Secrets Amoung The Shadows (25 page)

He leaned toward her, tenderly touching her lips with his, the clean crispness in the air merging with the warmth of her mouth. She seemed to surround him, to slip inside him. She was part of the evening and part of him, and it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

She tangled a hand in his hair and pressed closer to him. The kiss became more intense. He hadn't meant for that to happen. Though the darkness and the shrubbery cloaked them, they were still sitting in the open, exposed to the world, just as they'd been at White Rock Lake. It was the only time he dared to kiss her, in public.

He pulled away for a moment...but not very far away. Even in the dimness her eyes shone with a clear, honest wanting that tugged him from the confused turmoil in his soul, and he was unable to resist. With a groan he pulled her to him again, seeking her mouth, burying his fears and misgivings in her trusting desire. Her lips were soft and warm and demanding and giving and drew him further and further out of his world, into hers, into wanting her.

His hands on her back pushed her light sweater upward to touch and savor bare flesh.

"Eliot," she whispered, her mouth moving against his in an excruciatingly painful yet wonderful way. "Do you want to go inside?"

"Inside," he mumbled, the word taking on a double meaning. Inside her house, inside her body. Yes, that was what he wanted, to merge with her, to be a part of her.

She's mine! Get away from her. It's my turn.

As the words flashed through his brain, a dog barked. He pulled away from Leanne as if some physical force had intruded between.

"It's only Greta," Leanne whispered. "She wants to come out."

Eliot sat back, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, focusing on the pain, on shutting out the alien voice. "I thought it was Dixie."

Leanne stood and took a step toward the door. He grabbed her arm, halting her. "I've heard that dogs can tell when somebody's about to have an epileptic seizure before it happens. Is that true?"

She looked down at him. "Yes, I've heard that. Seizures, diabetic comas, any drastic change in a person's body chemistry. One of the theories is that they can smell it."

"So maybe Greta can smell Edward before he gets here. Maybe that's why she barked."

"She barked because she didn't like being left in the house alone with us so close." But Leanne didn't sound certain of her own words.

"I've got to go." He had to get as far away as he could in case he couldn't hold Edward off. He bolted from the swing and ran off the porch, into the street, into his car. His tires screeched as he sped away.

***

Still trying to orient herself after the dizzying whirl of emotions she'd just been through, Leanne watched Eliot drive away...run away. It was becoming a familiar scene.

Thank goodness for Greta. Otherwise, she'd have taken him inside her house, inside her body behind closed doors...and what might have happened then was pure speculation.

What on earth had she been thinking about? Split personalities frequently came out at moments of emotional overload...and she felt sure their lovemaking would have fallen into that category.

She hadn't been thinking. She'd let her hormones override her good sense.

Across the street Thurman leaned out and waved, then closed his front door. Bless his heart. He'd waited to be sure she was safe. Now he and Dixie could relax. She was lucky to have such a good friend.

Greta barked again, demanding her attention. She opened the screen door, and the little dog ran onto the porch, bouncing around her feet, begging for attention. If Greta had sensed something ominous in Eliot, it was gone now. Of course, so was Eliot. She might have had a narrow escape.

So why didn't she feel elated instead of sad, deserted...empty?

She leaned over and picked Greta up then went back into the house. "Looks like it's you and me, kid. I'll get you some dog biscuits, and I'll have some chocolate chip cookies."

For the first time she felt alone. Coming home to her little house and Greta had always seemed a refuge, a haven of peace and quiet...a place where no one could hurt her. Tonight Eliot had somehow changed that. He'd only been there a short time, but that time had made up in intensity what it lacked in length. When he'd gone he'd taken her sense of well-being and left an empty hole in its place.

In the kitchen she watched Greta munching contentedly on a dog biscuit. The little dog's world was enviably uncomplicated. She adored Eliot and hated Edward, both with no restraints. She didn't have to temper her emotions with fear of the outcome. She didn't worry that Eliot was mentally ill and dangerous to himself as well as to her.

