Indelible (46 page)

His skin shied from her touch. “It’s not possible to watch every minute.”

“We’ll watch all the possible minutes.” She caught his hand and brought it to her belly. “She knows you’ll do anything for her.”

Thinking of his tiny daughter struck terror inside. “If I had a cop on every corner, they’d still find a way. My father
was
a cop.
Oh, Tia
. Am I walking in his footsteps?”

“He only wanted power. You want people safe and justice done.”

He rolled to his back. “I want a drink.” It seized him with a mind grip like a claw on his brain, in his throat and chest.

“But you won’t.” Tia stroked his face. “Because it can’t help. It never will.”

His hands clenched. “I’m hunting a victim. A child hurt worse than I ever—”

“He’s not a child anymore.”

“Where were we when he was? Where were all the others?” How could they fail so many and let the cycles go on and on and on? Sins of the fathers. Mothers. Neighbors. Sins of humanity upon the innocent.

“You’ll do the right thing.” Her touch soothed him, healed him, drew him. He turned and loved her until the driving ache had dulled. “Don’t ever excuse me,” he rasped. “If I hurt you, hurt her—”

“You won’t.” Her eyes flamed. “If I thought there was even the chance, I wouldn’t be here.”

Now conscience wakes despair,
That slumbered; wakes the bitter memory
Of what he was, what is, and what must be …

S
till distraught, but having begun the process of revenge, he freed the flimsy latch on the sliding door into the darkening porch. Tomorrow would bring him one step closer, but now he must hide, hide and rest if it were possible. Sharp white moonlight through tattered clouds illuminated the overburdened shelves. He found ferns and vines, and flower boxes—and one cloth-covered mound.

Surely not useful, he moved past it, then, strangely apprehensive, returned. He raised the drape and staggered back. Gaping holes stared accusingly, a death mask probing him. Terror turned his limbs to water. He sank down and drew his knees tightly to his chin. His legs would not hold him if he tried. Groping, he crawled to a corner of the porch behind the shelves and huddled, shaking while the empty eyes stared, pitiless.

By some queer twist, he slept, unconcerned that the one who left before dawn would notice him. He had seen her going other days before the sun rose in the sky. Hidden by the plants, even if she ventured into the room, he’d be safe.

Mist awakened him, a chill breath on his cheek. The light was dull. The air damp with foliage and soaked earth. She stood over him with a spray bottle, touching ferns with sensitive fingers and issuing mist to the greedy fronds. On the shelf behind her, the model gaped, but he saw now it was her face. Her mien with hollowed eyes.

She turned and carried the bottle to the opposite shelf, pausing when her hand encountered clay instead of cloth. Her head tipped as she
pondered. Reaching down, she groped and found the covering. Paused again, wondering. “Hello?”

He could be silent, so silent. No breath, no motion, not even a twitch.

She lifted the cloth, draped the head and sprayed.
Fwit. Fwit. Fwit
.

Gray light filtered over her features. She placed the misting bottle in the corner, turned her head once to listen over her shoulder, then went into the house.

She came again, soon after, hovering in the doorway between kitchen and porch, sensing him? Finally, she entered, set a fresh canvas on the easel at one end and rolled a cart over from the wall. The cart held paints. The chemical smell rose up as she opened and squeezed dabs of certain ones onto a palette.

He ached from sitting, but made no move. His body was under his control, and pain had no power. He would watch. A shadow, nothing more. And yet his presence troubled her, a tightening between her shoulder blades. A pause between brush strokes. She knew, but didn’t know. Didn’t want to know.

Twenty-Seven

F
leur pushed the grays over the canvas, matching the drizzle she’d felt in the morning. The air pressure lent this storm substance, or maybe it was something else that raised the tiny hairs at the back of her neck. Her brush faltered from drawing a pewter swath through the white beside it, and she said, “Who are you? What do you want?”

Her heart stopped when he said, “To watch.”

Fear clogged her throat like the stopper in a drain. “Because I’m blind?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been hiding?” The thought of him there.

“My whole life.”

The swelling in her airway let a ragged breath through. “How did you get in?”

“Your inadequate lock.” His voice sounded thin and reedy as from disuse or nervous tension.

Trembling, she turned back to the canvas and said, “Do I have the colors right for the coming storm?”

He shifted behind the shelf at her back. A ridge of nerves tightened down her spine.

“Just right.”

She felt the edge of the canvas, gauged where she’d left off, and dragged the brush, top to bottom. He waited silently as each successive stroke depleted the paint in the fibers, then she added more white and pulled it into the preceding strokes. She worked a flurry of it into the top right quadrant.

It wouldn’t do any good to scream. Her neighbors were at work. Run? She’d flail helplessly until he seized her. And there was something pleading in his tone. It might be hunger, she thought, since he’d broken into the bakery. “Would you like something to eat?”

He waited a long moment before answering. “Hunger is nothing.”

“But if you had something, you’d eat?” After more silence, she shrugged. “I might make something.”

