* * *
DEZ stared at Taylor’s back, her belly in knots. What… ?
A wave of agony all but swamped her. She gasped, pressing one hand against her belly as she stared at him. Oh, shit—what in the hell?
A voice, familiar, whispered,
Not Anna, not Anna
…
Taylor…? Oh, shit.
And yet again, that true psychic skill that had been so erratic became clear. The words were distinct and solid and real. She
knew
, as well as she knew her own name, that voice had come from him.
No.
Oh,
no
.
Rising, although she wasn’t sure she could trust her legs to support her, she made her way over to him. The second she touched his back, the wave of grief intensified and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. She did, biting down until she tasted blood.
She stroked the rigid muscles of his back, studying his face. He wouldn’t look at her, and that was strange. Taylor
always
seemed to be looking at her, she realized. Always.
But right now, he was staring very intently at a photo frame. Or rather, the back of it.
Dez closed her eyes.
“Dear God.” She reached out and turned it around. But even before she looked, she already knew who she’d see. The child was beautiful. And she had Taylor’s eyes—that steely blue, although they didn’t have that cool, untouchable look on the girl. The same gilt-edged hair, though. Even the same smile. The resemblance was eerie.
Taylor stared at the picture, a muscle jerking in his jaw.
And tears on his face.
Dez felt her heart shatter into a million pieces.
Reaching up, she wiped the tears away. He caught her wrist and shifted his gaze from the picture to her face. His eyes, not so cold now, but burning hot and intense, bored into hers. “Is it her?” he rasped.
Dez said softly, “I haven’t seen her outside of a dream.”
“Is it
her
?” The demand was unmistakable.
“Yes. I think it is.”
The grip on her wrist tightened—bordering on pain—but she just stood there. Then, abruptly, he jerked her close. He went to his knees, then, and pressed his face to her belly.
Broad shoulders shook as he cried.
* * *
“WAS she your daughter?”
They were the first words spoken between them in hours. Dez felt him jerk in surprise. Then he lifted his head and stared at her. “No…Anna…she was my little sister.”
Dez winced and touched a finger to his mouth. “I’m sorry.” Pushing a hand through his hair, she asked, “How old was she? And you?”
“I was fourteen.” He shifted on the couch, rolling onto his back and pulling her on top of him. “She was six.”
“So young. Both of you.” Pressing her lips to his chin, she hugged him, wishing she could do something, say something. But she’d already shattered him. He knew something bad had happened now. Anna hadn’t just wandered off and gotten lost, although God knows that would have been heartbreaking enough.
“Yes.” He stroked a hand up and down her back, restless, like he couldn’t stop touching her. He’d been like that for the past few hours, even as he cried, even as she held him. Like the simple act of touching her was comfort to him. Perhaps it was.
She could feel the tension in him and even before he spoke, she suspected she knew what he was going to say. Already dread was a heavy weight in her belly.
“You need to know what happened that day.”
Lifting her head, Dez stared down at him. “I need to help her,” she said quietly. “She’s weak—not much she can give me. So the more I can get on my own, the better my chance of helping her.”
His gaze was turbulent, but his voice was level as he said, “Don’t forget who I am, what I do.” His mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “I know the drill. Hell, I fucking
wrote
the drill.”
“That you did.” Reaching up, she cupped his cheek, stroking a thumb over his lip. “For Anna. All these years, I’ve wondered what drives you. A lot of people think it’s political aspirations, or just some insane workaholic taking it to the limit. But you’ve got demons like I never imagined, Taylor. All of this was for Anna, wasn’t it?”
He closed his eyes. “I don’t want armchair psychology, Dez. Especially not right now. What I do, I do because I want to.” Gently, he nudged her off and sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face.
She sat as well, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Want? Sugar,
want
would sort of imply this makes you happy. You’ve never been happy a day in your life.”
“Why the fuck
should
I be happy?” he bit off. He shot to his feet and started to pace. “She was just a baby.”
“And you were just a kid. Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that!” He spun around, his eyes hot, burning. And broken. So broken. “I fucking know that. But she was still a baby…and then she was gone. Just like that—gone. And I wasn’t even there to protect her. I should have been.”
