As Darkness Gathers (Dark Betrayals Book 2) (18 page)

I chuckled as I opened the door to my apartment. “I think her point was that the situation we found ourselves in formed a connection that wouldn’t naturally have been made.”

“Hmm.” He studied my front door. “This hasn’t been replaced since the break-in?”

“No.”

“No sign of forced entry.” He said it under his breath, and I took a closer look at the door. There were no scratches along the lock, no loosened handle, no evidence of attempting to force the door open.

I shuddered. “It was locked when I got here Monday morning. I know it was.”

“You told the police that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. As for Sydney,” he said, his hand at the small of my back, “she’s right, in a way. Being thrown into a situation and forced to rely on one another forged a bond. But who’s to say I wouldn’t have asked out the lovely flight attendant with mischievous eyes and a killer smile once we landed in Ottawa?”
 

I looked up at him in surprise, his words distracting me from my unease as we entered the apartment.
 

“I noticed you immediately, Finch. There’s no way I couldn’t have. And there’s no point in questioning what-ifs and maybes. The point is I’m here now.”

I searched his face and nodded. “That’s all that matters to me.”

He smiled, and it was a softer, less roguish smile than any of the others I’d glimpsed. The echo of that smile settled in my chest and stayed lodged there even as I turned to survey the living room and kitchen.

Sydney had done a whirlwind job of cleaning. She’d placed my books back on the shelves, swept up the glass from my shattered snow globes and dishes, replaced the couch cushions with new ones, and glued the leg of my coffee table back on.
 

I let out a shuddering breath and stepped further inside.

“Okay?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “I am.”

And I was until I wandered down the hall and into my bedroom. I froze, feeling the damage like a physical blow once again. My gaze darted to the dark doorway of the bathroom, and my breath started to escape my lungs in choppy wheezes. Clay’s solid presence at my back was the only thing that kept the panic at bay.
 

“I’m right here.” His hands settled on my shoulders, and then he stepped around me. Having followed the direction of my transfixed gaze, he strode into the bathroom and flipped on the overhead light.
 

The glow spilled across the threshold and, combined with the light coming through the large window, dissipated the shadows in the room.

“Finch.” His voice was quiet, and his jaw was tight. “I don’t know what the police have determined, but I don’t think the break-in was random.”

I licked my lips and had to swallow several times before my mouth was moist enough I could speak without my voice cracking. “I don’t either.”
 

It wasn’t a burglary—nothing had been taken. The police thought I’d surprised the intruder before he could finish the job, and at first, I’d agreed. But looking around my room, I had the disturbing feeling he’d been waiting for me.

Clay glanced at my ripped underwear and bras strewn about like ugly, tattered confetti. “This was personal.”

Clay retrieved a garbage bag from the kitchen and dealt with my shredded undergarments while I placed my clothes back on the hangers.
 

I caught sight of the skewed lid on an old, decorative hatbox at the back of my closet and gasped. I hadn’t thought to check it before, but I knelt and pulled it into my lap and found it rummaged through.
 

The envelope labeled
emergency fund
was usually tucked at the bottom and stuffed with three thousand dollars, but it lay on top of the pile of old letters, newspaper clippings, ticket stubs, and other miscellaneous items. With my hands trembling, I opened the envelope and counted the bills within.
 

It was short by exactly fifteen hundred dollars.
 

“Finch? Hello?”

I jumped at Julia’s voice and glanced up to find Clay watching me, his eyes sharp on my face, which I knew had drained of color.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” I shoved the envelope back in the box and pushed it toward the corner of my closet. Then I rubbed at the ache lodged behind my breastbone.

“Here you are,” Julia said as she stepped into my room. “I was—oh.” She grinned. “Wonder Boy.”

Clay laughed, but I could feel his gaze on me. “How are you, Julia?”

“Peachy. The front door was unlocked, so I let myself in. But . . .” Her gaze bounced back and forth between Clay and me. “I can come back.”

“No, of course not,” I said, staggering as I stood, and Clay’s hand under my elbow steadied me.
 

She dropped a department store bag onto my bed and removed a new duvet from the plastic. “Syd said you needed a new one.”

She’d pick a tan colored one with cream polka dots, and I stroked a hand over it, touched by their thoughtfulness. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back for it.”

“Don’t mention it. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said, trying to inject insistence into my voice. “Nothing’s wrong.”

They were both perceptive enough to realize I was lying, but Julia only said, “I brought cupcakes.” She linked her arm through mine and drew me down the hall. “My chocolate mint julep cupcakes are a cure-all,” she told Clay.

“If they’re anything like the ones you brought to the hospital,” he said, “I believe it.”

