Shiver (4 page)

The nurse took the picture and studied it for a long moment, then handed it back to him. “Sorry,” she said. “She looks a lot like Devra, though.”

DEVRA WAS TRYING to concentrate on the children, but found herself hopelessly distracted.
He
was out there flirting with Betty. And Betty was enjoying it, laughing, her perfect curls bouncing, her long red-tipped nails flicking the air as she spoke. And it was bugging Devra to no end, though she couldn’t fathom why. She finished another page. She held the book up for the
kids to see the pictures, then caught the detective looking at her. Quickly, she turned the page, and her attention, back to the book.

If she thought about it, she’d have to admit that he was handsome in a rugged, arrogant kind of way. She wondered what it would be like to have him look at her the way he was looking at Betty. But, after a second, she stopped herself. Thinking about that particular man in any capacity was dangerous. The sooner she put him out of her sight and her mind, the better.

She read another page. Someday, she would write books just for kids and leave the dark, ugly world of her nightmares far behind her. But, for today, she needed to say goodbye to the people she would miss the most when she left New Orleans—the children. Then she would hurry home, finish packing and disappear.
Again.

She closed the book, gave the children extra-tight hugs as she said goodbye, then watched them pile out of the room. Everyone except Joey. “Did you get your necklace, Miss Devra?”

Confused, Devra looked down into Joey’s eager gaze. “What necklace is that, sweetie?”

“Your heart necklace.”

Her breath caught.
Her locket.
She glanced through the window into the corridor outside the room, but the detective was gone. He and Betty must have left to get that cup of coffee.

“I found it under the chair last week,” Joey continued. “I was going to give it to Nurse Jenkins to hold for you, but your friend said he’d give it to you.”

“My friend?”

“Yeah, the man that was here last week.”

Devra’s heart stilled at his words. She’d forgotten about the man Betty had mentioned. She had convinced herself the nurse had been mistaken. That he’d been waiting for someone else. What if she’d been wrong? What if he had been watching her?

“Did you get it back?” A tinge of anxiousness colored Joey’s voice.

Devra bent down so they were eye to eye and offered him a big smile. “I will very soon. Thank you for telling me.”

His smile went wide with pride.

“Can you tell me what this man looked like?”

“He was big.”

She gave him an encouraging nod. “Uh-huh.”

“And dark.”

“His skin?”

“No, his hair. And his eyes. He had the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. They looked…” He glanced down at his feet, then looked back up at her with uncertainty playing across his gaze. “They looked dead.”

Devra recalled seeing eyes like that once. The image flashed through her mind, her stomach turned. She forced a smile through gritted teeth. “Thank you, Joey.”

“Joey, it’s time for your therapy,” a nurse called from the doorway.

Devra waved as he ran through the door to join the nurse. Her knees were beginning to ache and she realized she was still crouched down, her legs locked with an irrational fear. Joey had given her locket to a man with dark eyes.
Dead eyes.

The eyes of the devil.

She shook off the thought and the fear. Tommy’s death had been a lifetime ago and far, far away. It couldn’t be the same man.

His killer had never been found.

The thought whispered across her mind. She shivered. The world was full of killers, a fact she knew only too well. Why had this one taken her locket? Had he killed that poor woman and then left the locket for the police to find? But why lead the police to her? Did he know about her dreams? Did he know her secret?

Evil lives within you, child. We need to flush it out.

Tears of frustration filled her eyes. The police would blame her for this woman’s death, just like before. Just like Tommy. She had to get away from this town. But first, she had to get away from Detective MacIntyre.

“Miss Morgan?”

His voice pulled her from her thoughts. On trembling knees she stood, smoothing down the front of her dress. Then she looked up into the detective’s face. He thought she was a killer, too. That’s why he wouldn’t leave her alone. He believed she was capable of the unthinkable. Just like everyone else, just like her family.

“Are you all right? Everyone’s gone.” Concern played around the edges of his voice, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t fooling her. He didn’t care. No one did.

