Gingerbread Man (21 page)

"At which point," Reginald put in, "we
convinced him to spend the night, rather than return home in such
weather."

"Exactly." Amanda delivered the doctor's tea
and sweets to him. He was still pacing, but she sent a meaningful
glance at the chair, and he immediately took it. The two men obeyed
the soft spoken young woman like trained bears.

Vince was starting to see that she wasn't the
meek and dependent little thing he'd at first seen. In fact, she
seemed to be the caregiver in this odd little family.

Finally, she took a cup of tea for herself,
crossed the room to where Holly lay in the bed, and took her seat
beside it. It was, he thought, her way of ending the
conversation.

Well, he wasn't finished. "Why are you so
afraid of storms?" he asked her.

And it was her turn to shoot that
what-do-I-say-now look at her cohorts. But it was brief, a flicker,
no more. She blinked it away fast, sipped her tea, and finally met
Vince's eyes. "Who knows where these things get started? I honestly
don't remember."

She was good. Better than the doctor or the
actor would ever be. Vince sighed, defeated. His instincts were
failing him. He couldn't tell if he were in a room full of liars,
or saints. There was something they weren't saying. Just what it
was, he couldn't tell. Hell. He drank his damned tea.

The doctor rose. "We should let the detective
get some sleep. O'Mally, you'll call me when Holly wakes? I'll be
right down the hall."

Vince nodded, set his empty cup down on its
saucer. "Thanks, Doc. And thank you, Mr. D'Voe, and you, Amanda,
for your hospitality."

"You're welcome," Amanda replied. She was
tucking the covers around Holly before leaving.

D'Voe waited for her at the door. "I wouldn't
have left a stray dog out in a storm like that," he said. Then they
left, the three of them. And they all knew something Vince didn't,
he was convinced of that. He had no idea, though, whether their
secrets had anything to do with his case.

He turned on the chaise—which had been piled
high with pillows and blankets just for him—and studied Holly. Her
bed was ten feet away, and that seemed too far. He wanted to be
closer. Suppose he fell asleep, and then she woke or had some kind
of medical crisis in the middle of the night? Suppose the
killer—who may or may not have sabotaged the dock light, indirectly
causing their accident, and may or may not have been following them
through the woods tonight—came back for another try? His gun was
gone, lost in the lake. He'd realized that about halfway through
their hike. The one he'd taken from Holly was locked in his
Jeep.

Setting his jaw, he got up. The combined pain
of his bruised ribs and throbbing feet nearly put him right back
down again, but he held on to a small hardwood table. It didn't
ease much. A little, as his body adjusted to being upright. He
hobbled across the thick carpet to Holly's bed. Without hesitation,
because he was all but dead on his feet, he peeled her covers back.
Then he stared down at her.

She was wearing a soft, white muslin
nightgown. Shit, all she needed was a candelabra to carry around
this place, and she could be an honorary member of the D'Voe
family.

He glanced down at himself, surprised to see
maroon pajamas covering his skin. They felt like silk. He lifted
his brows and said, "Hmm." Then he crawled into bed with Holly and
pulled the covers over them both.

***

REGINALD WAS TENSE, and he doubted he'd sleep
a wink with that stranger under his roof. He didn't like strangers.
Didn't trust them.

He paced his bedroom, wrung his hands, and
tried to think of what he ought to be doing. Surely there was
something. Damn, things were so confusing lately. His mind sizzled
like water dripped into hot oil. So many things dancing, jumping,
and spitting all at once. Dangerous things. What the hell should he
do? What?

A soft tap on his bedroom door made him
start, and then Amanda stepped softly inside. "I knew I'd find you
all worked up."

He tried to fool her with a false expression.
One of calm, or at least something less manic. But it didn't work.
It never had. Oh, his acting might have fooled millions over the
decades, but it had never once fooled his darling Amanda.

She crossed the room, white gown drifting.
Angelic. She took his arm, led him to the bed, and pulled the
covers over him. Then her cool, soft hands drifted over his
forehead, slowly, repeatedly. "We came back here to face our
demons. Didn't we?"

