Wings In The Night - Run From Twilight Part 2

Swallowing hard, her keys in her hand by now, she argued with herself inside her head. Tommy had always had a crushed on her. Could he be the one making the calls, hara.s.sing her? It was far-fetched, even more far-fetched if this stalker really was something far more dangerous. Tommy wouldn't hurt a fly.

Then again, what if she left him walk home alone and something happened to him? Could she live with herself then?

"Excuse me," said a voice from the darkness.

She knew that voice. It sent shivers of recognition dancing down her spine.

Michael, her pale, wild-haired, potent-eyed admirer.

She turned and met his eyes, fell into them, felt her blood heat and her belly tighten. G.o.d, what was it about him that stirred her up this way? She licked her kip and saw his gaze shoot to them and stay there. "I... suppose you need a ride, too," she said.

Part of her was hoping he would-and arguing with the part of her that hoped he wouldn't.

He nodded. "Only...five blocks."

Five blocks. He only wanted to ride as far as Tommy was going. Well, Tommy certainly couldn't try and anything with Michael along. And Michael wouldn't murder her in front of Tommy, either. And that was exactly what the stranger intended, wasn't it?

To make her fell perfectly safe? To let her know she wasn't in any danger?

Stupid. He was not some guardian come to watch over her. He wasn't.

And yet she let him. "Fine. Get in. Both of you." Tommy looked put out, but he moved toward the car. Michael beat him to the front door opened it and slid in without asking. When Tommy got into the back seat, he almost appearing to be sulking.

"Tommy," Mary said as she shoved the keys into the switch and started the car, "this is Michael. Michael, Tommy."

"Hey," Tommy said "Likewise," Michael replied.

Mary rolled her eyes and backed out of the parking lot. She didn't fasten her seat belt. Some insane primal fear told her she should be ready to throw herself out of the car and run for her life at a moment's notice. A seat belt would slow her down. She drove. Her cell phone bleated. She picked it up without a thought, ignoring all the public service announcements suggesting it was a bad idea. She simply hadn't gotten around to buying a Madonna-mike for her head.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Are you afraid, Mary? You should be." The voice was the course whisper of her nightmares, and it was followed by a sharp decisive click.

She jerked the phone away from her head and glanced at the panel, but no number showed on the screen to tell her where the call had come from. She set the phone down.

Michael was looking at her. Those probing eyes staring straight through her skin and reading every thought-she could feel it. He knew exactly what that call had been.

Maybe even heard it through her ears somehow. No. Impossible.

"Mary? Anything wrong?" Tommy asked from the back seat.

She shook her head. "Wrong number," she lied.

Oh well. At least the culprit was neither of the two men sitting with her alone, in the dark, of her car.

And then it hit her, and the bottom seemed to fall out of her belly. Because if Michael wasn't the stalker, then he really had no reason she could think of to lie to her.

Did he?

Sure he did, her practical mind argued. Plenty of reasons. Maybe he was trying to make his name as a psychic by meddling in criminal cases. He probably had a connection at the police department, who had put him on to her. Or maybe he just wanted to get into her pants. That would be reason enough to scare her half to death, right?

She shot him a sideways glance. His eyes were right there waiting, and he shook his head slowly left then right. "Wrong on both counts," he whispered.

She felt her eyes widen. How in the h.e.l.l...?

"What's that?" Tommy asked, leaning forward. "I didn't hear you."

"Nothing We're here." Mary hit the brake, brought the car to a jerky stop without even pulling over the curb in front of Tommy's building "Yeah. Thanks for the ride, Mary." He opened his door, then frowned at Michael's back. "You coming?"

"Look at that, it's raining even harder now," Michael said nodding at the tiny beads glistening on the windshield. 'I only live a block further up. Do you mind?"

h.e.l.l, he wasn't the stalker. But that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

Tommy glanced at her as he got out. "You okay with that, Mare?"

"You should be," Michael said. "That stun gun tucked under the side of your seat is plenty to keep me in line." She jerked her hand back to the steering wheel. She'd been reaching below, just to make sure she could grab the little weapon quickly should she need it. How the h.e.l.l did he know?

"Mare?"

"Fine, Tommy. Go ahead. See you tomorrow night."

"Yeah, see you." He closed the door and hurried away.

She glanced toward her pa.s.senger. "So do you really live a block away?"

He shook his head from side to side "I'm going home with you."

She closed her eyes. "Oh, for G.o.d's sake-"

"No, Mary. For your sake."

She sighed, gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. "So what is it, Michael? An I supposed to think you're some kind of knight in shining armor?

Maybe leap into bed with you to thank you for rescuing me from the evil phone call guy?"

He lifted his eyebrows. "He's more than an 'evil phone call guy,' Mary. He's a killer. He's struck before-I can prove it to you, if you'll give me an hour. I brought evidence." He patted the shoulder bag that hung over his worn gray trench coat. "And he'll strike against unless we stop him. But he's not going to get you."

She thought he was finished. He sounded reasonable, convincing and fairly sane. He also sounded like a man who only wanted to watch over and protect her.

Which meant he was too good to be true.

Then he sent her a knowing smile and added, "how you choose to think me, on the other hand is entirely up to you."

Chapter 3.

Michael was not the person who'd been hara.s.sing her.

She told herself that over and over again. She refused to think 'He's not the killer" because she didn't want to believe there was a killer. Just a nutcase with an obsession.

Michael was not easily dissuaded, and she found herself absurdly, perhaps stupidly, glad of that. She wanted to see just what "evidence" he was carrying in tat flat brown leather case.

She drove though the city with the wipers beating out a steady pulse and the rain cascading over the windshield, until she came to the turnoff for her apartment building.

