The Yearning (21 page)

Holding his breath, he lowered his gaze to his cuff. In his mind, he saw Jasmine if he didn’t get free…her life slipping away, losing her. Fuck no. If he had to chew this off, he’d get rid of it.

He made a final apology to Tommy, knowing the man would understand Jasmine needed help. His concentration narrowed, homing in on the lock, seeing it turning, the teeth lifting, sliding back, the metal separating.

Breathless, he caught the opened cuff on its way to the floor and unfastened the others, tossing them on the mattress. On his feet, he took a step toward his gun and stopped. His heart beat so fast he got dizzy. What in the fuck was he doing? If he walked across the room to the bath, Violet and Lily would be able to hear him from downstairs. Then what? Use his power to push them into a room and secure it so they couldn’t get out? Violet might not scream, but Lily sure as hell would. If the neighbors didn’t hear and alert the police, the Steinmans would when they arrived.

He sank to the bed, still a virtual prisoner. Although he could lift objects and people with his mind, he couldn’t do it with himself, something he’d tried years ago when he’d wanted to sail around like a fly or a bird and failed repeatedly. The only way for him to get out of the room undetected, and to Jasmine’s office, would be to walk as close to the walls as possible. There, the floor’s give would be minimal, not recording his movements.

First, though, he wanted his damned gun.

His eyes swept over its sleek outline, his mind seeing it lift from the toilet seat. Another old hit, this by Elton John, flowed through the vents. A car accelerated down the street. The dog from last night barked.

The Glock hovered above the seat, its barrel pointing at him. He willed it to the left. The muzzle turned and dipped to the floor. A bead of sweat rolled into his eye. Jaw clenched, he blinked wildly, his mind ordering the gun to him.

It bobbed in place, then drifted unhurriedly across the jamb. The dog’s barks turned to shrill yelps, so strident they pierced the buzz. His concentration broke. With nothing holding it, the pistol fell.

No! He stopped it seconds before the grip struck the floor. Gulping air, he kept the weapon elevated no more than an inch above the wood.
Come on, dammit, you can do this.
He focused on the buzz, pushing the other distractions away.

The gun rose again, seesawing in the air as it inched forward. Ten feet away, nine, seven, five, three. It dropped to the mattress. Elbows on his knees, Mike hung his head, trying to slow his heart rate, unable to give it too much time.

Partially composed, he slid the Glock under the pillow, the first place Jasmine’s sisters or Ben would look for it. What in the hell was the matter with him? Even a rookie would know better. He considered sticking the pistol in the nightstand drawers or dresser and decided against it. Between the mattress and box spring at the foot of the bed seemed best. Once he had his weapon concealed there, he further hid it with the sheet and comforter.

Now for his cell phone.

He gripped the corners of the nightstand and stepped heel-to-toe around the furniture. The floor didn’t groan with his weight. Shoulders to the wall, he sidled across it to the door, not daring to breathe.

From here, the music played louder. This time, an ancient Beatles tune. He heard a metallic clatter, the sound a pan makes when it falls.

On the heels of it, Lily hollered, “What happened?” Her voice seemed to come from the downstairs hall.

Violet’s fainter shout put her in the kitchen. “I just dropped the baking pan and two eggs. Damn, I can’t do this.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Mike heard Lily bounding across the floor. He rounded the doorjamb, his back and ass pressed to the hallway wall. What he saw ahead brought a whispered oath. He’d forgotten about the antique mirrors and accent tables between Jasmine’s bedroom and the stairway. If he were to step away from the wall to avoid making contact with the furniture or mirrors, the floor would surely creak.

He sank to his knees and crawled slower than a fucking snail, stopping repeatedly, terrified Lily or Violet would hear him.

Their muffled argument didn’t allow him to hear details of what they said, though it did keep them busy. He crawled another few inches and paused at a steady whooshing noise. One of them must have turned on the kitchen faucet. Would it drown out all other sounds? Taking a chance, he crawled more quickly, at last reaching the top of the stairway. Neither sister came running into the foyer. He caught his breath and glanced at the wall, the paintings that didn’t fit the original spaces. No way could he use that side to get down the stairs. He straightened and put his feet flush to the banister, taking small, cautious steps, his attention on the white door to the side of the blue velvet sofa.

