Her Last Chance (14 page)

This was never going to work. Being
with Marsh was never going to work.

He couldn’t protect her forever and
she didn’t want him around purely out of obligation. Neither did she want to
put him in danger or have to worry about him. She closed her eyes and swayed.
She was an idiot.

She should have run that first day
but she’d hesitated and that had been her first mistake.

Liberty’s upraised arm mocked her.
This painting was supposed to represent the indomitable spirit of New York
City. It was supposed to represent the phoenix rising from the ashes of grief
and the courage of the people of this great city. But how could she hope to do
it justice when she couldn’t even walk the streets without a bodyguard? She
despised what her life had become. She wasn’t some weak little drip who hung on
a man’s word and expected him to take care of her. Neither did she want to be
the dumbfuck blonde in a horror flick who got caught by a monster with a big
sharp knife.

Marshall Hayes got under her skin
in a way no man ever had before. She wanted to believe in him, wanted to lean
on him, and knew she couldn’t risk it.

Sunlight filtered in through the
tall glass windows and worked tiny beads of sweat on her temple. At age nine
she’d learned the key to survival was keeping quiet. Keep your head down, don’t
get involved. Don’t expose your emotions. Run, hide, watch, survive, strike out
when necessary, and keep your goddamned mouth shut. Her father’s image rose up
in her mind, calling her names because she’d had the audacity to resemble her
mother. What would Walter Maxwell have done different if he’d known his wife
had been murdered rather than left him? Josephine frowned for a moment. It
would have been another excuse to drink himself to death. No wonder her mother
had gone off with another man. Marion had saved her, taken her in, and in the
end Josie had repaid that debt with painful death.

Painful death had a habit of
following her around and she couldn’t stand the idea it might be Marsh this
time as a result of some vain effort to save her. But she was not letting a
man—not even a good man like Marsh, and definitely not an evil bastard like the
Blade Hunter—control her life.

Her fingers closed around the
handle of the paintbrush and she dipped it in the thick cobalt green. Stepped
across to the stepladder and put her foot on the first rung.

“Are you going to listen to
reason?” Marsh’s voice came quietly from the doorway and her blood revved.

All last night they’d clung to one
another. But he made her feel exposed and she couldn’t afford that
vulnerability. Shaking her head, she daubed on the first light coating of paint
across the right hand side of the statue. She couldn’t bring herself to face
him.

“Are you going to tell me why not
or just ignore me again?” The Boston accent was even flatter than usual and
cold enough to make her shiver. In the cottage in Vermont she’d refused to talk
to him for thirty-six hours straight. Then she’d seduced him. She didn’t know
how many mistakes one person could make in a lifetime but it looked like she
was trying to find out.

“I can’t run away when he’s out
hunting other women.” She lifted her chin, ignored the fine tremor that ran
through her when she turned to look at him standing there in a dark navy suit
and scarlet striped tie. So beautiful and powerful; her throat hurt looking at
him. “I’m staying. You go.”

“Didn’t last night mean anything to
you?” His voice held an edge that started to piss her off.

Wobbling slightly on the ladder she
said, “Last night was good, Marsh, but I’m not gonna play in your bed until
they catch this guy. I have work to do.”

“You think I want you in Boston so
I can fuck you?”

She climbed off the ladder and met
him head on. Heat and anger burned off him like jet fuel. This wasn’t going the
way she’d planned.

“You think I can’t last a few
nights without sex when I’ve been celibate for months?” Amber battled with jade
as his pupils flared.

“I don’t know! I don’t know about
any of this.” Her voice rose. “None of it makes sense.”

With sharp jerks he took the brush
and palette from her rigid fingers and placed them on the table. “One thing
makes sense.”

Josephine inhaled a jagged breath
as he grabbed the material of her shirt in a fist and pulled her flush against
his body. His lips crushed hers, fury and frustration ripe in the pressure and
clash of his teeth.

His other hand pressed against the
small of her back, bringing them in intimate contact and sending blasts of
desire pulsing from her breasts to the apex of her thighs.

His lips turned gentle, belying his
anger, his teeth nipped at her mouth until she responded and her hands crept up
around his shoulders. She closed her eyes against the weakness that assaulted
her, gripped him hard as dark emotions rose up. His kiss slowed and she tasted
gentleness, opened her eyes and caught a brief glimpse of pain before he drew
away.

