Chapter 9

Before he left, Rick set a glass of ice water on my nightstand. I suppose he thought it would keep me in bed longer. He advised against eating anything, only clear liquids; broth or tea. Then, he left the rest to me. He said he’d return tomorrow and advise me what I can eat depending on how bad I look. The sorrowful curve of his brow as he said goodbye showed he’s taking this much harder than me. Poor guy looked a wreck.

I see these attacks as an indication that my day of return is sooner than I’d thought. The idea of my impending death brings mixed feelings. My greatest worry is what will happen once I ascend, not just to the people of this planet but to my soul. I’m afraid I won’t be able to answer for what I’ve done on earth. How do I explain why I’m a vengeful angel? Vengeance isn’t supposed to be a heavenly attribute. I find it hard to believe God will understand my desire for retribution over an event that happened so many years ago. How do I tell Him that no matter how many demons I’ve killed, I still can’t wash self-loathing from my soul?

Still, I’ll fight the demons He leads me to until the day I die. I’ve lived with the knowledge that this has been my destiny since the day I was born. There wasn’t a period of adjustment. As for Dr. Rick Stanton, he’s only begun to understand about someone like me. He’s still learning how to cope.

When humans finally know who they are and realize they haven’t come near to fulfilling their purpose, the realization becomes a heavy burden for them to bear. I see this in Doc. He’s aware there’s some function he isn’t fulfilling and he’s torn between what he wants and what he should do. It’s not fair for him to judge himself so harshly, though. Until today, he had no idea.

As my eyes grow heavy and I’m about to drift off to sleep, the cell phone on my nightstand rings. The number isn’t familiar so I answer it apprehensively. I’m not in the mood for a sales call today. Instead, I’m pleasantly surprised by the near-Irish accent on the other end.

“Thank you for allowing me to drive you home last night.”

I feel a smile cross my face until I remember the necktie on my bed. “How did you get my number?” Filtered light reflects the gleaming pattern of blue silk in the bunched fabric beside my pillow.

He doesn’t answer immediately and I can imagine his face as he searches for an answer that doesn’t sound like he’s stalking me. “Well, to be honest, I found it in the guest book from last night.”

“She didn’t ask for my number.”

“She asked everyone for their number. They’re all in the book.”

“Not mine.” I’m insistent. I have more than a personal interest in finding out how my unlisted number became imprinted in his book, if, in fact, it is.

“You just don’t remember.”

“I remember everything.”

“Everything?”

I want to lie. “Almost everything.” But I don’t.

“Uh, I’m really embarrassed now.”

“As well you should be.”

“No. I mean, I realized the handwriting for your name is different than the handwriting for your number. Someone must’ve added it after you signed in. Huh. Maybe your friend?”

Remembering back to last night, there are many things I noticed in that gallery. Sarah lingering near the desk after I signed in wasn’t one of them. I suppose she could’ve done it before she left, when I was outside being distracted by the crystal carver. That would make sense.

“Maybe…”

“You sound tired. Did I keep you out too late?”

I imagine him smiling, remembering the touch of his lips, also his comment that he would kiss me much differently if he came into my house. The heat, the electricity. Damn. The pain shooting through my abdomen.

“Jaime? Are you there?”

“Uh, I had a rough night last night. Didn’t sleep well. Still feeling effects of the flu.”

“Please tell me you’re not cancelling.”

I sigh, and then grimace.

“I know this sounds desperate, but I have to see you again. I really want to see you tonight. Promise I won’t keep you out late. We can even make it earlier than planned.”

Suddenly, I’m curious. He does sound desperate. What does he have planned? Does it include the use of a blue necktie?

Ugh! This is stupid. I’m being paranoid. Right? So why does my skin tingle whenever I think about what deadly plans he may have for me? Can’t believe I want to share more than a kiss with someone I think may be trying to kill me. I’m too close to ignoring Rick’s warning and going out anyway.

I can’t take a shower to wash my hair. Can’t even bend over the sink. I’ll have to go on a date with dirty hair. Classy.

“Are you still there?” He sounds worried.

“Haven’t hung up yet. How about five?”

“Perfect. I’ll be there at five—”

“What should I wear?”

“Something… as nice as you wore last night. I’ll see you at five.”

Mmm. Why do I feel like I’ve been asked to prom? This giddy feeling is infectious. If I’m not careful, I may find myself on the phone with Sarah, dishing about my totally groovy date. Yuck!

By nice I wonder what he’s shooting for. Dressy? Black? Somewhat, but not overly, revealing? Sexy? In my mind, I run through the dresses in my closet. Most are appropriate for working in an office or a bank, not a date with a sexy could-be-killer.

