Forgotten (Shattered Sisters Book 2) (15 page)

"You're wrong." Ash turned and paced away slowly. "Not that it's any of your business, Rad, but I haven't slept with her. And I'm on top of this story. Objectivity intact."

Rad was silent a long moment, then, "I don't think so, Ash. I'm going to put Harris on the Slasher case."

Ash whirled. "The hell you are!"

"You aren't yourself. You're—"

"Quitting."

Rad's mouth fell open, the rest of his sentence left hanging unfinished in the air, silenced by a single word.

"That's it. Your choice. Give the story to Harris, and I walk. And if I walk, you'll probably be behind me in the unemployment line, because the paper will fire you for losing their star reporter. Now what's it gonna be, Rad?"

Radley's eyes conveyed his anger. He didn't like being backed up to the wall, but Ash was saying no more than the truth, and Rad knew it. "What are you planning, besides trailing along after her like a hungry pup and hoping she drops you a crumb?"

Ash glared right back at him. "Go to hell, Rad."

"Damn you, Coye—"

"All right." Ash held up one hand. "Truce, okay?"

Rad stuffed both hands deep into his pockets and nodded. "What are you planning?"

"To talk to a psychiatrist, an expert on serial killers. Try and get a profile of our suspect. And I want to see some of these executive types Joey's worked for, find out what they have to say about her...abilities."

It was Rad's turn to stare through the window at Joey. "You still think she's a fake, right?"

Ash hesitated before answering. "I'm beginning to wonder."

“Why? You're a dyed-in-the-wool skeptic about that kind of crap, Ash. What's she done, read your mind or something?"

"Or something."

Rad's face seemed to relax all of a sudden, all the tension going out of it. He turned again toward the door and looked through it, eyes speculative. "Well, now. Isn't that interesting?"

Ash shook his head slowly, reaching for the doorknob. "Don't go asking her about it. She thinks I don't know. And treat her right, Rad. She's my wife, don't forget."

"As long as
you
don't forget that she
isn't.
"

Joey stiffened when she saw them coming toward her. She'd tried to concentrate on their conversation in Mr. Ketchum's office, but as usual, the harder she tried to focus, the less she picked up. In a newsroom that was bursting with wall-to-wall desks, rushing people and the constant clicking of keyboards, it was tough to hear herself think, let alone pick up what someone else might be thinking. She sensed, though, that a lot of the time they'd been talking about her. Not knowing what was said made her uncomfortable and self-conscious.

"Mrs. Coye." Radley Ketchum nodded toward her. "Feeling better now?"

She nodded politely. "Yes. Thanks for the coffee."

Ash stood in front of her, putting both hands on her shoulders. "Bev called while I was in Rad's office."

Bev.
Detective Lady Atlas, he meant

"They've finished at the house."

"Did they find anything?"

Ash squeezed her shoulders. “A few prints, they're being analyzed but—"

"They're ours. I told you, the person wore gloves." She stopped, blinking. Ash would have her committed if she didn't stop going on about the gloves. She glanced up to see if his boss found her as nutty as Ash must, but he only stared at her, his gaze dark and probing.

"Anyway, we can go back now—"

"No."

He shook her so slightly she barely felt it. "Joey, we can still stay at my apartment. But don't you think you ought to pick up a few clothes? Your toothbrush?"

"I'm not going back there."

Ash shook his head, and she knew he thought she must still be distraught over the intruder, stressed out from all that had happened. The truth was, she was calm, and thinking as clearly as she ever had in her life. She simply did not want Ash in that house. A sense of danger loomed larger in her mind at the very thought of it.

"Okay. All right, if that's what you want." He nodded toward his boss, who still stared hard at her. "I'll be in touch."

"Good." Mr. Ketchum smiled gently at Joey, the way you smile at a crazy person. Humoring her. "Hope to see you again soon, Mrs. Coye." Then he turned and walked away.

Ash drove to his apartment, a few short minutes from the offices of
The
Chronicle.
He unlocked the door, and Joey preceded him in, limping slowly, senses on alert. She was more wary than she could ever remember being. She stepped into the short, dark hallway and felt the wall for a light switch.

Ash beat her to it, and as soon as he flicked it on Joey stepped farther inside. Still, she was careful. She poked her head through the archway on her right, into the kitchenette, leaning heavily on the doorframe and fumbling for that light switch. When she saw nothing there, aside from the gleaming white cupboards and checkerboard tiles, she returned to the hall and hobbled through the door on its other side, into the small bathroom. She turned that light on, as well.

She knew Ash stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, just watching her peculiar behavior. Stubbornly, she glanced around the little bathroom, even going so far as to open the frosted-glass doors on the three-sided shower stall in the corner to peek inside.

Sighing her relief, she stepped back into the short hall. Ash put an arm around her. "You'd better relax, Joey. You're jumping at shadows. No one's here but us."

