Kitabı oku: «Haunted», sayfa 3

Actually, there was a third possibility, he realized. She could have been captured and killed.

Death wasn’t the end of life. He knew that beyond any doubt. Knew spirits existed eternally. Only problem was, he’d never developed the ability to see the spirits in the unseen realm, and at thirty-four, he doubted he ever would.

He’d been told only specifically gifted people could see into the invisible world around them. He’d also heard that with specific exercises, the gift could be developed over time, but he’d never tried any of them. Now he kinda regretted that. Two of his coworkers possessed the ability and they always uncovered answers pertaining to the worst of cases, even those deemed unsolvable, when no one else could.

Levi could have used some of that uncovering now.

He’d get his answers soon enough, though. He always did. And yeah, he should be on the phone, finding out what he could about Harper and her past, as well as her roommate’s past, but he’d heard the pair stomping and chattering down the hall and he’d decided to follow them instead. He was glad he had.

A few interesting tidbits he’d already picked up. They loved each other, were comfortable together. They talked and laughed, teased each other good-naturedly. Yet ninety percent of the people who passed them eyed them as if they were certifiable, even the males drooling over Lana. And as beautiful as the redhead was, and as fragile as Harper appeared, not a single male approached them.

Of the remaining ten percent, well, five percent eyed them with amusement, but the other five eyed them with fear. That same remaining five-and-five eyed him with sheer terror. He was used to people turning away from him, or outright running from him, as if he were a mass murderer with a blood vendetta or something. But usually those people were criminals, and he’d just caught them committing heinous crimes.

Finally the two women stopped in front of an art gallery, their happy moods draining and leaving only grim expectation. The place was small but open, with big glass windows staring into an elegant space with columns and hanging lights.

Harper flattened her hand on one of the panes. “I was here, I remember that much.”

“Yes, and you sold bazillion paintings that night.”

The accent … Czech, maybe.

“And you …”

“Left early on arm of some loser.” Guilt saturated the redhead’s tone.

“Yes, and I failed to come home.”

Neither female knew he was here, listening. The fact that they were searching for answers ruled out the possibility of an overactive imagination entirely. Yeah, people could convince themselves of the strangest things and actually think they were real, but they usually couldn’t get someone else to agree with them.

The hand on the pane, so delicate and tiny in comparison to his, fluttered to Harper’s neck. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, seeming to ponder the fate of the world before a slow smile curled her lips, lighting her expression with a mix of pride and sadness. “I was so happy by the end of the show, my nervousness gone. My first genuine presentation was a raging success, more so than I could ever have dreamed, even as amazingly talented as I am, and every painting sold.”

Yeah, there was no way this woman could have aided a murderer. He knew criminals, had dealt with them on a daily basis for years, and yeah, some of them were good actors, well able to mask the monster within, but that smile … that sadness … combined with her physical reactions, there was just no way this was an act.

If he was wrong, he’d shoot himself in the face.

He was going to find out the truth. He was going to help her.

“What next? You remember?”

He watched as a tremor rocked the curve of Harper’s spine, spiraling into her limbs. Nearly knocked her off her feet. “I … I …” She wrapped her arms around her middle, skin turning a light shade of green.

“You do not do this now,” the redhead rushed to add. “We come back later.”

“No,” Levi said, stepping from the shadows, “you won’t. You do this now, Harper.” As sick as she currently appeared, she might not work up the nerve to return.

In unison, both women spun to face him. Harper reacted first. With a face bathed in panic and a mouth hanging open to unleash a scream, she jacked up her knee—and nailed him in the balls.

4

Deserved this, Levi thought. He never should have snuck up on Harper. He’d known better. Women were more unstable than C-4.

What? They were.

Silence permeated the tension-filled space between Levi and Harper as he struggled to find his breath and forget the fact that his testicles would probably need to be surgically removed from his throat. Even the crickets were too uncomfortable to laugh about what had just happened.

Harper’s eyes were wide, her hand now over her mouth, and the friend was—doubled over laughing, he realized as the haze of pain gradually faded. Okay, so she wasn’t too uncomfortable. Suddenly he was glad he hadn’t gotten around to asking her out. So not my type.

