After Moonrise: Possessed\Haunted (14 page)

“Uh, just thought you should know that your gun is showing,”
she called.

Just before he disappeared around a corner, she thought she
heard him say, “Honey, you’re lucky you’re only seeing the butt of it.”

She wasn’t
that
bad. Was she?

Harper waited. The click of a closing door never sounded. Well,
she wouldn’t let that stop her; she stood with every intention of walking around
his place and checking out his things.

Maybe she
was
that bad.

“I told you not to move,” Levi called with more than a hint of
annoyance.

He’d heard the quiet swish of her clothes? “Tell me you don’t
talk to your girlfriend with that tone.” The moment her words registered in her
head, she groaned. Basically, she’d just asked him to marry her and have a
million babies.

“No girlfriend.” A tension-ripened pause. “You?”

“Nope, no girlfriend, either.” The jest served a dual purpose.
One, lightening the mood, and two, discovering whether or not he cared to know
her lack-of-boyfriend status. If he pushed for more info, he might just be as
fascinated by her as she was by him.

And she was, wasn’t she? Fascinated by this rough-and-gruff
detective with the jewel-toned eyes.
Thought you weren’t
interested in dating anyone
. She wasn’t. Right? She hadn’t taken one
look at a grumpy cop and changed her mind,
right?

“Boyfriend?” Levi barked out, and she nearly grinned.

You’re in trouble, girl.
“Nope, no
boyfriend.”

She scanned his walls. There were no photographs, no artwork,
nothing hanging anywhere to inform her of his tastes so that she could peel back
the curtain surrounding his life and reveal the man he was with others, when he
was relaxed. Did he ever relax, though? Probably not. Judging by his
perma-frown, it would take a miracle.

“Your decorating…did you decide to go with Minimal Chic?”

Stomping footsteps echoed, and then he was there, in front of
her again, tall and dark and ruggedly delicious, an erotic dream come to life in
a black T and black slacks.

She’d bet his gun was still at his back. He was a warrior, a
protector. A danger. Sweet heaven, but she had to paint him, she decided. He
wasn’t handsome in the classic sense, but, oh, he was so much
more
. He was interesting.

She’d always favored interesting.

“We’re not discussing my decorating,” he said.

“You mean your
lack
of
decorating.”

“Whatever. Lead the way.”

“So you can stare at my butt?” Sometimes her tongue got the
better of her, and now was definitely one of those times. There was no way he
could respond to that without—

“Exactly.”

—making her sigh dreamily.

She was in
big
trouble. “I’m not
interested in dating anyone, just so we’re clear.”

He glared down at her. “Good, because I was thinking about
asking out your friend.”

Oh, ouch. Yet wasn’t that always the case? Men slobbered all
over Lana like babies who’d just found fuzzy candy on the floor.

“Good!” she said with a huff. “Rude isn’t my type.” She turned,
giving him her back, and marched out.

“But then I met you and changed my mind,” she thought she heard
him grumble from behind her.

CHAPTER THREE

Harper was utterly baffled when Levi gave her painting
a once-over, asked a single question, then turned and left her apartment. He did
this
after
she’d overcome her urge to vomit and
placed the wretched canvas—though perfectly painted—in the heart of her living
room, just for his benefit. Sure he’d paused to eye Lana, as any man with a
pulse would have done—and even some without, surely—but he hadn’t so much as
called out a token “Don’t leave town.” Or even a very necessary “I’m on the
case, no worries.”

The door slammed ominously behind him, echoing throughout the
somewhat dilapidated two-bedroom apartment with plush furnishings Lana had
restored with loving care, a hobby of hers.
Their
decorating style was Match Smatch. Every piece was an odd color and shape, and
nothing harmonized.

Levi’s question played through her mind. “You said there was
blood. Where is it?”

The answer was simple. Seeing the blood on the canvas freaked
her out, so every morning, after her subconscious mind forced her to add it
back, she erased it, leaving the walls pristine and clean.

“That has to be a record for you,” Lana said, her Lithuanian
accent nonexistent because her darker emotions weren’t yet engaged.

Harper purposely kept her back to the gruesome scene of torture
and death she had created and kept her gaze on her friend. “I have no idea what
you mean.”

Had the painting disgusted Detective Snarls? Was he even then
searching for his handcuffs, intending to take Harper into lockup? No. No way.
He would have dragged her with him, not allowing her out of his sight. He wasn’t
the type to cross his fingers and hope she stayed put. Even when he’d left her
alone in his living room, he’d kept his bedroom door open so that he could hear
her movements.

“I’ve seen you scare off a man within an hour of meeting you,
but five minutes? You must have done something
really
special to this one.”

