Shadow of Perception (11 page)

“What happened to California?” Hudson asked.

“Slight detour. Guy I’m investigating is heading for Vegas. I needed to lie low and go in a different direction.”

Hudson realized he’d been wrong to jump to conclusions about Ian. At least this time. “Thought I’d head here,” Owen continued. “Gather a few things—”

“Like the plane?”

Owen smiled at Rachel. “Yes, Sunshine, I wanted to use CORE’s plane because I didn’t think O’Hare’s airport security would appreciate the small arsenal of weapons I’d planned on stowing in my carryon.”

“How thoughtful,” she said and looked to Hudson. “Now that we know why the golden boy is here, what about you? Because if you dropped by to see if I have any leads for you…wait a sec, where’s Eden?”
 

“Eden, who?” Owen asked.

“Risk,” Rachel responded. “You know, the TV chick who does the investigative reports for Channel 5 News.”

Owen released a low whistle and looked to him. “Now I know why you’re pissed.”

“What’s G.B. talking about?” Rachel asked him.
 

“G.B.?” Hudson echoed.

“Golden Boy,” Owen answered for her. “It’s better than her last nickname, D.B.”

“D.B.?” Hudson repeated, not able to keep up with their nonsense.

“Douche Bag,” Rachel said as she sat on the edge of the desk. “My personal favorite, but apparently Owen’s ego couldn’t handle it so…anyway, where’s Eden?”

Hudson shook his head and now wished he’d gone to his apartment instead of CORE. He’d hoped to maybe bounce some ideas off Rachel, take another look at what she’d found earlier, anything to keep his mind off Eden and her
date
. Not deal with Owen and Rachel’s grade school crap.
 

“She’s at home.”

“Who’s watching her? I thought Ian said you were to provide her with twenty-four/seven protection.”

“She…ah.” Hudson fumbled with his words. Now he really wished he’d gone home. To admit that Eden had kicked him out so she could screw another guy, plain sucked. Especially in front of Owen, who knew the entire story behind the original Eden Risk fiasco.
 

“She kicked your ass to the curb again,” Owen said with a shake of his head. “Sucks, man.”

“What do you mean by again?” Rachel asked.
 

“Me first,” Owen said. “Why are you supposed to be watching Eden in the first place?”

Hudson filled him in on the details. Rachel helped by showing Owen bits and pieces from the DVD. When they’d concluded, Owen no longer wore his trademark grin that usually had the ladies slipping off their panties, well, except for Rachel. Somehow she was the only woman Hudson knew who was immune to Owen’s charms. Instead, Owen’s California tan had momentarily paled and he held his lips in a grim line.
 

“I guess I shouldn’t bitch about having to go to Vegas tonight, huh?” Owen finally responded as he turned away from the TV screens on the wall. “I hate to see what that doc does to the next vic. ‘Cause you know there’s going to be another.”

Hudson nodded. “That’s what my gut’s telling me. But without any more leads, we wait.”

Rachel cleared her throat and gained both he and Owen’s attention. “Now that the G.B. has been informed, don’t leave me hanging. What did Owen mean by Eden kicking your ass to the curb…again? And don’t you dare try to get out of telling me, because if you don’t, I’ll do some serious snooping, which means I won’t be able to worry about your case. You know how I get when I’m on a mission of discovery.”

“You mean when you’re clearly being nosey,” Owen said with sarcasm.
 

“Hey, being nosey is what makes me excellent at my job.” She looked to him. “Well, Hud, gonna spill it?”

Hudson glanced to Owen, then back to Rachel and shrugged. “I used Eden as bait to catch a serial rapist.”

*

“Bastard,” Eden muttered and tossed the throw pillow across the room. Hudson’s scent still lingered on her couch, though. She should light some candles to remove the enticing odor. But Fabio hated fire.

