"The Better Part of Darkness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gay Kelly)CHAPTER 3My entire body shook like a mini-earthquake as I drove to Station One. Aftershock. I managed to find a parking space in the back, near the dumpster where no one would see my car. Adrenaline still coursed through my veins, making me feel like some kind of junkie who needed a fix. I yanked down the mirror, stunned by the red-and-black blood-streaked face staring back at me. I didn’t recognize this person—gaunt, wide-eyed, and scared shitless. Everyone said Bryn and I bore a close resemblance, though my hair was more on the brown side than auburn, but looking in the mirror I saw no resemblance to anyone human at all. I could be an extra from The scent of blood, iron, and tar filled the car, and as soon as I noticed, my stomach curdled and a cold sweat broke through my achy skin. Unable to hold it in, I opened the car door and puked on the concrete. Twice. My lungs couldn’t fill fast enough with air and it took several seconds for my breathing to return to normal. Once it did, I grabbed the keys, ignored the shaky legs, and hurried into the back of the brick building, heading up the back stairs to the showers. I didn’t allow myself to think or feel the hollow ache in my stomach, just went straight to my locker, undressed, grabbed my toiletries, and stepped into the shower. Hot water stung my skin, almost too hot, but it had to be that way. I It had all gone so wrong. And Auggie. Poor, harmless Auggie was dead, and I should’ve been dead, too. Again. Ever since that night eight months ago, I’d hardly gotten into an altercation of any kind while on the job. Sure, we had runners, ducked a few punches, and exchanged fire a few times, but nothing like this. I had told myself the last time, when I woke in the hospital alive and saw Emma’s pale face: I’d never take another chance. Even if it meant letting a crook go. So why had I Lately, I didn’t know who the hell I was anymore. Screw this. I should just retire to a desk job. It was the right thing to do and the only option if I wanted to raise my child and be a good mom. She needed me to be there for her. She needed that kind of stability in her life. Not someone who might never come back from her shift. My palms flattened on the shower wall. I let my head fall low between my shoulder blades. My throat closed, and my chest hurt, but it was the right decision. It had to be. After I stepped out of the shower and dried off, I inspected my naked body in the long mirror. Bryn had been right. Somehow, I’d healed. I closed my eyes tightly and shook the cobwebs from my mind. When I opened them again, nothing had changed. It was almost too much for one day. A sharp laugh escaped me, sounding awfully demented in the quiet of the locker room. “There has to be some explanation,” I whispered, studying my body. My swollen eyes had healed, though dark circles lingered beneath. My split lip was almost gone. A few ugly bruises colored my left rib cage and collarbone, and there was a faint yellow bruise on my jaw. Otherwise, I looked my normal self: tall, lanky, and fit. My hand rubbed my flat stomach. It still amazed me that I’d grown a child in that small space—and that my boobs had skyrocketed from a 36B to a 40C. Will, my ex, had loved every second of that. The memory made me smile. We all looked alike: me, Bryn, and Emma. The same big, light-brown irises flecked with gold and copper, the same high cheekbones and determined chins, the same lips—you could pick out a Madigan anywhere by our lips. They were full, more puckered than wide. Well, that’s what I thought when I’d watch Emma sleep. We each had a right-sided dimple—except Bryn; she had a matching pair—and straight noses, with just the faintest tilt. I saw my sister and my daughter in the face that stared back at me, a face that nodded with a single-minded purpose. I dressed quickly in clean street clothes: jeans, boots, and a deep red V-neck T. Then I hooked my badge onto my belt loop, replaced my shoulder holster and firearms, dried my hair with one of the wall-attached dryers, and then twisted it up with a clip. The tension eased out of me as I regarded my image in the long over-the-sink mirror. Minus the mascara and clear lip gloss I usually wore to work, I looked like the same old Charlie. Hair up. Small diamond studs in my ears. And my T-shirt of choice. The cotton V-neck. I slipped Bryn’s charm over my head, finding comfort in the weight and warmth of the disk as it settled between my breasts. Feeling a little better at seeing the usual me, I shoved my soiled clothes into a bag, making sure to pull out the matches Auggie had slid into my palm before he died, and then made my way down to the evidence room to turn in the gun I’d used on the first jinn to attack me, as well as the bloody clothes. The matches I tucked safely into the back pocket of my jeans. As I rounded the corner, a couple spilled into the hallway from the chief’s office. Crap. I