Harper, on the other hand … His fairy with the broken wing and secrets in her ocean eyes had a nasty flight-or-fight response. It wasn’t such a wonderful thing when he was on the wrong end of her knee, sure, but it’d be white-hot sexy when he wasn’t, he was certain.

Still. Lesson learned. Never again would he underestimate her. But next time—and considering the amount of time they would have to spend together, working this case, there would be a next time—if given a choice, he would much rather chase her. Then, at least, he’d get to tackle like the good ole days when he’d played for OU.

Finally oxygen passed through his nostrils, filled his lungs. He smelled car exhaust and sunshine and … cinnamon. Her. He liked the smell of her.

Her hand fell away from her mouth. “I’m not going to apologize,” she said, chin lifting. With the morning sun stroking her exposed skin, flushing her cheeks to a deep rose, she practically sparkled with vitality. “You scared me, and I reacted. Deal with it.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I do.” He rubbed the back of his neck, grunted out a quick “Sorry” and left it at that. It was more than he’d given anyone in years, and you know, it hadn’t left the bleeding, gaping wound that he’d expected.

The stiffness drained from her, and she worked up a beautiful grin that lit her entire face. It was genuine, with no hint of sadness, and she looked as if she’d swallowed the sun. Her hand fluttered just over her heart as she said, “Wow. Never has a more poetic apology been spoken. I’m all warm and tingly inside.”

His body reacted to her words—warm and tingly—heating, tensing. He really had to get this attraction thing under control. He didn’t mind wanting her, liked it, in fact, but he did mind the growing intensity of that wanting. “So you disappeared from this place?”

“I think.” The grin was the next to drain away, followed by that gorgeous light. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I just remember bits and pieces.”

He heard the frustration and anger in her tone and sympathized. Levi knew he’d attacked the serial killer, but didn’t know what he’d done or what had provoked him. He had flashes of flying fists, could even hear grunts of pain, but that was it. And for a man who prized his memory, having never forgotten a locker combination or even a file number, that irked.

“Ever talked to the owner of the gallery, asked questions? Ever talked to anyone who was there the night you’re speaking of and might know?”

“No, but—”

“I have,” the redhead said.

He arched a brow at her, a silent demand for her to continue.

Harper waved a hand between them. “Levi, meet Lana. Lana, meet Levi.”

“You are so pleased to meet me, I know. Now, no one knew or saw anything,” Lana said, the accent vanishing with an obvious, concentrated effort. Her hand had fluttered to her neck, where her fingers tapped against her pulse, seeming to mimic the cadence of her voice.

“I need the names of the people you talked to, and anyone else you remember being there.”

As she rattled off the names, he read the hours of operation listed on the gallery’s window. It was eight in the morning, and the place wouldn’t open for another hour. He checked the door. Locked. He knocked, just in case someone was in back doing inventory or something. No one answered.

“Shouldn’t you be writing down these names and numbers?” Lana asked.

“No,” he said without looking at her.

“Apparently, he remembers things,” Harper said drily.

He rattled off every name, every number, and both women gaped at him. With two fingers, he helped Harper close her mouth. “Anything else either of you want to share before I start looking into this?”

Harper gave a little gasp, as though surprised by his agreement to help—or by his touch—and shook her head, but Lana shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Suddenly suspicious, he homed his gaze in on her. She licked her lips, narrowed her eyes, shifted from one foot to the other. He remained silent, waiting for her to crack. They always cracked.

Determination filled those green eyes. “Nope, nothing,” she said.

Oh, she knew something, and he would find out what it was. But not here, and not now. He’d dig up some details about her, Harper, the art gallery, the owner, the people who had attended Harper’s gala, and go from there. The more armed he was with information, the better chance he’d have of intimidating Lana and forcing her to talk.

He only hoped Harper was safe with her.

Has been so far, he told himself. “I’ll swing by this evening,” he told Harper, crowding her backward and forcing her to stop against the building. Their gazes were locked, the air charged between them. For a moment, her breath hitched in her throat.

He leaned down, careful not to touch her a second time—would she gasp if he did?—and whispered straight into her ear, “Consider this your first and only warning. Next time your knee goes near my balls, I’ll retaliate. But don’t worry … I think you’ll like it.”