It had a parking lot in the back. No nice dry garage. No attendant, But it was well it, had a gate with a lock, and only the tenants had keys. She pulled up to the gate, stopped the car and looked into the back seat for her umbrella.

"I'll get it," Michael said. She hated to admit she'd been hoping he would offer.

But she got the feeling he already knew that. She handed him the key. He was out of the car before she could offer him the umbrella and back almost as quickly. Frowning at him, she said, "What you decide to take the umbrella after all?"

"It's done."

She looked from him to the gate. In between pa.s.ses of the wiper blades, she saw the gate standing wide-open, waiting. "That was fast," She frowned harder. "You barely got wet."

"I... hurried."

"Right." She pulled the car through the gate and noticed that when Michael got out to close it again, he took a bit longer. When he got back into the car, raindrops spatters darkened his coat and glistened in his long hair. Her hand tensed, and she caught herself in the nick of time. She'd been about to reach up and brush the raindrops from her hair-an act that would be too intimate and familiar. It didn't feel too intimate, though. It felt as natural as making love to him would feel.

Oh, G.o.d.

He handed her the keys. His hand caressed hers as she took them, and she didn't think it was an accident.

"Thanks."

She drove across the lot into her parking slot, right in front of her ground-floor apartment. It had a tiny concrete patio in front of the door, no more than five by five.

She had a huge potted palm sitting on it, a begonia in a hanging basket, a lawn chair, a set of wind chimes and a welcome mat it was sheltered from the rain by the overhanging balcony of the apartment above which was exactly the same size. And it sported an outdoor light.

"You leave these things out? And no one's stolen them?"

She shrugged. "Guess no one's interested in lifting a plant or three-dollar lawn chair." She unlocked the door reached inside to flip on the light and then stood very still, staring in at the mess that had been her neat-as-a-pin apartment. The sofa cushions were on the floor; books from the tiny bookshelves had been strewn about; the lamp was lying on its side. "Oh, h.e.l.l, not again."

She started to get inside, but Michael's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Don't. He could still be around."

"If he is, he's going to be one sorry freaking stalker." She reached into the umbrella stand just inside the door, pulled out her trusty baseball bat and stomped inside. "Come on out, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I've had about all of this I'm going to take."

She was halfway to the kitchenette when she heard Michael say, "It's all right.

He's gone." Did he sound slightly amused She glanced back at him. He was taking off his coat now, laying his brown case on the coffee table.

"How do you know?" she asked, watching him.

He tapped his head with his forefinger.

"Oh, right. You're a mind reader." She rolled her eyes. "If you don't mind, I'd just as soon back that up with a mundane look-see."

He smiled at her. She almost dropped the bat. His smile was potent, a killer smile, and it made her go weak in the knees. d.a.m.n him. She turned away moving across the living room to the kitchenette, which was only separated by a breakfast bar, but it was enough for someone to crouch behind.

No one was there. But the cupboard doors were all open, every last one of them, and there were dishes and food out that hadn't been out before. She stepped back into the living room and looked at the only door off it, which led to her bedroom. Her hand tightened on the bat.

"Let me," Michael offered.

She nodded. There was no sense pretending to be brave when she was scared half to death. She held the bat toward him. He glanced at it and smiled again, but he didn't take it; just turned the k.n.o.b and opened her bedroom door, stepped inside, looked around.

Some hero he was; he didn't even turn on the light. She crept in behind him, bat at the ready, flipped on the light switch, scanned the room.

She didn't see anyone. But her top dresser drawer was open, and her lacy delicates had been scattered around the room. He noticed them. She saw him notice them. His gaze lingered on the negligee she'd bought at a lingerie party just to be nice. It was sheer, sheer black, and tiny, and it lay across the bed. As if she'd planned to put it on.

"That wasn't there before." She said it almost defensively.

"I'm glad to know that. I'd have thought you were expecting someone."

"I wasn't. And I wouldn't wear that for anyone, anyway. I mean, for anyone I'm currently seeing, because I'm not. Seeing anyone, I mean..."

"I know." He strode to the closet, opened the door, poked around inside. Then he opened the remaining door, which led to the bathroom, where makeup and brushes were scattered all over the sink and inside it. He even moved the curtain and looked inside the shower.

"No one where," he said.

He hadn't checked under the bed. She bit her lip and wondered how silly she would look if she asked him to. He came back into the bedroom, walked straight to the bed, lifted up the covers and bent low to peer underneath. Then he rose again and smoothed the covers back in place. "Have I missed anything?"

"No."

"Good." He went to the dresser, bent own and began picking up the things on the floor, pacing them back in the drawer. His big hands on her bras and panties made her stomach clench. Her mind whispered things she wouldn't want him overhearing, and her breath came shorter and faster than before.

She went to him and took the items. "Really, um, I'll get it."

"I want to help."

"Then... go start on the other rooms." She'd thought about insisting he let her do it all herself, but she know, somehow, he wouldn't see that as a viable option. But she didn't want him handling her underwear, because she couldn't help but wish she was in them at the time, and that was a ridiculous thing or her to think about a man she had just met.

No matter what he looked like. Or how intense his eyes.

It felt as if she knew him intimately-as if she'd known him forever.

He held her gaze for a long time, until she squirmed. Then, finally, he broke eye contact as if it were an effort, turned and left her alone in the bedroom.

Michael had to force himself to move slowly. He'd made a big mistake when he'd opened the gate. He'd instinctively darted through the rain, moving at preternatural speeds no human could achieve. He was only glad it had been too dark for her to have observed his movements. She wouldn't have seen more than a streak, a blur of motion.