Heather Graham (26 page)

“Yes,” she murmured vaguely.

“I mean it. You stay here.”

“Jon has just come out of a coma. I’ll be here,” Ann promised quietly. She couldn’t quite manage to bring her eyes up to meet his.

“There will be an officer on the door,” Mark told her.

“There’s been an officer on the door since the night Jon came in,” Ann said steadily.

“Is that house arrest—or protective custody?” Jon asked.

“Consider it both,” Mark said.

He turned around and left. The doctor followed him out. Ann looked back to Jon to discover that he was staring at her pointedly. “What the hell was that all about? What’s going on?”

“Nothing, really.”

“He wasn’t worried about me trying to walk out of here. He was worried about you.”

“I think he was worried about both of us. Jon, you and I both know that you’re innocent. That means that there is a killer out there who would love to see you dead before you did get to prove your innocence.”

“He was worried about
you
.”

Shadows, Ann thought.

She didn’t want to tell him that a shadow had nearly crawled into her apartment via the balcony. That she had been saved from the shadow because Mark LaCrosse had been sleeping on her couch.

Sleeping on the couch, because she’d been so disconcerted to discover that he’d slept with Gina that she’d been damned determined to keep him out of her bed.

“Ann?” he sounded both worn and worried.

“Jon, I promised I wouldn’t talk if they let me stay in here. It’s funny, they told me to keep talking to you all the other times I was in here; now they want me to behave. Because you have to rest. And you do have to rest. You’ve got to get well, and you’ve got to get out of here.”

“She’s dead, Ann,” he said quietly. She heard the despair in his voice.

“Jon, you’ve got a daughter; don’t you dare give up on life on me. You’ve got your daughter, your art, and me.”

“Life’s amazing, isn’t it? That blasted show was so important to me...and now it doesn’t matter at all. Did you ever see it?”

She shook her head. She smiled. “I’ve been here a lot. And...”

“And?”

“Well, otherwise occupied. We’ll talk about it later. Jon, you’ve got to rest. You need your strength. If not for me, for Katie. If not for either of us, for Gina. Don’t let her killer walk free.”

“No,” he agreed. His eyes closed. She thought he was sleeping, but his hand suddenly squeezed hers.

“Annie...I’ll prove it somehow. I’ll find who did kill her, I swear it.”

“I know, Jon, I know,” Ann said.

He slept at last. She kept holding his hand. She thought about the things he had said, over and over.

Shadows...

But he had seen a face, or part of a face, and lost it.

She didn’t think that Jon would have to wander very far to find the killer.

The killer was locked within his mind.

The important thing was for Jon to realize that he already knew what he wanted to learn.

Then...

Then they all had to hope that the truth was discovered before the killer realized that Jon had seen...

A face.

The face of death.

“You’ll be with me,” Jon murmured suddenly.

Umm, she thought.

If he only knew just how far she’d been with him already!

But he wasn’t strong enough for the truth yet. Soon enough, he’d know everything that was going on.

M
ARK GAVE THE UNIFORMED
officer watching Jon’s door strict instructions that he was to be informed if Ann Marcel so much as stepped outside the hospital door; then he started out himself. He wanted to get a hold of Jimmy, then get by to talk to the chief, Charlie Harris, who kept threatening to retire and force Mark to take his job. He wanted to discuss his growing convictions with both Jimmy and Charlie; then he wanted to take a trip by the D.A.’s office. Oddly enough, he was going to change his recommendation.

Now that Jon Marcel was conscious, Mark, as a policeman, could arrest him and hold him twenty-four hours on suspicion of murder while the D.A.’s office finished preparing the charges—which wouldn’t take long.

But Mark didn’t think that Jon Marcel should be arrested for the murder—though he did think that Marcel should be followed every step that he took once he left the hospital.

Before Mark could leave the hospital, he was hailed by another officer in uniform.

“Lieutenant. Lieutenant!”

It was Billings, Mark saw. The earnest rookie came puffing up to him.

“Did something happen with Marcel?” he asked anxiously.

Billings shook his head. “It’s Gregory Hanson, sir.”

“Gregory, my God—”

“No, no, nothing bad, sir. His condition has improved. He heard you were here and wants to see you.”

