Dark Whispers (8 page)

“Suzanna!”

The older woman glanced at the SUV. “He doesn’t want me to get tangled up in this mess.”

“Tangled up in what mess?” They couldn’t possibly know about her air bag fiasco or the murder of the mechanic who may have tampered with it. “What in the world are you talking about?”

Suzanna glanced toward her husband once more, but then leaned forward and whispered for Natalie’s ears only, “I found the bloody clothes and the gun hidden in your room, Miss Natalie. I don’t know what it means, but I can’t protect you anymore.”

“Suzanna, wait!”

Natalie’s words fell on deaf ears. The couple who had taken care of her family’s home for three decades loaded up and drove away while she stood helplessly watching.

“What was that all about?”

Natalie looked up at Clint, possibly the last person on the planet who believed in her. “I have no idea.”

The mechanic, Beckett, had been shot... Suzanna had found bloody clothes and a gun in Natalie’s room.

Could she...no, no, she could never have gone to his home and killed him...but she had shot someone.

Was Mike Beckett the intruder she shot in her kitchen? Why would she have changed clothes and hidden them and the gun before the police came? How could she have moved the body? She hadn’t even known his name, much less where he lived. Dear God, had she killed a man?

Chapter Eight

8:59 p.m.

Natalie closed her bedroom door and sagged against it. From the moment Suzanna whispered those horrifying words to her, Natalie had been trying to think of a way to go to bed early without Clint asking questions.

He had almost managed to distract her from her thoughts by making dinner. Like any good hostess, she had tried to help but her fingers had fumbled at every turn. Finally, he’d told her to sit and keep him company. She’d tried to pay attention to the conversation but her mind had whirled with memories and those dark whispers...and fear. Had the man she shot been Mike Beckett? The threat of tears forced her eyes to squeeze shut. The sound of the gun discharging made her jump.

She straightened away from the door and took a deep breath. Suzanna said the gun and the clothes were hidden in Natalie’s room. Shoring up her courage with another deep breath, she began the slow, methodical search of her room, the bathroom and then the closet.

Nothing looked as if it had been moved. What had Suzanna been doing prowling around in here anyway? And wouldn’t bloody clothes smell?

Natalie pushed her hanging clothes aside and checked behind them. She searched every shelf and drawer. Then she turned to the white wicker laundry hamper. She removed the lid and at first thought it was empty, but when she leaned down for a closer inspection she realized there was a white garbage bag at the bottom. Hand shaking, she closed her fingers in the plastic and pulled it from the hamper.

Heavy
...too heavy to be only clothes.

Her heart started to pound and she sank to the floor.

She opened the bag and the smell of blood made her gag. Covering her mouth and nose with her hand she peered at the contents. A pastel blue suit Natalie didn’t readily recognize as her own was wadded up inside. Blood splatter dotted the fabric. Crushed against the suit was a handgun...a .38 exactly like the one her father had kept in his bedside drawer. Just like the one Natalie had used on the intruder.

Natalie scrambled up, stuffed the bag back into the hamper, and ran to the bathroom just in time to lose the wonderful dinner she had forced herself to eat. She washed her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Why would she change clothes and hide them and the gun?

Did the bloody clothes have something to do with what Suzanna meant when she said she couldn’t protect Natalie any longer?

Protect her from what? Or whom?

Herself?

She should call Clint up here right now and show him what she’d found. He would call his friend Lieutenant Harper...

Natalie bit her trembling lips together. Why couldn’t she remember? Had she blacked out between the shooting and the time she actually called for help?

Right now she needed to think and to calm herself. First she had to get the stench of blood from her lungs. She turned on the shower and stripped off her clothes. She climbed in and let the hot water beat down on her. She scrubbed her hair and her body, wincing as her hands moved over the bruises made by the air bag. When she’d finished, she scrubbed her skin so roughly with the towel that it stung. She didn’t care. By the time she dragged on a nightshirt, she was too exhausted to think. Her mind had had enough.

Hair still wet, she climbed beneath the covers and let the exhaustion consume her, dragging her into the darkness where the whispers she didn’t understand waited.

* * *

S
HE
WAS
RUNNING
... Where was she? In the hall outside her room. Why was she running? The dark whispers followed her... April’s voice, her laughter... The man whispering. Who was the man? David? Suddenly screams filled her ears. Who was screaming? Natalie was falling, falling, falling, and then her world went black.

