A Whisper in the Dark (28 page)

At Chartres she stopped at her favorite coffeehouse and ordered a café au lait and a praline to go. She’d decided to stay up late and finish the chapter she’d started earlier in the week. She chatted with the clerk for a few minutes while the praline was wrapped and the coffee poured into a paper cup, then took both and left. A right on Royal and then it was just a few blocks to the shop.

She should have felt celebratory as she strode briskly down the cobblestone street, passing by the quaint antiques shops and eclectic mix of restaurants. But not for the first time that evening she felt the weight of an emotion she couldn’t quite identify pressing down on her. An emptiness she hadn’t been able to put her finger on. When the welcoming lights of the shop came into view, she caught herself looking for John’s Mustang, and with some surprise she finally realized the source of her emotion.

She missed John.

She knew it was silly. After all, they barely knew each other. He’d only stayed at the shop a few days. Not because he’d wanted to be with her, but because her father had hired him to find the man who’d been stalking her. It was stupid to make anything more of it.

But somewhere deep inside, Julia acknowledged the fact that she missed seeing him. She missed talking to him. Missed knowing he was there. It wasn’t like her. Independent to a fault, she was not the kind of woman to go off the deep end over a man. She’d always prided herself on being levelheaded and focused. She could count on a couple of fingers the number of men she’d been attracted to.

But she couldn’t deny there had been something powerful at work between her and the brooding ex-cop. Something edgy and uncomfortable and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, damned exciting.

The image of him kissing her—bringing her to climax—in the storage room the night before came to her unbidden. Even alone and walking a dark street, she felt the heat of embarrassment creep into her cheeks. She’d never done anything so wildly inappropriate in her life. She’d never let a man touch her that way. Never been so swept away that she forgot where she was.

She almost couldn’t believe it had happened. But there was no way she could deny the memory of the intensity of the pleasure he’d given her. Nor could she deny that just the thought of doing it again brought a hot flush to her entire body.

“Oh, for God’s sake get a grip,” she muttered as she dug the keys from her purse and opened the door.

John might be an attractive man. He might appeal to her on so many levels she couldn’t begin to count them. Both of those things were tempered by the knowledge that he was not in a place in his life where he could partake in a healthy relationship. Not that Julia was looking for a relationship. She wasn’t. The shop and her writing kept her hopping seven days a week. She was happily unencumbered. She loved her independence. Loved the freedom of being able to come and go as she pleased. Of not having to answer to anyone but herself. She liked her life the way it was. Liked it too much to change it—or share it with anyone else. At least for the moment.

But when she stepped into the shop, the silence seemed as loud as a blaring horn. She breathed in the lingering scents of sandalwood and coffee like she always did, but the usual pleasure of coming home eluded her. Her celebratory mood dimmed. She didn’t want to admit it, but the place seemed empty. And for the first time in her adult life, Julia felt . . . lonely.

It was a ridiculous notion. She led a busy life filled with good friends and a family she adored. She
wasn’t
lonely. She didn’t need a man to be happy or fulfilled or satisfied. She was all of those things alone. But she couldn’t deny that for the few short days John had been here, he’d added something special and unexpected to her life.

“Do not go there,” she said aloud, locking the door behind her.

She hit the light switch next to the door, but the overhead lights didn’t come on. “Crap.” Shaking her head, she crossed to the register and set her coffee and purse on the counter. “Damn stupid fuses.”

She walked to her desk and switched on the lamp.

Nothing.

Muttering beneath her breath, she opened the bottom drawer and fumbled around for a fuse, then started toward the storage room at the rear of the shop. She was midway down the aisle when she stumbled over something on the floor. “What the—”

She looked down to see a copy of
A Gentleman’s Touch
at her feet. “How did you get there?” she said aloud as she stooped to pick it up.

In the dim light slanting in from the front window she could see just enough to discern that the book was not intact. The cover had been ripped. Some of the pages were stuck together with something sticky. She stared down at the book, her mind scrambling for a logical explanation.