She put her brush in turpentine and wiped her hands on a cloth, damp with the same. She pulled the painting smock over her head and laid it across the quilt rack. Carefully she made her way to the kitchen and washed with soap and water. She could dial 911, but she’d heard him follow and guessed he was watching.

Piper had brought home blue cheese and sausage croissants. Fleur liked them, and they were easy to warm in the toaster oven. She brewed a pot of hot water. “Tea or cocoa?”

His voice sounded strained when he said, “Cocoa.”

With shaking hands, she scooped the cocoa into a mug. “Is it snowing?”

“It’s wet.”

The air felt ponderous. She put mugs of chocolate and crockery plates at two places, then brought the croissants from the oven to the trivet on the table. She sat but didn’t hear the scrape of another chair. She did hear the sip of lips drawing hot chocolate.

Taking a croissant, she bit into the warm rich pastry, then set it on her plate. “My roommate makes these.”

“I know.”

He knew Piper lived there and ran the bakery? She forced herself to calm. “You should eat.”

A shuffle, then the sounds of frantic chewing and swallowing.

“Please take more. They can only be warmed once before they get tough.”

She bit into her own, blessing Piper for friendship and joy. She hoped Miles would one day break through his fears and become the person Piper saw. She hoped Natalie would recover her ability or find peace with its loss. That she and Trevor would make it. And for herself? She prayed Jonah and Seth would find her in time.

She licked her buttery fingers, then dabbed them on the napkin and drank her hot chocolate, now warm and silky. “Would you like some more?”

No answer.

“The water’s hot. It’s no trouble.”

Nothing.

She sat frozen. Was he staring at her? The moisture left her mouth. Her limbs felt as brittle as dry sticks. The skin rose on her arms like a rash. If he grabbed her, she’d scream. There’d be no stopping it. She felt the scream building.

She reached for her cane, moved it through the air, touching nothing. Rising, she heard the door in the porch slide open, slide closed. Cold air drifted in.

Her heart pumped against her ribs. It didn’t mean he was gone. He could be luring her. She knew she shouldn’t, but couldn’t stop herself.

Moving into the chilled space, she breathed for a scent of him, but the plants in their soil and the oil paints masked other odors. She pressed her cane behind one tiered shelf and then the other. Nothing. Shaking, she flipped the lock and felt the air grow still.

Followed by officers Donnelly and Newly, Jonah approached Fleur’s home. He’d brought Sue to take the statement if it got delicate. Newly had picked up the radio correspondence and come over on his own. Jonah warned him not to make this personal, but Newly’s color was up.

Fleur was clearly shaken as she admitted them, but nowhere near hysterical. No signs of physical trauma—bruising or bleeding. And no signs of a struggle—bumped furniture or anything spilled or broken. His gut told him the violation was to the premises, not herself, but he said, “Are you all right?”

“I think so.”

“I have Officer Donnelly and Officer—”

“Did you let him in?” Newly blurted. “I warned you about—”

“He let himself in,” she said and showed them into the sun porch. “Through here.”

Jonah surveyed the space, dim with the incoming storm, but she hardly needed light to work by. Sue went over and checked the door, indicating Fleur had relocked it. Couldn’t blame her for that.

Her hand shook when she pointed. “He was behind the shelf.”

“Just standing there?” Newly stalked over.

“Sitting, I think, to start with. He spoke from down low.”

“Can you describe his voice?” Jonah asked.

“Not really high or low, but thin.”

“Young?”

“I’d say yes, except it also sounded old, or weary. I asked what he wanted and he said to watch me.”

“Watch you what?” Newly demanded.

Jonah sent him a look to amp it down.

“He watched me paint. And then I got some food.”

“You fed him?” Newly all but came out of his skin.

“Newly,” Jonah murmured. One more outburst and he’d boot him. “Did he ask for food?”

“No. I just thought he seemed hungry. He had a croissant and cocoa. And then he left.”

“Did you wash up the dishes?”

“No.”

Sue moved into the kitchen to collect them.

Jonah asked, “Did he say anything else?”

“He said he’s been hiding his whole life.”

Tears pooled and fell, whether a release of tension or sympathy he couldn’t tell. “That’s good recall, Fleur. Anything else?”

“Not re—”

“Where’s your head!”

Jonah turned, furious. But Newly wasn’t looking at Fleur. He was looking at the shelves.

“Your sculpture, Fleur. Did you move it?”

She grew still. “No. But I found it uncovered this morning.” She slipped a lock of hair behind her ear. Her voice tightened. “Did he take it?”

Jonah said, “Newly, search the house. Sue, take a look around outside.” He put a hand on Fleur’s shoulder. “I’m going to find him. In the meantime, can you stay with someone?”

She frowned. “Natalie’s with Trevor, and Piper—”

Newly strode back in. “It’s not here, Chief.”

No telling why the wretch took the model, but Newly had caught what the rest of them missed. “Good work, Newly. Now get out of here. You’re off duty.”

He said, “Put me on security for Fleur.”

That was not a bad option, if she was up for it. He looked from one to the other. “I guess it’s up to her.”