Leanne could no more hate him because of his illness than she could hate her father. Yet neither could she cease to fear what the illness could cause him to do.

As a doctor, she had to believe he could get well. As a woman, she didn't dare to hope. She'd loved her father through his illness, had done what she could to help him, but it hadn't been enough. Sometimes
enough
simply didn't exist.

A knock sounded on the front door.

Had Eliot changed his mind and come back?

Even while her rational mind protested, she ran to the front door and threw it open to see him standing there in the dark. She lifted her arms to him, and he embraced her at the same moment as she heard Greta at her heels growling. His lips descended to hers, harsh and demanding, the stale taste of cigarettes stinging her senses, his arms holding her painfully.

And she knew her mistake.

Chapter 20

Fear washed over Leanne in nauseating waves. She shoved ineffectually at Edward's chest. His grip was unrelenting. She was trapped.

He pushed against her. Panic-stricken, she struggled to maintain her footing. Was he trying to shove her to the floor, complete in violence what they'd begun only minutes before in mutual desire and caring?

Behind her she heard the door close and realized he'd been moving her out of the way so he could insure their privacy. No chance Thurman or Dixie might look out a window and see him. No chance anyone passing by would see. She could rely on no one but herself.

Behind her Greta continued to growl menacingly, but Leanne knew the small dog's bite couldn't equal her valor. She was alone against a mad man. Fear weakened her muscles, almost paralyzed her. Who could prevail against the inexorable power of a diseased mind?

Edward's hands clutched her arms, holding her a few inches away from him. He smiled the smile that was a macabre mockery of Eliot's. "So you recognize me," he said.

"You wanted me to," she guessed. He'd made no effort to be gentle, to impersonate Eliot.

He raised one eyebrow. "You're a bright lady. No wonder Eliot's so whacked out over you."

"Is he?" Even in the midst of her fear, she felt a spark of elation that Eliot should be
whacked out
about her. That feeling descended into despair as she admitted to herself that Eliot's feelings for her had undoubtedly put her in this position.

"
Is he
?" Edward mocked. "I wish you could see the eager look on your face. It almost hides the terror. So what did you have in mind, doctor? A three-way wedding? Surely you've figured out by now that you can't have Eliot without having me, too."

Leanne sucked in a deep breath and held it for a moment, ordering herself to relax and be rational—to be a therapist. It was her only chance.

"I understand that, Edward," she assured him, lowering her voice a couple of octaves, trying to sound soothing. "I'm willing to accept both of you. I care about all of Eliot."

His grip on her arm tightened. "You care about Eliot and only Eliot. That's the way it's always been. I'm not gullible enough to believe you give a damn about what happens to me."

She concentrated on the physical pain in her arm, trying to control the panic that threatened to overtake her and make her lose her rational thought. "You're wrong, Edward. I do care what happens to you because, as you yourself just said, you and Eliot are the same. How could I care about the one and not the other?"

He snorted in disbelief.

She decided to try a line of shock. "Edward, have you thought about what happens if Eliot goes to prison for Kay Palmer's murder? You'll go to prison, too."

For a moment his gaze turned inward with a haunted look, but then his smile became crafty. "You don't have to worry, doctor. I've got that covered."

"But, Edward, you and Eliot share the same body. Where one of you goes, the other goes."

"Is that his excuse for breaking into my house?" He shook her arm brutally. "Oh, yes, I know he was there. I know he was here tonight, too. I know all about that sordid little scene on the porch between the two of you. I know a lot more about him than he knows about me. I sent him away tonight. I have that much power." He paused as if waiting for her response. His grim, insane expression held half-hidden quality that reminded her of a small child waiting for praise for something he'd achieved.

When she didn't respond, he continued with his diatribe, and she questioned if she'd actually seen that brief look of childish longing. "I don't care what Eliot does with you, but he had no business breaking into my house. That's why I called the police and told them he killed Kay. He has no right in my house."

"But you've been in his home. You even stole some of his pictures."