He sank to his knees, staring at the floor. “I should have been. I was at the school—fucking football practice. I hated it. But I did it because I was a Jones and we Joneses did what we Joneses always did. She was here playing…and then she was just gone. And nobody knows why or what…or who.”
He looked at her with haunted eyes. “Who was it, Dez? Who took my sister?”
“I don’t know.” She went to him and knelt down in front of him. Catching his face in her hands, she pressed her mouth to his. Against his lips, she whispered, “But I’ll do my damnedest to find out, Taylor. I promise you that.”
His arms came around her and he hauled her close. Raggedly, he asked, “He hurt her, didn’t he?”
“Yes. God, I’m sorry. Yes.”
Don’t ask me any more right now, please…
She felt him nod, almost like he’d heard that silent plea. “If I find out who he is, I don’t know if I can stop myself from killing him.” She felt the erratic rise and fall of his chest. “I don’t know if I want myself to stop.”
Easing back, she cupped his face. “You’ll do the right thing, Taylor. I’ve got faith in that.”
“Don’t have faith in me, beautiful,” he muttered. “You’ll just end up getting disappointed.”
He pressed his brow to hers.
Dez slid her arms back around him. The silence between them stretched out and she closed her eyes, wondering just where she went from here. She’d be working blind, even with him here. Whether he liked it or not, she wasn’t blithely sharing every last detail, every last bit. She’d share facts when she had them and when Anna gave them to her.
It might be a mistake, she realized.
But then again, there was an ugly, brutal knowledge already in her head that she didn’t plan on sharing with him, either. At least not right now. He hurt enough as it was.
Over his shoulder, she stared at the picture of a sweet, smiling young girl. Although Taylor held her tightly, almost desperately, she could almost feel that cold, eerie touch.
She kept hearing that voice…
My pretty and perfect angel…
And it was stronger now. As though Anna had realized Dez knew. And the girl wasn’t going to wait any longer.
Things aren’t getting better.
I keep hoping they will, that things will become calm. Peaceful, although you had no peace for our day. But it’s worse now, worse than ever
.
The writing was frantic. Erratic breathing filled the air.
I don’t understand this. I don’t.
The hand on the pen tightened.
* * *
THE sight of Brendan’s car was enough to make Tiffany’s belly turn upside down. She hadn’t been able to stay away from the hospital for much longer than it took to grab a few hours’ sleep the night before. And her mother hadn’t been able to tell her no, either.
But just then, as she huddled in the front of her mother’s car, staring at Brendan, she wished Mom had argued, wished her mother had insisted she stay home.
Coward—stupid little coward.
Something touched her head and she jumped, only to feel like even more of a coward when she realized it was just her mom, stroking her head and watching her with worried eyes. “Are you okay, baby? Maybe I should have made you stay home, get some sleep.” Her mouth tightened and she sighed. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you did for Beau, but it’s not like you two were friends—he was so awful to you.” She shook her head. “That’s it. You’re going home.”
“No!” Tiffany grabbed her mom’s arm before she could start the car. “It’s not him.” Turning her head, she watched as Brendan disappeared into the hospital. “It’s not him…” Swallowing, she gave her mom a weak smile. “I’m just still kind of freaked out. Come on. I bet I’ll feel better once I see him.”
As they climbed out of the car, she pulled her phone out. She had to let that lady know—let her know that Brendan was up here. That wasn’t good.
“Tiffany, why are you in such a hurry? Slow down a little…”
“I can’t…I…ah, I have to use the bathroom.” She winced as she lied, but she couldn’t slow down. Why was Brendan here?
* * *
BRENDAN knew he couldn’t do anything.
Not now.
He’d have to find another way to handle Beau, damn it. But he’d look in, see him. Couldn’t fucking believe this. What the hell? He’d thought he was done having Halers screw up his plans with Tristan being out of the way. And now Tiffany?
Standing over Beau’s bed, staring at his slack face, he tried to figure out just what in the
fuck
had gone wrong. Why had Tiffany been there?