But there was nothing logical about finding the damaged book on the floor. The only explanation that came to mind was like the scrape of a cold finger down her back.

Someone had been in the shop.

Alarm zinged through her with the force of an electrical shock. Straightening, she squinted into the semidarkness, her heart bucking hard against her ribs. On the floor ahead she noticed the dark silhouettes of other books that had been torn from the shelves. To her right the coffeemaker lay on the floor, wet grounds scattered about like dirt. The carafe had shattered and the glass glittered like ice. Beyond, she could see that files and papers had been strewn about the floor.

Someone had ransacked the place. But who would do such a thing? What had they been looking for? Had they been after cash?

Slowly, she backed away from the mess. At the end of the aisle, she turned and crossed to her desk. Black dread rose inside her when she spotted the petty cash drawer open, the money inside untouched. Whoever had done this hadn’t come in to steal. They’d broken into her shop to destroy.

Her temper flared at the thought of some mindless goon destroying her property. Her shop. Things that had taken her years of hard work to accumulate. Many of the books she carried were one of a kind. Priceless. Irreplaceable. What gave someone the right to destroy? To take something valuable from the world?

“You son of a bitch.” Putting her hands on her hips, she shook her head and tried not to be frightened.

But the fear was like a fist clutching her gut. She looked down at the book in her hand. Something cold and unsettling went through her when she spotted the slip of paper sticking out from between the pages.

Her hand shook when she slid the paper from its nest.

She read the words twice before their meaning penetrated the veil of denial. It was from “The Ballad of Reading Gaol” by Oscar Wilde. A poem about a man who killed the woman he loved . . .

Realization came like a punch. She tried reminding herself the police had caught the stalker. Nicholas Vester was sitting in a jail cell. But if that was the case, who had done this? Had Vester made bail and returned to exact revenge?

For the first time it struck her that the intruder could still be in the shop, watching her, and her blood ran cold. Julia spun and bolted for the front door. She was midway there when the scrape of leather soles against ancient wood planks sounded directly behind her. Alarm ratcheted into terror. She picked up speed. Four strides and she reached the door. Her fist slammed against the bolt lock, clicked it open. Her hand twisted the knob.

The next thing she knew two clawlike hands slammed down on her shoulders. Pain radiated down both arms when he squeezed. She screamed, but the sound was cut short when a smothering hand slapped over her mouth.

“Princess of Darkness,” came a guttural male voice.

Julia tried to get the door open, but he was incredibly strong and yanked her backward so violently she lost her footing. His hand was so tight against her nose and mouth that she couldn’t breathe. She tried to pry his hand from her face, but couldn’t.

“Father, forgive her,” he said in that terrible, whispered voice, “for she knows not what she does.”

Julia clawed at the hand, gouging his flesh with her nails. Gasping, he jerked his hand away.

“Help me!” she screamed.

The blow came out of nowhere, so hard the impact buckled her knees. Pain exploded the left side of her face. The room spun sickeningly. The next thing she knew she was lying on the floor, the wood planks hard against her cheek. Lifting her head, she blinked, shook her head to clear it. Vaguely, she was aware of the taste of blood in her mouth. Throbbing pain in her left cheekbone.

A lightning burst of adrenaline sent her upright. She caught a glimpse of her attacker above her. Black jacket. Black pants. The Mardi Gras mask gleamed like some macabre demon. She lashed out with her feet, made contact. Heard a grunt. The second blow snapped her head back. The floor rushed up and crashed into her back. Around her the room spun in a slow circle. The light slanting through the window from the street went dark.

The next thing she knew he was on top of her. She tried to twist, writhe out from beneath him. But he was heavy. At some point he had captured her wrists, and he was using something to bind them together. She tried to scream, but when she opened her mouth he stuffed something into it. She tried to bite his fingers, but he withdrew them too quickly.

She raised her head, tried to spit out the gag, but he stopped her with a hard, openhanded slap on the face. “Don’t fight me,” he whispered. “Let me save you.”