He recalled Lily’s words: “All your stuff’s in Jas’s office. Safe and sound.”

One could only hope.

His head turned to the right, the windows flanking the front door. It would take a Peeping Tom or someone decidedly nosy to peer past the ferns and see him naked on the stairs. Given his luck these last few days, he decided not to chance it and worked as quickly as possible.

He studied the white door’s crystal doorknob, turning it with his thoughts. The door edged inward. If it made a sound, he didn’t catch it beneath the buzz. Now for the hard part. He had to visualize where his cell phone and clothes might be. To go into the room might be hazarding too much.

His memory of the space put Jasmine’s desk to the left. To the right were racks of dresses and gowns. What else? Images of the area rolled through his mind: a chair behind her desk, two others to the right, next to the rack with the bridal gowns. So where did they put his stuff? Not far from the banker’s lamp where Jasmine previously laid his Glock? On the seat of one of the three chairs? In a drawer?

He pictured the desk first. A scene of his neatly folded clothes, with his mocs on top, filled his brain. He imagined the items floating above the furniture and coming to the door.

The space remained empty.

Shit. Running his hand down his face, he tried again, thinking about the chair nearest the foyer. The buzz surrounded him, louder than a buzzing bee, more like white noise obstructing all other sounds. If Violet or Lily came out of the hall now, he wouldn’t hear and have a chance to make it back up the stairs. Eyes narrowed, he concentrated on his things—black tee, jeans, briefs, mocs, wallet, cell phone.

Miraculously, his stuff drifted to the door and past, just as he’d envisioned it, a tidy pile with his shoes on top. He smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. He willed his things closer. They soared upward, as high as the chandelier, and stopped. In the corner of his eye, he’d seen movement.

Lily. She hurried from the hall into the foyer. Just as quickly, he backed up the steps, while keeping his clothing suspended yards above her head.

She opened the front door a crack and grabbed the morning paper. Face lowered, she thumbed through it quickly, then stopped and glanced around.

Mike’s heart jolted. Did she hear the buzz? Would she look for its source?

Her head tilted as if she were listening. Her face inched toward the stairway, then unexpectedly turned to Jasmine’s office, the opened door. She went to it and stuck her head inside.

Quickly, Mike backed up the rest of the steps, his clothes tagging along, reaching him. He snatched the items, clutching them to his chest. The buzz receded. Other sounds filtered past. From the landing, he heard Jasmine’s office door close. He retreated down the hall, one slow step at a time so Lily wouldn’t hear his movements. His heart banged so loudly, she and Violet could be vaulting up the steps and he wouldn’t know it.

Eggshells dotted the butter and sugar. Violet spooned them out, her trembling hand and tears prolonging the search.

Lily ran into the room. “Did you move his clothes?”

She flung a glob of yolk into the sink, in no mood for her sister’s hyperactivity or question. “Ben’s?”

“Mike’s.”

She examined the mixture for more shells. “No.”

“Well, someone did. When I went to get the paper, I heard something—like a fly or a bee—and noticed the door to Jas’s office was opened. I didn’t remember it being that way, so I looked inside to see if the sound was coming from there. It wasn’t. That’s when I noticed Mike’s stuff was gone.”

“Ben probably moved it yesterday or last night. Is there anything in the paper about the police searching for Mike?”

“Not in the front section. Why would Ben move his things?”

“I don’t know.” She wiped her brow with her arm. “Maybe he knew we had the Steinmans coming in this morning and figured we’d be talking in Jas’s office like we usually do. He’s the only one who could have done it.”

“Unless Jas took the stuff last night while we were asleep.”

“So what if she did? If it gave her some comfort that he wouldn’t leave, I’m all for it. Here.” She shoved the bowl across the counter to Lily, wanting to get away, be by herself. “Finish this so I can take a shower and get dressed.”

Back in the room, Mike had cuffed himself again just in case Lily or Violet decided to check in on him. Approximately five minutes after he’d crept inside, the bedroom door opened briefly and closed. Whoever took a peek must have bought his I’m-asleep-don’t-bother-me act. Footfalls moved down the hall, another door opened and closed. He next heard water running, someone showering.

