Standing in the Shadows (52 page)

He trembled as he stared down at her. He'd never seen the point of kinky sex props and accoutrements before, but those black stockings, those fuck-me shoes, that smeared mascara, drove him out of his skull, like whips snapping at him, stinging him into a blind red chaos of lust and fury. The goddamn bed was too narrow to push her legs wide. He wrenched it away from the wall. He wrenched off his boots, his jeans.

He had no secrets, no masks with her anyway. He would take her from the front, and to hell with what she saw in his face.

Connor's expression did not soften as he mounted her. She flinched and braced herself, grasping his shoulders. It was so different like this. None of the warmth and tenderness of last night. None of the joy. Just hunger and need and hard anger. It made her feel alone and desolate, even while he overwhelmed her with his big body.

She pressed her hands against his chest, feeling the muscles shift and move beneath the hot softness of his skin as his hips pumped heavily against her. "I don't want it like this between us," she said.

He bore her down under his weight, pinning her to the bed. "This is the way it has to be," he said. "I couldn't pretend to feel anything else tonight, even if I wanted to. Which I don't. What would be the point?"

"I'm not asking you to pretend," she said. "I'm asking you to trust me. I'm asking you to remember. Last night, you said that we—"

"Last night you hadn't lied to me and jerked me around. Last night you hadn't driven me out of my skull with jealousy. The world was real different last night, sweetheart." He folded her legs up high and thrust, hard enough to make her gasp. "And you were the one who changed things. Not me. So take responsibility."

His words kindled a spark of anger that glowed and flared brighter every second that passed. "I always take responsibility," she shot back. "Always. All my life. For every single goddamn thing. But this time, I won't do it." She slapped at his chest, and struggled beneath him. "This time, it's not my fault, Connor! This thing is
not… my…fault
!"

He grabbed her flailing wrists and gazed down at her with narrowed eyes. "So are you saying that it's my fault, then?"

"I don't know! I don't understand what's happening to us.
It's like we're under an evil spell. But I do know that I love you, Connor! I love you!" She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down against her.

"Damn it. No. I don't want to—damn it, Erin!" He swore viciously and fought her, but she hung on to him with all her strength. He would have to hurt her to make her let go, and she knew he couldn't bear to.

She persisted, pulling on him until he collapsed on top of her with a harsh sob. He hid his face in the pillow and pumped himself against her, painfully hard. He let out a muffled shout. The paroxysm that wrenched through him seemed almost more like pain than pleasure.

His heart thundered against her bosom. She cradled his trembling, sweaty body and tried to pull his face to hers so she could kiss him.

He utterly refused to turn. He just shook his head and kept his face stubbornly buried in the pillow. She petted his damp hair, searching for words, but there were no words that could make the wall between them disappear. It felt as thick and cold and implacable as stone.

Connor finally pushed himself up and off her body, letting his hair veil his face. She knew that trick. She'd been using it all her life.

She reached to push his hair back. His hand flashed out and clamped over her wrist, blocking it. He shook his head, and let go.

He turned his back on her and started to pull on his jeans.

She stood up on unsteady legs, and realized that they hadn't used a condom. Scalding liquid trickled down her thigh.

She unbuckled the fragile, ridiculous shoes. Stripped off the ruined stockings. Her mind couldn't encompass it all. She could only handle little bits at a time. Connor's back to her, rigid with unspoken pain and fury. Mueller's icy attempt at seduction. Nick's revelations. Novak's death by fire. The golden dress, rent in two. Connor's seed, trickling down her thigh. The seams of her life had all burst.

She stumbled into her bathroom, and closed and locked the door.

Connor got dressed and waited, his head in his hands, for her to come out. It was a long wait. At one point, Erin's cat poked its head out cautiously from under one of the chairs. It picked its way daintily out into the middle of the ravaged room, sat down on its haunches, and regarded him. There was a cool, judgmental gleam in its golden eyes.

"Who the hell do you think you're looking at?" he asked it wearily.

The bathroom door finally opened. Erin walked out, still naked, but damp and smelling of her shower gel. Her face was severely innocent of makeup, her hair smoothed back into a tight, gleaming wet braid.

She headed to the chest of drawers next to the bed, pretending he wasn't right there, at arm's length, staring at her. She pulled out white cotton briefs that looked like they came three in a pack from Kmart. She pulled on a pair of baggy sweatpants. An oversized T-shirt. A fleece pullover. She tugged thick white athletic socks onto her feet.

She was trying to look sexless. What a joke. He would have laughed, but if he let himself laugh he might start to cry again, and he couldn't risk it. He waited until he could trust his voice to be steady.

"Nick called you this morning. That's why you broke your promise." He tried to make his tone neutral, but it came out accusatory anyway.

She nodded, and padded across the room to the kitchen nook. She rummaged in a drawer until she came up with a garbage bag.

"What did he tell you? That I'm crazy? Delusional?"

She struggled with the bag until it opened, and went to the table, still ignoring him. She scooped spilled sugar off the tabletop and into the bag with her hand. She gathered up the crushed dried flowers.

