the keys in her fingers. “If something happens to you . . . I’ll kill you. Understand?”

He couldn’t help it; his mouth quirked in a smile. “Yes ma’am.”

She drove, the two of them quiet at first during the twenty minute ride to her apartment. If her furrowed forehead were any indication, unpleasant thoughts roamed her mind. She turned on the radio. A pop song filled the car, and she tapped her fingers to the beat. Her nails were unpolished but neat.

At a traffic stop, she pulled out her phone and tapped on the screen. “Even though my security system is supposed to alert me if someone goes into my place, with Russell, I can’t be sure.” The light turned green, and she thrust the phone at him. “Watch the video, see if anything strange is going on.”

“You didn’t know I was in your place. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have let me get the jump on you.”

“I left the phone in the car when I ran in to get some papers I’d forgotten. I’d just been there so I wasn’t worried.”

“And then this brute grabs you. You put up a good fight, though.” He rolled his shoulder.

“Sorry—”

“Don’t even think about apologizing. I was the intruder. I should apologize to you.”

She slid him a smile. “We both had good reasons for doing what we did. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Deal.”

She pulled into her apartment complex. “I don’t have that much stuff, so between us, we should be able to pack pretty quick.” She nodded toward the back of the Yukon, jammed with boxes and bags. “I keep most of it here.”

He hated that she had to live this way. It strengthened his resolve to wipe the son of a bitch off the face of the earth. “What about the furniture?”

“Came with the apartment. The first time Russell tracked me, I spotted him before he saw me. I grabbed the few things that meant something to me but had to leave furniture. Now I rent places furnished.” She sighed, getting out of the vehicle and walking toward the bottom of the stairs. “And I lose my last month’s rent and security deposit every time.”

He remembered the coupons and the magazines with the addresses cut out. He’d seen that before, at secondhand sales. She’d wanted a large latte but got a small one, and wouldn’t let Magnus pay for it. She lived her life in fear, and yet even now knelt and lifted the bloom of a pink rose to her nose. Her eyes closed in pleasure.

He took off his coat and covered the sword. “How can you do that?” he asked, coming up beside her.

“Uh, I breathe in through my nose.”

“Don’t be cheeky. I meant, take the time to enjoy something like that, with all the trouble you’ve got on your shoulders.”

She stroked the petals of the rose. “Because there’s so much beauty and goodness in life. I need to live in those moments to balance out the times when there’s fear.” The pleasure on her face deepened when a butterfly landed on a nearby rose.

“Look at the flutterby, for example.” He heard awe in her voice for something she probably saw every day. “Appreciate the way she injects unexpected color and movement into this moment.”

“Flutterby?”

“That’s what they do, you know. They flutter by. They’re not butter that’s flying. I think someone mistranslated the word somewhere along the way.” She looked at him. “I learned to appreciate the little things from some of the kids in my foster home. They were dying, day by day, or struggling to live in bodies that wouldn’t cooperate, but some of them saw the joy in life. They’re my inspiration. My dad, too. He taught me to appreciate the beauty in all aspects of life, from a thunderstorm to a beetle zigzagging across the sidewalk. So stop, Lachlan, and smell the roses. Then you can scratch yourself with the thorns.” She took the stairs two at a time.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He followed.

“You like punishing yourself.” She unlocked the door and went inside, turning to him. “You think you’re a bad person because of what you did to your mother. But you’re not. You made a bad mistake, that’s all.”

He turned away, taking in her living room. “What do you need packed?”

“The fuzzy blanket on the couch, just about everything in the kitchen . . . but the kitchen sink,” she added with a smile. “Definitely the pots and pans. Those were a huge splurge. I’m not leaving behind my food or spices either.” She pulled out several soft bags from the closet. “There’s a cooler under the table. Dump some ice in it and put everything from the fridge in there.” She frowned. “I’ll have to leave behind the B and J NYSFC in the freezer, though. No way to keep it that cold.”

He pulled out the cooler. “What’s the B and J and whatever-else-you-said?”

“Ben and Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk. Chocolate ice cream, nuts, and chunks of white and dark chocolate. It’s sinful.”

He didn’t need to hear her say “sinful” when her ass was sticking out as she reached in to grab one last bag. He focused on opening the freezer and dumping all the ice from the bin into the cooler. One lone tub of B&J sat there. How much did she have to sacrifice?

She snapped open a large plastic bag. “Garbage goes in here. I don’t want to leave a mess behind.”

“What about your job? Magnus said you were good with the kids.” He remembered how she’d poured on the praise to the young violinist.

Her frown deepened. “I’ll have to quit. Again. The pay wasn’t that great anyway. And some of those kids . . .” She grimaced. “The sound of off-tune guitars and pianos, some days I thought my eardrums would pop. Sometimes I wished they would.”

Sour grapes. Well, he’d let her have them.

He turned back to the task. Interesting. The girl had food, all right. Not a lot of it, but she liked quality food, like buffalo meat, several varieties of cheese he couldn’t even pronounce the names of, and fancy crackers to go with them. She had just about every spice and herb known to man. He jammed his arm into the cabinet and raked them all into a bag.

She came in and grabbed a heavy-duty quilted bag from the top shelf of one of the cabinets. “This is for the pots and pans. The towels go between them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He couldn’t help smiling.

She paused, then ducked away again.

She’d piled the bags and a couple of pull-along suitcases in front of the door. He supposed the bags were easier to handle and store than boxes, which had to be broken down and then taped together again. His smile dampened; she had to live with an escape plan. Even though they, too, had been in hiding, they’d stayed in one place for long periods of time.

“That’s it,” she said, returning to the kitchen.

She’d changed into a long-sleeved black top with a faded heart and the words
LIVE IN YOUR HEART.
She hadn’t been wearing his shirt last night, only Magnus’s coat. Watching her draw her fingers down the edge of the collar, her thoughts obviously on Magnus, had been painful in more than one way.

“How’s it going in here?” she asked.

“Done.” He picked up the notebook he’d seen earlier. “Don’t want to forget this, I imagine.”

She took it, flipping through the pages. “I do want to forget this. Now that I know what’s in me, I don’t need it anymore.” She dropped it into one of the large plastic bags.

He handed her the container of B&J and a spoon. “You eat, I’ll drive.” She stared at the container. “Go on. You haven’t had breakfast yet.”

She took it, looking oddly touched. “Thanks.”

They hoisted bags, and two trips down the stairs later, everything was packed into the back of her SUV. A rustle in the bushes caught his attention. A black dog backed away and ducked out of sight. Uneasiness settled over him.

“What?” she asked, catching his stare.

“Dog in the bushes. It’s gone now.” He scanned the parking lot, as he had the whole time they were packing. “Let’s go.”

He drove, and she ate, letting out pleasurable little moans punctuated by a crunch every now and then. Her head was tilted back, eyes closed, a smile on her face as she worked the ice cream in her mouth as though it were a fine wine. He took in the length of her pale neck. Hell, he could taste her skin, feel the soft texture of it.

Her eyes snapped open. “I was making noises, wasn’t I?”

He cleared his throat. “A bit.”

Her cheeks colored. “I love food.”

He remembered the way she’d smelled the rose and marveled over the . . . flutterby. He, who had his whole life in front of him, had stopped living, while she, who lived in fear, savored every inch of it.

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” she asked.

“I’ll eat later.”

She held out a spoonful of ice cream. “If you’re not worried about germs.”

It wasn’t germs he feared; he leaned forward, and she slid the spoon into his mouth. Cold, creamy, with a chunk of dark chocolate.

“More?” she asked, digging into the container.

More. Much more.
“I’m fine, thanks.”