Into the Devil's Underground (35 page)

36

E
MILIE SLEPT PEACEFULLY
for the first time in weeks. Nathan snuggled against her back with his head nestled between her shoulder blades. He’d made all of her problems disappear for a few hours. But in the light of day, reality hit her in the gut.

Jeremy is dying—he may be dead already. Sarah’s life had fallen apart. A madman is
after me. Nothing has changed.

Nathan stirred in his sleep and tightened his grip around her waist. Emilie threaded her fingers through his. Her need for Nathan was a constant pull, a desire to be with him in whatever way possible. A word existed to describe what she was feeling. She didn’t dare consider it. Not yet.

Ronson and Avery had chosen her safety over rules, but Emilie couldn’t allow that to last. She refused to taint Nathan’s reputation with their relationship. They would have to separate themselves until Emilie was free.

The end was coming. Either Creepy would make a move, or she would.

The answer had been on Jeremy’s lips before his body succumbed to the sleeping pills. Somewhere, a letter waited with precious clues to the man’s identity.

Crime scene investigators claimed there was no trace of it in the house. No notes, no journal, nothing. They searched every room in the Vances’ home, pulled books and files off shelves, and emptied drawers. Jeremy’s office at the bank and even his car had been scoured. Computer techs were still working on Jeremy’s laptop.

Where was the letter? Had Jeremy been hallucinating? Toying with her?

Emilie knew she should hate Jeremy, but she felt only pity. Even when his rational mind knew better, he’d thrown their lives into chaos because of his addiction. Jeremy must have been miserable.

Soft lips brushed against her ear. “You awake?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“What are you thinking about?” Nathan asked.

“You. Everything.”

“I hope the part with me was good.”

“Very good—both times.”

“Yes it was. What else?”

“I can’t be angry at Jeremy.”

Nathan lazily stroked her stomach. “You’re a better person than I am.”

“He’s a victim too. He never stood a chance.”

“But you do. He’s not going to steal you away.”

She twisted in Nathan’s arms to face him. “I’m not going to give him the chance. We’ve got to find that letter.”

*   *   *   *

T
HE LETTER WAS
still missing two hours later. Emilie had gone through every drawer in the house, even sifting through Sarah’s intimates. She searched the kids’ rooms, the kitchen pantry—anyplace she could think of. Nathan combed Jeremy’s office again, checking for loose floorboards.

Emilie dropped into a kitchen chair. “There’s nowhere else to look.”

“I can go through his car one more time.” Nathan’s strong hands rubbed her shoulders. Emilie’s head dropped to her chest. Her libido was now hardwired to his touch, and each caress sent pleasant tingles throughout her body.

“Maybe there is no letter. He was losing consciousness when he told you. It’s possible he intended to write one but never got around to it.”

“No. It’s here somewhere.”

Nathan kissed the top of her head and sat down next to her. His hand now rested on her exposed thigh, the action as natural as breathing. “Honey, we’ve looked everywhere. Twice. CSI went over this place. Those guys don’t miss things.”

“We can’t give up.”

“You can’t drive yourself crazy, either.”

“The only thing that’s driving me nuts is not doing anything.”

“We could go to the hospital, check in on Jeremy.”

“I called,” Emilie said. “There’s been no change. Still in a coma.”

“What about Sarah?”

“Her mother’s with her.”

Nathan nodded. He understood why she couldn’t go back to the hospital.

“You should eat something.”

She went to the refrigerator. Day-old pasta salad would have to do. “What time do you go to work?”

“Shift starts at six, but I need to be in by five. First night back on the job; I don’t want to be late. I’ve got to stop at home first. But I don’t want you staying here by yourself tonight.”

“Where else am I going to go?” Emilie divided the pasta into two bowls. “My apartment doesn’t sound too appealing.”

“A hotel. Secured room. We can make sure the front desk knows what to look for.”

“Staying in some random hotel room sounds even less appealing than my apartment. Why can’t I stay at your place?”

Her heart beat a little faster as she waited for his answer. Maybe he didn’t want her there. What if Nathan saw that as invading his personal space or taking things too quickly?

“I’d love for you to,” Nathan said. “But you’d still be alone. And security’s not that great.”