Julia fought dizziness that was partly from the blows, partly from the surge of adrenaline. A terrible sense of vulnerability engulfed her when he shoved her hands above her head.

“Blessed are the pure in heart; for they shall see God,” he whispered.

Julia tried to scream, but the gag muffled her voice and she ended up choking.

“Unto the pure all things are pure.”

The words snapped her back. She was lying on her back. He was sitting on top of her, looking down at her through the eye holes of the hideous mask. All she could think was that she was at the mercy of a madman.

Never taking his eyes from hers, he reached down and jerked her skirt up her thighs. She screamed into the gag. Twisted and kicked, but she could not dislodge him.

“And He said that holy water will reveal Satan’s followers by blistering the skin.”

She lifted her head to see the glint of something in his hand. He lifted the object above her, turned his hand as if to pour. Liquid splashed her throat. Her legs. At first she thought he’d doused her with water. Then she felt the sensation of heat on her skin. A heat that quickly exploded into a burning pain.

Renewed terror engulfed her. Julia twisted and lashed out with her feet. She caught his back with her knee hard enough to knock him off balance. He fell sideways, let go of her hands. She twisted out from beneath him, lashed out with both feet. Her left boot caught him squarely on the shoulder, sent him reeling back.

She scrambled to her knees. Fighting to free her hands, she spat the gag. Screamed as loud as she could. “Help me!”

Before she could get to her feet, his fist slammed into the side of her head. White light exploded behind her lids. The force of the impact knocked her to the floor. Darkness crowded her vision, and for an instant she was terrified she would lose consciousness. She lay still, unable to move, trying to gather her senses. Vaguely, she was aware of the pain in her head. The searing pain of whatever he’d splashed on her.

Rough hands fumbled with her shirt. She heard the sound of fabric ripping. Fighting dizziness, she opened her eyes, tried to focus. The man in the mask was on his knees beside her. He’d ripped open her shirt. He snapped the elastic of her bra. “No!” She raised her bound hands to fight him.

He snarled something unintelligible and slapped her hard in the face. Dazed, Julia fell back, her head snapping against the floor.

Dear God, he’s going to rape me, she thought with a horrifying sense of clarity.

But instead of touching her, he thrust a small vial at her, splashing more of the burning liquid onto her bare abdomen.

“God be merciful to me, a sinner,” he said in a fervent voice.

The burn came instantly and with a ferocity that took her breath. Julia screamed, terrified that he was dousing her with some kind of acid.

“Shut up!” Roughly, he yanked up her skirt.

She caught a glimpse of something in his hand. The glitter of a crucifix covered in gold leaf. Then his fingers were tugging at her panties, tearing the fabric.

Panic clawed at her, a wild animal trapped and fighting for its life. Screaming, she twisted, kicked out with her legs. “Get away from me!”

“Whore!” He caught her around the waist, pulled her back, slammed her against the floor. “Succubus!”

Screaming, Julia went wild, hammering him with her bound hands. She raised her knees, caught him beneath the chin, sent him reeling back. But before she could scramble away, he lunged at her.

A fresh wave of terror descended when she felt the crucifix being rammed against her inner thigh, her groin, her pubis. Oh, dear God, he was trying to put the crucifix inside her.

Outrage and adrenaline sent her bolt upright. She twisted, tried to scramble away. He came after her. Only this time she saw the blow coming and rolled.

Bone crunched when his fist smashed into the floor. His scream came out as a roar. “You
bitch
!”

Before he could recover, she clasped her bound hands together, formed a double fist and swung as hard as she could. Her fist connected with his left ear. He yelped, raised his hands to protect himself. But his eyes were murderous within the mask.

Knowing he was going to react with extreme violence, Julia leaned back on her elbows and pummeled him with both feet. No time to aim. Just kick. Wherever she could get him. Chest. Shoulder. Throat. Kick. Kick.
Kick!