Wait.

The red dress I wore to the Valentine’s charity auction. Curve-hugging, above the knee and low-cut enough to create a stir without showing any cleavage. Perfect. There’s a cropped jacket to match. Covers my arms. Problem is, I won’t be able to zip without…Mmm. The glass blower could help. Brings a smile to my face.

If Doc knew what was going through my mind, he’d slap me awake. If Green Eyes had any idea, he’d cancel the arrangements and plan a home cooked meal. My stalker. My killer? Shit. I’ll probably die at the hands of a man I’m desperately obsessed with. I’m hopeless.

Thankfully, I have three hours to get ready. I’ll put enough gel and spray in my hair to make it presentable. I can do most of the preparation in bed, makeup, hair, but I’ll have to get up to put on my clothes and shoes. Then, I’ll be up the rest of the time so I’ll wait until the last minute to dress.

When the doorbell rings hours later, it feels like I’ve been resting for a short while. Oh well, I’ve saved my strength for the evening ahead. So much for having three hours to get ready. It’s a good thing I put on my makeup and did my hair before falling asleep.

“The door’s open!”

Slipping out of bed, I slowly and carefully pull on my dress while he becomes familiar with my kitchen and living room.

“Help yourself to anything you like.” I meant the double entendre.

“Made reservations.”

“Where?”

“It’s a secret.” Mmm, Collin Leary, you are full of surprises.

When I try to pull up a clean pair of panties, I realize it’s impossible. There’s no way I can bend over. Trying everything feasible to get them on doesn’t bring success, either. Unbelievable. I can kill a monster with a shower curtain rod, two as a matter of fact, but I’m not clever enough to pull on my own underwear with broken ribs and a hundred stitches in my belly. I can only shake my head. Stockings? The same. Would it be too assumptive to ask Green Eyes to help? Hmm. Taking a tender breath, I decide against it, better to simply go without. My dress is long enough. No one will notice.

Slipped into my shoes, naked legs, jacket pulled over my shoulders and dress zipped above the brace on my ribs, I saunter out to meet my date. The anticipation is practically killing me. Excuse the pun.

When I enter the room, he’s leaning against the counter in a crisp, white shirt unbuttoned to his sternum. His sleeves are rolled to below his elbows. I find that hot as hell, and I have no idea why. Between that and his half-open shirt it's clear he’s cut like an athlete. His slacks are charcoal gray. Well pressed.

I can’t swallow. If I don’t do something quick, I’ll start to drool.

Gulp. “Will you zip me?”

He’s staring back at me, eyes silently caressing my body, as if he hadn’t heard what I’d said. Try again.

“Zip?” I turn to show the back of my dress and then face him again.

“Huh? Oh…yeah, I’d love to.”

Without hesitating, he moves behind me and his hands slide up my arms to the shoulder. My skin comes alive at the feel of him carefully gathering my hair and placing it on my shoulder. He grasps the fabric at the base of the zipper, causing me to catch my breath. Holding the material with one hand, just above the rise of my bottom, he slowly pulls the zipper the rest of the way to the top with his other. I’m still holding my breath, feeling his hand resting on my behind, waiting for him to finish. He seems to be taking an awfully long time to pull his hand to the top of my dress. I get the feeling he’s enjoying this.

When he’s done, I feel him gather my hair again and pull it further to the side to lightly kiss the back of my neck. The blood flushes hot through my body as I close my eyes, pretending I’m not wearing this dress and we’re not standing in my kitchen. I’ve never had a man do this to me. At least not in a way I found alluring. Oh, man, I find this very sensual.

“You look stunning.” He’s breathless.

So am I.

Glad I wore makeup. Hopefully, he won’t be able to tell how pale I’m sure I’ve become. If I stand much longer, I may pass out on the floor. It would be an annoying end to an evening that has so much promise.

“We should probably go,” I tell him, but he doesn’t answer. “You made reservations.”

Sudden recognition. “Oh, yeah. We should go.”

His hand trails down the back of my arm while he stares into my eyes. I hold my breath again. When his fingers reach my hand, they slip into my palm and he squeezes gently.

“Let’s go,” he says and directs me to the door.

This time, there’s no hybrid car sitting in my driveway. Instead, there’s a sleek, black Mercedes. Wait. It’s an E-series. Hybrid. I’m certainly amazed at his obsession with green. Wonder what other obsessions I should be searching for.

The drive to the restaurant isn’t as painful as I thought it would be. The ride of this car is unbelievably smooth. If I live through the week, I’ll have to consider getting one.

When he pulls in front of the Penrose Room, I’m thoroughly impressed. I can tell it was his intent as he stares at me with a silly boyish grin. Instead of waiting for valet to open his door he steps out and moves immediately to my side of the car.