His hand flashed before her and slammed against her cheek, twisting her head sideways. In the instant it took her brain to register that he'd slapped her, he grabbed her hair and yanked her head painfully backward. An involuntary scream escaped her lips as she stumbled, reaching automatically for his arm, for something to hang onto.

"You're damned right I took them. I have as much right to those pictures as he does! I have as much right to his life as he does!"

Suddenly with a loud curse, he flung her from him, sending her reeling. As she pushed herself up, she saw the reason for his actions. Greta was hanging onto his leg with all the might of her tiny jaws. With a swift movement, he flung the little dog across the room.

"Greta!" Leanne staggered, half walking, half crawling, to her pet. Rage obscured her vision. If that devil had hurt Greta...

But Greta lurched to her feet, shook herself and, with a snarl, charged Edward again. Leanne flung herself forward and caught the dog before she could reach her target and put herself in danger again.

Clutching the squirming, growling dog to her, Leanne looked up, her terror now mixed with a healthy dose of anger, to see what Edward would do next. He appeared frozen in place, a glazed look in his eyes as though he were watching sights only he could see.

"Eliot?" she whispered, hoping the trance portended a change of personality.

He blinked and focused on her. "Not yet, but he's trying to get here. He's worried about you. He knows I'm here." Edward shook his head. "He's getting stronger." The last sentence seemed spoken only to himself.

He turned, opened the door then looked back at her. "This isn't over between us." He walked away, closing the door behind himself.

Greta squirmed from Leanne's loosened grasp, ran to the screen door and barked, then came back to lick Leanne's cheek and cuddle up beside her.

Leanne collapsed the rest of the way onto the worn carpet, uncontrollable, hysterical sobs bursting from her. The episode had frightened her...terrified her, in fact...but the worst part had been the cruelty displayed by a man she cared about, a man she'd wanted to make love with only a few minutes before. Her mind, her heart, couldn't deal with that. It was impossible. That man was no part of Eliot.

No wonder he had such a hard time accepting Edward as a segment of his own psyche. She knew about the manifestations of the illness, and even she couldn't accept that some part of Eliot had slapped her, pulled her hair, kicked her dog.

She wept in hard, driving sobs as though she could somehow push out along with her tears the pain and knowledge of Edward's visit.

The door flew open, and Leanne looked up through tear-veiled eyes to see Eliot or Edward charge into the room. In total panic, she leapt to her feet, snatching up Greta.

"Get the hell out of here! I've already called the police," she lied breathlessly, fear knotting in the pit of her stomach.

The man halted, one hand still on the door, and she saw an echo of her own horror in his eyes. "Dear God, Leanne, what did he do to you?"

She set Greta on the floor, and the dog ran to him, wagging her tail, though Leanne hadn't really needed that final proof.

It was too much. Her emotions were on overload. Adrenalin flooded her body—from fear, pain, relief, a thousand feelings jumbled together, unrecognizable and unbearable. She flung herself into Eliot's arms. He held her against him tightly, desperately.

She lifted her face to look at him, to tell him...something. She didn't know what she'd meant to say. She couldn't think, could only feel. For a moment he searched her eyes, then, with a groan, crushed his mouth to hers, his tongue immediately demanding entrance. Her lips parted, and she greedily took him in, their tongues dancing a wild, unbridled ritual...a foretelling of what was to come.

He tasted of spearmint gum and desire, and her need was greater than she could ever have imagined. She was excruciatingly aware that this could be the only time they had together...that even this was time stolen from the specter of insanity.

She started to pull away for a moment to lock the door...but that was absurd. The danger was here beside her, not on the other side of that door.

They sank to the floor together. She didn't know if he pulled her or she pulled him, and it didn't matter. They couldn't afford to take the time to go upstairs to her bedroom or even across the room to the sofa. She knew he was as aware as she that if either of them stopped to think, they'd realize how insane their actions were.

His lips trailed kisses down her throat, sending delicious shivers along her spine. She slid her arms around him, under the sport coat that he still wore, over the soft cotton of his shirt, holding him as tightly as he'd held her, as though she could thus keep him from slipping away, from becoming someone else.