Blood of Dawn (8 page)

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Authors: Tami Dane

BOOK: Blood of Dawn
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I tipped my head back. “Now, don’t you go starting things off by making promises you can’t keep.”
Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders.
—William Faulkner
8
There haven’t been many things in life I couldn’t grasp. I could understand the Yang-Mills theory, the Many Worlds theory, and the theory of Quantum Entanglement. But trying to comprehend how anyone under the age of thirty could see a future so bleak, he or she felt there was no reason to go on living was beyond the scope of my understanding. And believe me, there’ve been times when I’ve been downright miserable.
I’ve suffered loss. I’ve suffered disappointment. I’ve suffered guilt and regret. Still, not once did I feel life wasn’t worth living. And so, when JT called me to tell me our potential third victim had been a suicide, I’d been slightly taken aback.
That was nothing, as I soon learned.
“The girl’s name was Megan Carter,” JT said.
“Oh.” I clapped my hand over my mouth. It was shaking.
Megan Carter.
I’d spoken to Megan Carter. In the bathroom in the D Wing. Had I said something to set her off? Was her death somehow my fault?
“She left a letter for her mother, Sloan. In her letter, she said Stephanie Barnett’s death was her fault. Do you know what she meant by that?”
“She told me she left Stephanie at a party. That’s all. She felt that if she’d walked home with Stephanie, rather than ditching her, Stephanie might still be alive. I tried to tell her there was no reason to believe it was her fault.”
JT’s end of the phone line was silent.
“JT, did I do something wrong?”
“No, Sloan. You didn’t. I read the letter.”
“I need to read it.”
“I have a copy. I can show it to you.”
“Please. Thanks.”
“I’ll be out in your area tomorrow morning. I’ll run by.”
“Okay. Thanks. Bye.” My hands were still shaking as I set my phone down.
Damen keyed to my reaction right away. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
My eyes were burning. My nose too. I sniffled, glancing around for a tissue.
He took my hands in his. “Sloan?”
I rubbed my drippy cheek on my shoulder. “She was so young. Both of them were. I hate this case.”
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, thumbing away the tear that had dribbled down my other cheek. “If it’s too much, quit.”
“But the unit needs me. I’ve helped them profile two killers already.”
“That’s extraordinary, Sloan, but you’re still young, and that kind of work takes its toll on people. Being exposed to too much of humanity’s ugliness can make you callous.”
I could see that happening to some people. I wasn’t sure if it would for me. And maybe that was why I briefly considered doing exactly what he suggested. Because I had a feeling either I’d have to learn to separate myself from my cases, or I’d end up having a breakdown. Considering the genes I inherited, risking that kind of trauma was probably dodgy.
But then I reminded myself that I’d been working my whole life toward this goal. If I walked away from my dream, what would I do? What would my future be?
I shook my head. “I’m not ready to call it quits yet.”
“Okay.” He ran his hands up and down my arms. It was a soothing gesture, and it made my heart stop thumping so hard. “I know you can’t say a lot about your work, but I’m here for you.”
“Thanks.” Appreciative of his broad shoulders, I leaned in and let him support me. “I haven’t been at this for long. I think with time it’ll get easier.”
“I hope it does. For your sake.”
We sat there, like that, on my parents’ couch. His warmth and strength embraced me like a cocoon, until my eyelids became heavy and I couldn’t keep them open any longer. He stretched, gently moving out from under me. “I need to get going.” Offering me a hand up, he turned a worry-filled gaze down to me.
“I’m okay. Better.” I climbed to my feet.
“Okay.”
Together we walked through the house, toward the front foyer. At the door, he caught my chin, lifting it. “Promise me, if it gets to be too much, you’ll say something.”
“I promise.”
He tipped his head down, brushing his lips over mine. The kiss was soft, a teasing temptation that made my toes curl and the gears in my head come to a clunking halt. “Good night, Sloan.”
“Good night,” I whispered back.
Damen left.
Physically and mentally beat, I dragged myself upstairs. In my room, I changed into a pair of Mom’s old velour lounge pants and a T-shirt. After taking care of the bedtime essentials, I crawled into bed and shut my eyes. Megan’s tormented face instantly flashed in my mind.
Could I have done or said anything different? Could I have talked her out of killing herself if I’d known?
“If I give you a kiss, will you proclaim your undying love or punch me in the nose?”
I knew that voice.
Not so long ago, I’d thought it was coming from a nightmare. Then I learned the truth.
I didn’t open my eyes, but I did roll onto my side to protect my mouth. I did not want a kiss. Not from this guy. “Elmer, I don’t think you’ll like my answer.”
“Darn.”
I cracked open one eye.
The lights were off, and the room was pretty dark, but I could still sense that Elmer was close. It was the smell. The way the air felt cold and void of life.
“Back off,
Sluagh,
” I grumbled.
“Backing.”
I opened the other eye, squinting at the glowing numbers on my clock. Of course, it was the middle of the freaking night. “Why are you here in my bedroom? Aren’t you supposed to be filming your TV show right now?”
“Yeah, well, I walked off the set.”
A wave of dread swept through me. My first thought was for myself. If the show failed, then I was probably going to have to step in and become the next queen of the
Sluagh.
Then my next thought was for Damen. He would be hurt, disappointed. I hadn’t filled him in on all the ugly details of my arrangement with Elmer. If I had, I suppose he might not have dove into the whole courtship thing.
“Elmer, you shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?”
“You signed a contract.”
He crossed his skinny, little arms over his chest and jerked up his pointy chin. I noticed his teeth were back to barracuda pointy. The wig was gone. And his skin was back to the pale white of a fish belly. “Yeah? So? You signed a contract too. With me. And so far, you’ve reneged.”
“I have not. We just haven’t come to an agreement on the terms of repayment.”
He plopped on the bed. The temperature of the air around me dropped by at least twenty degrees. “Let’s talk about that.”
“Not now.” My breath turned to mist. I inched back, outside of the cold/dead zone. “We need to discuss the terms of your agreement with the production company. I didn’t read the contract. Do you remember what it said?”
“No.” He mumbled something I couldn’t make out; then, “I didn’t really read it myself.”
I was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this. “Do you have a copy? They did give you one, right?”
“Sure. Somewhere.”
“Okay.” I scrubbed my face with my hands and glanced at the clock. If only my creepy, little friend could pay me visits during normal hours, rather than in the middle of the night, things would be so much simpler. “You have two choices. You can either go back and finish what you started, or you can find your contract and see if quitting is even an option.”
Clearly, Elmer didn’t like either suggestion. The air around me grew chillier. The heavy sigh I expelled turned into a white cloud.
He cleared his throat. “About your debt—”
“Take care of this problem first.”
Elmer’s eyes narrowed. “No, Sloan. No more excuses. No more putting it off. I will have what’s coming to me. Now.”
There could be no doubt: I’d run out of time. I’d run out of excuses too. It wasn’t that I don’t like to pay my debts. I hate having something like this hanging over my head. But in this case, I was very nervous. When we’d struck our deal, my end of the bargain had been left wide open. There was no saying what it was going to cost me. None whatsoever. With my father’s warning ringing in my ear, I nodded. “What do you want?”
“Take this.” Elmer handed me a stone. It was smooth and cool to the touch. Slightly translucent. Oblong. Smaller than a Ping-Pong ball.
I stared at the stone, wondering what it had to do with my debt. Was it some kind of precious gem? Topaz, perhaps? There were no sharp edges. The surface was smooth, as if it had been polished for years by flowing water. “What is it?”
“A very precious gem,” he said. “Now close your eyes.”
Intrigued, and a little confused, I did as he asked.
“I want you to bring to mind a precious memory. Something you’ve held on to for many years. Don’t think too hard, just let it come to your mind.”
The image of me with Gabe in college flashed in my head. We were behind the science building. I had found this cozy little spot, situated in the center of a copse of trees. I liked to go there and think sometimes. It was quiet. Private. So different from my dorm room. I’d been sitting on the ground. My back was leaning against the trunk of an old oak. Up above, a squirrel chattered. Birds twittered. A soft breeze carried the scent of earth and fallen leaves to my nose. . . .
 
