Standing in the Shadows (50 page)

He never turned his back on her, never. It was uncanny. He must sense that she wanted to kill him, and yet he had confided all his most perilous secrets to her. She wondered why he hadn't killed her yet.

Maybe he was saving her for something special.

They entered the viewing room, with its huge wall screen. Novak sat on the couch before it, on the side with the mouse pad, and clicked on the icons until the dim, silent interior of Erin Riggs's tiny apartment filled the screen. "It's almost a waste," he mused.

"What's a waste?" She was quick to give him openings to hold forth. He loved the sound of his own voice.

"She's rare. So genuinely innocent. I'm surprised that a worthless specimen such as Edward Riggs ever managed to spawn such an unusual daughter. More beautiful than I had expected, too, though I expect that is partly the result of your genius, my dear."

"I try to be useful," she said.

"Do you?" he said. "Come here, Tamara. Be useful."

She sat next to him. "She's very intelligent. She senses a trap."

"But she doesn't recognize the source of her panic," her employee said. "She doesn't trust her instincts. She is ruled by her own code of conduct. She persists in thinking that the world follows rules that she can understand, and therefore, she'll be back tomorrow, right on time, like the conscientious professional that she is. If she were free of the prison in her mind, she would change her name and run."

"But it wouldn't do any good," Tamara said, to flatter him.

He smiled as he touched her face with his ruined index finger. His teeth seemed incredibly sharp. "I'm tempted to take her to Paris for real," he said. His hand trailed lower, touching her throat, her breasts. "I would like to have sex with her. It would be stimulating, I think, to plunder all that radiant, sensual innocence."

He seized her hand, placed it on the bulge in his trousers. She forced herself to smile. She was in for it now. Erin had aroused his most sadistic instincts. She hastened to divert him.

"She never would have gone with you willingly," she said. "She's already bonded with McCloud. You would've had to lure her before their affair caught fire. And once she saw your hand…" Her voice trailed off. Sometimes her employee appreciated honesty. In other moods, it could be a deadly miscalculation.

"You are right," he said. "We're committed to this course of action. It would be a shame to waste all this planning, anyway. Every detail is falling into place. Even the ones I did not anticipate. The sacrifice is acceptable in the eyes of the gods."

"I don't believe in gods," Tamara said boldly. "Any gods."

His eyes pinned her, like a snake mesmerizing its prey. Their luminous glow probed ceaselessly for weaknesses, secrets.

"No? What a treasure you are. A woman who is not afraid of anything. Not even fear." He pulled out a pocketknife from his trousers. The blade whicked out. He lifted the gleaming point to her larynx, and pressed. If she swallowed, it would break the skin.

The blade moved down, feather light. The dark, lapis-colored satin of her dress silently gave way to the preternatural sharpness of the blade. Her body was naked beneath it, only a pair of high, lace-topped black stockings. She wore no panties. She never did. On principle.

She closed her eyes and held herself still as the blade skimmed over her skin, tracing patterns like letters, but an unspeakably alien script. An evil enchantment, to pull her deeper into his thrall.

The blade grazed over her chest, pausing over her racing heart as if drawn to its frantic energy. It trailed lower, over the vulnerable hollow of her belly. He dug the tip into her navel, but she dared not gasp from the pain. One breath, and it would sink into her vitals.

He drew the knife lower, tickling it over her hipbone. The point dug into the skin over the femoral artery in her groin. It brushed tenderly over her mound. "Open your legs, Tamara." His voice was silky soft.

She couldn't move. She was transfixed with terror. She'd gone too far, missed her chance, overshot, fallen short. What an ignominious end. She, who had always hoped for a bold, glorious death.

The level of light in the room suddenly augmented. The video screen flickered into motion. Erin was home. The show had begun.

She gestured toward the screen. "Don't you want to watch?"

He snapped the blade shut, slipped it into his pocket A
reprieve.

"We watch, Tamara," he said. "And then we play."

She barely saw what was happening on the screen, she was so conscious of his mangled hand, burning against her naked thigh.

Erin burst through the doors of the Kinsdale and bolted for the stairwell. As soon as she'd torn off that hellish dress and showered off the soiled feeling that Mueller's touch had given her, she would call Connor and apologize for running away. She had to start following her heart. It was that, or watch it break into a million pieces.

Connor was sitting on the staircase, waiting for her.

She reeled back at the foot of the stairs. Her purse, her shoes, her clothes, thudded to the floor. She teetered on the heels and braced herself against the wall, horribly aware of her bosom practically falling out of the bodice, and her eyes, smudged from the tears she'd been blotting away in the car. "Connor?" she whispered.

His hard gaze raked her from head to foot. "My, my," he said softly. "Don't… you… look… special."

"Connor, I—"

"Check you out, babe." He rose to his feet, looming over her. "No bra. And I've never seen you wear makeup before, at least not like that. It changes your whole look. Wow. What a wild woman."