Chapter Ten

Back at my parents’ house, nightmares plagued my sleep. The one in which the intruder wore Darcy’s face was the one that drove me from my bed.

I’d tried to sleep with the light off. The moon was full, and I’d left the curtains drawn back from the windows. The alabaster glow illuminated my room. The shadows that remained were discernable ones. Even so, I turned on the bedside lamp as I crawled from beneath the covers and donned my robe.
 

Pushing my hair back from my face, I curled up on the window seat and tucked my legs under me before leaning my forehead against the frost-crusted glass. My breath formed ellipses of fog on the windows, and beyond my reflection, my parents’ yard was still and silent. From the angle of my window, I could see the street. Dusk-to-dawn lamps gave off yellow light that pooled in circles on the road and sidewalk. Darkness lay beyond the halos of light, and I shivered.

The floorboards creaked in the hallway, and I tensed.
 

There was a quiet tap on my door, and I held my breath, watching in the reflection of the glass as it was pushed open.
 

“It’s me.”

My shoulders sagged at the low whisper, and my forehead felt slick where it rested against the window. “Come on in.”

Clay closed the door soundlessly behind him and padded across the room. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The wild urge to hide loosened its grip on my muscles as he sat opposite me in the window seat.
 

He wore a pair of flannel drawstring pants and a gray T-shirt that stretched across his chest when he folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the window. “Nightmare?”

I nodded. “I don’t want to be afraid. Not of every shadow that moves and every dark corner and every unfamiliar noise.” I glanced at him. I thought he’d be staring out into the night, but instead he watched me with unwavering eyes. “I don’t know how not to be when I have no idea who wanted to hurt me, though. Or . . . or why.”

He shifted, drawing one leg up onto the window seat. “Come here.”

I scooted into the space between his thighs and leaned sideways against him, resting my cheek against his chest and curling my legs over his knee.
 

He wrapped his arms around me in a loose embrace and clasped his hands on top of my hip.

“Clay?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you hold me tighter?”

It was the same request I’d made in the woods, and as he tightened his arms—he was careful not to bump my nose—he responded again with, “Comfortable?”

“You’re too hard to be comfortable.”

He chuckled, but my own laugh was weak and watery.

He stroked a hand over my hair, and then sifted under the wavy tangle to knead my neck. “Go on. Let it out. I have you.”

The tears started slowly, thin rivulets that escaped from the corners of my eyes, but soon the thin cotton beneath my cheek was damp. “I don’t understand,” I whispered, broken. “I’ve never hurt anyone. I get along with my coworkers. I bake cookies for my neighbors at Christmas. I pay my overdue fees at the library immediately.” I muffled a sob with my fist. “I’ve never hurt anyone.
Why?
”

He didn’t attempt to calm or stem the torrent of tears, but he never loosened his arms from around me.
 

I finally lay limp and exhausted against him, hiccups making me shudder. “I’ve made another mess all over your shirt.”
 

His chest flexed as he laughed. “Don’t worry about it.” After a long silence, he said, “Will you tell me what you found in the closet today?”

I stiffened. “I . . . I can’t. I trust you, Clay. I do. But this . . . I can’t right now. I’m sorry.”

“Shh. Don’t apologize.” He rested his chin on the top of my head, and I relaxed against him. Some time passed before he murmured, “Do you think you can sleep now?”

I stirred, only then realizing my eyes had drifted closed. “Hmm?”
 

I felt his lips curve in a smile as he pressed them against my forehead.
 

“Up you go.” He eased me off his chest and swung his leg to the floor. His arm was wrapped around my shoulders, and as he stood, he hooked his other arm under my knees.

“Oh.” I rolled my head against his upper arm and peered up at his square jaw. “This is very gallant of you. Will you stay until I fall asleep?”

He lowered me onto the mattress and then planted his hands on either side of my head. “Gallant, am I? I’ll stay until morning if you want.”

He hovered over me for a moment, and I smiled. “Please.”

When he stood upright, I drew the covers over me. Since I wore only a flimsy T-shirt, I waited until I was under the blankets to shrug out of my robe. I dropped it over the side of the bed and rolled back over, surprised to find Clay had pulled the plush armchair from the corner and arranged it beside the bed.

“You don’t have to sleep in the chair.”

He turned off the lamp, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. He slouched in the chair and propped his feet on the end of my bed. “I do if I’m going to remain gallant.” His voice was gruffer than usual. “Now go to sleep.”

I smiled as I settled my head against the pillow. Sleep came swiftly, and this time there were no nightmares.
 

“Your central control panel is here.” A middle-aged man in blue coveralls pointed at the small, square unit he’d mounted on the wall just inside my front door. “The corresponding sensors have been installed on the door, as well as on all of the windows.”

“That didn’t take as long as I thought it would,” I said.