was already pivoting on my heels when a voice called out: “Charlie! Oh, thank God.” The last thing I needed was to go through the wringer with the Motts, but since they knew me from all the times Amanda had babysat and stayed at the house, I had no choice but to turn around with a fake smile plastered on my face. Marti, Amanda’s mom, rushed toward me. “We just came from the hospital. The doctors can’t tell us anything. We heard you were at the school. Please tell us our baby is going to be okay.” Cold and bony, her hands gripped both of mine with a strength that surprised me considering how thin and fragile she appeared in her black slacks, lightweight pink sweater set, and expensive blonde bob. Gently, I removed her manicured claws and used the most calming tone I could muster. “We’re doing everything we can to figure out what happened, Marti. And how to fix it.” A snort broke out behind her. “Hanging out at the station doesn’t seem like—” “Cass,” Marti warned her husband with a light hand on his arm even as she continued to smile at me. Cassius Mott was the younger brother of celebrated research scientist Titus Mott. And he was the biggest good-for-nothing I’d ever known. Besides being a first-rate asshole, he squandered his share of the Mott fortune day after day on drugs, fast cars, gambling, partying, and probably a whole slew of other illegal activities. He was tall, dark-haired, and probably good-looking if one could get past the attitude. Which I couldn’t. “Have you found any leads?” Marti asked gently, always softening the crassness of her husband. “No one can tell us anything. If there’s a cure, if she’ll wake up …” I thought of the matches Auggie gave me. “Nothing solid, but we’re doing our best. I wouldn’t settle for anything less.” Three years ago we’d met at Hope Ridge. She needed help with carpooling, and I needed a babysitter in the afternoons for Em. It had worked out perfectly. “Look, I care about Amanda, too. She’s been a great big sister to Emma and a big help to me. I’m going to do everything I can to figure this out.” “I know you will.” Cass rolled his eyes, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere but here, finding out about his kid. Asshole. “I don’t know why my brother even bothers with you people. Come on, Marti.” He marched away, straightening the collar on his salmon-colored golf shirt, Marti giving me a hopeless look and then trailing in his wake. I wanted to run to her and shake some sense into her, but after three years of subtly placed comments over my kitchen table, I knew she wouldn’t listen. Not until she reached a breaking point. If she even had one. Chief Abernathy stepped into the hallway and followed my gaze to the retreating figures with a hard set to his square jaw. He must’ve heard the exchange in the hallway, and he hadn’t liked it one bit. A bear of a man, the chief had street-tough senses and a boxer’s intimidating face. His hands were as big as oven mitts and solid as a rock, just like the rest of him. “That guy rubs everybody the wrong way,” he commented, in a deep voice reminiscent of Barry White. “Yeah.” “But,” he said, “his brother donates a shitload to this department.” “Is that a warning to be nice?” I finally looked at him as the Motts disappeared around the corner. “It is what it is, Madigan. We make nice with the folks who provide us with state-of-the-art weapons and funding. So, you wanna tell me what happened in Underground?” “Just defending myself. They seemed to have a grudge against ITF.” He chuckled. “Who doesn’t? Listen, the doc is looking for you.” “But—” I had to talk to him about a transfer. “No buts, Madigan. You’ve missed the last two psych evaluations. Make sure you stop by her office on the way out.” He turned back to his office, but paused and gave me the infamous eye—a piercing black stare no one could take for more than a few seconds. “And I’m not asking.” I inhaled deeply. The last thing I wanted was to be analyzed by some Ph.D. who didn’t know the first thing about tracking a crook, facing a ghoul with a bad attitude, or dodging a bullet. Emma would be home from school soon, and I didn’t have time for this. Screw the doc. As I started down the hall, the chief stuck his head out of his office, holding a cell phone a few inches away from his ear. “I mean it, Madigan. Go see her.” Great. I did a one-eighty and headed back the other way with a sharp glare at the chief, but he’d already shut his office door. Fine. But I was going to make this as quick as possible. Doctor Berkowitz, or Doctor Berk, as we called her, peeked over the upper rim of her stylish horn-rimmed glasses as I entered the Loony Room … er, office. “Officer Madigan, please have a seat.” She set aside the papers on her desk, folded her delicate hands on the polished surface, and waited for me to comply. The brown leather chair begged me to sink down into its comfy cushions and lay open all my deepest and darkest fears. I perched on the edge, not falling for tricks. My hands