Nothing to Fear (45 page)

Ethan’s stomach turned over and he had to swallow back the bile, not for the sight of the large bloodstain, but for the understanding of what it represented.

“You never moved, did you?” he asked raggedly.

She wouldn’t look at him. “No.” Her lips just formed the word. No sound emerged.

She’d died here, Dana’s mother. The old article he’d found said she was discovered by her daughter, horribly battered and bleeding. It never provided an address or a culprit. He’d remembered the look in her eyes the morning she’d told him about herself, the abuse at the hands of her father, then her stepfather. He’d read the article and assumed the stepfather was responsible. He’d confirmed it when he found the stepfather’s name on the list of lifers at the state prison.

He’d assumed she’d moved. Most people would have moved. Dana Dupinsky was not most people. Somehow she’d transformed the scene of a senseless, vile crime into her own private, never-ending hell. Every time she came home, she had to see it again, walk it again. This place with its junkies and pushers was one big fucking penance.

“Hell, Abe,” Mitchell said from behind them.

Reagan came to his feet. “Don’t tell me. Her mother?”

Mitchell shot the very pale, shaken Dana a look of such intense caring that Ethan almost forgave her for putting Dana in jeopardy. “Yeah. Cover it back up, will you? Ethan, take her back to the hotel. Call me when you get there, okay?”

Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 11:00 P.M.

Something was wrong. From a block away, Sue sat in her car staring through the houses at the little two-story that belonged to the officer that had arrested her eleven years ago. Taggart was his name. He lived alone, but she could see shadows of others moving around inside. Her instincts hummed. The cops were there, waiting. Waiting for me.

Well, they’d be disappointed, she thought. Sue tapped the steering wheel thoughtfully. The only way the police would be here was if Randi tipped them off. There was no other logical way they’d even be suspicious. She’d thought the kid would have made a difference. That Randi Vaughn would have learned the consequences of ratting to the police. Obviously old habits died hard. So would Randi Vaughn.

Now that Randi Vaughn had alerted the police, they would be sure to be watching her hotel. This called for a change in tomorrow evening’s logistics. Same party location, different pickup plan for the guest of honor. She’d give Donnie the heads-up tomorrow. She pulled into a gas station, thinking of the empty cans in the trunk that needed filling.

Tonight’s logistics, however, were right on track.

Chicago, Thursday, August 5, 11:45 P.M.

“Dana, you really need to eat,” Ethan said from the bedroom doorway.

She could see Ethan’s reflection in the window as she looked down on the bright lights of the city. He’d been trying to get her to eat ever since they’d returned from her apartment, but the very thought of food made her throat close up. “Ethan, I’m really not hungry,” she replied in a testy tone designed to drive him back to the sitting room.

Instead she watched his reflection approach, shivered when he put his warm hands on her cold shoulders and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.

“Don’t give up, baby,” he murmured, but his reflection showed the worry in his eyes.

“I haven’t,” she murmured back, but she could hear the lie in her voice. Sue had Evie and Sue had her gun. Sue had killed eleven people and nobody knew where she was.

He tugged on her shoulders. “You’ve been standing here looking out the window for two hours, Dana. Come to bed. You need to sleep.”

She pulled away from his hands. “No. I don’t want to sleep.”

“Because you dream.”

She gritted her teeth, anger simmering so close to the surface. Normally she could hold it down, keep it boxed up. Not tonight. “Y’think?” she asked acidly.

The man did not budge and she wanted to curse him for it. “Yes, I think. Are you ready to tell me about it now?” When she gritted her teeth harder, he just covered her shoulders with his hands again and began to massage. “Remember that first night at Wrigleyville? You got me to talk about Richard and I felt better. You need to start listening to yourself.”

Her laugh was bitter. “Physician, heal thyself?”

“If the shoe fits, baby.” His hands slid from her shoulders down her arms and locked around her waist and despite her efforts to resist, her body seemed to know how they fit best. She leaned into him, resting the back of her head against his shoulder.

“Why do you keep insisting I tell you about my mother?”

“Because you think it’s the biggest part of you,” he murmured.

Dana blinked and turned around to look up at him. “What?”