"Better safe than sorry. And I'm not jumping. Just checking." The hall opened into the large living room of Ash's corner apartment. At the far end, glass doors led out to a balcony. Darkness gathered beyond, dotted by Syracuse's lights, only visible in the slits between the vertical blinds. The bedroom was on her right. She checked both before she sank onto the brown modular sofa.

"Feel safe now?" There was worry, as well as a hint of amusement, glinting in his eyes.

She smiled at him. "It isn't
me
I'm—" She stopped herself. "Yes. Perfectly safe."

"You're sure?"

She squinted at him. "Why so interested?"

"Just checking. Thought I'd go out for some supplies."

"Like what?" She was no longer relaxed on the sofa, but leaning forward, tense.

Ash shook his head and sat down beside her. "Like food. I haven't been here in a while. The place isn't exactly well stocked."

She turned to face him, wanting to beg him not to leave her side—not for an instant—but knowing how insane that might sound to him. "I'm not all that hungry, anyway."

"Well, I am. Look, I know you're still shaken. Just stay here, okay? Take a hot shower, watch some TV, drink a glass of wine. I'll be back in thirty minutes, I promise."

She shook her head slowly. "We can order in."

"Joey—"

"Don't go, Ash." He frowned, searching her eyes for a long moment. "Just...don't go."

He lowered his head until his chin touched his chest. When he lifted it again she saw the impatience in his face, the frustration. "You want me to stay, then you're going to have to tell me why. What is it you're so afraid of, Joey?"

She blinked, turning her face away. "I—I'm not afraid, just—"

"Bull." He caught her face in his hands and brought it around, then stared deep into her eyes. "Stop keeping things from me. Joey, I want to help you, but I can't if you won't tell me what's wrong. Can't you trust me even that much?"

She said nothing, and after a second he dropped his hands, sighed in anger and rose from the sofa. "Dammit, Joey, I'm not your father or your stepfather, and I'm not Ted. I'm not going to betray you. But I guess it's too much to ask you to believe that."

He started toward the hall, then down it, and Joey lunged off the sofa after him. The pain in her thigh screamed, but she forced herself to run, and she gripped his arm just as he reached for the doorknob. She jerked him back.

"Don't! Don't leave, Ash, you can't...."

He stood motionless, not even turning to face her. "Give me one good reason, Joey. And if it's another lie—"

"The Slasher is going to kill you."

There was utter silence after she said it. He was going to laugh at her, call her crazy. But it would be better than letting him go out and end up dead.

He turned slowly and looked down at her. "How do you know that?"

He was watching her face so damned closely she knew he'd see through any lie she concocted. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and took a single step backward. "I just do."

"How?" he demanded, advancing. "Do you know the Slasher, Joey? Is that it?"

She shook her head from side to side, and when he reached for her she took another hasty step backward. But she'd forgotten her injury, and she put too much weight on the leg too suddenly, and yelped as white-hot pain shot through her leg.

Ash swore as he reached for her, caught her around the waist and kept her from falling. He hauled her up and forward, hesitated for an immeasurable instant, then pulled her closer, tight to his chest. His arms closed around her, and Joey pressed her face against the cool fabric of his shirt, inhaling his scent.

"It's not firsthand information." He murmured the words into her hair and slowly began to rock just slightly back and forth. "It's not that you're a part of this insanity. I know that, Joey. But for God's sake, you have to tell me what it is."

She nodded, moving her head against his chest as her arms crept up around his neck and tightened there.

He turned her slightly and then scooped her up and carried her down the hall, but didn't stop in the living room this time. He took her into his bedroom instead.

As he lowered her onto his oversize bed, Ash studied her face in the too-bright lights of the bedroom.
Tell me the truth this time, Joey. I'm trying to believe in you, but, God, you're making it tough.

He propped pillows behind her and eased her onto them, then pulled the extra blanket from the foot of the bed, shook it out and covered her, tucking it around her shoulders. The apartment was chilly. He hadn't thought to adjust the thermostat when they'd come in. He hadn't been thinking about much at all lately, except the mystery that was Joey Bradshaw and how he might solve it.

He looked at her huddled on his bed like a frightened child, at the way her hair tumbled over her shoulders, and the way her lips were slightly parted and moist and full.

He'd been thinking about those lips, too, and how they tasted. And those thoughts led to others, until he was surprised he could remember how to breathe, let alone investigate a string of murders. Maybe Radley had been right about that.

He pushed a hand through his hair and turned away, went to the living room and heard the anxiety, the raw fear, in her voice as she called his name.

"I'm not going anywhere," he called back. "Just stay put." He stalked to the kitchenette and found a bottle of white zinfandel in the fridge. For a minute he just looked at it, sitting there, unopened, waiting for the notorious Ashville Coye to introduce it to his latest conquest. There was an instant when he was disgusted with himself and his endless search for the perfect woman. Who did he think he was, anyway, that the perfect woman would be interested in him? And where did he get off, listing the standards she had to meet? What did he know?