Harper snorted. “Wasn’t like I asked him to meet my parents or
anything.” And, bonus, she never would. Three days after her fourteenth
birthday, her dad had taken off and never looked back. After that, Mommy Manners
had forced her to become even more involved in pageants, and Harper had
eventually cracked, poisonous words she still regretted spilling out. Though
she’d tried to make amends, her mother hadn’t spoken to her in years. “But you
know, he could have had the decency to invite himself to breakfast.” They had
details to hammer out, right? “I mean, he wants to ask you out. Shouldn’t he try
to butter me up or something, so I’ll put in a good word for him?”

“Uh, no, no, he not be asking me out.”

“He said he would.”

“Well, he lied or changed his mind because that man has a jones
for a hot blonde with a taste for destroying fairy-tale princess.”

Hope fluttered through her, causing her heart to skip a beat.
“First, the taste is justified. Sleeping Beauty sucks. Evil showed up and
instead of fighting she took a nap.”

“Is that reason enough for you to buy figurines of her likeness
just to smash when you’re angry?”

“Yeah. And second,” she continued, “there’s just no way you’re
right about the cop wanting me. But go ahead and tell me why you think so,
beginning once again with how smoking hot you think I am and ending with how you
think he’s willing to drop to his knees and beg me to go out with him, and don’t
leave out a single detail.”

Lana rolled her eyes. The bold shadow she wore gave those eyes
an exotic, smoky look, extending all the way to her temples in glittery points.
“You are hot. He will beg. You will say no—and don’t try to deny it. I noticed
your antiman campaign. I will call you stupid. You will paint a mustache on my
face while I sleep. I will carve the legs out from under your bed. We will
laugh. The end. Now, tell. Will he help you or not? Because I will hurt him if
not.”

Okay, so it wasn’t the story she’d hoped for but it was true
nonetheless. “I might have you hurt him, anyway. After I’m done with him, of
course.” He was surly with a capital
S-U-R-L-Y,
glaring at her when she’d entered his apartment after he’d clearly invited her
in—with his eyes. “He needs someone to turn his frown upside down. By hanging
him out of a window by his ankles.”

“Just say a word, and it is done.”

Oh, how she adored Lethal Lana.

They’d met in junior school, when Lana’s family moved to the
States, and their instant connection had changed the very fabric of Harper’s
life. Harper, the “lady” of her mother’s dreams, had been fascinated by Milana
Buineviciute, the wild child of her mother’s nightmares.

A (now reformed) smoker, drinker and full-time cusser who never
backed down from a fight, Lana had taught Harper how to get down and dirty with
brass knuckles and steel-toed boots. Harper had taught Lana to channel the
jagged edges of her emotions into art, and the exchange had bonded them.

They balanced each other, even in looks. Lana’s hair was
naturally dark, almost jet, but she’d bleached the straight-as-a-board strands
and then dyed them neon red, a color that complemented her cream-and-rose
complexion perfectly. Her features were bold, aggressive, and yet her green eyes
were always at half-mast, a sultry invitation to peel away her clothing and have
your wicked way with her. Or so Harper had gathered from any man who’d ever
looked at her.

Even as fatigued as Lana currently appeared, and had, for these
past few weeks, with bruises marring the delicate tissue under her eyes, her
lips chapped from constantly being chewed, and the weight she’d dropped from her
already slender frame, the girl was a showstopper.

“Maybe we should move,” Harper said. “We’ll just pack my
precious valuables and your crap and—”

“No!” Lana shouted, then repeated softly, “No. I stay
here.”

A relieved breath escaped her.

After Harper had snapped out of her first blackout and seen
what she’d painted, she had walked the streets trying to reason things out. Lost
in her thoughts, she’d unknowingly entered the worst part of town. She’d ended
up in front of this building, and a desire to live here had instantly consumed
her. She’d raced home to tell Lana, and Lana had paled, burst into tears for no
reason. Well, there had been a reason, but she still refused to say.

Eventually Harper managed to talk her friend into subletting
their place and moving here. But where Harper had thrived, Lana had declined all
the more. And yet, she couldn’t be dragged out with a tank.

Harper felt guilty about that, she did, but she had no idea
what to do.

“By the way, we are not done talking about the cop,” Lana said,
calm now and rubbing her hands together with glee. “I saw the way you looked at
him so I must ask. By ‘done with him’ did you mean you will hurt him when you
jump into his arms and beg him to marry you?”

Harper rolled her eyes, and it was then that she noticed the
black shadow creeping along the walls of the living room. Dread poured through
her veins, hot and as slick as oil. She knew that shadow, had battled it each
time a blackout descended, and knew it would crawl down the walls, consume the
entire room and try to swallow her whole.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” she muttered, grabbing her purse
and stalking into the hallway outside their apartment, overly warm air
enveloping her. The darkness would catch up to her, but that wouldn’t stop her
from running.

The floor whined with her every step, other apartment doors
slammed closed and the overhead light flickered on and off, on and off. Creepy,
yes, but it suited her new frame of mind.

Lana, in her long-sleeved top and pajama pants with a tool belt
painted around the waist, stayed close at her heels. “You okay?”