I decide to allow him the moment. Seems important for him to be the gentleman. Besides, it’s much easier if he opens the door and helps me out of the car. His assistance takes more strain off the parts of my body trying to heal. Also gives me the opportunity to hold his hand longer, look into his eyes more intensely. There’s definitely more than a smolder between us.

As we wait for the hostess to seat us, he pulls me close and slides his hand up my back. The brace around my ribs makes me self-conscious and tense my muscles at the brush of his fingers. He has to feel it beneath the fabric of my dress. Still, I enjoy the feel of him so near. The thrill of his breath on me, combined with the pain of my wounds, causes a shock of pleasure to shoot through my body. There are others milling around us, but I can’t focus on any of them. Only Collin captures my attention with his sedating scent and stimulating energy. Has anyone ever died of excitement?

The short wait seems like forever, though, since my head becomes light and my vision begins to blur. When the hostess returns, I’m relieved to see her as she grabs two menus and directs us toward our table. Collin Leary follows behind me with one hand in mine and the other at the small of my back. I still feel weak although his hands on my body make me crave him more. Not sure I’ll make it through this evening.

We’re seated near the window and handed the menus. He sits across from me, his menu lying over his plate. When I peer up at him, I notice he’s studying me as if he’s amused.

“What?”

His smile grows to a mischievous grin. “Just watching.”

I raise my eyebrow. “You aren’t planning to order?”

“I already know what I want.” He raises his eyebrow.

My cheeks flush and I raise the menu to hide my face.

“Their foie gras is excellent.”

Even while making a pretentious observation he’s sweltering hot. Collin’s radiant heat rises up the hem of my dress and I cross my legs. Is there any act he can’t steam up? I feel him staring through the menu in my hands.

“I’m taking a sabbatical from duck liver.” I lower the menu enough to see his eyes. “Thanks for the suggestion, though.”

The playful banter makes him more excited. I can feel his longing from here. He slides his feet further under the table until they’re nearly touching mine. I unfold my legs and move my toes to meet his ankle and wonder if he’s noticed I’m not wearing panties. Would explain his reaction.

“What looks good?”

I can still feel his eyes on me. Lowering the menu, I raise my eyebrow again, a playful grin on my lips, hesitating for a moment. “The roasted salsify and green apple soup sounds,”—lowering the menu to my plate, I slip my tongue across my lower lip before lightly biting the flesh—“Delicious.”

He’s staring at my lips, dumbstruck. “How do you make an appetizer sound erotic?”

I don’t say a word, only stare into his deep eyes with a subtle smirk on my face. This could go on all night. And I must admit, I kind of wish it would. Something about this carefree, flirtatious side of him is very attractive. Unfortunately, the waiter shows at our table to discuss the specials. He assumes we’re celebrating an anniversary. Must be the look in our eyes since neither of us is wearing a ring. I order the soup and Collin orders Ahi tuna. He encourages me to order more, but doesn’t press too hard.

When the waiter leaves with our menus, Collin reaches across the table for my hand and lightly strokes my palm with his fingertips. I can’t push the thought from my mind, if he kills me, I’d probably die in some deliciously erotic way. I don’t want him to stop touching me, but my head is suddenly light again and I won’t last leaning forward against the hard surface. To preserve myself the embarrassment of passing out on the table, I slip my hand from his and lean back in my chair.

“Are you all right? Your face suddenly went pale.”

“I’m fine.” I smile at him, feeling the blood returning to my extremities. “Felt dizzy for a moment.”

“I can take you home.”

“For heaven’s sake, no. I didn’t eat much earlier, tender stomach.” All of it true.

“Well, then don’t you want more than soup?”

I shake my head. “Tender stomach.” I lightly touch my abdomen.

The realization shows in his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked you into going out. I should’ve made you dinner at home. Kept you in bed all night.” I raise my brow and cock my head at his comment. “I mean…take care of you. Let you rest.”

We both chuckle, our eyes still playing with each other. “I’m fine. The soup will feel good in my tummy.” I wish they had a long straw so I could sip it to me as I lean back in the chair. But this is a nice restaurant, not a soda shop like I knew when I was young. Right now I miss those for more reasons than one.

Recalling the day he came into my bank, I suddenly remember the unusual scar in the cup of his palm when he took my hand. My curiosity won’t wait so I lean forward again and reach for his right hand. He slips it into mine and I notice the ridges aren’t as deep. I turn his hand over to see the healing scars.

“What happened?”

The look in his eyes drastically changes. “Sharp vase.”