“The doctors think he could wake up.”
He looked at Kadie, Beau’s mom. She was still wearing her slut clothes from the night before, her makeup smeared from crying, her hair disheveled. Brendan made himself smile. “I bet he will. You just wait.” He wasn’t lying or trying to comfort her, either. The way his luck ran, of course Beau would wake up. “Why don’t you get yourself some coffee or something? I’ll stay with him.”
“I don’t want anything. Although I wouldn’t mind using the bathroom.” She grimaced and glanced down at her clothes. “Beau’s dad brought me some clothes. He ran down to get some food—with his diabetes, he has to eat. But I do want to wash up and change. I just didn’t want to leave him.”
She came around the bed and gave Brendan a kiss on the cheek. When she did, he could smell the smoke, the beer, and the sex on her. Keeping his eyes downcast, he stared at the still boy in the bed.
“You’re a good friend,” she said softly. “Such a good friend.”
He waited until the sound of her heels faded before he lifted his head.
“A good friend,” he muttered. “Surrounded by fucking
idiots
.” Shooting a look over his shoulder, he headed around the bed and took the seat Kadie had just vacated. Leaning forward, he stared at Beau. “So, what’s up?”
There was no answer, just the monotonous, steady beeping from machines. He was hooked up to several and although Brendan wasn’t going to dare, he imagined what it would be like to lean over and pinch off the tube that was connected to the oxygen tank. What would happen…? He could see himself doing it…
“Hi.”
Jerking his head up, he found himself staring into a pair of wide blue eyes. Those wide blue eyes, lined with heavy black eyeliner, were watching him with a disturbing amount of knowledge. And as he leaned back in his chair to meet Tiffany Haler’s gaze, Brendan had the weirdest damn sensation run through him.
She knows…,
he thought.
But as quickly as he thought it, he made himself push it aside. How could she know?
“Hey there, Tiffany.” He smiled at her. “I hear you’re a hero. Thanks…thanks a lot.”
She cocked a brow at him. “Thanks?” For some reason, that seemed to amuse her and she started to chuckle. “Yeah. Whatever.” She slunk into the room and settled against the wall, her gaze moving from him to the bed, studying Beau before shifting to the machines.
As her mother came into the room, he continued to watch Tiffany. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a hell of a lot of suspicion in that gaze. What the fuck?
“Brendan!” Tiffany’s mother moved forward and he stood up, bracing himself for the hug. She’d always been a hugger, stupid old bitch.
“Hi, Mrs. Haler. Good to see you.”
“Terrible circumstances, though.” She squeezed him and eased back before turning to rest her hands on the railing of the hospital bed. “Well, he’s looking better.”
Tiffany snorted. “No, he’s not.” Then she lifted her eyes to Brendan and smiled. “But he’s alive. That’s a good thing, right?”
Once more, that odd, disturbing sensation returned.
She knows…
* * *
WHEN Beau’s mom returned, Tiffany slipped out. It was too much, having them all in there, especially with Brendan staring at her with his dark, flat eyes. Shark eyes, she thought. He had shark eyes. Lifeless and dead.
She headed to the nurses’ station, unwilling to put herself anyplace where he might try to follow—and get her alone. She was too damn smart for that. One thing she’d learned after so much time being a target: don’t make it easy for them.
She hadn’t been out of the room more than sixty seconds when she heard him come out, too.
Slipping her hand into her pocket, she pulled her phone out, staring at the message that had come through on her way up to the floor. It was from Desiree Lincoln.
I’ll be there in fifteen or twenty minutes.
She’d be there.
But what could she do? Tiffany wondered. What was Tiffany supposed to say…
I saw a shadow, and the more I think about it, the more I think it was probably Brendan…
She couldn’t
swear
to anything. There was just something about the way she’d seen the other boy looking at Beau, something about the way he stood there.
Something about the way he had watched her only minutes ago with those cold, flat shark eyes.
Fear was slippery and cold, turning her flesh to ice as she leaned against the nurses’ station counter and smiled at Laney Boldary, one of her mom’s Bunco buddies. “Hi, Laney.”
