Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night (44 page)

“I am.” She blinked back the sudden burn of tears. “I’ve put off telling you this because I—I can’t bear to hurt you. And I—I want you to know something else, first.” She gasped for breath, and seized her courage with both hands. “I love you,” she said in a low voice, aching with tenderness. “I’ve always loved you, even when I was a little girl. I lived for glimpses of you, and the chance to hear your voice. Nothing has ever changed that, not what happened that night, not the twelve years when I was gone.”

His arms tightened and his lips parted, but she laid her fingers on his mouth, stopping the words. “No, don’t say anything,” she begged. “Let me finish.” If she didn’t get it all said in a hurry, she might lose her nerve.

“Gray, your father didn’t run away with Mama.” She felt his body tense, and she hugged him closer. “I know where
Mama is, and he isn’t with her. He never was. He’s dead,” she said as gently as possible. The hot tears leaked out of her eyes to slowly trickle down her cheeks. “Someone killed him that night. Mama saw who did it, and was scared he’d kill her too, so she ran.”

“Stop it,” Gray said harshly. He pulled her arms away from him and gave her a hard little shake. “I don’t know if this is your lie or Renee’s, but I got a letter from him that was postmarked the next day, in Baton Rouge. If he was killed the night before, then a dead man wrote it.”

“A letter?” she asked, stunned. Of all the things she’d thought he might say, this wasn’t one of the possibilities. “From your father? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“It was in his handwriting?”

“It was typed,” he said, his annoyance rapidly escalating into anger. He sat up and swung his legs out of bed. “The signature was his, though.”

Faith flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to hold him, though she was well aware he could have shaken her off as if she were no more than a pesky mosquito. Desperately she said, “What did the letter say?”

“What does it matter, goddamn it?” He caught her wrists, trying to free himself without hurting her. She clung all the harder, pressing her body against him.

“It matters!” She was weeping now, her tears hot and wet on his back.

He muttered another curse, but sat still. Despite how furious he was with her for even bringing up the subject, much less trying to convince him of such a ridiculous lie, she was crying, and he had to fight the urge to drag her around onto his lap and comfort her. Roughly he said, “It was a letter of proxy. Just that, no explanation. Without it, we likely would have lost almost everything we owned.”

His chest expanded as he took a deep breath. “If it hadn’t been for that letter, I’d have tried to find him. But he didn’t even say he was sorry, didn’t say good-bye. It was as if he was taking care of a minor detail he’d forgotten.”

“Maybe someone else wrote it,” Faith said, aching with the pain he must have felt then. “Maybe the murderer did.
Gray, I swear, Mama said she saw him get shot! They were out at the summerhouse that night when someone drove up. She said that Guy and the other man went into the boathouse and she heard them arguing—”

He erupted off the bed, breaking free of her grasp. He whirled around to catch her arms and pin her to the mattress. “That’s why you were sneaking around the place,” he said incredulously, and reached out to turn on the lamp so he could see her face. He glared down at her, his eyes burning like coals. He shook her again. “You little witch! That’s why you’ve been asking all those questions about Dad! You think he was murdered and
you’ve been trying to find out who killed him!”

He had seldom in his life been more furious; his hands shook with the effort of controlling himself. He didn’t believe his father had been murdered, but it was obvious that Faith did, and the foolhardy woman had been trying to find a murderer all by herself. If there really had been a murder, she would have been putting herself at enormous risk. He was torn between snatching her up in his arms to kiss her and turning her over his knee. Both choices held enormous attraction.

While he was still trying to decide, she said, “I knew I likely wouldn’t find anything, but I searched the boathouse for a shell casing—”

“Wait a minute.” He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to get a handle on this latest confession. “When did you search the boathouse?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“It’s kept padlocked. Have you added breaking and entering to your repertoire?”

“I swam underneath the door and came up in the boat slip.”

Gray closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he did it again. His hands twitched, and he balled them into fists. Finally he opened his eyes, staring down at her in appalled disbelief. Foolhardy wasn’t the word for her. She was too intrepid for her own safety, much less his sanity. The net beneath the boathouse, designed to keep out unwelcome guests of the reptile variety, had come loose over the years
and he hadn’t had it repaired, but it was still there. She could so easily have become entangled in it and drowned. He would have lost her forever. Clammy sweat formed on his brow.