Natalie bolted upright. Her frantic panting was the only sound in the darkness. More dreams. God. She pushed her still damp hair back from her face. Would this nightmare never end? The memory of the bloodstained clothes and the gun in her hamper slammed into her like a battering ram.

Soft laughter filled her mind...the whispers. April?

Knowing full well she was hearing things but unable to resist, Natalie threw back the covers and stormed out of the room, her anger and frustration building with every step. She marched straight to her sister’s room and opened the door. The voices stopped the instant her gaze took in the empty room.

Natalie closed her eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. What was happening to her? She was supposed to be getting better and stronger everyday.

A scream ripped through her ragged thoughts.

She ran to the staircase and stared down at the cold, unforgiving marble floor below...the place where she’d landed.

The screams...
her
screams...played over and over in her head making her dizzy.

Natalie hung on to the banister and lowered onto the top step. She pressed her hands to her ears and tried to quiet the screams. She couldn’t bear it...didn’t want to see.

“Natalie.”

Someone was calling her name.

Hands clasped hers and pulled them away from her ears. Natalie opened her eyes. Clint stood over her, searching her face, his clouded with worry.

“You’re okay. I’m here.” He sat down beside her.

Tears spilled past her lashes despite her best efforts to hold them back. “I can’t make it stop.” He drew her into his arms. The feel of his warm skin and his strong arms ripped away the last of her defenses. “Please help me.”

For a long moment he just held her. She cried against his shoulder, relished his warmth and strength. He drew her more firmly against him and stood. She wanted to protest as he carried her to her room. She could take care of herself. She’d always taken care of herself but somehow she had lost the ability. She needed help...she needed
him
.

He drew the covers back and lowered her to the bed and climbed in next to her. He pulled her against him and held her tight. He stroked her hair and whispered promises to her.

“I’ll keep you safe. No one’s going to hurt you now. I’m right here with you.”

But how long would he stay when he learned her secret?

Friday, September 23, 6:30 a.m.

N
ATALIE
’
S
EYES
DRIFTED
open and she turned her head to check the time. She had to get up. Get ready for work. Did she have court today?

Wait...memories came rushing back.

No court. She didn’t even have a case. Not since the fall. Everything was different now.

Clint
.

Heart starting to pound, she turned to check the other side of the bed. Empty. She smoothed her hand over the pillow, then pulled the sheet closer. The sheet still smelled like him. Warmth stirred deep inside her, but the sweet feeling was short-lived. She’d made a fool of herself last night with her nightmares and hallucinations.

When would they stop? She’d felt her life was finally hers again until two months ago—when she started back to work. Was the pressure of merely showing up at the firm too much?

She didn’t want to consider what kind of breakdown she would have if she dared to set foot in a courtroom.

“Stop.” Natalie shook her head. She’d done the self-deprecating thing enough during her initial recovery. Going down that path now would be a big step backward. She had to stay focused on moving forward.

The memory of the bloody clothes and the gun jolted her.

She couldn’t deal with that right now. At some point she would have to tell Clint, just not now. She couldn’t do it yet. She couldn’t bear the idea of him turning against her, too.

Moving quickly she selected a suit and the necessary underthings and hurried from the closet. Even with the bag closed up in the hamper the smell of blood seemed to assault her.

“It’s only your imagination, Nat. Not real.”

But the bloody clothes and the gun were all too real.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. “You are a mess.” Her hair was the most pressing matter at the moment. Going to bed with it wet was always a bad idea. Her chin still sported a red spot from the air bag. The bruising across her chest was a deeper blue. At least she was alive.

A snippet of memory—her frantically clutching at the railing and then falling. She swallowed back the fear and uncertainty that crowded into her throat. “Don’t go there.”

Half an hour later she looked reasonably calm and composed. Now for the hard part—facing Clint. She imagined he’d already decided she was in serious need of meds and more counseling. She’d fought so hard to get past that place. One step at a time she’d mastered the requirements for getting through a typical day. From dressing herself to making coffee and even driving again.

Was her brain determined to go in reverse now?