She shrank back against the wall at his soft, deadly tone.

She'd seen him angry, but never like this. "Connor, I was on my way to—"

"What does it say to me, this new look?" His voice was a mocking parody of playfulness. "It says, the party's over and I've had too much champagne, so take me home and fuck me hard."

Anger jolted her upright. "Don't you dare speak to me like that!"

He advanced upon her. She stumbled away until her bare back was pressed against the tiles. "Did you have fun today, Erin?" he asked.

She lifted her chin. "No, I did not, as a matter of fact," she said. "Connor, don't do this."

He seized her shoulders and pinned her against the wall. "Where the
fuck
did that dress come from?"

The fury in his voice snapped like a whip against her raw nerves. She struggled wildly in his grip, but he just pressed her harder against the wall with his lower body and cupped her breasts in his hands. "This thing shows your tits off to a really great advantage. Did Mueller like the view? Is this what you meant when you said you were a bad girl now?"

She slapped his hands away from her breasts. "Don't speak to me like that! I did absolutely nothing wrong."

"You lied to me, and you broke your promise. And you're dressed up like a high-priced whore to kiss some rich man's ass. Did you fuck him, too?"

Her hand flashed out. He caught it, lightning quick. "None of that, Erin," he snarled. "It's a valid question. Just look at yourself."

"I would never do a thing like that, and you damn well know it. You owe me an apology."

He let out a crack of bitter laughter. "Don't hold your breath. I've had a really shitty day. I don't feel very apologetic right now."

"Erin? Is that you, dear?"

Their heads jerked around in tandem. Mrs. Hathaway, her nosy ground-floor neighbor, was hunched over her cane in the doorway of the stairwell. Her curls glowed in the fluorescent light like a violet halo, and her face was a fierce snarl of wrinkles. She brandished her gold-tipped cane. "Is this fellow giving you trouble? Because if he is, I'll just call the police this minute! Terrorizing a young lady on her stairs. The nerve!"

Connor's eyes were fierce with challenge. "So, Erin? Am I too scary for you? You want to call the guys in the white coats to come haul me away?"

"Stop it," she hissed.

"Better yet, take this." He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. He pressed it into her trembling hand. "Call Nick. It's faster than nine-one-one, and he's hot to arrest me anyway. Go on, call him. Put a stop to this whole fucking mess once and for all."

Her mouth hung open, aghast. He jerked his chin at the phone and took a step back. His Adam's apple bobbed. "Do it," he said savagely. "Just push the green button and make it end."

The bleak, tight mask of hurt on his face made her heart twist and burn. She snapped the phone shut. "Go to hell," she said.

"You tell him, missy," Mrs. Hathaway said. "I say call the cops." .

Erin tried to smile at her. "Don't worry, Mrs. Hathaway. We're just having a disagreement, and we had the bad taste to have it in public instead of in private."

"He's trouble," Mrs. Hathaway warned. "I can tell."

"I have the situation under control," Erin soothed. "But I really appreciate your concern. You're a good neighbor."

Mrs. Hathaway looked disappointed. She rounded on Connor. "I don't like your kind." She punctuated every word with a vicious stab of her cane in Connor's direction. "That long hair and those dangerous eyes, and that filthy dirty mouth on you. Swearing like a stevedore in front of a nice young lady. Men like you are pure trouble and nothing but."

"Yes, ma'am," Connor said patiently. "That's what they tell me."

"Think you're so smart, hmm?"

Connor rolled his eyes. "Hardly," he muttered.

She jabbed her cane toward Erin. "You watch yourself, missy. He mouths off to you again, you let me know. Don't you ever let a man swear at you. They just think it's a license to take liberties. Every time."

"Don't worry," Erin said again. "Really. Have a nice evening."

Mrs. Hathaway stumped back toward her open apartment door, muttering. They waited until the door had shut on the flickering blue TV light and the canned laughter before they dared to look at each other. She held out the phone to him. He shook his head.

"Keep it," he said. "I don't want to talk to anybody."

She dropped it into her purse, for lack of anything better to do with it. They stared at each other warily, both afraid to breathe.

"Want to take this fight upstairs and have it in the privacy of your apartment?" His voice was still hard, but the terrifying edge of his fury was blunted.

She nodded, and knelt down to gather her things up against her chest. Her clumsy fingers kept dropping things. Six flights were a long journey with Connor seething behind her. She felt his gaze burning into her back. Staring up at her body in that insubstantial dress.

She fished her keys out of her purse. As usual, he took them from her and pulled out his gun. She waited patiently through the whole familiar ritual until he waved her in, and locked and bolted the door.

She flipped her floor lamp on as he shrugged off his coat, flung it over a chair. He planted his feet wide and folded his arms over his chest. "So?" His voice was flat. "Let's hear it, Erin."

She dropped her things on the floor. Covered her breasts with her arms, and dropped them again, in an agony of embarrassment. She gathered up handfuls of her skirt and searched for a starting place.