“I didn’t find anything,” she said, eyeing him uneasily. “But I’m making someone nervous. Why do you think I got those threatening notes?”

It was like being punched in the stomach. He hung there, his mind reeling. Then his knees sagged, and he sat down heavily on the bed. “My God,” he said blankly, as horrified realization began to form.

“I hired a private detective,” she said, reaching for him again, desperately needing to touch him. She pressed close, and this time his arms came up to wrap around her, hauling her against his chest. “Mr. Pleasant. He searched credit card records, Social Security records, tax files—there was no trace of Guy after that night. Gray, there was no reason for Guy to walk away from you and Monica, or from all that money! He wouldn’t have left you for Mama; why should he? It didn’t make sense that he would disappear like that, unless he was dead. Mr. Pleasant thought he must be, too, and he was going to ask some questions in town.” A sob rose in her chest. “Now he’s disappeared, too, and I’m afraid the same person killed him!”

“Oh, God,” Gray said, his voice tight. “Faith—don’t say anything else. Be quiet for a minute. Please.”

She pressed her face into his chest and obeyed. Despite everything, his arms were around her, and she began to hope. He rocked her gently back and forth, comforting himself as well as her.

“Alex sent the letter,” he finally said, his voice muffled in her hair. “I should have guessed. He was the only other person who knew Dad hadn’t left a letter of proxy, and he knew what a mess we were in without it, if Dad didn’t come back, so he didn’t take the chance. He was almost as upset as I was, and he said the same thing you did: What
reason
did Dad have for running away with Renee? He already had her, and Mother turned a blind eye to his affairs, so he wouldn’t have . . . He’s dead. He’s really dead.” He choked, and his chest heaved beneath her cheek.

Faith held him tight, guiding him down onto the bed. He clutched at her, his hands desperate. “Turn . . . turn off the light,” he said, and she did, understanding how a strong man could need darkness for his tears.

He shook in her arms, his wet face buried against her breasts as harsh sobs tore up from his chest. She cried with him, stroking his head, his back and shoulders, not speaking but offering him the comfort of her body, of not being alone. Without the intimacy of the day they had just passed binding them together, she doubted he would have allowed her to see him so vulnerable. But they were linked, as he had said, their lives inextricably woven together by the past, and cemented by the long hours of intense pleasure.

Something he had said jarred, but the significance of it escaped her. She pushed it aside, for the moment intent only on holding him.

Gradually he calmed, but his desperate grip on her didn’t relax. She smoothed his hair back from his damp face, her fingers gentle.

“All these years,” he said in a hushed, choked voice. “I’ve hated him, and cursed him . . . and missed him . . . and all the time he’s been dead.”

Something else needed to be said, something hurtful. “Have the lake dragged,” she suggested, and felt him flinch. He had swum in that lake, fished in it.

There were other things to talk about, decisions to make, but his head was heavy on her breast and she sensed his utter exhaustion. Her own fatigue, mental and physical, was dragging her down. “Go to sleep,” she whispered, stroking his temple. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

She must have dozed, but for all her tiredness, something kept dragging her back to semiconsciousness. She shifted restlessly, feeling Gray’s heavy weight against her. What was it he had said? Something about the letter of proxy . . .

His body was like a furnace, pouring off heat in waves. Sweat dewed her body, despite the efforts of the ceiling fan. She didn’t open her eyes, but her brow furrowed as she tried to bring the thought into focus. The letter of proxy . . . Why would Alex have sent a bogus letter of proxy so quickly, when no reasonable person would expect Guy to completely
walk away from his family and business? Surely he had expected Guy to get in touch . . .

Unless he had known that it was impossible.

Alex.

Her eyes flew open, and she stared in confusion at the strange red glow that suffused the room. The heat was more intense, and the air was acrid, burning her eyes and nose. Realization exploded in her head.

“Gray!” She screamed his name, shaking him hard. “Get up!
The house is on fire!”