fell limp in my lap, and I had to concentrate damn hard to keep them relaxed and to keep my pulse normal. “No offense, but I don’t have a lot of time.” I wasn’t trying to be a bitch, really. I actually liked Katherine. Despite her soft appearance, she was as tough as nails. Maybe in another life we would’ve been friends, but the fact that she wanted to probe my mind and my past kept her eternally at arm’s length. Leaning back in her chair, she studied me for a long moment. I couldn’t look her in the eyes, so I chose a spot over her left shoulder. Okay, so I had somewhat of a phobia when it came to therapists. At least I wasn’t in denial about it. “I’ll take whatever time you’ve got, Detective. Now, let’s see,” she began, rummaging through the files on her desk, pulling mine out to open it. “Last time you came to see me, you still struggled with exhaustion from the nightmares. How’s that been going?” “Detective?” “Oh, um, better. It’s been better.” God, this was like being on trial. “Still have them, but they’re not as bad or as frequent.” “That’s good. And how are you doing with the meditation I recommended?” “Fine.” She frowned at me. “Did you try it at all?” I didn’t answer, just gave her an apologetic smile. Katherine removed her glasses and leaned forward. “Listen, Charlie, it’s important to take care of yourself here.” “You still have a long way to go if you want to totally recover from your death experience. You’ve suppressed so much of how it made you feel.” “You need to let it out, embrace your thoughts, the past, and the things you remember about that time.” “You’ve come out of this a different person, and change is okay. It’s the events in our lives that shape who we are. Don’t fight it.” She paused and leaned back again, rolling her pencil through her fingers. “I think the nightmares are because you’re suppressing the memories of being dead, of what you experienced, the feeling you had during this time. You’ll have to deal with it sooner or later, or it’s going to break you.” “Doctor Berk,” I said, tiredly and with a sudden urge for pears. “I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but me dying was just that. I died. I was brought back. It’s over. End of story. I don’t remember anything, and honestly, I don’t want to. The only thing that matters is that I woke up, and” —I stood—“I really need to get home and take care of my kid. See you around.” After stopping off at the store, I drove home, put the groceries away, kicked off my shoes and socks, and then waited for Emma on the front porch swing with a cereal bowl full of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. After the day I’d had, I deserved a little comfort food. I put Doctor Berk completely out of my mind and started obsessing again about my decision to transfer to a desk job. I just sat there, slowly swinging and spooning ice cream into my mouth. The cold felt good on the small cuts that remained on the inside of my lip and cheek, and it helped with the stiffness in my mouth and jaw. The cookie dough bits didn’t hurt, either. Truth was, I was nervous. Nervous to tell Emma of the decision I’d made and what she’d think about it. Part of me felt like I was letting my brother down and even letting Emma down by giving up my part in keeping our city safe, but another part of me felt sure I was making the right move, and, more importantly, that Emma would appreciate not having to worry about me and all the dangers that came with my job. A brand-new black-and-tan Ford F-250 pickup slowed as it approached the house. It parked directly across the narrow neighborhood street from my driveway. There were no houses across the street, just a sidewalk and then the green grass of a large baseball field, a walking path, and soccer fields. Sometimes at dawn, when the nightmares would wake me, I’d make some decaf and sit on the porch swing, watching the mist hover above the fields, and try to clear my mind. I’d never seen this vehicle in the neighborhood before. The ignition shut off and the door popped open. The spoon paused in my mouth, and I stopped the swing with my toe. It was Will. My ex. Before I could drum up something sarcastic to think concerning the new truck, old feelings and memories swept through me and made my stomach flip like some lovesick teen. God, he looked good—another spoonful of ice cream made it to my mouth—really, really good. Will was six-three, athletic, and had a smile that could melt snow. From his working outside, the sun had lightened his brown hair and streaked it golden in places. He kept it short, complementing the faint stubble that grew along a strong jaw, stubborn chin, and surprisingly soft lips. He must’ve been out at a job site because there was dirt on his khakis and light blue button-down shirt. The two top buttons were undone, and the sleeves were rolled to just below his elbows. Jesus, I loved when he did that. It was like the cherry on a man-sundae to see his tanned, muscled forearms and his strong hands. He shut