He wanted to deny it. It might be her reason,
but it had never been his. He had come back for her. For her alone.
Because it was what she wanted, and because her doctors felt it was
time. That it would be healthy for her.

"I'm an adult now, Uncle Reg. I'm not that
frightened little girl you remember. Not anymore. No one can take
me away from you now."

"I know. I know that." He did know it, on a
practical, mental level. It was the rest of him that refused to
believe. She was
his,
dammit. She'd been his for as long as
he wanted to remember. He'd
made
her his. His little
girl.

"I want you to stop worrying." Her hand moved
away, and her lips replaced it on his forehead. "I love you, Uncle
Reggie. I'll always love you."

That kiss, her breath warm on his skin—God,
his heart twisted into a tight little knot in his chest. "You're
everything to me," he whispered. "I don't want to lose you,
Amanda."

"You won't. I promise, you won't."

But he would. He felt it right to his gut. If
she ever remembered the things she had blocked out...

Amanda perched herself on the side of his
bed, resumed stroking his head, and began to sing softly to
him.

My redemption, he thought as she let her
voice lull him, soothe his mixed-up mind. Other men washed their
sins away by the blood of the lamb. Not him. His salvation was
found in the touch of a child. This child. Without her, he was
damned.

***

HOLLY HURT, SHE hurt everywhere, and she
thought it must be from the running. She was running nonstop, full
speed, and she was holding someone's hand as she ran, pulling them
along beside her.

"Please Holly, please! I can't go on."

She turned, and saw the little girl with the
golden blonde hair, and the eyes so blue they matched the sky. Her
words emerged in puffs that froze on the air and crackled and fell
in glittering fragments to the ground. "It's s-so cold!"

"Ivy?"

The little girl smiled. And Holly wrapped her
up tight in her arms. She wanted to say a million things, ask a
thousand questions. But she could only manage to hold her baby
sister close and say her name over and over again.

Then there were footsteps in the woods, and
she remembered. They were running. Her happy reunion turned sad as
she realized Ivy hadn't survived the attack of the monster—it
hadn't happened yet. They'd gone back in time. It was happening
now. Oh, things were different. The woods, instead of the street.
Holly, being all grown up. But she knew—ohgodsheknew—ohgod—what was
going to happen.

The footfalls crashed. The monster must have
changed, too. Grown into a giant. Crush, crush, crush. He was
coming closer. Holly picked up her sister and ran. That was
something she hadn't been able to do before. Pick her up and
run!

The monster kept coming. The woods rose up
thick and impenetrable ahead, and behind the monster closed in.
They were trapped! "Over here, Red," someone called.

She looked. Vince! He stood off to the left,
poking his head out of the wall of jungle, which opened around him
like a curtain.

She started toward him.

The monster came closer.

She ran, but her feet were stuck. She tried
to pull them free and they wouldn't move. "Vince!" She reached out
a hand, and he did, too, but she couldn't make it. Then the monster
was breathing hotly right down the back of her neck. She peeled Ivy
off her, pushed her toward Vince. "Save her, O'Mally!"

Then the monster grabbed her from behind. She
spun to face it, opened her eyes, and stared straight up at it. But
it didn't have a face. No head. Just eyes. Icy blue eyes. And then
she screamed.

Hands held her shoulders, hard and firm,
shaking her a little. "C'mon, Red, wake up, dammit. Come on, open
your eyes. Look at me."

She did.

Vince gazed down at her. His hair was all
feathery and sticking up at odd angles, and he was dressed very
strangely. And yet, he had her. He had hold of her, and that was
really above and beyond any concerns about the odd turn her dream
seemed to have taken. Her heart was pounding so hard her entire
body shuddered with it. She snapped her arms around his waist and
pulled him to her, hanging on for dear life.

He grunted, went stiff as his upper body
slammed down on top of her chest. But then he softened. "All right,
it's all right now. Easy." He slid his arms around and beneath her,
rolling over, taking her with him. When he settled, he was lying on
his back in the bed—
Bed? What were they doing in a bed?
—and
she was curled close to him, her head on his shoulder, face near
his neck. He stroked her hair, and she liked it. "It was only a
dream," he murmured.