“Dana, everything you’ve made of yourself you attribute to one very bad event.” He skimmed his thumb over her eyebrows and her eyelids drooped. “The night your mother was killed. Not by you,” he added, “even though that’s what you’d have yourself believe.”

“You checked,” she said wearily, leaning her forehead against his bare chest, his hair tickling her nose. “You must have thought there was some validity to it to have checked.”

“No, I never thought there was validity to it. You could not kill another human being.”

“I could kill Sue,” she said viciously and his arms came around her back like a vise.

He hugged her hard. “Like I said, no other human being.”

She drew a breath, inhaling his scent. “Point made.”

“Dana, talk to me. Tell me what happened that night. I need to know, to help you.”

She looked up then, searched his eyes. Those steady green eyes that always made her think of spring. Of new life. “Why?”

His eyes grew sad. “Is it so hard to believe that I could simply care about you?”

Her eyes stung. “Yes.”

His fingers feathered the hair from her face. “Dana, do you have any friends that you haven’t helped more than they’ve helped you? Any where you’re the taker, not the giver?”

The question threw her off guard. “I don’t know.”

“Think about it.” He kissed her mouth, so tenderly she wanted to weep. “Then think about being the taker for once. Letting people do for you. Without needing to pay them back in some way.” He put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the bed. “Like right now. Let me help you sleep. No strings.” His voice was deep and smooth and husky and his hands gentle as they pulled off her shoes, her shirt. He undressed her like a baby, then slipped one of his T-shirts over her head. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He tucked her in and turned out the lights and she could hear him taking off his own clothes. He slipped in behind her and gathered her close. She could feel his arousal pulsing against her, but it was more a comfort than a temptation. He was there. He’d be there when she woke in the night. Because she would wake in the night. She always did.

“Tomorrow, honey,” he murmured in her ear. “We’ll find them tomorrow.”

“You said that last night.”

“And I’ll say it again tomorrow. Until it’s true. Until this is over.”

She was drifting now, secure in the circle of his arms. “And you go home.”

His arms tensed, then relaxed. “And I go home. What will you do? When it’s over?”

She blinked, seeing only the darkness, feeling only him. “I don’t know. I know whatever it is, I can’t do it here.”

He raised his head and she could feel more than see his frown. “Here?”

“In Chicago. It’s too dangerous.” She yawned, melted into him. “Caro and Evie . . . need to find a safer way.”

“But not you,” he said, too softly and too late she realized her mistake.

“No. Not me,” she answered honestly.

“Where will you go?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” her voice wobbled. “New York, Atlanta . . . Philadelphia maybe.”

A long pause. “But not D.C.?”

She said nothing, could say nothing.

His body stiffened, but his voice remained gentle. “I’ve gotten too close, haven’t I?”

“Ethan—”

“Go to sleep, Dana.”

Chicago, Friday, August 6, 3:00 A.M.

“Wake up.”

Evie’s eyes flew open at the sudden pain of Jane’s hand cracking against her jaw. She blinked, focusing on the tall figure looming over her. Bit back a whimper when she was hauled to her feet. Closed her eyes again at the thrust of cold hard metal under her chin. It would be now. She’d kill her now. With Dana’s gun.

Jane just chuckled. “Not yet, pet. You’ve got a bit more to do before I take you out. I’m going to cut the ropes at your feet and you’re going to walk out of here. Hands stay tied, mouth stays taped. Try anything and I’ll shoot you where you stand. Got it?”

Evie remained still and Jane jabbed the blunt barrel of the gun harder, cutting off her air. “Indicate you have heard,” Jane said coldly. Evie jerked a nod and apparently that was enough because the pressure against her windpipe lessened. She drew a quick breath through her nose and Jane chuckled again. “Let’s get this show on the road. I need to get back and catch some sleep before the second performance begins tonight.”

Chicago, Friday, August 6, 3:30 A.M.

“No.”

Ethan’s eyes blinked open at the pitiful moan and he twisted around to look at the clock on the nightstand. It was the middle of the night and Dana was dreaming. How could he have guessed? He turned on the lamp next to the clock and leaning up on his elbow, shook her shoulder gently. “Wake up. Dana, wake up.” She did, with a jolt, her eyes becoming aware all at once.

