The Dark Gate. Pamela Palmer
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fingers trailed over her lips. And the man could win awards with his kissing. She remembered the way he’d held her, the way he’d pressed her against the sink cabinet until she’d had no doubt of his desire.
A warm rush of longing turned her knees weak and she sank down onto the bed. If only things were different. If only—
Her sight suddenly vanished. Pain split her skull.
Heart lurching with fear, Larsen grabbed her aching head as another vision hit her like a sledgehammer.
She recognized the Old West decor of Tony Jingles, a restaurant on Q Street, not far from the pharmacy where the young intern had been abducted. As before, she watched from above, as if she hovered near the ceiling, wrapped in an unnatural silence.
Dread balled in her stomach.
She didn’t want to see this.
She tried to close her eyes, tried to wake herself up or to shake herself out of the scene, but she remained rooted. Trapped.
The scene below appeared disturbingly normal. The afternoon sun shone through the slats of the window blinds, illuminating a half-empty restaurant. On the television in the corner, the Baltimore Orioles mascot bounded across the field in what appeared to be pregame shenanigans.
A flash of white caught her eye and everything changed.
The albino strode into the restaurant, turning the patrons and wait staff to stone. Forks and glasses dropped onto the tables, food-laden trays crashed silently to the floor.
The only natural movement came from a booth nearby. A middle-aged woman with a round, intelligent face stared around her in disbelief. She opened her mouth as if yelling, then began to shake the two people in the booth with her—a man Larsen presumed was her husband and a pretty young woman, probably her daughter.
The woman looked up to see the albino approaching. Her eyes widened with shock, then turned to fear as her husband’s hands closed around her throat and he began to choke her. The albino motioned to her blank-faced daughter. The girl climbed out of the booth and, like the bridesmaid before her, stood motionless as he raped her in front of her mother’s dying eyes.
With his white hair swirling around his face, his eyes glowing like yellow-green embers, the albino’s head jerked up and he met Larsen’s gaze. Through his song, he smiled malevolently.
And reached for her.
Jack paced his living room, slapping the television remote against his thigh in an agitated, bruising rhythm as the newscaster droned, becoming just one more voice in his head.
Who was she? Ice Queen or siren? Angel or devil?
Winning her trust was a luxury he could no longer afford.
His last doubt that she was involved in this case had evaporated as he’d watched her react to the surveillance video.
His sanity be damned. His first responsibility was to the people of D.C. It was high time he got to the bottom of Larsen Vale’s involvement. Before that bastard committed another murder or assault.
With weighted feet, Jack strode to his bedroom and rapped on the door. “Larsen?” When she didn’t answer, he pounded harder. The door, not fully latched, swung open to reveal a figure huddled on the floor in the sweep of hall light.
His heart lodged in his throat. “Larsen, what happened?”
She stared at nothing, her eyes glassy and filled with horror. He crossed to her in three quick strides and knelt in front of her, searching for sign she’d been injured, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. No arrow sticking out of her. No blood.
He cupped her face in his hands, his palms encountering the cool clamminess of her skin. “Talk to me, Larsen. What happened?”
Long lashes swept up. Tormented eyes met his gaze and slowly filled with tears. Sobs began to rack her slender body.
“Are you hurt?”
She pressed her lips hard together, but shook her head.
His fear slid away. Keen protectiveness warred with frustration even as he pulled her against him in a move that was at once alien and utterly natural. She fit against him perfectly, her arms sliding around his neck, her face buried against his shoulder.
She belonged to him. In a way he couldn’t describe, he felt it in his bones.
Jack stroked her damp hair as her crying slowly subsided. She wasn’t injured, not physically at least. Whatever tormented her came from within. Was it fear that hounded her? Guilt?
He felt the tension drain out of her as he rubbed her back.
“I need to know what’s going on,” he said quietly. “I can’t help you if I don’t know.”
Too late, he realized she’d cried herself to sleep. Resigned, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, then lay beside her, his fingers twined with hers.
Blessed silence filled his head, perhaps for the last time, as he gazed at the woman who stirred so many conflicting emotions in him. Come morning he was going to have to break through her defenses to get at the truth. No matter what it took. Even if it meant earning her hatred, and losing his last chance.
Larsen woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of a soft rain pattering against the window. Her arms, which were always on top of the covers when she slept, were buried beneath a sheet tucked up to her chin, as if someone had pulled the sheet over her during the night.
Jack.
She’d woken just before dawn to find her back pressed against his chest, his arm tight around her. She’d felt so safe, so secure, she’d fallen right back to sleep. Something warm and soft moved in her chest. If things were different, if they were different, he might just be a man worth taking a chance on.
But though he might be able to protect her physically, he was, ultimately, a cop who saw too much. And she was a woman with secrets she could never share. Premonitions. Death.
Tony Jingles.
The terrifying memory slammed into her and she struggled from beneath the snug sheet and sat up, heart pounding. The albino would strike again. Another rape. Maybe another death.
She raked her hair back from her face and stared at the plain blue sheet bunched at her knees, her mind spinning. She’d seen her own death at the wedding reception, yet she hadn’t died. For the first time ever, one of her death visions hadn’t come true. Were these visions different from the ones she’d had as a child, or had she simply never believed she could change things, so never before tried?
Oh God, what if she could have saved her mom from that car accident all those years ago? Her scalp began to tingle with the horror of the thought. Don’t. Don’t go there. What was done was done. She couldn’t change the past. But maybe…maybe…she could change the future.
The horror charging through her system slowly changed to excitement. What if she could stop the murder at Tony Jingles? What if she could save that woman and her daughter, and possibly end the albino’s rampage once and for all?
Sudden restless energy shot down her limbs. With a kick of the sheet, she climbed out of bed and began pacing the room. Jack was a cop. He could stop the attack and catch the murderer.
But how could she tell him what she knew without telling him how she knew it? She’d find a way. She had to. For once, just maybe, her death visions could be used for good instead of bringing evil.
Jack poured himself a cup of coffee as he dug his fingers into his scalp, trying to ease the volume in his head. The damned voices were getting louder, as if each day they invited more and more guests into the party.
“Headache?” Larsen said from behind him, entering the kitchen.
He jerked his hand away, nearly spilling the coffee, and turned to face her. She looked soft and delicious