“Then I’m staying here.”

“No, you’re not.”

Emilie pushed her still-f bowl of pasta aside. She didn’t have the stomach for food. “I’m just as safe here as at a hotel. There’s a security system, cops outside. Nosy neighbors that’ll report anyone skulking around.”

“Emilie—”

“And I can’t take Otis to a hotel.” She gestured to the fat cat sitting in the kitchen doorway. He’d been eyeing Nathan since he’d kicked him out of his spot last night.

“You’re not giving in on this, are you?”

“Nope.”

Nathan scooted his chair back and crossed his arms over his chest. His jaw was taut, his eyes narrowed. “Then I’ll take the night off.”

“No.” Her voice was firm. “There’s already going to be talk after last night. You’re not going to make it worse by missing work for me.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Trust me to stay here by myself. I promise the alarm will be set. Ronson beefed up patrol. He’s not going to waltz in here and kidnap me. That’s not his style, and you know it.”

Nathan’s lip curled, and she knew she’d won the argument. “You do not go out of this house after I leave. All the doors and windows will be locked. You’ll have direct contact with the officers on patrol—I’ll get their cell numbers. The smallest thing, you call them and have it checked out. Got it?”

“Got it.” Emilie left her seat, trailing her fingers along the edge of the table. She sat down on Nathan’s lap and nuzzled her head in the warm crook of his neck.

He wrapped his arms around her waist. His lips grazed her cheek as he spoke. “I wish I could stay.”

“Me too.”

“I’m going to worry about you all night.”

“You will not. You’ll focus on your job and on not getting injured. I’m not going to be responsible for someone else getting hurt.”

“None of this is your fault—”

Emilie cut him off with a hard kiss. She didn’t want to be consoled anymore. Her mouth dominated his, her hands twisting in his black hair. Nathan’s fingers dug into her sides as he lifted her into his arms and stumbled toward the stairs.

Clothes tossed aside, their bodies tangled together on the unmade bed. Need pulsated from a place deep within Emilie, and she clawed at Nathan’s shoulders, alternately pushing and pulling. He already knew her body better than any man ever had, gentle fingers trailing up and down her legs, finding the sensitive spot behind her knee and on the inside of her thigh.

“Nathan.” Her voice was no more than a whimper.

His eyes flashed to hers, a piercing blue underneath thick, dark lashes, and in that brief moment, only the two of them existed. Something passed between them, an unspoken understanding that rippled through the charged air. Two heartbeats passed, the sound pounding in her head. He moved toward her, joining their bodies as a strangled moan escaped his lips.

Emilie couldn’t think or speak—she could only react to his movements. Nathan’s mouth never left hers, his lips hovering so close their breaths mingled. She could see the freckle underneath his left eye and the tiny scar on his jaw.

And he could see her: the vulnerability she fought to hide, the fear she couldn’t shed, and her passion for him. Exposed and trapped, she felt no urge to run or to hide her emotions. She wanted Nathan to have all of her.

Too soon, they reached a frenetic end. A miserable coldness swept over her when Nathan rolled away. She snuggled close to his side, kissing his neck.

“Christ,” he gasped, his left hand tangled in her hair.

“I know.”

“Don’t make me leave tonight.”

“You have to.”

“If something happens to you—”

“It won’t. I’ll be sound asleep with the door locked and the alarm on, waiting for you to come back in the morning.”

“It’s not just that.” He lifted himself onto his elbow, brushing a stray lock of hair off her face. His expression was no longer blissful. “After everything you’ve been through the last few days, I don’t want you to be stuck here alone.”

“I’ll be fine. I can’t change what Jeremy did. But I can’t hate him, either. All I can do is try to move forward, wherever that takes me.”

Nathan touched his lips to hers. “Nowhere. At least not without me.”

“I promise.”

Emilie slipped her leg between his. “When do you have to leave again?”

*   *   *   *

N
ATHAN SHOULD HAVE
stayed with her. She seemed at ease when he left. She’d watched out the window as he’d spoken to the patrol officers. They assured him they would be increasing neighborhood rounds tonight.

A call to Ronson garnered no more information. Nothing had been found in Jeremy’s office at the bank, and there was little hope of him regaining consciousness.