She stiffened. “Of course. I’m fine.” She walked past him without a second glance. The quicker she got away from him, the better. She kept her head down as she entered the elevator, planning in her mind which boxes she
would pack first, which rooms. By nightfall, she and Felix would be on the road to a new life. A new beginning. Again.

“Will we be at the station long?” she asked casually.

He looked at her, quiet speculation shining in his eyes. “Not long.”

“Good.”

Within twenty minutes, Detective MacIntyre pulled the blue Expedition into the underground parking structure at the downtown headquarters of the New Orleans Police Department. But instead of taking her through the garage entrance, he walked her around to the front of the building through the main double doors and into the air-conditioned lobby. The long way.

Devra fidgeted with impatience.

“Hello, Nicci,” the detective said and smiled a greeting at the young black woman sitting behind a tall wooden counter.

“Hey, Riley. I’m sorry to hear about Michelle.”

“Thanks,” he murmured.

“Please sign in,” she said and, without looking at her, slid a clipboard across the counter.

Devra glanced questioningly at the detective, but he was too busy flirting with Nicci to notice. She scribbled her name on the sign-in sheet and slid the clipboard back across the counter. After another long minute of flashing teeth and big smiles, MacIntyre finally walked toward the elevator and pushed the Up button. It was amazing how women acted around him. Yeah, he was good-looking, but he was also the most infuriatingly arrogant man she’d ever met.

So what if he resembled Goliath with his bulging biceps and perfect pecs. The man was too cocky for words. He was exactly the kind of man any woman would love to see trip over his own shoelaces. As they entered the elevator, exasperation ballooned inside her. “Is this really necessary? I have things I need to get done today.”

“Yes. I believe it is,” he said without looking at her. He just stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at the elevator doors.

“I already told you, I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Yes, you did.”

She gritted her teeth and bit back an expletive. She might as well be talking to a huge granite wall. Frustration burned inside her. “In fact, I know that I did lose my necklace at the hospital last Saturday.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow lifted a fraction of an inch.

“Yes. Joey, a little boy at story time, told me he found it last week.”

“Really,” he drawled.

Never had the southern Louisiana accent bothered her more than it did when this man opened his mouth. “Really,” she responded and stiffened her legs to keep from stomping her foot.

He turned and pierced her with a look so cold shivers cascaded down her arms. She stepped back, her heartbeat accelerating. It was amazing the effect he had on her. Too bad it wasn’t the same effect he seemed to have on all the other women in town.

His eyebrows arched in cold speculation. “You expect me to believe this little boy, Joey, left the hospital
in the middle of the night and walked down to the Quarter where he killed an NOPD officer, then hurried back to the hospital. But not before leaving your locket clasped around her neck?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Exactly. I couldn’t have said it better myself.” He turned as the doors slid open and stepped into the hall.

Could he be any more obtuse? She took a deep breath and followed his long steady gait along the blue-carpeted corridor lined with cubicles on either side. At this point, she didn’t care who heard her, she just wanted him to stop and listen. She lunged forward, grabbed his bulging bicep and pulled.

It was like trying to move the Rock of Gibraltar.

“Excuse me,” she said through gritted teeth. This time, he stopped, and more than one head popped out from around a partition to see what the ruckus was about. “Joey told me there was a man at the hospital who said he was my friend. Joey believed him when he said he would return the locket to me. So, he gave the locket to the man.” She said the words as clearly and as succinctly as she could. Now all she could do was hope there was more to him than bulging biceps and a killer smile. Now all she could do was hope he’d focus on “the man” and leave her alone.

He stepped closer, looking down at her with that piercing gaze that made the oxygen suddenly evaporate from the space she was standing in. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier while we were still at the hospital?”

“I don’t know. I guess your charm overwhelmed me and I forgot.”

He took another step toward her and, for a second, she thought he was going to throttle her.