“I’m sorry.” It was a harsh whisper. Her breath was coming in sharp little surges, her body trembling. Her lips quivered as if she was about to cry. He wondered if she would have, had she been alone.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured. “Tell me now. What’s in your dream?”

She closed her eyes. “You already know.”

“I know the bare facts, Dana. Why won’t you trust me with the rest?”

Her eyes flew open at that. “It has nothing to do with trust, Ethan. For God’s sake, I’m sleeping next to you. Doesn’t that tell you I trust you?”

“You don’t do a lot of sleeping,” he shot back. “Do you dream like this every night?”

She seemed to shrink back into the pillows. “No. Only when I sleep normal hours.”

“Which is how often?”

She lifted a shoulder. “A few times a week. Sometimes I’m at the bus station. Most of the time I’m up with a client or one of their kids.”

“So you avoid sleep.”

She sighed. “I suppose.”

“That seems emotionally healthy,” he said dryly. “And this works for you?”

Slowly she shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“Well, at least we agree on something.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“I’ll help you. Was your mother still alive when you married the biker dude?”

“Yes. I never brought Charlie home, although he and my stepfather would have had lots in common.” Abruptly she rolled over, crunching the pillow beneath her head. “I hated him.”

“Charlie or your stepfather?”

She was quiet for a moment. “Both. I especially hated my stepfather, I think.” Sighed again. “But underneath it all, I think I hated my mother more.”

He rubbed the flat of his hand down her back, felt her tension begin to ease. “Why?”

“Because she stayed with him, stayed with my real father, too. I used to wish she’d take us and leave. Go somewhere safe, where our dad couldn’t find us. Then he died and I was so glad. Do you know how guilty that makes a child, being happy her father is dead?”

“No,” he answered simply, stroking her back. “But I can imagine.”

“I don’t think you’d come close,” she said bitterly. “But I was happy. For a few months it was just the three of us, living with my grandmother.”

“You had a sister?”

“Still do somewhere,” she answered, still bitterly. “Although Maddie wouldn’t say the same. She says she has no sister.”

“So she also blames you for your mother’s death.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand. Your stepfather did it. He’s serving a life sentence.”

“You checked that, too, huh? Yeah, a life sentence. He’s got cancer now, so he won’t serve much more of it. I won’t be sorry to see him go.”

“So your mother just jumped out of the frying pan into the fire?”

“Pretty much. She brought this man into my grandmother’s house, I remember. I didn’t like him and I told him so. Next thing I knew I was on the floor.”

Ethan frowned. “He knocked you down and your mother still married him?”

“He was a good provider,” she said, her tone like acid. “We wouldn’t have to live with Grandma anymore.”

“I think I’m starting to get the picture,” he murmured and moved his hand to her head, brushing at her hair with his fingers.

“When I left Charlie I wanted a real life,” Dana said, changing direction abruptly. “I started waiting tables to earn money for college. Took as many classes as I could afford. One night on campus I saw this flyer about support groups for victims of abuse, so I went. The woman who led the group managed a shelter named Hanover House.”

“I thought you started the shelter.”

“No. That would have been Maria.” Affection warmed her voice. “She was the first person I ever knew who really cared about me. She’s the reason I went into psychology. I wanted to be like her. Plus I wanted to fix myself,” she added wryly. “Anyway, I started to understand the cycle of domestic abuse. Hated my mother a little less. I tried to get my mother to go to Maria’s support groups with me, but she wouldn’t. I think that’s when I began to understand that I resented Mother choosing the easy way over us. She would always see herself as having no choices. I just saw her as weak. Not loving us enough. I didn’t give up. I kept trying to get her to come to the groups, to leave him. He kept beating her. Then one day he put her in the emergency room. She called me.”

“And you went to get her.”

“Of course. She was my mother. I took her back to my apartment. Told her she was staying there and I think she just gave up fighting me. My stepfather came to where I was waiting tables. Mad. And I think I just . . . snapped. I yelled at him, that he was an animal and a child abuser. I told him that my mother had finally chosen me over him.”