"It was Ivy," she whispered. "She was alive,
and there was a monster chasing us...."

"It's all right now."

"You were there. But I couldn't reach you.
And then he grabbed me and—"

"Holly, it was a dream. You understand? Hmm?"
He lifted her chin so he could look her in the eyes.

She blinked away tears. "It was so real."

"I know. They get that way. Is this one
you've had before?"

She nodded, the motion jerky. "Yeah. I mean,
not exactly. We're not usually in the woods. But the rest—the
monster chasing us, me trying to save her—" She stopped there,
stabbing her eyes into his. "But, he didn't get her this time.
Vince, he didn't get her this time. He got me, but—but not
her."

Vince curled his hand around her nape, eased
her back down onto his chest. "It's survivor's guilt, Holly. I've
seen it before."

"I know it's survivor's guilt. I spent years
in therapy trying to deal with it. This wasn't that. This was
something else."

"Yeah? What, then?"

She could hear his heart. It beat steadily
against her ear. He was warm, and solid, and she relaxed against
him. "It was you," she said. "It was because you were there. You
saved Ivy."

He sighed softly. "It was a dream. That's
all."

"I think it was more."

He tensed a little bit underneath her. "If it
was more, it was the knock on the head you took earlier.
Period."

She thought he wouldn't like what she was
thinking. Fine. She wouldn't explore it then. Not aloud, anyway.
But she knew there was something going on here. Between them.
Something important.

"Vince, where are we?" She rolled over onto
her back and looked around. The room was large, high ceilings with
a bowl-shaped frosted glass light fixture hanging from the center.
There were two tall windows, thickly draped, and it was still
storming beyond them. "What is this place?"

"It's Reginald D'Voe's house," he said. "You
passed out before we made it this far."

"And he took us in? I didn't think he ever
let anyone past the front door unless they'd been invited."

"I think we were in such sorry shape he
probably didn't feel he had a choice."

She turned toward him. "It's a big
house."

He nodded.

"So whose idea was it to put us in the same
bed together?"

He shifted restlessly. "Mine. But don't make
anything of it, Holly. I wanted to be close, in case the maniac
tried again."

"Oh. Good, I'm glad you're clear on
that."

He studied her eyes for a moment, looked
decidedly uncomfortable. "I'm not trying to be mean."

"So, it's effortless, then?"

He closed his eyes. "It isn't you, okay?"

"No? What is it then?"

He rolled onto his back, his head slamming
down on the pillow so hard she half expected feathers to fly out
the sides. "It's me. It's my past, my history. Look, I told you, I
just don't do relationships, all right? And I damn well don't want
some wounded dove looking at me with big green eyes that see me as
some kind of hero. 'Cause I'm not. I can't save anyone for you
Holly. I can't bring your sister back for you, and I can't save you
from your own inner demons. I couldn't save—"

He stopped there. Broke off so suddenly it
startled her, and then he was on his feet, striding across the
room. She thought he was heading for the giant fake-fur-covered
chaise lounge at first, but he seemed to change his mind, because
he paced instead.

***

“THE PRAGUE KIDS?" she asked. He didn't
reply. "I never asked you to save anyone for me."

"No. You dreamed it, instead."

"I dreamed you saved Ivy. I didn't dream you
pulling me out of the lake, or putting your mouth on mine and
breathing into my lungs. I didn't dream you carrying me through the
storm, or finding me shelter. I didn't dream you coming to my bed
to keep me safe." She shrugged. "So sue me if I see you as slightly
heroic."

He stopped walking.

"God, you have to know I get what you're
feeling, Vince. How the hell can I not get it when I couldn't save
my own kid sister?"

She saw his face, in profile, saw his eyes
fall closed in pain so stark she felt it to her bones.

"Listen, Red, I don't do well with women like
you. I know better, but they look at me with their need in their
eyes, and I end up making promises I have no chance in hell of
keeping."

She frowned, tilting her head to one
side.

"Sara Prague looked at me like that. Someone
stole her babies, and she begged me to tell her I could fix it. And
I knew better. I knew better, and yet I did it anyway. I promised
her it would be okay. I would make it okay. I'd get her kids
back."