“Hey…if it isn’t the local hero!” Laney said, smiling broadly.
Tiffany flushed. Shit, she was tired of hearing that.
Her throat went tight as Brendan came to a stop next to her. She couldn’t keep from tensing as he reached up and tugged on her hair. “That’s what I was calling her,” he said. “Saved my best friend’s life. Maybe the local hero would let me buy her dinner some night.”
Laney lifted her eyebrows.
Tiffany scooted away from Brendan before she even bothered to look at him. Once she had a few feet between them, she angled her head toward him and studied him.
He had half the girls in school all but drooling over him—she knew that. Yeah, he was cute, but he was an asshole. And that overlong haircut was way overdone, she thought. Hell, everything about him was overdone, including the way he stood there watching her with his hands in his pockets and that waiting, expectant smile on his face.
Like he just knew what her answer was going to be. People didn’t tell
him
no, right? His fucking looks didn’t even
matter
. The longer she stood there looking at him, the more certain she became. He’d been at Beau’s last night. That look on his face…yeah. He had been there. Even the way he moved, the way he was standing right now was eerily familiar. The same way she’d seen that shadowy figure moving.
People didn’t tell him
no
?
Wanna bet?
Tiffany stared at him silently for a few seconds and then looked away. “No.”
She watched as Laney lowered her head to hide her smirk. From the corner of her eye, she saw Brendan—saw the way he stared at her, like he couldn’t believe what she had just said.
She was standing close enough that she saw a flash of something in his eyes, saw the way his shoulders stiffened. But it was gone, fast; that angry, ugly look was gone and once more he was relaxed and easy, smiling at her.
“Not even dinner? Lunch?” he teased.
“Not even a piece of bread from the cafeteria downstairs,” she snapped, glaring at him, suddenly enraged. That bastard. It had been
him
last night—she
knew
it.
His eyes narrowed on her face, glacier cold.
Oh, God…
She thought he’d been angry a second ago. She’d been wrong. So damn wrong. Fear could chase away anger in a heartbeat, Tiffany realized. Oh, hell. He knew. He knew that she knew—
She backed away a step, and then another—
Crashing into Dez Lincoln.
“Whoa, Tiff.” One hand, soft and gentle, but strong, closed around her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You need to kind of watch which way you walk, you know. Pay attention to what’s around you.”
Tiffany darted a look up over her shoulder at Dez before looking back at Brendan. He was still staring at her and those lifeless shark’s eyes were looking at her like she was a bleeding seal.
“Do you pay attention to things, Tiffany?” Dez continued, still holding her shoulder lightly. Protectively, it seemed. “I do. I see things. People. I watch them. Notice them…I bet you do, too.”
Abruptly, Brendan jerked his gaze up, staring at Dez. Those shark eyes had found a new target, Tiffany thought, dazed.
“Hello,” he said quietly.
Dez smiled. “Hi, there.” She moved around Tiffany and stuck out her hand.
COME on, you little prick
.
She didn’t want to be here—she had other things she needed to be doing. Taylor weighed heavy on her mind, and her heart broke for him, for Anna, for their parents.
But she hadn’t been able to ignore that text from Tiffany, either. A cold shiver had danced along her spine—whether a reminder of the promise she’d made to Tristan or just a warning, she didn’t know. But there were problems,many, many problems, and she couldn’t ignore anything connected to this kid, she knew.
She also knew she needed to be here and Dez didn’t ignore her instincts. Now that she was here, she was damn glad she was, even if she was pissed off, even more so, at this boy for pulling her away. She stared at him, all but daring him not to accept her handshake.
Not that he would—he wasn’t the type. The cocky smile on her face was all that was needed to goad him into it. She’d pegged him with just a look, no psychic insight needed. Pampered little brat, had everything in his life handed to him, except for the things he’d needed, things like discipline, things like guidance, maybe even love. But she couldn’t find much pity for him, not when his evil was already a stain on her soul—and she hadn’t even touched him…
yet
.
Then he reached out and put his hand in hers. She could have crowed in victory, except she wanted to puke. She’d been prepared—hell, even if something about him hadn’t already put her back up, she would have been prepared just by the way he’d been watching Tiffany.