“I will be.”
I hope.
Only Harper
was able to see the shadows, and she could guess why. Either she was halfway
down the road to crazy or she was already standing at the edge, waving goodbye
to the life she’d once lived.

She quickened her pace. As always, a pretty young girl stood in
front of one of the doors, trying to peer inside an apartment that was not her
own. Black hair fell in silky waves to her shoulders. Usually when Harper passed
her, the girl remained quiet and unaware, her attention locked on whatever she
saw through the obstruction. This time, her head whipped in Harper’s direction
and violet eyes more otherworldly than human pierced her to her soul.

“Such a naughty girl,” said the teenager in a voice chilled by
lack of emotion. “You should have known better.”

Surprised, Harper stumbled over her own foot.

Lana flipped the girl off and said,
“Tu
mane uzknisai.”
She waited for Harper—who knew she’d just told the
girl how ticked she was—to straighten up before hurrying on.

“What’d I do?” Harper demanded of the girl, looking over her
shoulder. She hadn’t had a serious boyfriend in over a year and hadn’t been on a
date in months, even before her whole “no touching” rule. There’d been no
naughtiness in her life. None. Well, not until today, when she’d eaten Levi up
with her eyes. “Were you listening through the cop’s walls while I was with him,
you little—”

“I never should teach you to fight.” Lana motioned her forward.
“She clearly out of mind. Pay no attention or she drag you into her insane.”

Another full-on appearance of her accent, proving Lana was as
affected by the girl’s taunt as Harper. For that reason, she let the subject
drop. Until Harper solved the painting mystery, Lana had enough to deal
with—whatever “enough” entailed.

A few minutes later, they were outside, the pulsing heart of
Oklahoma coming into view. Tall structures with chrome and glass on every floor
knifed toward a baby-blue sky with no hint of clouds. Thick green trees with
curling branches lined the river walk and overly crowded sidewalks. Sidewalks
far more crowded than usual, in fact. On the streets, cars of every color
whizzed past, the speed limit clearly a suggestion not to be heeded.

There was a deep chill in the November air, yet Harper remained
unfazed. “So, anyway,” she said, getting them back on track, “if you hate the
apartment so much, why do you want to stay?” She asked even though the very idea
of leaving made her quake. She asked even though she’d asked before and Lana had
not answered.

“I don’t hate the place. I belong there.”

That was something, at least. “But—”

“Give me another but, and I smack yours!”

Harper laughed, she just couldn’t help herself.

A man and woman walking toward them jumped, as though startled
by the sound of her voice. The pair gave her a strange look before passing her.
So she was in her winter pj’s, like Lana. So the heck what!

“So where we go?” Lana asked.

After a moment’s thought, a heavy sigh left her. “Let’s go to
the place that started us on this journey. Maybe if I figure out what happened
to me, I’ll stop hearing screams of pain in every single one of my dreams.”

* * *

R
EMAINING
IN
THE
SHADOWS
, Levi kept pace behind the
two females. What a striking pair they made. The tall redhead and the petite
blonde, both feminine beyond imagining. Nearly every guy that passed them stared
at the redhead, dismissing Harper as if she just couldn’t compare.

Idiots, he thought. There was a delicacy to Harper, a
fragility, yet when she opened her mouth you discovered just how much of a
ballbuster she was. The contrast was exhilarating.

But those blue, blue eyes of hers—those haunted eyes with their
secrets and pain and a thousand questions waiting to be answered—continued to,
well,
haunt
him. As much as they would have turned
him off any other woman, and should have turned him off her, he wanted her more
with every second that passed. The shame and guilt were completely gone, and
now, every time he caught sight of her, an urge to protect her rose up, one
stronger than before, nearly overwhelming him.

A man had to touch a woman to protect her, and he really wanted
to touch Harper again. That softness…that heat…

Figure out her mystery first.

He’d walked into her apartment, and for a second he’d seen
crumbling walls, even a rat racing across his feet. But then in a snap, he’d
seen freshly painted walls of bright yellow and blue, colorful furniture and
every surface scrubbed clean. The momentary hallucination had freaked him out,
but he’d said nothing. Then, after viewing her painting, a gruesome thing to be
sure and exactly as she’d described it—a man standing over a bound, battered and
naked female, a knife in his hand—he’d needed a moment to collect himself. Part
of him had wanted to gather Harper close and make sure she was kept safe, even
from the past. The other part of him had wanted to shake her for not coming to
him sooner.

If what she’d painted hadn’t sprung from an overactive
imagination, the only way to have witnessed such a scene was to have been in the
room with the killer. A room like that wouldn’t have windows. So, discarding the
overactive imagination argument for the time being—something he would do until
proven otherwise—she had either aided and abetted the killer or had been
captured herself and had somehow managed to escape. Levi doubted the first.
Harper’s aversion to blood was real; no one could fake the draining of color
from their face. And that, of course, left the second option....

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.