“All right, I’ll send an officer down to talk to Joey. Maybe he’ll remember what the guy looked like.”

“Dark eyes,” she responded and took a small step back so she wouldn’t have to crane her neck. At least, that’s the reason she told herself.

“What?”

“Joey said he had really dark eyes.”

“Hmm. I’ll be sure to write that down.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t want to forget.”

His jaw stiffened, and she held her breath while waiting for his response, but he didn’t answer. He just turned and led her down the hall once more. As they reached a row of desks next to the windows, he pointed to Detective Tortorici. “Would you mind going with Tony down to fingerprinting? I’ll type up your statement. You can read it over, sign it, and then I’ll take you home.”

“Fingerprinting?” she asked, her voice coming out in a squeak.

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. You have a problem with that?”

She straightened her back and took a deep breath to make sure the squeak was gone. “As a matter of fact, I do. Are you booking me?”

“Did I say I was?”

“Then I don’t agree to be fingerprinted.”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “Why not? You got something to hide?”

She threw up her hands. “I believe you’re trying to
stomp all over my civil liberties, Detective MacIntyre, and I don’t like it.”

“Really? I thought you were more than willing to help with this case in any way you could.”

“I am.”

“Except for getting fingerprinted,” he said calmly, his gaze cool and slightly disbelieving.

“Exactly.” She clenched her teeth, refusing to budge an inch. “So, I really don’t see any point in my staying here.” She took a step back. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait.” He latched on to her arm.

She looked down at his hand, then back up into his dark brown eyes. Something lurched inside her—something…uncomfortable. “What?”

He released her and rubbed his face. “I’ll drive you.”

“I’d rather not.”

“It’s too hot to walk,” he cajoled.

She gave him an icy stare of her own.

“All right,” he relented. “If you don’t want to be fingerprinted, I can respect that. But can we hang out long enough to get the statement written up? Unless, that is, you don’t want to cooperate with the police after all?”

For a second she thought about it, then decided it would be better to cooperate than to have the whole department thinking she had something to hide. “Very well.”

“Good, ’cause the process of typing up my notes helps me put my thoughts together and it never fails that I always seem to remember something else to ask. It would help me out a lot if you were here.” He smiled
at her. That stupid smile he used when he thought he was being charming. But he wasn’t. It didn’t work on her, not one little bit. She pursed her lips, and tried to rekindle her fading anger.

She gave her statement, then sat quietly as he typed away, his fingers moving awkwardly over the keys and slower than molasses in January. She squeezed her hands together to stop from insisting on typing her statement herself, then looked out the window, examined the clutter on his desk, then looked out the window again, anything to keep from jumping out of her skin with impatience.

Her gaze fell across a picture on his desk—the detective standing between and resting his arms on the shoulders of another man and a woman. Devra’s eyes widened as she took in the striking resemblance she shared with this woman—so much more so than with the others. So much more than she remembered from her dream. The sound of typing stopped. She looked up to find the detective staring at her, his eyes hard and unreadable.

“Have you seen that woman before?” he asked.

What could she say? That she’d seen her in a dream with her throat being slashed? They’d lock her up in the nearest loony bin. “She looks like me,” Devra stated.

Suspicion teemed in his eyes. And something else…something cold—rage. Fear zipped down her spine.

“And…” he prompted.

“She does look a little familiar,” she hedged. “Perhaps I’ve met her at the hospital. Does she have children?”

“No.”

“Oh.” She paused, swallowing. “Was she the one who had my locket?”

“In a matter of speaking.”

“The woman who was killed?” Nightmarish images flashed behind her eyes—bright beads twisting, pulling taut against white skin, blue eyes bulging with fear. He was getting more and more suspicious by the moment. She could see it in his face, could read it in his eyes. But she didn’t know what she could do about it.

Something twitched in his jaw. “Yes, she was.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to meet his gaze.

“So am I.”

“Well,” she stammered. “Are you almost done?”