Art is the Lie (A Vanderbie Novel) (21 page)

A car drove past us, breaking the spell of our connection. I peeled myself off his chest and looked out the window for the first time since we’d abruptly pulled to the side of the road.

“Where are we?” There were houses everywhere, except for a small clearing directly across from us. On the far side was a small stone wall creating a barrier between us and the shimmering lights of Seattle below. The stretch of shining fabric rolled as far as the eye could see.

“Highland Park.”

“Is it public? Can we look?”

“You want to walk around a park in the freezing cold?” He reached out and caught the back of one of my heels, his face pressing into the scoop of my dress. The warmth of his cheek set my heart to racing. “You don’t exactly have walking shoes on.”

I pushed him back and reached over for my bag, whipping my tennis shoes up into the air. “Ah-ha! But I do have these.” I slid off him and changed my shoes.

“And you brought tennis shoes because you thought you might want to go for a walk in the park?” His smirk was evident, even in the dim light.

“No. I brought tennis shoes because balancing on heels is
not
one of my gifts.” Not waiting for a further reply, I opened my door and rolled out of the car. The chill was in full force, biting at my legs, but I ignored it as I bound across the street, pulling my coat tight around me. I ran past the industrial sculpture in the middle of the park to view the floating Space Needle that pierced the night sky. The structure, with its graceful, feminine bends, dared one to rise as strong and as bold. And tonight, it was ours and ours alone. No one else was here.

Quentin moved up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, his body buffering me from the elements.

“This is beautiful,” I said, captured in the moment.

Unsure if he heard me, I twisted my neck to see his face. But his eyes weren’t admiring the view. They were locked on me. He spun me around, pulled me tight, my body molding to his.

“I was thinking the same thing.” His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb gently gliding over my eye. I leaned into his touch, the gesture sending waves of warmth to the pit of my stomach. “You and that dress are not a safe combination. It took every ounce of control I had not to pummel my brother when you walked in on his arm.”

His eyes burned into me, but not with anger. A shy smile crossed my lips. “I really am sorry. He found me in the hall. I didn’t know how to leave without making a scene. It was never my intention to come between you two.”

“Cee, you can’t come between nothing.”

I wanted to instantly understand, to know more, to shoulder some of his burden, but I knew I had to wait. He had to tell me in his own time.

“Quentin Stone?” We both spun around to the new voice standing behind us. A man dressed in a black raincoat asked again, “Are you Quentin Stone?”

Quentin held fast to my hand and took a step in front of me. “Why?”

The man lifted his hand, producing what looked like a badge. “We have a few questions for you.”

Us? As in more then one? My eyes darted around. On the other side of the metal sculpture was another man, his head moving back and forth, scanning the small open space. Adrenalin lanced through me. Suddenly, the luxury of having the park to oursel
ves didn’t feel like such a boon.

Abruptly, Quentin pulled me around tight to his side, slowly moving us away from the man. “Cee, go get in the car.”

“What?” I spluttered, looking between Quentin and the man, my legs locked in place.

“Go! Now!” he barked, giving me a push, his eyes a determined fire.

I stumbled slowly, my head swiveling, trying to keep the two men and Quentin in sight.

“What do you want?” I heard Quentin ask as my paced picked up, racing with my heart, suddenly beckoning
for the safety of the car. I ran around to the passenger side and slid into the leather seat, sealing out any noise.

I watched the heated silent film of angry gestures play out in front of me. Time felt infinite. The unknown pounded through my body like a jackhammer.

In the blink of an eye, chaos erupted as Quentin threw a punch, causing the man to stumble in pain. He took off at a sprint, heading in the direction of the car. Without thinking, I leaned over and pushed open his door. He slid in, revved the engine to life and tore off down the street, leaving the two men running out of the park after us.

Quentin kept the accelerator pressed to the floor, whipping us around corners, expertly maneuvering through the narrow neighborhood streets, taking one back road after another.

“Quentin,” I finally spoke having found my voice. “What just happened back there? Who were they? What did they want?”

“I don’t know who they were,” he answered evasively, his head a constant swivel.

I gripped the dashboard as he yanked the car hard to the left. “He had a badge. Don’t you think they were with the police? What if something happened to someone in your family?”