WHEN THE ELEVATOR DINGED and opened up to the OKCPD bull pen, Levi tensed and he wasn’t sure why. He recognized the sights: guys in button-ups and slacks, guys in uniforms, cubbies and desks, computers, criminals cuffed to chairs, papers all over the walls. He recognized the sounds: heavy footfalls, the clack of high heels and the stomp of boots, inane chatter, angry shouting, fingers tapping keyboards, phones ringing. And the smells: coffee, aftershave, soap, unwashed bodies, perfume, sugar.

He just wasn’t sure he belonged here anymore. He felt disconnected, separated, and wasn’t sure it had anything to do with his suspension. So … why?

Your neighbors’ crazy is rubbing off on you, that’s all.

Small comfort. He maneuvered around the cubbies, throngs of people headed in every direction, each too busy to pay him any attention. He reached his partner’s office and rasped his knuckles against the already open door. Vince sat behind his desk, head bent over a file. His gaze flicked up, landed on him, but quickly returned to whatever he was reading. His features were pale, drawn, and lines of tension branched from his eyes. Though he was only thirty-four, he appeared fifty and unable to care for himself, his cheeks hollowed, his sandy hair disheveled and his white shirt coffee-stained.

“Ignoring me still?” Levi asked. Vince had yet to forgive him for attacking the suspect and placing himself in the line of fire.

A reel of memory suddenly played, startling him. He and Vince had stormed into a small basement room. The perp had raised his arms, seemingly accepting of his arrest, and smiled. Smiled, smug and proud of all he’d done to his victims—and silently promising to do it all over again if ever he was released.

Levi had worked too many gruesome crime scenes because of the man, the last one enough to turn even his iron stomach. A young female had been staged, her lifeless, bruised and battered body pinned to a billboard for all of Oklahoma’s downtown commuters to see as they hurried to work.

That smile had razed the jagged edges of his already shaky composure, a desire to protect the rest of Oklahoma’s females rising up inside him. A desire he hadn’t been able to fight. He’d rushed forward, busted the guy around—and gotten busted around himself.

In the present, he experienced a pang in his side. His kidney must have taken a couple shots.

“Come on, Vince,” he said, and was once again ignored.

Detective Charles Bright stalked down the hall, spotted him and did a double take. “Levi?” His gaze roved the area just over Levi’s shoulder before returning. “What are you doing here?”

He watched as Vince finally glanced up. Jaw clenched tight, he gritted, “What do you think I’m doing here, Bright? Working. Maybe you should do the same.”

Talking through him. “Real mature,” Levi said, flipping him off.

Bright waved Vince off, then led Levi to the office at the end of the hall. He closed and locked the door, and motioned for Levi to sit as he claimed the chair behind a desk scattered with papers.

Levi had always liked Bright. Guy had dark skin and eyes and kept his head shaved to a glossy sheen. He was a laugher, truly cared about the victims he fought to protect and would work himself to death to solve a case.

“I can’t believe Vince is so mad he refuses to speak to me.”

A soft, sad smile greeted his words. “Had you put him in danger, he’d be over it and you’d be forgiven. But you put yourself in danger, and that’s harder to forget. He loved—loves—you like a brother.”

“He better still love me.” Vince was all the family he had.

“He does. Give him time. He’ll come around.”

Levi understood the need for time, he did, but his balls were sore and he wasn’t exactly in the best of moods, so he decided to forget Vince for now. “Listen, I’m not actually here to beg my partner’s forgiveness. My neighbor thinks she witnessed a murder and I promised to help her find out the truth. I can’t access any databases, so I need your help.”

Bright frowned, instantly intrigued. “Your neighbor?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if I told you but I moved into an apartment building downtown, close to Brick Town. She just moved in, too.”

“Her name?”

“Harper.”

“And the rest?”

“Just a minute.” Levi shifted to dig in his back pocket. He withdrew the driver’s license he’d slipped from her purse when he’d backed her into the building. After reading the text, a laugh bubbled from him. “Aurora Harper.” How freaking adorable. Aurora fit her in a way Harper did not.

Fingers clicking on the keyboard, Bright was silent for a long while. He would stop and read, then type again, then stop and read again, then type again. With every pause, his frown deepened. The wait for answers nearly drove Levi to pace, punch a wall, something.