the door and walked up the driveway. Heart thumping wildly, I darted into the house, ran to the sink, set the bowl down, and then hurried to the front door, opening it before he could knock and trying to not seem out of breath. For a brief second, a flash of surprise went through his stormy gray-blue eyes. The sun had begun its descent over the park, a beam bathing me in a wash of heat. Will’s blunt gaze swept over me as I blocked the doorway, my blood pressure rising. He let his eyes linger on the parts of me he’d always loved, and I wanted to shrink away because my nipples chose that moment to turn as hard as glass beads. “Charlie,” he said in a deep Southern drawl, bestowing a wonderful blend of faded cologne and masculine skin on my sense of smell as he passed by. I padded behind him into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?” He glanced around the space, checking on things, making sure everything was in order; that nothing needed to be fixed. Then he turned to me, leaning his hip on the edge of the granite countertop and crossing his arms over his chest. I could almost hear the sounds of a construction site, and it gave me a sudden flash of Will standing in front of a two-by-four frame of a new house with blueprints spread across the hood of his truck. Now he was a successful builder and architect and had just started his own firm. Just like he’d always dreamed. And he must be doing pretty well if the new truck was any indication. My mistrust came to the surface. Had he earned the truck and the success on his own merits … or was he dabbling in black crafting again? “I can’t come by just to check on you?” I swallowed, trying to temper the loud buzz of awareness gripping me. “You never come by to ‘check on me.’” I walked past him to the fridge to get two bottled waters, handing him one and then taking a stance on the other side of the kitchen table. His Adam’s apple slid up and down along his throat with every swallow. He had such a nice throat. After the day I’d had, I was exhausted, beaten, and at my weakest. And I knew it. Damn Will and his timing. Irritated, I asked, “So, where’d you get the truck?” His lips thinned, and he let out a tired exhale. “How many times do I have to say it, Charlie? I haven’t practiced since that night.” Guess who lost? She had him naked and in bed in under two minutes. He came clean the next morning. He’d called it black crafting’s version of rape. I called it cheating and lying and a damn good reason to divorce. “Ever hear of letting go?” He faked a lightbulb moment. “Oh, no, wait. Then you’d actually have to forgive me. God forbid.” He tossed his head back and swallowed about half the bottle. “It’s not my fault you went and beat the shit out of her. And it’s not my fault she tried to have you killed for it.” Immediately, the mistake of his words spawned a weighty silence that broke only when he scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed. I ignored the comment. “So again: What are you doing here?” He rubbed the inside corners of his eyes and then pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a loud sigh. My hard outer shell cracked just a little. He seemed beat. “Look, Charlie …” He fidgeted with the water bottle, looking down as though he was nervous. Will, nervous? I studied him more closely. He opened his mouth, got out one syllable, and then closed it. Instantly, alarm bells sounded in my head. He cleared his throat. “I heard about the Mott case. Does Emma know?” There was no doubt in my mind he’d changed the subject. Will had something that he didn’t know how to say, and the only thing that could make him this nervous was … a disturbing sense of numbness dropped into my gut. “Oh, my God, are you getting remarried?” Awkward silence filled the room. Will blinked, floundering for a second to make sense of my left-field outburst. Heat stung my cheeks. Great. My shoulders hunched, and all I wanted was to slide underneath the table and disappear. Will had practiced black crafting right under my nose for years because, when it came right down to it, he was insecure. And now here I was waving my insecurities around like a giant Yellow Jackets flag at a Georgia Tech basketball game. His entire body had stilled. All of his focus zoned straight in on my sudden revelation. “ “Never mind.” I rubbed my face. “Why would you think I’m getting married?” I peeked at him over the tips of my fingers. “Let’s just drop it, okay?” “Nuh-uh. You don’t get off that easy.” He pushed off the counter and then pulled out the chair across from me, turning it around to sit and rest his arms across the back. “What made you say that?” “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “You just seemed like you had something to say, something that bothered you. I thought …” The bastard had the nerve to grin the smile that could melt snow. In fact, his utter pleasure at my expense lit up his entire face. “Charlie, I’m not engaged. I don’t have a girlfriend. I’ve seen a few women here