She leaned into the sofa and reached for the remote, then decided she wasn’t in the mood to watch TV. Resting her head on the arm of the sofa, she closed her eyes and instead of denying herself the pleasure, she gave in and relished the comfort Hudson’s scent brought her. After not seeing him for over two years, then spending last night and most of today with him, she couldn’t help herself. Her body hummed with the memories of his touch.
 

But comfort wasn’t the right word. His lingering presence reminded her body of more than comfort, it reminded her of skin on skin, hot kisses, slow kisses, wet kisses. With sex suddenly on the brain, she almost regretted making him leave earlier. Actually, when he’d run his hands through her hair, brought their lips close together, and told her how he’d remembered how she’d felt, how she’d reacted to him, how she’d cried out his name as she came…

She pressed her legs together and curled them to her chest. Making him leave had been a good decision. If she hadn’t, she’d probably end up with his scent on her body rather than the couch or throw pillow. Like him, she remembered everything, too. His touch, the way his hard muscles bunched beneath her hands as she gripped his chest and rode him. Yes, and the way she’d scream his name as she came.

A wave of lust caused her face to heat, and the dull ache between her legs became a full throb. She still wanted him. Bad. Just for sex, of course.
 

“Of course,” she echoed out loud. Sex had never been an issue. In fact, the sex had been beyond excellent. Unfortunately, the sex had morphed her emotions beyond her comprehension. Before Hudson, she’d never been in love. Not that she’d been in love with him. She’d liked him a lot. A very strong like. But would she want to marry a man like him? Raise babies?
 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she said, and launched off the couch. Fabio and Brutal both raised their heads, and stared at her as she paced.
 

“I never wanted to marry him,” she announced to her cat and dog. “And babies…I’ll leave that up to my sister. I mean, I’m lucky I can take care of you two. Right?”

Not really expecting an answer from her animals, she stomped to the kitchen, then opened the fridge. Hudson was right. She didn’t have anything good to eat. As she was about to slam the door shut, she reached back inside and pulled out a beer.

“Screw the calories,” she mumbled as she opened the beer and took a long swallow. The carbonation tickled her throat. She released a sigh, then took another sip, then another, and another until she drained the bottle.
 

“Damn, that was good.” She reached into the fridge and pulled out another beer. This time she decided not to chug it like a kid at a fraternity party, but savor the empty calories. As she sat on the couch though, slightly buzzed, surrounded by her animals and the scent of her former lover, she couldn’t help think that maybe she’d handled the Hudson situation all wrong.
   

Two beers later she decided she’d definitely handled things with Hudson just fine.
 

“The rat bastard,” she hiccupped, and looked to Brutal and Fabio. “Do you know what he did to me? Well, it wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was downright ugly.”

She took another swig and leaned closer to the animals. “He used me to get to my source.” She nodded. “That’s right. He
used
me. And get this, the guy, ya know, the source, he was a friggin’ rapist. My darling lover allowed me to cavort with a rapist so that he could nail the bastard. And he didn’t even bother to tell me. I mean, I was gang raped when I was a kid and he didn’t think I should know who I was dealing with?”

You never told him.
 

“Oh my God.” The bottle hit the floor with a thud, and she quickly bent to retrieve it. Thankfully she’d swallowed the last drop of beer, because she didn’t have it in her to clean up the mess. Four beers on an empty stomach had been a stupid idea. Being angry with Hudson was foolish as well. How could she be mad at him for using her as bait—for a serial rapist—when she hadn’t bothered to open up to him about her past?
 

But he could have at least told her that she’d become part of his plan to catch Mason Winters. They’d been partners in bed, hadn’t they? Why couldn’t they have been partners for life?
 

No. That’s the beer talking.

Was it? She’d fallen hard for Hudson, and honestly believed he’d cared about her, too. Other than the whole Winters debacle, he’d treated her with respect, compassion and love? Maybe?