“This isn’t about sex, Josephine.
You know whatever is happening between us is much more than just sex and I
don’t like it any more than you do.” His words were weary and tore at her
resolve. “But you coming with me to Boston is about stopping that bastard
slicing you open with a sharp blade and finishing what he started all those
years ago.”

Nausea curled through her, as she
knew it was meant to. He was trying to scare her. As if she needed any
reminders. But she didn’t intend to get caught by this psychopath.

She pulled away. “Vince is here.”

He paused and looked over his
shoulder on his way to the door. “But
I
wanted to do it…
I
wanted
to be the one who kept you safe.”

Chapter
Twelve

_________________

P
aint speckled toes peeped
out of turquoise sequined flip-flops. The ragged hem of her jeans tickled the
sensitive bridge of her foot. But neither sight nor sensation eased the tension
in her jaw or set of her shoulders. Fury burned a thin line of rage through her
bones. She seized onto it in a desperate attempt to help herself focus.

Josie grabbed a new size-twenty
brush and an industrial-sized tube of China White and threw it in her basket.
New sponges, Conté crayons, and a sharp triangular palette knife followed.

Shoving past Vince, she flung him a
glare.

Men
.

With a smack, she dumped the basket
at the checkout, stared stonily at the gum-chewing clerk who slowly registered
her presence and began scanning her purchases. So what if she was acting
irrationally? None of this was her fault. This bastard was ruining her life and
Marsh was trying to control it. She wanted her independence back. She needed
the space to think.

“He wants to keep you safe.”
Vince’s low voice murmured in her ear, but rather than easing her mind, he
fired the fury higher.

“I thought that’s what you were
for.” She flung him a dismissive up-and-down scowl.

The store clerk stopped chewing and
glanced nervously at Vince who blocked out most of the light. Vince’s gaze
flickered to the clerk and he cocked a questioning eyebrow back at her.

Her hissy fit was attracting the
wrong kind of attention. “Don’t worry about him, he’s my bodyguard and a
decorated war hero,” she reassured the clerk.

“Anyone ever told you you’re about
as subtle as a chainsaw?” Vince murmured directly into her ear.

Gathering her supplies, she marched
out of the shop and onto the street, fought the wind as it whipped her thin
black sweater against her skin. It felt colder than it should have. A frigid
wind cutting down from the Maritimes with the sharpness of bear claws. She
shivered. Painting and anger had been the only things she could think about
since she’d argued with Marsh that morning. Good job she’d been dressed before
she’d run out of paint else she’d probably be standing here naked.

Unable to concentrate on her
commission, she’d put Liberty to one side and blasted pure emotion onto a fresh
canvas. The result looked like road-kill and it turned her stomach when she’d
recognized the inspiration for the image.

Skillfully avoiding tourists and
New Yorkers alike she strode along the sidewalk. She should contact Agent
Walker to see if there was any news. Marsh wasn’t running this show; he was
just trying to protect her.

The aroma of pizza competed with
gas fumes as she stood on the curb, checked for traffic and jaywalked across to
Bleecker, not caring if Vince followed or not. Turning onto Grove Street she
looked over her shoulder and found Vince in her shadow. Silent, scary, alert.

And it pissed her off.

The Blade Hunter was pulling her
strings, making her dance to his tune, giving her a new life with new rules and
she didn’t like it. She’d spent her childhood being controlled by others.

The faces of mutilated women
flashed vividly through her mind, her mother’s face…a girlhood memory distorted
by time and gruesome crime scene pictures. Cupping her hand over her mouth, she
came to a standstill in the street.

“You okay?” Vince asked from behind
her.

“No, but I’ll live.”
Hopefully
.
Then she spotted Marsh standing across the road outside her apartment building
looking upwards at the windows. She thought he’d already left for Boston, but
he looked like he’d been standing there for hours.

Vince put a hand on her shoulder.
“Be smart.”

“Why? You need a vacation,
sweet-thing?” She squinted up at the big man.

White teeth flashed like headlights
on high beam. He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “This
is
a vacation,
cupcake.” He gave her a gentle push.

Great
. She was a wimp
surrounded by superheroes with big frickin’ guns.

Marsh turned toward her as she
stumbled forward. “You come to your senses yet?” His words grabbed her temper
by the scruff of the neck and gave it a good shake.