“Okay, here’s what I know,” Bright finally said, propping his elbows on his desk. “Your Aurora—”

“Harper. She prefers Harper, and she isn’t mine.” He paid no attention to the fact that having her referred to as “his” affected his body just as strongly as her nearness had. Heat and tingling and want … so much want.

The denial earned him a swift grin. “All right. Well, Ms. Harper is twenty-seven. Five foot two. One hundred and ten pounds. She’s gotten three tickets for speeding, one for parking illegally, and was in a car accident two years ago, but it wasn’t her fault and she walked away with only a few bruises.”

Silence.

“That’s it?” Levi demanded. “That’s what had you frowning?”

Bright drew in a deep breath, slowly released it. He settled back in his chair and folded his arms over his middle. “Milana Buineviciute, her roommate, works for After Moonrise and has the ability to see and communicate with the dead. Ms. Buineviciute reported her missing five weeks ago.”

Milana Bonnie Wee Cutie. Now there was a name. Five weeks ago. Early October. She’d been in the apartment for a week, so that left four weeks unaccounted for. And the After Moonrise thing wasn’t a point in her favor.

A few times, an After Moonrise agent had helped the OKCPD with a case. And for each of those few times, Levi had had to deal with a wealth of irritation. A.M. came in with their fancy equipment and superior attitudes and simply took over, acting as if the detectives couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag. But his favorite? They’d called him a “norm,” as if it were a four-letter word.

Wait. It was. Whatever! It had ticked him off.

“Inquiries were made, and it was discovered that Harper was last seen at Carmel Art Gallery, on October fifth around midnight.” Bright paused, flicked his tongue over an incisor. “That gallery certainly has been popping up on our radar a lot lately. Seems your boy Cory Topper bought a few paintings there. Only came to light a few days ago, since the sales were made under the table. We didn’t think to tell you because you’re, uh, off the case.”

His stomach clenched. Topper. The serial killer who’d kept pieces of his victims in his freezer. The lunatic who’d tortured women in his basement. The psychopath who’d left a dead body on a billboard. The smug little ant whom Levi was now suspended for brutalizing.

To find out there was a connection between Topper, a dirt-bag scum with evil in his veins, and Harper, a delicate, fragile little thing with knees of iron … he didn’t like that. At all. But to learn that she’d been missing, to now know beyond any doubt that something had happened to her, was even worse.

He brought her painting to the forefront of his mind. The male Harper was bringing to life certainly fit Topper’s body type, he realized now. Average height, slim build, deceptively gentle-looking hands.

“Where was Harper found?” he rasped. “When? And where had she been?”

“Oh, hmm.” Bright glanced at the screen. “She wasn’t found. At least, nothing has been entered into the system.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“The case is still open.”

Irritation laced with anger flooded him, and he popped his jaw. Why hadn’t Lana reported her as found? Why hadn’t Harper come forward? Fear that Topper would find her again? But then, that would mean she remembered him, if he was truly the one responsible, and it was clear that she didn’t.

Levi replayed his new memory of the night he’d come face-to-face with Topper. Topper had been standing beside …

what? All he could picture were rivers of blood. Lots and lots of blood, flowing this way and that way and all around. Had there been any secret rooms? Someplace Harper could have been stashed, bound and helpless, forced to watch? Someplace she could have accidently stumbled upon and hidden?

A cage flashed through his mind.

A cage?

“Was there a cage in Topper’s home?” he asked. “Actually, don’t tell me. Just give me the crime scene photos.” He’d never seen them.

“You know I can’t do that,” Bright said sternly.

“All I want is a glance at them.” He could compare them with Harper’s painting.

A sigh met his words. “I’ve always been a sucker. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks. So how’s our man Topper doing?”

Bright rolled his shoulders, easing tension. “He recovered from the injuries you gave him and is now locked up without bail, awaiting trial. We managed to find evidence of his crimes after his arrest.”

Meaning, everything they’d found the day they’d arrested him had been thrown out because of Levi and they’d needed something new. And thanks be to God, they’d gotten it. Levi had read what had been fed to the media and knew there was more, but he wasn’t going to ask. Yet.

Don’t make everything a battle, son, his dad told him once. He didn’t remember this on his own. He’d seen a home video of the two of them together. You do, and you’ll never win ‘em all.

