Night Hunter (24 page)

The doctor leaned in and began to take off the bandage. She kept the mirror turned away, too terrified to watch. She closed her eyes.

The last scrap of gauze came away and she heard someone draw in a sharp breath. Her pulse pounded and she felt faint. She opened her eyes and saw Nolan. The expression on his face was one of astonishment.

She turned her head to look at her father. The old man had tears in his eyes. He reached out, putting his hand over hers, and lifted the mirror. Slowly she turned her head.

She was perfectly normal.

She looked to the doctor in disbelief. He smiled, nodded.

“
It’s something new we’ve been working with.” He stroked her jaw. “A drug that rapidly heals without a trace of scarring.”

She began to cry. Nolan took her in his arms and shushed her. In her ear he said quietly, “Donna, luv, I can say this now, now that you’re okay. God forgive me, I don’t think I could have lived with a woman who
was...”

She cried from sheer relief and happiness.

And as she felt herself awakening, she fought it, struggled to go back in, to escape for a bit longer in her miracle dream. But the bright light of day was gradually replaced by the steely dawn, more dark than light.

Fully awake now, Donna wiped her eyes with a corner of the sheet. An overwhelming sadness closed around her. Although her loved ones rallied around her each day, and the room filled daily with flowers from her devoted fans, she’d never felt so lonely in her life. Tammy and Amelia had finally come, and though they were kind and supportive, it was apparent they both struggled to control the revulsion that roiled inside them when they looked at her.

She hated the feelings that had gradually come to replace the apathetic, disjointed ones following on the heels of the assault. Now, along with the incredible loneliness, she battled post-attack terror. A new nurse or orderly entering her room sent her pulse racing dangerously. She had become distrusting and hyper-vigilant.

Not only was she frightened for her life, she was terrified that she would lose her husband’s love.

She was about to close her eyes when she sensed someone was in the room with her. Turning her head to the left, she saw a hooded figure in a long black coat standing just inside the door.

Donna gripped the sheet tightly.

The figure moved forward, one faltering step at a time, until it reached the foot of the bed. With what looked to Donna like a calculated move, a gloved hand reached up and pulled back the hood. Wraparound sunglasses caught the soft night light. Those came off next.

The fact that the figure looking across the bed at her was a woman failed to alleviate Donna’s terror. Her breathing became labored.

“
Hi, Donna.”

Donna recognized the rusty sounding voice. Although the light in the room was diffused, she could make out the dark twisted skin and the black space where an eye should have been. Corinne.

She swallowed.

“
Yes. It’s early, I know. I don’t go out in the daylight.”

Donna balled the sheet against her stomach.

“
You’re wondering why I’m here? I wanted to see you.” A long pause. “That’s all. I just wanted to see you.”

Donna glanced at the call button attached to the rail of the bed.

“
Looks like you’ve still got both your eyes.” She moved around the corner of the bed and took a step closer. “Does it hurt? Can’t talk, huh? Bet you’re gonna have plastic surgery. That’s no fun either.” Another step. “Burns are such a bitch to work on.” She chuckled softly. “Course, I wouldn’t know. My old man took the money I won, the money that should’ve gone to fix me up, and paid his bookie with it. He thought his miserable hide was more important than mine. After he pissed that money away and hocked the rest of my winnings, he got deep into them again, so there was never any money for me. My mother worked herself to death to pay his gambling debts and keep him in booze and diabetic insulin. Now we make do with state aid.” She was standing alongside Donna’s head now, the stale, sour smell of alcohol clearly on her breath. “So tell me, Miss Celebrity, Miss Pollyanna of the Classic women, do you still want me on your show?”

Donna squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to see more.

“
What, no pity for me?” Corinne asked lightly “No, I guess not. Well, save it for yourself. You’re going to need it.”

Long after those words, though Donna was certain Corinne was no longer in the room, she kept her eyes tightly closed. But behind her lids she saw Corinne as clearly as if she still stood before her. She would end up like Corinne, no amount of surgery could fix her. Whatever the damage, it would be with her always.

Her teeth chattered, making the wounds at her jaw and throat throb.

CHAPTER 21

Amelia lay on her side with her eyes closed, feigning sleep. The bed shifted slightly. She held her breath. Cool fingers probed between her legs. She jerked reflexively as a wave of repulsion washed through her.

Oh, how she hated him. Wooing or foreplay were nonexistent. Not that she wanted Matthew to kiss or fondle her or in any way prolong the vile act that he called love, but she detested the way he came at her, fingers poking, pinching. The moment he touched her she stiffened, and no amount of self-will could induce her to mentally remove herself, or take on a fantasy lover. If he knew how sick his touch made her, the shock would render him impotent for life. Perhaps she’d tell him when the time was right.

He fit himself to her spoon fashion, the wiry hairs on his legs pricking at her calves like cockleburs, his erection pressed at her lower back.

“
Amelia,” he said quietly.

It was no use. He would persist until she could stand it no more, and stalling only wasted time. She turned over on her back and parted her legs. Matthew rolled over on her. In a matter of moments he was on his way.