•  •  •

Monica stopped the car where she had both times before, pulling off the road onto a pasture access, out of sight of the house. She wore dark clothes and soft-soled dark shoes, for moving quietly without being seen. It was so easy to sneak up to the house on foot, leave her messages, and depart undetected. Leaving the package had required more planning, since it had been daylight, but Faith had simplified things by not being at home. It had just been a matter of slipping the package into the mailbox and driving away.

She got out of the car, pistol in hand, and stepped into the dark road. There wasn’t much traffic on this road even during the daytime, and if a car did come along, she would be able to both see and hear it in plenty of time to hide. In the meantime, the road was the easiest walking, and left no footprints.

There was a strange reddish glow in the night sky, just visible above the trees. Monica stared at it, puzzled. It was a few seconds before she realized what it was, and her eyes widened with alarm. The house was on fire, and Gray was there! Her throat closing on a moan of terror, she began to run.

•  •  •

Gray rolled off the bed and dragged her with him, down onto the floor where it was easier to breathe, though the acrid smoke still burned her throat and lungs with every breath. He grabbed her robe from the chair and thrust it at her. “Crawl into the hall, then put this on,” he ordered, “and some shoes.” He snagged his pants and shoes, jerking them on with three fast motions. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She obeyed, glancing back several times to make certain he was there. Coughing violently, she pulled the robe around her.

Once in the hallway, they could see flames licking outside the bathroom window, too. Gray ignored it, crawling into the bathroom and snatching towels from the rack. By some miracle, there was still water pressure, and he soaked the towels in the sink. He was coughing and gagging as he tossed one sodden towel at her. “Put it over your face,” he said hoarsely.

She did, holding the dripping material over her mouth and nose with one hand and crawling as best she could. The towel helped, and she breathed a bit easier.

The fire seemed to surround them, the wicked orange flames dancing every way they turned. The thick smoke filling the house reflected the glow, so that it seemed to come from all directions. How could it have spread so fast, so completely engulfing the house? The cackle of licking flame had become a roar as it grew stronger, consuming more and more of her home. The heat seared her skin, and sparks showered down like thousands of tiny glowing knives, pricking where they landed. The boards beneath her hands felt as if they were breathing, growing hotter and hotter, and she knew that soon the floor would combust. If they weren’t out before then, they would die.

Gray could feel the same thing. Faith wasn’t moving fast enough; her robe tangled around her legs, slowing her. Roughly he shouldered her aside so he could move in front of her. He gripped the collar of her robe and used it to pull her along, all but dragging her, forcing her to a faster pace. He could feel the floor getting hotter and hotter beneath them, and knew they had only a minute at most to get out, or it would be too late. He strained his eyes to see through the swirling smoke, and the relative darkness at the front of the house gave him a glimmer of hope. “The front door!” he roared, trying to make himself heard above the din of the inferno. “It isn’t burning yet!”

Her house was so small, but the front door seemed so far away. Faith’s lungs ached and burned, desperately pumping for air, but the fire was consuming all of the precious
oxygen. Her sight dimmed, and she felt the world sliding sideways. The wood floor scraped her knees as Gray dragged her, and the pain roused her to greater effort. Gathering herself, she forced her muscles to keep moving as she silently repeated a litany of desperation:
Don’t stop, don’t stop, if you stop Gray will too, don’t stop.
Terror for his safety, above all, kept her moving.

Abruptly he staggered to his feet and hauled her upright, holding her clasped tightly to him. She stared dimly up at his beloved, smoke-blackened face. “Get ready!” he bellowed, and used his towel to cover the heated doorknob as he jerked the door open.

He ducked as flames licked in with a deep, whooshing sound, then just as quickly subsided. Picking Faith up, he tucked her under his arm as if she were a football, and ran through the burning portal.

His speed carried them off the porch, and they pitched into the empty darkness. Gray twisted in midair, trying to put his body between Faith and the ground, but he only partially succeeded and they sprawled on the grass with a bone-jarring impact. He heard her soft, gasping cry, but they were still dangerously close to the house and he couldn’t take the time to see if she was injured. He caught her under the arms and began pulling her. “Move! Get away from the house!”