Officially drunk, her head hurting from too many beers and too many thoughts about the past, she decided to go to bed. But as she lay on the mattress, fully clothed and her head spinning in time with the ceiling fan, she wondered if maybe she should…try. Hudson had made it crystal clear that he still wanted her. In what capacity her muddled, mushy, beer-filled head couldn’t decipher. All day he’d kept trying to bring up the past, so maybe—

She bolted upright, and gripped the comforter. Did she set the alarm? Did she even know how to set the alarm? She glanced at the clock. Only half past eight, she could call Hudson and ask him.
 

But she was drunk.
 

Shit. She couldn’t call him. He’d find out she’d lied about her
date
.
 

Plus, she was horny.
 

“Damn it,” she muttered, and reached for the cell phone she’d left on the nightstand.
 

*

 
Dressed in his scrubs, Michael Morrison stepped back to admire his handiwork. No sense of satisfaction ensued, though. The sight before him caused his hands to shake and his mouth to turn dry.
 

What the hell was he doing?

Knowing his patient would remain immobile, due to the drug he’d used to knock him out, he rushed from his OR and didn’t stop until he’d reached the solitude of his office. He grabbed the open bottle of Wild Turkey and took several long swallows. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he blinked his watery eyes.
 

“This is wrong,” he whispered. “All wrong.”

Did Dr. Westly deserve the punishment for his crime against Eliza? The man had been his daughter’s dentist. He’d pulled a bunch of teeth out of her head, given her veneers…all of which Michael had thought unnecessary. Eliza’s smile had been beautiful before the dentist had even touched her. She’d worn braces for two years while in high school, and the orthodontist had said her teeth were perfect. Not Dr. Westly, though. He’d convinced Eliza and her bitch of a mother that investing twenty grand for veneers was necessary if Eliza was to have a
perfect
smile.
 

Michael clenched his jaw as he remembered how Eliza had told him what the dentist had said about the veneers. The bastard had told his beautiful daughter that her smile, her teeth, were “just okay.” Just okay hadn’t settled well with his daughter, who had obvious self-confidence issues. Thanks to her mother, Eliza had become convinced she needed to take any measure, no matter how extreme, to make herself perfect. Or rather her mother’s perception of perfect.

He brought the Wild Turkey to his lips again, and drank. As the whiskey traveled down his throat he looked to the still shot on the old TV. Michael had decided watching the DVD he’d created of Eliza would become part of each operation. The string of old home movies fueled his anger and grief. Especially this final still shot of Eliza lying on her bed, the razor wounds to her fragile wrists open and weeping with blood.

He then looked to the final letter she’d written to him before she’d taken her life.
 

Make them pay, Daddy.

After taking a final swig, he slammed the bottle of whiskey onto the desk. He would make them pay. Elliot paid for the botched up breast implants he’d given his daughter. He’d paid severely. Now, Dr. Brian Westly would pay. Yes, he might have simply been Eliza’s dentist, but Westly had been involved with the group of plastic surgeons who had manipulated and mutilated his daughter. After Eliza had died, and he’d investigated the surgeons, Michael had learned that Westly enjoyed fat kickbacks for every patient he’d sent to the group.
 

The thought of Westly making money off the insecurities of his daughter and other naïve, young women, lavishing himself with expensive cars, vacation homes and exotic trips, made him physically sick. Bile rose in his throat, but he bit his lip and swallowed. The acidic burn from the Wild Turkey would serve as a reminder. Westly, and the others, would pay for their crimes.
 

With renewed determination and rage, he left the office and moved quickly into the OR. Westly still hadn’t awakened, and remained restrained in the barber’s chair Michael had bought at a garage sale. A slow smile tugged at his mouth as Michael anticipated Westly’s reaction when he suddenly woke and realized he was in hell.
 

Michael grabbed a syringe from the nearby workbench and double-checked the amount of paralytic he would soon administer. He then made sure the video camera had been set properly. After a few quick adjustments, Michael approached his patient, then gave his bony face a hard slap.