He willed the cuff open more easily this time, draping it and the second set on his pillow should he need to get to them quickly. Reaching between the mattress and box spring, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Erica.

She answered on the third ring. “Vega.”

“It’s Mike.” He kept his voice as low as possible, his eyes on the door. “I don’t have a lot of time to talk. Did you get my email last night?”

“Haven’t been in my account yet. What’s wrong? I can barely hear you. Why are you whispering?”

“I can’t get into that now. I need your help in locating a Desiree Zazou.” He spelled the surname. “And a Connor Rolands.” He gave her their last known locations and the information Jasmine told him about Connor’s job. “Desiree’s a member of the Wanderers, ever hear of them?”

“Vaguely. Weren’t there newspaper articles about them a while back? What’s this about?”

“Saving a woman’s life. I have to know where I can find Desiree, and I don’t have a lot of time to wait for the information. If you come up blank on her, you should be able to locate Connor.”

“Wait a minute. Have this Desiree and Connor threatened someone? Are the local authorities involved?”

“No. And it’s not about a threat in the usual sense. We’re talking the occult here, Erica. I’ll call you in a few hours to see what you have.”

“A few hours? It might be better if you let me call you when I have a lead.”

“No.” He couldn’t predict what would happen in the next few minutes, much less the next few hours. If he had to keep pretending to be cuffed, he couldn’t leave his cell phone on and risk having the sisters or Ben hear it ring. “It has to be done this way.”

“Mike, are you involved with these people? Are you in trouble?”

“Jasmine is.”

“Jasmine? Who’s that?”

“A woman I care about deeply. No more questions. Just trust me on this.” He ended the call and glanced at his watch, determining how long it would be until the Steinmans arrived.

Their presence would give him a chance to make his next move.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Footfalls ran down the upstairs hall. Lily called out, “I’m not dressed yet, you’ll have to take them to the gazebo. As soon as I’m decent, I’ll bring your books out.”

Violet’s voice sounded next, penetrating and too loud. “Rachel! Ethan! Right on time!” The front door slammed. She must have joined them on the porch.

Not too long after, a door on the second floor banged shut. Lily raced to the stairs, flying down them. He heard a downstairs door hitting a jamb though not the front one—it had a different sound. She must have gotten the sample books from Jasmine’s office. Her next stop had to be outside. Mike tapped his foot impatiently.

From below, he heard something thwack loudly. The door to the kitchen?

He hoped for it as he moved to the windows, his steps slow and cautious just in case Lily remained inside. Screened by the curtains, he snuck a look at the backyard.

A young couple dressed in dark Bermuda shorts and white knit tops sat in the gazebo with Violet. Lily stood to their side, running her fingers through her still-damp hair. Mike ducked back when her face turned to the house.

Uncertain of his next move he waited, starting at the sound of someone throwing open the kitchen door. Had Lily seen him? Was she coming up here now?

His heart roared, waiting for the worst. Minutes ticked by. No one came up here. Without warning, a downstairs door banged shut. He chanced a look. Lily sped across the backyard with the refreshments.

He headed for the other door in the bath, opening it to see a bedroom decorated with scrubbed pine furniture, fluffy sheepskin rugs and lacy curtains for a woman. He’d seen Ben take Jasmine in here and assumed this would be Lily’s room. So where was Jasmine? Out in the hall, he tried the next door. The stench of turpentine, combined with the drawings on the walls and the area’s all-around sloppiness, made this Ben’s space.

A well-kept office with an artist’s easel and several dress forms lay behind the next door.

He tried again and found the hall bath. Edgy, he moved to the room at the front of the house. His hand gripped the knob so tightly its fluted edges bit into his nail-lacerated palm. He forgot the pain as he entered the last bedroom and his eyes met Jasmine’s.

She thought she must be dreaming or hallucinating and then realized the truth. Somehow, he’d gotten free and was searching for his clothes, his cell phone, a way out. Paralyzing sorrow defeated Jasmine’s obsession, banishing her anger. This was the last moment she’d see him. A sob shook her throat. He wouldn’t soon forget her, though he’d do everything he could to push this hideous experience from his thoughts. Heartbroken and exhausted, she turned her face away, burying it in her shoulder.