“I’m staying.”

Disappointment flickered in the
hazel of his eyes and it hurt.
Dammit
, this was why she didn’t get
involved. Being alone was a damn sight easier than trying to live up to someone
else’s expectations. And knowing she’d miss the SOB when he left sat about as
well as waiting for a serial killer to strike. But maybe it was better this
way.

Hoisting her bag of supplies under
one arm she unlocked the front door. Marsh stepped up behind her and she
glanced sideways, watched Vince raise a hand in farewell.

“He’s grabbing enough food and gear
to last the next forty-eight hours.” His voice was neutral and gave nothing
away. It didn’t have to. He’d made his opinion perfectly clear.

“He doesn’t have to stay the whole
time.” She flung the door open, shocked when Marsh twisted her in his arms and
pushed her up against the front door, his hands in a vise-like grip on her
arms.

“Why do you act like you don’t even
care?”

The hair on her nape rose. She kept
her mouth closed.

“Why do you act like
nothing
ever bothers you?” Strain etched every muscle. His shoulders trembled and the
skin around his mouth was deathly white. Her nerves hummed like a wasp. She’d
pushed him too far.

“What would you do if he came after
you?” He jerked away like he couldn’t stand to touch her for a moment longer.
“What would I do?”

Heart pounding, she started up the stairs.

“Josephine!” The anguish in his
voice made her swing to face him. The light in his eyes vivid and bright,
wringing out emotions she didn’t know how to deal with.

“I can’t do this, Marsh. I don’t
even know how to be in a relationship under normal circumstances.” To her
horror tears spilled out. “Right now I can’t think of anything except getting
through this alive.”

Bolting up the stairs her footsteps
rebounded through the stairwell. Her heartbeat raced faster and faster, her
lungs bursting with the need for oxygen, but she couldn’t take a breath.

She’d made it to the second floor
before Marsh began to follow. She wasn’t running away from him. She needed some
space.
And you keep telling yourself that
…

At the top of the stairs she
stopped so fast she skidded on the smooth floor.

The door to her apartment stood
ajar.
Did I leave it open
? She slowed, uncertain. The wood was crushed
beside the handle. It had been jimmied.

“Stand behind me.” Marsh unclipped
his weapon.

Waves of adrenaline caused blood to
pulse through her ears. She grabbed the back of Marsh’s jacket and held on for
dear life.

Shit. Shit. Shit
. Her heart
hammered and sweat began to run down her forehead, dripping into her eyes.

Reaching behind his back with one
hand, he pried her fingers loose and captured them in his. Bringing them to his
lips he gave her a brief kiss and a tight smile before motioning her behind him
as he hugged the wall. Never taking his eyes from the doorway, he took out his
cell phone and speed-dialed a number, thrust the phone into Josie’s hands.

“What now?” she whispered.

Marsh held his finger to his lips
and mouthed, “We wait.”

“For what?” she whispered back.

A door crashed open below and boots
clattered up the stairs.

“Back up.” Marsh smiled. The effect
was terrifying.

Vince arrived at the top of the
stairs with his pistol drawn, the sheen of sweat on his forehead and a deadly
expression on his face.

Wordlessly the two men moved into
position and swept into the apartment the way she’d seen a thousand times on
the TV. Marsh dragged her inside, the grip on her wrist so tight it hurt, but
she wasn’t complaining. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone—a great
moment for
that
epiphany. God, she was a stubborn fool.

The lounge looked undisturbed.
Marsh and Vince tag-teamed every possible hiding place, checking the kitchen,
bathrooms, closets.

Josie stood in the center of her
studio stunned. He’d taken the painting…

Lightheaded, she allowed herself to
be maneuvered into the guestroom as they checked under the bed and inside the
built-ins. Nausea crept into her throat. He’d been here. A shiver of repulsion
slid over her skin. She followed Marsh back into the living room. More
footsteps echoed up the stairwell and voices shouted. Agents Dancer and Walker
burst into the apartment, but Marsh and Vince never glanced up. They were
focused on the last remaining possible hiding place for an intruder. Her
bedroom.

Fear soured on her tongue as she
followed them.

Vivid red splattered the white
covers, dripped onto the hardwood floor. The stench of turpentine and paint
curled up inside her nostrils; the tools of her trade used to terrorize. The
message daubed on the wall sent a chill into her frozen heart.