“You got anything else on Harper?” he asked.

“A bit.” Bright gave the computer screen another read. “The night of her disappearance, the art showing had wound down and only the owner remained in the building when she left, but he claims he was counting receipts in the back room and heard nothing unusual.”

“Any connection between Topper and the owner?”

“Not that we’ve found.”

“Are there any suspects in Harper’s case? An ex-boyfriend with an ax to grind? A neighbor with a record? A stepdad with a grudge?”

“Oh … no, but I’ll be sure and … close things now, and I suppose there’s no real reason to press charges for withholding information.”

Why the hesitation?

Bright cleared his throat and said, “Why don’t you bring your Harper in? To me, only to me,” he added in a rush, “and I’ll question her about what happened.”

“What do you know?” Levi demanded.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re acting weird, hesitating to say certain things.”

The detective pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m telling you everything I can, Levi. Given that you’re on a leave of absence, in fact, I’m telling you more than I should, and could even lose my own job over this.” Bright’s scolding tone lacked anger but was filled with understanding. “Now, what about bringing her in? I’ll make sure she’s protected while she’s here.”

No one was better at interrogation than Bright, and he’d be as gentle as possible, but … “Questioning her right now won’t do any good. She doesn’t remember. Whatever happened—” and it had to be bad for her to have repressed it as deeply as she had “—she’s painting the image of a murdered woman.”

Another frown tugged at the corners of Bright’s mouth. “A woman? Describe the woman you’re talking about. Could she—” a pause, a shifting in his seat “—be Harper?”

“No. You know I can’t see the dead.” His stomach clenched as he once again brought the painting front and center and saw the pale skin of the woman, the delicacy of her bone structure. “There are similarities, granted, but no. And I can’t tell you much more because Harper hasn’t yet painted the face.”

Bright worried two fingers over his stubbled chin. “Bottom line, there’s a chance she saw the guy torture someone else.”

“Yeah.”

There was a whoosh of air as Bright straightened in his seat. “I want to see the painting. If we are, in fact, dealing with Topper, I want every piece of evidence I can gather. Yeah, he’s going away for life, will probably be put to death, but maybe this is the way we’ll find the bodies of his other victims.”

If there was anything left of them. Levi had no idea why Topper had deviated from his usual M.O. and bound that woman—with all her parts—to that billboard. He had no idea why he’d kept mementos of some but not others. But really, did Levi want to know the twisted reasons of a psycho? “I’ll take a picture and email it to you.”

“Good, for starters.”

“And I’ll want a copy of the missing-person’s report.”

“Fair is fair, but I’m only giving you a glimpse of it.” A few clicks and the papers began printing. “You can’t take it with you. And don’t dare ask if I’ll do the same with the crime scene photos. That’s a bigger deal, and you know it.”

Disappointment struck him, but he said, “All right. Understood.”

Bright held out the paper, and Levi scanned the contents. He didn’t try to sort things out; he simply memorized every detail for later. When he finished, he stood. “Thanks for everything. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime. And keep me updated on what you learn about Harper, okay? I’ll work a few angles from this end.”

Meaning, legitimate ends. He nodded and trudged to his partner’s office, only to find that Vince had left. Whatever. They’d talk eventually. Next time, he wouldn’t let Vince ignore him.

Now to dig through the report, and question Lana. That guilt he’d glimpsed at the gallery … she knew something more. Had she helped the abductor? But why report Harper missing? To hide her own actions? And yet, he doubted that was her motive. Genuine affection existed between the pair. Although, a lot of people could be bought, whether they loved someone or not.

Great. He was talking himself into believing in Lana’s culpability, then talking himself out of it. Well, he wasn’t going to wait until Lana cracked. Tonight, he was going to crack her open … himself … and … darkness … so much darkness … closing in ….

No, he nearly roared. Ice crystallized in his veins, while sweat beaded over his skin. Breath boiled in his lungs.

Right there in the bull pen of the OKCPD, a shroud of black fell over his mind, slowly at first, stealing his thoughts one by one. He tensed, hating this feeling, knowing what happened … next—how he would lose … hours … perhaps days—but what he didn’t know was why this kept happening or what—

Black …

Nothingness …

Empty …