Tension built inside him. "Answer me, Erin. What did he tell you?"

She let out a long, shaky sigh, sank down onto her knees, and began to gather up the shards of the ceramic teapot and the vase. "He told me Novak was dead. That you knew that he'd been spotted in France. That the police there have been moving in on him for days."

"Sure, he told me, but I didn't believe it. Novak is—"

"Was. Novak
was
. He is dead, Connor. Blown up. They're sure it's him, based on dental records, the missing fingers. The DNA tests will follow, but they're just to confirm it. He's dead. It's over."

He shook his head. "No way. Too many things don't fit."

"That's what Nick told me you would say," Erin said.

He forced himself to say it, and the words came out rough and halting. "Did he tell you that I'm a murderer, too?"

"He said you were a suspect," she corrected. "Not a murderer."

"And do you think I did it?"

She shook her head, unhesitating. "Not in a million years."

She tossed all the broken crockery into the bag, and reached under the sink for a dustpan and whisk broom. Every gesture was brisk and efficient. Trying as always to make order out of chaos.

But this time, he was the chaos.

"What else did he tell you, Erin?" he demanded.

Erin dragged the plastic bag over to the ruined dress and stuffed it inside. "He told me I should keep my distance from you. So that I wouldn't get hurt. But surprise, surprise. I couldn't."

"I would never hurt you," he said.

"You already have." She dragged the clinking garbage bag behind her, and knelt in front of him, flinging the balled up stockings into it. She flung the shoes in after them, jerked the neck of the bag up, knotted it. "In any case, it's over. This whole bodyguard trip of yours, I mean. Try to see it from my point of view, Connor. I truly do believe that your intentions were good, but—"

"Do… not… pity… me." He bit the words out.

She threw her head back and dashed away angry tears with the back of her hand. "OK, fine. No pity, no mercy, no masks. I'm going back to Mueller's tomorrow to appraise some new acquisitions for him. Since we're being so pitiless and all, I thought you should know."

He was on his feet and clutching her shoulders in an instant. "No. Erin. You can't! You can't go back there!"

"Why not?" she yelled. "He's just a guy who likes Celtic relics! He also happens to be attracted to me. Big deal, Connor! This may come as a shock to you, but he's not the first man who has ever shown an interest in me. I've said no to quite a few men in my lifetime. Who cares? Get over it!" She wrenched herself out of his grip.

There was no reasoning with this breathless, clawing panic. This went beyond jealousy. This was flat-out nuts. "But I've seen things that I can't explain any other way," he pleaded. "Someone is stalking your family, Erin. I'm convinced of it, and if you would just—"

"No! I have had enough!" She backed away, holding up her hands. "I can't stand this anymore. I do not need your protection. I love you, and I appreciate what you did for Cindy, but I do not need you to save me! If you keep insisting on this, you're going to drive me crazy, too!"

Her words reverberated in the sudden silence. He saw from her face that she regretted them the instant they left her mouth. "Oh, God, Connor. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that you… I don't think you're—"

"Crazy," he said heavily. "Too late. You said it. I heard it. You can't take it back. If that's really what you think of me, then… then there's nothing more to say."

Tears slid down her face. She covered her mouth with her hands. Her shoulders shook. "Oh, God. This is awful."

"Yeah," he agreed. He grabbed his coat and tried to move towards the door. His feet were made of lead. "Uh, Erin."

"What?" Her voice was a wary thread of sound.

"If you ever have cared about me at all, do me one favor. Please."

She nodded.

"Take someone you trust with you when you go to Mueller's house. Don't go there alone. Please."

"Connor, please. I—"

"I know that you won't let me go with you, but take someone. Do this one thing for me, and that's it. That's all I'll ever ask of you."

She opened her mouth to argue, and closed it. She nodded.

"Swear it," he said. "On something important."

"I swear it on my honor," she said quietly.

He knew that was his cue, but he was still rooted to the floor.

She picked up her phone and dialed. "Hello, Tonia? It's Erin… yeah, I'm fine. It's been a very strange time… can't talk right now, though… no, just tired. Look, I have a favor to ask. Tomorrow's your day off, right? I was wondering if you would go along with me on a job tomorrow afternoon. To Mueller's… it's a long story. I promised Connor I wouldn't go alone… yes, I know, but I promised… Really? Oh, great. It shouldn't take long. I'll buy you dinner after, if you're free… See you tomorrow afternoon. You're an angel, Ton. Thanks. 'Bye, then."

She lay the phone down. "Done," she said. "As promised."

The silence after her words had a horrible, echoing finality to it.

She'd cut him loose. There was nothing left to say, nothing more that he could do. Maybe she was right, and he really had gone crazy.

He hardly cared. Ghosts, monsters, bring them on. He would welcome them, if they would only agree to put him out of his misery. In any case, he'd better get the hell out of there, to someplace where no one could see his face, because total meltdown was only seconds away.

"OK," he said. "I'll, uh, just get the fuck out of your way, then."