 
“Gabe, what are you doing here?”
My heart pittered and pattered. He was so good-looking. How many times I’d wanted him to notice me. I’d caught him watching Lisa Flemming with the glitter of hard male appreciation in his eyes. But not once had I ever caught that glimmer in his eyes when he’d looked at me.
Until now.
“Looking for you.” His lips curved slightly, pulling into a sexy half smile.
“Why? Did you need some help with the organic-chem homework?”
“No.” He squatted, putting us more at eye-to-eye level.
“What are you doing here, Sloan Skye?” He reached for me, caught the collar of my jacket in his fingertips. “Are you hiding?”
“From whom?” I asked. I was breathless. I was nervous. I was wondering what he’d do or say next. Was he going to tease me? Mock me? Or . . . or . . .?
“Are you hiding from me?” he asked. He extended his other arm, flattening his hand on the tree trunk. That position put him even closer. Mere inches away.
I could smell his cologne. I could smell his soap too. And the hint of man—that sweet musk that was only his. My insides buzzed and twitched. I’d never been this close to a man who was so incredibly sexy.
“Are you afraid of me, Sloan Skye?” He eased closer still.
I froze. Not that I wanted to run from him; but if I had, there was no way I could have. Not a chance.
“N-no. Should I be?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “You should. And here’s why.” He kissed me, and every inch of my body responded. My toes curled. My heart banged against my breastbone. My skin, from the top of my head to the balls of my feet, burned and tingled.
Unable to stop myself, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him back. A moan bubbled up in my throat, slipped out of my mouth to echo in my ears.
His tongue swept into my mouth, filling it with his decadent flavor. And I knew, then and there, that if he asked me to make love, I would be his.
“Sloan Skye,” he whispered between stabs and strokes. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for a very long time. And I won’t ever stop wanting you.” He backed away slightly, regarding me with heavy-lidded eyes. “Do you believe me?”

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