Emilie was right. Creepy would be brazen and foolish to strike at the Vances’. State-of-the-art security and police presence acted as great deterrents.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of standing on a precipice waiting for the ledge to be ripped out from underneath him.

The sex had his brain all muddled.

He and Emilie both knew it wasn’t just sex. The intensity that passed between them needed no label or words. It just was, and nothing could quash it.

*   *   *   *

T
HE FAUCET IN
the guest bathroom leaked. Drip…drip…drip; the splashes echoed in the quiet night, providing the perfect accompaniment for the hamster wheel in Emilie’s head.

What was the safest place? Was Jeremy hallucinating? No, he was lucid.

Damn you, Jeremy.
Emilie threw the sheets off and sat up.
Why didn’t you just tell me
instead of trying to be all poetic about it?
She tapped her feet on the cool wood floor.
Think.
Where haven’t we looked?

Otis hopped onto the bed, his green eyes glowing in the darkness. Emilie scratched the top of his soft head. “Don’t you have any ideas, Fatty?”

He flopped to his side and stretched out so she could rub his belly. “Big help, thank you.”

She glanced at the clock. 1:00 a.m. At least six hours before Nathan was off his shift. Emilie wasn’t scared. The full moon provided additional security. Instead she felt lonely, restless. When Nathan was with her, all the bad things faded into the background. She didn’t need to hide how she was feeling or be someone she wasn’t.

“Even with all this terror and sadness, I wouldn’t go back. Nathan’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” She stroked the cat’s round tummy. “Maybe there is such a thing as fate.”

Drip…drip…drip.

“That damned thing’s going to drive me crazy.” Emilie stomped into the bathroom and twisted the silver handle as hard as she could. “Jeremy told me the other day he’d get it fixed. He was supposed to call a repairman as soon as he finished dinking around in the vault.”

Drip…drip…drip.

“God, shut up.” She peeked out the large window overlooking the backyard. The desert willow trees glowed silver in the moonlight, casting long shadows across the otherwise bright yard. Creepy could be out there, hiding underneath the trees.

She shook the thought out of her head. “I need to sleep. Maybe I’ll go into the bank tomorrow and sift through Jeremy’s office myself. It’s Monday, anyway. I should be there. Nathan’ll be pissed, but he’ll get over it.”

The faucet continued to drip. “Goddamn you, Jeremy.”

Emilie closed her eyes. Her mind flashed to the last normal conversation she’d had with Jeremy, just hours before he’d confessed. She should have known something was wrong. He’d been sweaty and fidgety inside the vault—shifty. Emilie had chalked it up to his claustrophobia. Jeremy had always hated being inside the vault.

“I’m glad I had that alarm installed,” he had said. “If this door ever shut on me, I’d have a full-out panic attack.”

Emilie had stood at the entrance. She didn’t want to go inside. She’d spent too much time in there with her stalker breathing down her neck.

Her eyes flew open. The vault.

37

“Y
OU’RE SURE?”
Ronson’s sharp voice echoed from Emilie’s cellphone.

“Absolutely.” Emilie laced up her running shoes. “Jeremy had a love hate relationship with the vault, but he always said it was the safest place. The letter’s got to be there.”

“Give me the code.”

Emilie hesitated. “I could lose my job. And I’m meeting you there anyway.”

“You are not,” Ronson said. “The safest place for you is right there, and it will take time to search the vault. If I find anything, I’ll call you right away.”

She didn’t want to stay here and wait. Her nerves sizzled with the need to do something. But she’d promised Nathan. “Fine.” Emilie quickly gave Ronson the code to the vault. “But call me the minute you find it.”

Alone and waiting, Emilie crept through the quiet house, unsure of why she was being quiet. She shifted the curtain just enough to see the street. The patrol car drove by slowly. Five minutes and they’d go by again, like clockwork. How bored those officers had to be.

The back of her neck tingled. Five minutes seemed like a long time. She gazed out into the night. Between the bright moon and streetlamps, the area was well lit, with few places to hide.

She watched the clock on the wall, counting the next five minutes. The patrol car passed again.

You’re being stupid. He’s not going to make a move here.