“Then someone from my family would have called me.” The answer made me feel stupid and naive. His eyes were constantly scanning. The windows. The mirrors. Watching. For them. For someone who was watching us.

“Are we being followed? Did someone follow us to the park?” I couldn’t stop the vomit of questions that poured out of my mouth.

“I don’t know.”

“Why did we run? I don’t understand. Couldn’t we have just . . .”

“Cee, I can’t explain. I’ve got to get you out of here.”

“What do you mean you can’t explain?” My voice jumped an octave. “Are we or are we not being followed?"

His features darkened as he let out a string of frustrated curses. “I don’t know.”

“Then what happened back there?” My tone emphatic, unwilling to back down.

“It’s complicated.”

“D
on’t tell me it’s complicated, that it’s too confusing, that it’s none of my business.” Hysteria was threatening to unleash. “One minute all was calm and the next we’re flying through,” I scan the street, trying to get my bearings, “I don’t know where. Where the hell are we?”

“Cee, just let me get you home.” His knuckles were white on the wheel. His eyes everywhere at once as he muttered, “I just need to get you away from this fuckin’ mess.”

I clamped my jaw closed, sealing the rest of my questions behind my lips. I had no idea who I was sitting next to, or what mess he was in, or what he was capable of.

Our surroundings turned familiar. We
eventually found our way under the viaduct, vaulting from one parking lot to the other along the waterfront, slowly moving toward the ferry. Quentin stopped five blocks shy of the terminal and jammed his car into a dark corner of the lot.

“We’re going to walk on the ferry. I’ll call ahead and see if I can get a taxi to meet us on the other side.” He shut off the engine and stepped out his door.

“I can call Grace,” I said across the seats.

“Bad idea.
Never involve someone unless you have to. We don’t want them to have another person to follow.”

“Who is ‘them’?” I yelled before he slammed his door closed. He hurried to my door and pulled it open. Flustered, I tripped out of the car. “You’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”

He didn’t answer. He reached for my hand, but I side-stepped his touch. Unsure.

The denial stopped him cold. He grabbed my shoulders, his eyes boring into mine. “
You know me. I’m not going to hurt you. You have to trust me. Remember?”

“You’ve said that to me before, but I don’t think you know what it means. If you want me to trust you, then you have to trust me.”

“CeeCee,” he pleaded. “Please. Let me get you home safe, because if I don’t . . .”

Something crashed down from the viaduct above us, locking my breath in my throat. We both jumped and spied a rolling hubcap that came to a stop ten feet in front of us.

He grabbed my hand. I didn’t pull back again. Shadow to shadow we traversed cautiously, the surreal evening morphing into a nightmare I couldn’t possibly have dreamt up. Our pace was fast. Quentin’s constant over the shoulder looking putting me on edge.

The eerie stillness under the viaduct felt off, leaving too much space in my head to imagine the worst. I was full steam ahead, when Quentin veered off course and pulled us up to First Street, away from the ferry.

“Where are we going?” I asked, regaining my footing as I tried to keep up with his pace.

“Through the people on First.”

I assumed he would take the footbridge back across to the terminal, but we skated by it and moved swiftly through the bodies milling around Pioneer Square. They clustered in groups, laughing, completely oblivious of our plight.

We stopped briefly under the glass-covered pergola, but with a quick glance in both directions, he charged us through the red light and across the street. Clips of sound slipped into my ears, but none to alert me if someone knew where we were at this moment.

Abruptly changing course again, he glanced over his shoulder and pulled us up a side street. The horns of a blues band bled through the doors of a nightclub, lamenting our troubles but offering no assistance. He looked over his shoulder again before we cleared the corner. Uneasiness rippled through my chest.

“Where are we going?” I sputtered through the breath I was trying to catch. I was too scared to look back. “Is someone following us?”

“We need to loop around.” He pushed his hair back, the movement somehow unsettling. We came to the end of the block. Quentin let go of my hand and grabbed my upper arm, guiding me into another brick paved park.

Not fifteen feet into the park, a vagrant sprung out from behind a tree. My stomach vaulted into my throat from the surge of adrenaline as he sneered directly at me. “Got anything for me little missy?”

I recoiled.

Quentin was the poster boy of calm as he stepped in front of me and held up his hands. “We’re just passing through.”

“Too bad,” the vagrant slurred, his stench burning my nose. “We could’ve had some fun.” Rapidly bored with us, he returned to his tree.