From years of having to endure, she knew what Matthew liked, what would hurry him along so she could get his bony body off her. She licked her lips and moaned.

“
Is it good, Amelia?”

“
Hmmm.”

“
Amelia?”

“
Oh, yes, always.” She moaned again and rolled her hips just so.

He let out a sharp cry, then collapsed on top of her.

She wanted to push him off, rush into the bathroom and scrub herself with a stiff loofah sponge, but Matthew took his time.

At last he rolled off her. “I have a surprise for you.”

Amelia smiled knowingly. Now that the disgusting act was over, it really hadn’t been so bad. Especially since he had something for her. Was it the sheared beaver jacket? Or the half-carat diamond earrings she’d pointed out to him at Gump’s? She preferred the jewelry. It could always be converted into cash.

“
How sweet, darling. What is it?”

“
I know you were disappointed that you couldn’t visit your parents last weekend, so I’ve cleared my calendar for a couple days. For our anniversary we’ll drive to Napa and stay at the Meadowvale Inn. While I get in a round of golf you can take the car and drive out to see them.”

The joy of anticipation drained out of Amelia. She felt cold and sick again. The Meadowvale was the inn where she and Fletcher were to stay. With Fletch it would have been heaven. But with Matthew it could only be hell.

No fur jacket, no diamond earrings. Nothing. Worse than nothing. His surprise? A plush suite where he would behave like a raunchy, insatiable lover.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. Fletcher was due back then. And there was one other bit of business.

“
Is there something wrong?”

“
Hmmm?” She brought her attention back to her husband.

“
You don’t look pleased with my surprise.” He frowned. “If you’d rather not.”

“
No. No, darling,” she said quickly. “Of course I’m pleased. It’s our anniversary, after all. How thoughtful.” She squeezed his hand and in a distracted voice she added quietly, “How very thoughtful.”

Matthew rolled to the side of the bed and opened the top drawer of the nightstand. With a self-pleased grin he handed her a small velvet box.

She took the box, looking up at him, then, tentatively, she opened it. Against the black velvet the twelve graduated diamonds set in white gold blazed like stars in a desert sky.

“
Ohhh,” she breathed. “The tennis earrings.”

“
As I was purchasing these I said to myself, ‘There is only one thing perfect enough to wear with them.’”

The jacket? A matching necklace? Bracelet? Amelia’s head felt light. What else had he bought for her? Perhaps the ordeal could be somewhat more endurable
if...

“
Bubbles,” he said with a pleased expression. “Hot tub bubbles. I reserved a suite with a Jacuzzi. You, my love, in a pool of hot, bubbly water wearing nothing but the earrings.” His hand squeezed a breast.

Amelia smiled. Her fingers gripped the box tightly.

Several hours later, just before noon, with their bags packed and Amelia putting the finishing touches to her face and hair, Matthew, impatient with waiting, announced he was going to the station to fill the car with gas. After he left, Amelia rushed to the phone. Her first call was to Nolan Lake at KSCO. Then she dialed the number from the card Fletcher had given her. After a half dozen rings a resonant voice said: “Good afternoon, Morse, Blake, Noble Mortuary. How may I help you?”

“
Pardon me, is this 315-555-1010?” She was assured it was. She hung up.

Damn!

He had inadvertently jotted down the wrong number? What was the name of the hotel where Fletcher said he would be staying? Had he even mentioned a name? She couldn’t remember.

There was nothing to do but wait until he returned.

On his way to the TV station John had made up his mind that he would not take no for an answer. What he had to say was important, more so to her than to him. The tricky part was knowing how much to reveal without scaring her or making her even more suspicious.

He slipped past the station’s main desk and took the same route he’d followed the day Donna Lake was assaulted. He passed the restroom from which she had been wheeled and continued on until he came to a large room with desks and tables and unfamiliar equipment.

Regina Van Raven was sitting behind the first desk, her head lowered. The dark brown hair highlighted with streaks of a lighter brown was pulled back into a French braid.

He stopped at the desk, his hands in the deep pockets of his bomber jacket, and watched her. Her lashes were very long and quite lovely. She was wearing makeup today, more than the first time when he’d spotted her out front with her daughter, but not as much as on that fateful day of taping. Today she wore a green cotton shirt, the stiff collar standing up along her jaw, the sleeves rolled to her elbows. Underneath the shirt, which was open to the waist and tucked into a wide faux reptile belt, she wore a gold tank top. The neckline was scooped, and when she lifted her head to look up at him, he caught a glimpse of cleavage, and he knew her breasts would be round and not pointed.

“
Hi,” he said, meeting her eyes.

She leaned back in the chair, her expression stoic.

“
I can’t keep chasing after you.” He tried to match her detached countenance. “I thought if I took you to lunch, y’know, with people all around, you’d trust me enough to listen to what I have to say. This isn’t a pickup.”

Without taking her gaze from his, she tossed the pen on the blotter. She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out her large, shapeless handbag, slung the strap over her shoulder, rose, and said casually, “I’ve been wanting to try that Hungarian restaurant on the next block.”