The smell of coffee had her forgetting her worries for a moment as she descended the stairs. In the kitchen she found Clint pouring freshly brewed coffee into two cups. His suit jacket hung over the back of a chair. The gray shirt and dark trousers fit his body as if they’d been tailored just for him. Judging by the man’s closet she suspected that might very well be the case.

She summoned her courage and joined him at the counter to add cream to her coffee. “Good morning.”

He glanced at her as he picked up his steaming mug. “Morning. You look well for a woman who battled an air bag just yesterday.”

Not to mention her demons. She was grateful he didn’t mention that part. Sadly, one of them had to clear the air. “I’m sorry about last night.” She stared at her cup, watching the cream swirl into the dark Colombian roast.

“Did you remember something new?”

She shook her head and dared to meet his eyes. “I was dreaming, I suppose, about that night. The voices woke me and then I was at the stairs...falling.”

“You screamed.”

She looked away, embarrassed. “Sorry. They tell me I came out of the coma screaming. For months I would wake up screaming. I haven’t done that in a really long time. Until...”

“Until you returned to work.”

She nodded. “I guess Vince was right.”

“Right about what?” he asked, his tone suddenly sharp.

Natalie searched Clint’s face but he schooled his emotions before she could define what she saw. “When I first returned to the office he mentioned being worried that I was trying too much too soon.”

“Don’t trust him, Natalie. Take my word for it.”

She wanted to ask if there was a personal history between the two of them but a call on his cell interrupted. Natalie took her coffee and wandered to the French doors that overlooked the gardens. She hoped it wasn’t his friend Lieutenant Harper calling to tell Clint that he needed to arrest his new client for murder.

Natalie closed her eyes and sipped her coffee. Maybe she had imagined the bloody clothes. Except Suzanna had seen them, too. She should talk to Suzanna. How was she going to take care of this big old house without them? Granted she could understand they might truly want to retire, but she didn’t want whatever was going on with her to be the reason.

This—whatever it was—had to stop.

When the call ended, she held her breath waiting for the news. From the corner of her eye she watched Clint sip his coffee. He wasn’t looking forward to telling her the news. That much was clear.

Why didn’t he just say it? They suspected her of shooting Beckett?

She opened her mouth to blurt the question but he spoke first. “The parking garage cameras didn’t give us anything. We do know the gun used on Beckett was a .38.”

“Like your father’s,” he didn’t say. But she knew. Soon they would all know.

There was something terribly wrong with Natalie. The fall down those stairs had done far more damage than they had realized.

“I should get to the office.”

She set her cup on the counter and walked out of the kitchen. She would be okay at the office. Work was the one thing that had never let her down—at least not that she could remember.

Richard Arrington Boulevard and 6th Avenue

N
ATALIE
SAT
FROZEN
in the chair. Russ Brenner, Art Rosen and Peter Taylor sat on the other side of the conference table. Mr. Brenner’s secretary had called Natalie into the conference room as soon as she arrived in the building. Clint had taken her briefcase and gone to wait in her office.

Brenner had kicked off the impromptu meeting with a lengthy monologue regarding Natalie’s superior standing at the firm. Rosen had picked up from there, waxing on about how important the relationship with clients was to the continued success of the firm. Now, Taylor had taken his turn and launched into how the firm was like one big family. Somewhere along the way understanding had dawned on Natalie.

She was about to be fired.

“We care deeply for each member of our staff, especially our associates,” Taylor went on. “However, we cannot afford the slightest risk to our clients. Our security protocols can never be anything less than impeccable.”

“I do apologize,” Natalie spoke up before he could continue, “but, with all due respect, I’m afraid I’m quite lost as to the point of this meeting.”

The three exchanged a look. She wanted to pound her fist on the table and tell them to get to the damned point.

“Natalie,” Rosen offered, “there has been a very serious breach in security. This morning we were informed that this breach originated from the computer in your office.”

Horror tightened its grip around her throat. “Are you suggesting I had something to do with a security breach?” The idea was preposterous, but that was exactly what they were saying.

“We aren’t accusing you of anything,” Brenner put in quickly. “We are only saying that perhaps you aren’t up to the stressors of the workplace. Perhaps you need more time off.”

She was flabbergasted. “I don’t know what to say. I thought my work since I returned had proven useful. I had hoped to be taking cases soon.” She should have known better. Rather than her mental faculties improving, she was falling apart.