Mark smiled with relief. “Thank God. Gregory is alive and ticking! Thanks, Billings!”

He knew Gregory’s room number; he’d called in for the trumpet player’s condition often enough. He strode there quickly, then paused briefly in the doorway, studying the man.

His head was bandaged as if he were a damned mummy. His color was still more gray than black. A nurse was at his side, checking his blood pressure.

But he was propped up on a pillow, and he was watching Mark with sharp, clear eyes.

“Hey, my friend!” Mark said, stepping into the room. “You’re looking fine! You gave us one hell of a scare the other morning.”

“I thought I was done for,” Gregory agreed. He glanced at the nurse, and Mark realized that he was waiting for her to leave before saying what he really wanted to say.

“Hell of a storm,” Mark said.

“And you wound up out in it.”

“I came after Ann,” he said honestly.

Gregory arched a brow.

“Well, you know. She’s—trouble.”

Gregory grinned. “Mama Lili Mae liked her right off.”

Mark lowered his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, well, she’s one good judge of character. But you, sir—what were you thinking, taking her out into the swamp?”

He shrugged. “She’s the inquisitive type. It seemed safer for her to be inquisitive with me. Of course, great help I turned out to be!”

“Hey—none of us can combat an act of God.”

“Keep my patient calm and in bed,” the nurse said, rolling her blood-pressure machine away from the bed.

“I’ll do that,” Mark promised.

The nurse left, closing the door behind her.

“Act of God, my ass!” Gregory swore the second they were alone.

“What?”

Gregory shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on anymore. Cindy and I are sitting together, and she gets restless, and can’t sit still anymore. You know Cindy. She ups and wanders off on me. She couldn’t have been too far from me. I heard her scream, I thought she was in trouble, I hurried off after her. I started to look around; the storm was beginning to whip into real action—and then someone came and hit me on the head.”

“Who?”

“Damned if I know!” Gregory swore. “But it was someone.”

“You’re sure. You were under a whole damned tree when we found you.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure, I’m sure. Mark, you’ve known me a long time, and you know I’m not any idiot. Someone came up quick behind me, and pelted me good and hard on the damned head. I went out like a baby long before that blasted tree came down.”

Mark sighed. “Shit.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And you didn’t see anything.”

Gregory miserably shook his bandaged head. “Fleeting movement. A damned shadow. Nothing more.”

A damned shadow.

Now he was chasing a shadow.

A shadow who had killed twice, and attempted to murder Gregory. It was beginning to feel like a game of
Clue
: Gina in the alley with a knife, Jane Doe by the water with a nylon, Gregory in the bayou with a slam against the head.

A shadow...

The same damned shadow that had nearly been in Ann Marcel’s house.

“What the hell is going on here?” he said aloud.

“I haven’t said a word to anyone else. When I came to here in the hospital, I knew right off that everyone thought I’d been downed by the tree. I just kept the truth to myself. I figured I’d keep it. ’Til I got my chance to see you. But, hey, I heard that Marcel came out of his coma. Amazing. Great. But did he see anything.”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“A frigging shadow,” Mark told him. “A damned, frigging shadow!”

Ann spent most of the day in the hospital, just sitting by Jon’s side. The nurses were wonderfully kind, bringing her coffee and magazines so that she could keep herself occupied while Jon dozed on and off, regaining his strength. He was still connected to an I.V. which kept him hydrated and supplied glucose and minerals, but at noon, he ate solid food again, soup and crackers and Jell-O.

After he ate, Jon fell back asleep again, and Ann decided to go out for a sandwich herself and perhaps to a local store for a sketch pad.

When she started out of the room, she was stopped by the quiet young officer on duty.

“Mrs. Marcel!”

“Yes?”

“Where are you going?”

Ann arched a brow. “To get some lunch.”

“In the hospital?”

She frowned. “Maybe, maybe not. Why?”

“Well, I’m...”

“I’m not under arrest—or suspicion—am I?”

“No, no, of course not.”

“Then, sir, please don’t worry about me, or where I’m going,” she told him, smiling to make her words as pleasant as possible.

Mark.

He wasn’t going to get into telling her where she could and couldn’t go.