U R DEAD.

“He has to get through me first.”
Marsh holstered his weapon.

She crossed her arms over her
chest, fought to keep her teeth from chattering. “It’s also the last thing he
said to me the night he killed Angela Morelli.”

“Funny how you forgot to mention
that earlier,” Special Agent Walker snapped.

“Funny?” Her voice rose shrilly. “I
figured the message was clear enough that even the feds could figure it out.”

“We need to search the whole
building.” Walker nodded to Dancer, and Vince followed them to the front door.

Her knees wobbled and Marsh swept
her up in his arms and placed her gently on the couch.

Her teeth rattled. “He’s telling me
he can get to me anytime he wants.”

“He’s taunting you.” Marsh rested
his hands on his hips and stared down at her. “I won’t let him get you,
Josephine.”

But there was a kernel of
satisfaction in his voice. “You’re glad about this?”

“No.” He pressed his lips together,
trying to control his temper. “But I’m glad you weren’t here alone when the
bastard broke in.”

Point made.

“I was only gone half an hour.” A
sudden thought struck her. “How did he get in the building—did you see him?”

Marsh shook his head, glancing
around the apartment as if looking for anything that might be missing. “He must
have stolen a key from Angela Morelli’s apartment but I thought your super was
changing the locks?”

“Friday.”

“I still don’t know how he knew
where you lived. Investigations can be slow processes but…
fuck
.”

Agent Walker strolled back into the
apartment. “We need to process the scene—”

“You don’t really think he left
anything behind, do you?” Marsh raised one quizzical brow at his fellow agent.

“Well, I’m not going to miss an
opportunity to track this man, sir,” Walker replied.

“You already have his DNA. Any
hits?” Marsh asked.

She’d forgotten about the blood
she’d drawn when she’d bitten him. The reminder turned her stomach.

Sam Walker’s lips thinned. “He’s
not in the system.”

Marsh frowned. “Did you finish
checking the rest of the building?”

Walker nodded. “Got teams going
through each apartment right now, but most of them are still empty following
the first murder. And we’re going to set up video surveillance back and front
of the property ASAP.”

Why hadn’t they done that a few
days ago?

She looked down and spotted the red
paint encrusting her fingernails like fresh blood. “He took a painting.”

“What painting?” the feds asked in
unison.

Josie swallowed, feeling sick that
she’d betrayed those women by painting an image of the torture they’d endured.
It was abstract, but the Blade Hunter had known exactly what he’d been looking
at.

“I painted it this morning.” She
scrubbed her eyes, feeling dizzy. “It’s abstract, but it’s about the murders.
It’s about blood and agony.”

Marsh pressed her head between her
knees before she realized she was close to passing out. He knelt beside her on
the rug. “You’re coming with me, Josephine, and if you fight me I’m going to
handcuff you and drag you there.”

“There’s always protective
custody.” Sam Walker spoke to Marsh not her. She gripped Marsh’s hand and dug
in her nails to tell him exactly what she thought of that idea.

“That’s okay, Agent Walker.” He
rubbed her hand gently. “She’s coming with me for a few days. After that we’ll
need to figure out some other arrangement until we can catch this guy.”

“The whole city is on high alert.
The media are going crazy so we should have more resources soon,” said Walker.

“Can you walk?” Marsh asked her
quietly.

“Of course.” She hoped.

“Anything here you can’t live
without?” He held out his hand as if expecting her to say no.

Instead she shook him off and
stumbled toward the closet near the front door. Her knapsack lay on the floor.
She opened it and peeked inside. Marion’s ashes were safe within the funky
little urn Josie had painted.

“Just this.” She clasped the
knapsack in front of her and ignored his curious frown. “Nothing else matters.”

***

Five hours later,
Marsh watched the sway of Josephine’s hips as he followed her and his mother
along the upstairs hallway of the family home.

Alternate realities set on a
collision course.

They glided like ghosts over the
thick oriental runner, footsteps silent as moth’s wings. The subtle odor of
beeswax teased his nostrils and brought with it a cascade of memories that
faded inexorably with each passing year. Two boys sword-fighting along this
hallway, sliding down the banister and clambering over furniture. He stuffed
his hands in his pockets and forced away the memories.