He pulls his hand from me and sits back in his chair. Suddenly, his eyes won’t meet mine. An unusual reaction.

I don’t understand. The feeling is as if I walked from a hot kitchen into a deep-freeze locker. My body shivers at his reaction as I sit back in my chair and ponder. What did I say? Did I give him those scars? I can’t help but wonder if he’s intent on exacting revenge. Might’ve been a huge mistake to entertain going out with him this evening after all.

When the waiter returns with our meal, we eat in awkward silence. Collin doesn’t finish his and notices I’ve barely touched mine.

“Is it okay?” His voice is flat and emotionless.

The soup grows cold in a delicate ceramic bowl as I search for the proper answer. “It was great. I just can’t…” I shake my head and crinkle my nose.

“Let’s go.” He stands, pulls two hundred dollar bills from his wallet and throws them on the table. Then, reaches for my hand. His fingers are pressed in the small of my back again, but it isn’t as tender as it was earlier.

The waiter notices us passing him on the way out. “Was everything okay?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.

“It was great.” Collin’s voice is cold, causing me to shiver.

The whole way home he remains silent. A shudder travels through my body as I wonder what will happen when we get there. I’m practically incapable of protecting myself. Maybe he already knows this. Perhaps tonight was all a test to see how badly I’ve been wounded and how capable I am of being fighting back. Damn, I should have faked it better. In letting him come right to my door, I’m giving him the chance to try and kill me in person. What was I thinking? Will Rick find a horrible mess when he visits tomorrow? Why didn’t I listen to him?

My mind races with the possibilities of how this evening will end. Collin Leary could merely pull up to my house and let me find my way to the door alone. Or he could walk me to the porch, say goodbye and leave.

There’s a great possibility he might help me inside, muffle my cries, and then kill me before I can put up much of a fight. I can’t help but obsess over his reaction to my question. My curiosity created a sudden unexpected turn. Did he believe I was mocking him and that I should already know what happened?

Is it reasonable that I expect him to exact his revenge tonight? Maybe he’ll walk me inside my home and torture me until my body can take it no longer. Or, possibly kiss me, seduce me, until the right moment when I’m in the throes of ecstasy and not expecting it, he’ll slit my throat.

I don’t think I’ve ever thought so much about my death than I have since meeting Collin Leary. In the past, for the most part, I’ve contained my emotions, didn’t think much about the killer or who his victims were and how they died. Didn’t think of how they would kill me, either, if they were able to catch me on an off day. Now, I find myself obsessing over my own potential mortality. I wonder how many people Collin has murdered, how he’s killed them and how he might end me. Maybe my obsession is brought on by the desire for my earthly existence to be over. Part of me hopes Collin Leary will end my life tonight. My sole fear at this point originates from what is still undefined. What will it feel like and how terrible will it look when he’s done?

My body is trembling with pain and anticipation. I feel as if I’m wading through his back room without the lights. The blackness, the unknown, is worse than a familiar danger.

When we finally arrive at my house, Collin pulls his Mercedes up the driveway and parks. I get out of the car without his help. The stress of worrying over what will happen causes me to feel weak and sick to my stomach. Moving cautiously, I make it to the porch and up the steps to my front door without collapsing. With the key slipped into the lock, I open it a crack before turning. He’s standing directly behind me, staring down at me. His eyes aren’t as hard as they were at the restaurant, but they’re much less than warm. Swallowing back my fear, I turn and lead the way into the house as he follows. If we’re going to do this, we might as well get it over with, now.

Barely past the threshold, he closes the door behind him and shoves my body against the wall. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out in pain.

His eyes nearly glow in the dark as he stares deep into mine, his breathing growing heavy. “Is this what you wanted?”

His question confuses me and I can’t answer. Does he think I want this? Do I want this? His hand goes to my throat and I don’t know if I should fight or let him get it over with, quickly and without resistance. And in my confusion, I hesitate, frozen like a child to this spot. Why am I not fighting? My heart is racing faster than before while I stare back at him, more frightened than I’ve ever been. Then, he leans forward with his lips spread open, but before reaching my lips, he stops.

A peculiar look crosses his face as his eyes move back down the front of my dress, stopping at the midriff. When I peer down I see a growing circle of dark red forming on the fabric.

“I’m calling an ambulance—”

“No. No ambulance. No hospital.”

My head is light, but I have nowhere to sit. My body goes numb and I can see nothing but blackness, the blackest color of darkness, the greatest depth of nothingness that I fear and have only known in the back room of Collin’s gallery until now. His disembodied voice—panicked but far away—calls my name. I can barely hear myself pleading with him. “Don’t call…”

My last thought is that Collin Leary won’t have to kill me now.