She hurried down the corridor, reminding herself that Mark was trying to keep her alive and well. The only problem was that Mark didn’t share her positive conviction that Jon was innocent.

She ate in the hospital cafeteria, and found a small writing pad in the gift shop, which she determined would do for the afternoon.

She was a little bit spooked—and she had said that she wasn’t going to leave Jon. She went on back up to Jon’s room and was startled when she saw that Mark’s partner, Jimmy Deveaux, was standing quietly at the back of the room, just watching Jon as he slept. She felt a wave of acute uneasiness sweep over her at sight of the man.

“Officer Deveaux,” she said quietly. “What are you doing here? The police aren’t supposed to be questioning Jon any more today. Mark was already in here—”

“I know.”

“Jon’s supposed to give a deposition tomorrow.”

“I know.” Jimmy Deveaux offered her one of his sad, blood-hound smiles. “I just came to check that everything was going all right. You need anything, you doing okay?”

“I’m—fine,” she said.

He nodded. “Well, you know, you’re really not fine.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“There was some excitement at your house in the middle of the night.”

“Someone—came up on the balcony.”

“Yeah. Thank God Mark was there to stop whoever it was.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You need to stay away from the club, Mrs. Marcel. You’re going to wind up putting yourself into more and more dangerous positions.”

“So...,” she murmured. “You agree with me, then, that Jon is innocent?”

“Not on your life,” he admitted.

“Then I’m not in any danger. And I thank you for your concern; but the doctor has said that Jon is not to be questioned any more today, and I will appreciate it if you will leave him alone.”

“Sure. I just came by to help if I could. In lieu of Mark.” His smile was strange, Ann thought. Again, she felt uneasy.

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll be seeing you, Mrs. Marcel,” he said.

And left her.

Ann sat back down by Jon’s bedside, staring after Jimmy Deveaux. She looked down at Jon. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

She leaned her ear against his chest to make sure that he was breathing, and that his heart was beating.

He was definitely still alive. Deveaux hadn’t come in here to smother him in his sleep or anything.

So why had he come?

Mark sat with Chief Charlie Harris at a small table at one of the unique little cafes right off Bourbon Street. They’d ordered the crawfish and linguini, and though the mild tomato sauce that tenderly enwrapped the little shellfish was far different from his own hot sauce—which he had so recently enjoyed—the meal kept reminding him of the cabin. Of Ann. Of Ann in the cabin. Naked.

He set his fork down. She had told him that a man just needed the proximity of a woman to become aroused while a woman needed emotion. She was wrong.

He didn’t need the proximity. Just the memory.

He didn’t need to be thinking about Ann now. He heard himself grinding down on his teeth. Marcel was conscious. Clinging to her. And she was with him. His best friend. His buddy. His next of kin.

Marcel who had been in love with Gina. But Gina was dead now. So Marcel had only his ex-wife to cling to. His ex-wife—who was willing to risk her own life to save his ass.

“The evidence, as I see it, still weighs against Marcel,” Charlie Harris was saying. Charlie should have been the governor. He was large, with snow-white hair, a ruddy face, fine blue eyes, and a quick smile. He was a reassuring individual—which was a bit deceptive, since Charlie could be hard as nails.

“Well, if we consider the fact that the man was covered in the victim’s blood, yes,” Mark said.

“That does seem to be an important fact,” Charlie agreed dryly. He sat back, sipping a cup of piping hot coffee. “But you’re telling me you don’t want to bring him in once he’s released?”

“Another murder took place while he was in the hospital.”

“Different type of murder.”

“It’s associated somehow—I know it.”

Charlie shrugged, wagging a finger at Mark. “The D.A.’s office has the evidence against Marcel. If they decide to press charges now, the police officers of the Parish of New Orleans are not going to stand in the way. However...did we I.D. our Jane Doe yet?”

“No, but Lee Minh is convinced that something will come in during the next twenty-four hours. The computers are scanning missing persons reports right now. The problem is, you know, if a visitor was killed, friends and family may not know for days that the person is missing.”

“I’m aware of that. I’m still not sure that these killings can be connected just because one girl worked at the club and another was seen at the club.”