and there, but nothing serious.” “Great. Wonderful. Good for you,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. Conversing with my ex was obviously a bad idea. My emotions were going haywire, and I couldn’t seem to think straight. It was perfectly normal to miss him. I mean, we were together for twelve years. Totally normal to miss being close, to miss wanting that kind of connection. “Emma should be home soon.” “Charlie.” His voice came out low and serious. I didn’t want to look at him, but he waited until I finally lifted my gaze to his. He stared at me from across the table for a long moment, his expression wide open and honest as hell. “I still love you, you know.” The world came to a screeching halt. I shot up from the table. All the old hurts came rushing back, constricting my chest so that breathing took more effort than it should. “God He stood. “Why not? It’s true. I’ve never stopped, not even when—” I held up my hand, not wanting to hear or think about the night he’d risked our marriage out of pure male pride and a gigantic helping of stupidity. “Fine.” He grabbed my arm, making me face him. “But I know what I did, Charlie. And one day you’ll see beyond all this pain I caused you. And as much as you try to deny it, you know, in my heart, I never wanted to cheat. You know I believed so much in us, in our promise, that I’d pit it against—” “You never should have! That’s the whole point! You don’t risk something so important. You don’t bet on our vows. And you sure as shit don’t lie and hide what you’re doing!” I jerked my arm away from him. “Especially when it’s wrong. Black crafting is “I tried for years! You think it was easy being straight out of high school with a family to support and no college education? I started crafting to help us, to give us an edge. Don’t you think I—” He stopped himself, his lips snapping shut and the muscle in his jaw flexing. His hand closed around my arm again. “I know what I lost, believe me, I do. I know it every second of every goddamn day, and I’m tired of being punished. I’m tired of being without you and Em.” He grabbed my other arm. His palms felt so rough and warm on my skin. He took a breath and searched my face. We were so close our stomachs touched. “I made a horrible mistake, but I’m clean now. I’ve been clean since that night. My addiction ruined everything, I know, and you had every right to divorce that guy. But that’s not who I am anymore, Charlie.” His hand cupped my cheek. His plea rang in my head and squeezed my heart. Despite everything, I still had deep feelings for him, and, God, how I missed him. I swallowed, willing myself not to cry, to show weakness. “Charlie.” He touched his forehead to mine, his voice dropping to a heartbroken whisper. “God, I miss you.” He let out a shaky breath, touched his nose to mine, and then tilted his head slightly to kiss me. The hurt vanished with the press of his warm lips against mine, the intimate touch sending a confetti-like explosion to the pit of my stomach. My heart pounded in my ears, my legs weakened. “Will,” I whispered against his lips, meaning to regretfully pull away, but the moment I opened my mouth, his tongue brushed my bottom lip. I moaned, parting my lips to allow him in. Dear God, the man could kiss. That first touch of tongue on tongue ignited a desperate need to “My pants,” I blurted out, not caring anymore. Not caring that my voice shook or my hands trembled. It had been so long. And Will knew every button to push, knew just how I liked it. “Get them off.” We had a good ten minutes before the bus arrived. Plenty of time. I managed to get the zipper halfway down before he took over and pulled them over my knees, and then distraction drove his hand straight to my panties. My breath caught with anticipation. His hand cupped me, pressing, making me squirm. “Will.” He kissed me again, this time hungry and deep. Then, suddenly, he was gone and the air rushed between us, cooling my scorched skin. I opened my heavy eyelids and blinked, feeling woozy and unbalanced. He stood back from me, dragging shaky fingers through his hair and letting out a disturbed huff. “Charlie …” He paused, struggling with the words. “Do you still love me?” My heart continued pounding, and I still felt his hands and mouth everywhere. I shook my head, trying to clear the sex-induced fog from my brain. When I didn’t answer, he stepped back more, looking confused, as though I should have fallen down at his feet and confessed my undying adulation. “No. I don’t want you like this,” he said, “not like this.” Understanding dawned just before the humiliation took over. Bitter cold swept through me, extinguishing any stubborn flames. “Like what, Will? I’m standing here with my pants down around my ankles and you’re just going to walk away because I’m not going to say I love you?” Still trembling, I jerked my pants over my hips, feeling the pressure of tears rise to my eyes. “Go to hell.” |
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