Like a snake ready to strike. Only colder. A snake killed in self-defense or out of a need to survive.
This boy wasn’t reptile cold. He was…evil. She could feel it now, with her hand in his. Evil, and angry. Images assaulted her. No true thoughts, thank God, but the images were almost as bad. She saw Ivy. She saw Tristan—oh, shit, this boy had watched him die.
She saw Beau. She saw nameless faces rolling through her mind, accompanied by the imprint of his anger, the echo of his rage, and it left her foundering. The icy, poisoned rush of his anger flooded her mind and his evil was choking her. Bile rose in her throat, burning to be free. Her ears buzzed and her eyes blurred.
There was one more image…she saw him writing…Her knees buckled and she swayed. Black dots crowded in on her vision as some of his thoughts started to filter through—
No, no, I can’t handle that,
she thought, all but ready to scream it.
She thought she might
have
screamed it, thought she might fall into a whimpering, wailing puddle on the floor.
Then a hand touched her. A warm whisper chased along her skin. She steadied. Not completely. Just enough. Taylor was there. She hadn’t screamed, she realized. And she hadn’t fallen.
How long—?
Not long. Brendan was still standing there, staring at her, but he had a weird, dazed look on his face and his eyes were a bit glazed. Like he’d picked up something from her, the same way she’d picked up that vile, insidious evil from him. His hand tightened on hers and then, abruptly, he yanked it away.
Dez resisted the urge to wipe her own hand on her jeans. It wouldn’t do any good. She’d still feel unclean, still feel so very dirty and fouled and destroyed. Instead, she just stared at him, trying to make sense of the images, particularly the last one. It was important. What had he been thinking…?
He backed away, his face pale. He looked shaken, she thought.
Journal—it was a journal
—
He crashed into one of the aides coming out of the room at his back. As both of them hit the floor, Dez lunged forward. Instinct drove her. The journal. “Are you okay?” she asked, not worrying if she didn’t sound convincing, not worrying if she didn’t
look
convincing. She knelt by his side with one thought in mind—for the first time
ever
, she wanted to connect with a living, breathing person.
She closed her hand around his arm and stared at him. He jerked back, his breathing erratic. “Hey, let go.”
Dez just tightened her grip, staring at him. Her heart raced and her vision constricted, narrowing down until all she could see was him, all she could think was
him
, and that cloying, nasty evil.
The journal,
she thought, reaching out and trying to establish a link.
You’ve got one, right?
She smacked into his shields—the living had stronger, more resistant shields than the departed and since she’d always been more drawn to the dead, they’d never worked on refining her abilities with the living. But she didn’t let that deter her. Even when she saw him flinching, even when she knew she was hurting him, she pressed on.
A hand caught her arm. Taylor—
She shrugged him off.
Not now
…
More images, a rush of them, like a movie reel in fast-forward. She felt his panic, felt his confusion. The boy knew something was wrong, knew something was off. Too bad—
Yes
—an intact memory. Last night. He’d written in it last night. She heard that rapid-fire succession of his thoughts. Beau, Jack Daniel’s, the rage…
Gasping, she pulled away, and at the same time, she stood up, jerking him to his feet. “Okay, pal, you gotta watch where you’re going.” She gave him a brittle, hard smile. “Like I was saying to Tiffany, be aware of what’s around you.”
The journal. He kept track of
everything
in it, she suspected. She hadn’t seen anything beyond last night’s events, but her gut insisted there was more. Uncurling her hand from his arm, she backed away from him, bumping into Taylor’s body.
Brendan stared at her, anger flicking in those cold, dead eyes. Anger…and fear.
“I’ll keep a better eye out…Ms. Lincoln, right?” He smiled at her.
Dez just stared at him. If that little punk thought he could scare her the way he’d scared Tiffany, he needed to think again. She’d be careful around him, no doubt about that—but fear? No chance in hell.
Deliberately she held his gaze, and then she grinned at him and said, “You do that, kid.”
Then she turned her back on him.