“Maybe . . . we should . . . go back to the car.” I was skittish. Out of breath. And not a hundred percent sure of who I was with.

I took a step forward, and another, but they were the wrong steps in the wrong direction, sending me careening into Quentin. I lost my balance, my right foot hung up on his left. I was going down. Quentin’s reflexes were quick, catching me in his grip before I hit the ground. He spun me to him and put me back on my feet. My arms flew around his neck for balance. Assurance. I wanted this to end, but I didn’t know what this was.

As I steadied myself, I glanced over his shoulder. I saw him. The man in the raincoat. My body froze uncooperatively as I watched the vagrant mumble something to him for having crossed his path.

Intuitively, Quentin said, “Cee, we have to keep moving.” He put his arm around my shoulders and quickly moved us to the other side of the park.

“Quentin, he’s here. He’s following us.”

“I know.” He made a quick glance back before propelling us forward across the street to an alley on the far side. My nose wrinkled. The rotting garbage strewn about the cobblestones assaulted every sense in my head.

“Quentin, why is he following us? What does he want?” I tried to keep up with him.

The old cobblestone alley was filled with deep puddles, forcing us to walk close to the buildings. Then they hit. Tingles at the base of my neck. I didn’t know what to do, but knew what was coming. I heard Quentin mumble something about “everything Tony touches turning to . . .”

“Quentin.” Dread rang in my voice. “My neck . . . I think . . .” Before I could say anything else, color flooded over my eyes and images ransacked my mind. Fire was all around me. The shadow reached in and out of the flames. Rain pelted down, piercing my legs. They played over and over. I could hear Quentin urgently call my name, but I couldn’t lift myself out of the horror I was seeing.

Fire.

The shadow.

The glassy rain.

“CeeCee!” I heard Quentin’s persistent whisper in my ear. “Cee, you’ve got to find me . . . come on!” My body, which had been in motion, came to an abrupt halt, sending the motion of the images off-balanced. They pitched sideways and backward. Reversing order and spinning around again.

My nose fought a new musty smell as the images competed for my attention, my mind at a loss. But it was too late. They faded to black before I could ask to see more. My eyes fluttered open, barely able to make out Quentin’s face. It was inches from my own as he carried me through the darkness.

Afraid he’d trip in the dark and drop me, my arms flew around his neck. He peered down at me and asked, “Can you walk?”

“Yes.” Not completely sure if I could. He set me down, but his arm remained firmly around my side. “Where are we?”

“The Underground.” He guided us down a narrow wooden path.

My eyes strained to see through the murky air. “Underground? You mean below the street? How did we get in here?”

“I picked the lock.”

“Of course you did,” sarcasm slipping from my lips.

The path was a complicated maze of hallways. Quentin moved with ease, never hesitating over direction. At the end of a long stretch, a defused glow of light highlighted the outlines of a door. Or rather a makeshift door. It looked to have been created with a sledgehammer through a brick wall, the jagged sides waiting to snag the arm of a negligent passerbyer. Focused on the protruding bricks, I didn’t notice the eight inches of remaining wall along the floor. My foot snagged, sending me down face first. I threw my arms out to brace my fall, but not before my knee struck something sharp, zinging pain up my body. “Arrrhg!”

“Cee!” Quentin was quick to pull me back up. The sudden movement released a threatening wave of nauseousness. “Are you okay? Can you walk?”

“Um, I don’t know.” The pain was excruciating. I sucked in a sharp breath and forced myself to work through the ache. We hobbled along until we reached the glow of light. A grid of
foggy, purple glass on the ceiling emitted the above streetlight into the underground.

Quentin sat me down on a pile of bricks gathered in a small alcove. He took off his coat and laid it over my legs. “Wait here. I’ll be back for you.”

“WHAT!” I tried to stand but the pain ruled my movements. “What do you mean
wait
here? You are not leaving me down here by myself!”

“I need to figure out what’s going on.” He pulled his tie loose, his voice all business.

“You can’t leave me,” I pleaded. I sounded pathetic, but I didn’t care.

“I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back.” His hands clamped down on my face as he leaned over, planting a chaste kiss on my lips. Before I could protest further, he stood and I watched the outline of his form disappear into the darkness.

A shadow becoming part of the shadows.