No Darker Place

He suddenly turned his head and stared directly at her as if he’d felt her scrutiny.

She drew back. What the hell? Giving herself a mental shake, she moved toward the door. The living room was dark; he couldn’t possibly have seen her. At the door she decided to leave her backup piece in the holster strapped around her ankle for now. Considering there were two uniforms parked in front of her house, she didn’t expect she would need to use it. She leaned toward the door.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” No point beating around the bush.

“Nick Shade. We need to talk.”

Surprised and more than a little intrigued, she peered through the peephole she’d installed. So this was the guy Newt had told her about. He was younger than she’d expected. “Let’s see some ID.”

He withdrew his wallet and stuck his driver’s license in front of the hole. Nicholas Shade. Atlanta, Georgia. She harrumphed. Thirty-five. He wasn’t much older than her. Did she open the door or not? Newt’s Quantico contact hadn’t given him anything concrete on Shade other than a generic assessment that he was one of the good guys. Shade might be after nothing more than the inside scoop on the Storyteller in hopes something she knew would be useful to him. He wouldn’t be the first to show up at her door. She’d had reporters, publishers and private investigators come knocking. Just because Shade supposedly tracked down serial killers didn’t mean he wasn’t in it for the money. A man who couldn’t be hired had to be making a living somehow.

Even so, why would he appear now? As of the ten o’clock news Evans’s connection to her hadn’t been made, but that would change soon enough, and then her street would be littered with reporters once more. Any member of the media familiar with the Storyteller would give just about anything for an exclusive from his only surviving victim. If that was the reason Shade was here, he needed to get in line somewhere besides her front door. This was her hunt.

“Call your partner if you have any questions,” Shade suggested, taking her delay for uncertainty. “We’ve met.”

“Did my partner send you here?” His showing up only a couple of hours after Newt mentioned him was a little convenient.

“No one sends me anywhere.” Shade stared at the peephole as if he sensed her watching him.

Who the hell was this guy? She released the dead bolts and opened the door. “What do we have to talk about?”

Dark eyes assessed her. “May I come in?”

Not a chance. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it right where you stand.” She bracketed her hands at her waist and blocked the doorway.

He glanced over his shoulder at the cruiser on the street. “I think you’re going to want to hear what I have to say in private.”

The tension that had started in her neck rushed through her chest, spreading quickly through her limbs. “Are you carrying?”

“No.” He held his arms up and turned all the way around for her to see.

The shirt and jeans hugged his body. He wasn’t carrying unless, like her, a small backup piece was strapped to his ankle. “Let’s see what kind of socks you wear, Mr. Shade.”

He lifted one foot and tugged up the pants leg, and then did the same with the other. Black socks and matching hiking boots, both of which fit too snugly to conceal a weapon. “Satisfied?”

“Fine, but make it fast. I take issue with having my time wasted.” She stepped back and allowed him inside before closing the door. “What is it you have to say?”

The weight of his gaze settled on her. When he continued to stare without speaking she fought the impulse to fidget. His eyes were more black than brown and impossible to read. He wasn’t thin as she’d first believed, more lean. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off muscled forearms. The broad shoulders she’d already noted filled out his cotton button-down shirt with no room to spare. His jeans were well-worn, as were his boots. Her attention drifted back up to his face, where those dark eyes watched her steadily. Rather than be put off by her sizing him up, he seemed to expect it. As undeniably handsome as he was, with that square jaw and classic straight nose, there was something distant about him...something untouchable and more than a little unsettling.

She rubbed at her neck. Enough with the silent treatment. Had he intruded on her evening to stare at her or to talk? Maybe he only wanted an up-close look at the anomaly who’d escaped the Storyteller while losing everything else in this world that mattered. Her irritation flared. “I don’t know what you want—”

“I need the full details of what happened inside Carl Evans’s home.”

Bobbie made a halfhearted sound that failed the definition of a laugh by any stretch of the imagination. “If you’re looking to verify the manner of death, I’ll be happy to set the record straight. He stuck the muzzle of a .38 into his mouth and pulled the trigger. Any other questions, Mr. Shade?”

Something flickered in his eyes, too quickly for her to read. “I’m well aware of how he died, Detective. I’m interested in what he said to you while you were alone together.”

Now she understood. Shade was on a digging expedition. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the press release the same as the rest of the world. Now, if that’s all you wanted...” She gestured to the door.

Rather than leave, he moved a step closer. “You asked me not to waste your time—maybe you can refrain from wasting mine. What did Evans say to you before he pulled the trigger?”

“I’m certain you’re aware I can’t comment on an ongoing case.”

He watched her closely, analyzing her answer, her expression, as well as her body language. “Did the exchange between the two of you have anything to do with his recent interaction with Gaylon Perry?”

Bobbie froze at the mention of his name. How could he know what Carl Evans had been doing? “Why would Evans be involved with the Storyteller?”

Shade’s penetrating gaze narrowed. “I’ve been briefed regarding the findings on his computer, Detective.”

Impossible. “This conversation is over, Mr. Shade. If you have more questions, you can direct them to the department’s community liaison officer.”

She reached for the door.

“Carl Evans was a pawn. Perry used him to get information on your recovery. He’s active again. Doesn’t that concern you in the least?”

Shock moved through her, tracing the fault line in her heart. He could not possibly know any of this for a certainty. He had to be guessing, hoping for a telling reaction. Whoever this guy was, she wanted him out of her house. All she had to do was open the door and send him away. Somehow her body wouldn’t take the necessary action.

“Perry used him,” Shade went on when she remained still. “And it cost Carl Evans his life. Gwen Adams may be next. Whatever you believe or don’t believe, you need to understand this is only one of many steps toward the Storyteller’s final goal—finishing what he started with you.”

What the hell? Did he read minds, too? Bobbie struggled to quiet the whirlwind of emotions threatening to develop into a raging storm inside her. Don’t let him see. “Good night, Mr. Shade.” Just open the fucking door. Her fingers tightened on the knob but refused to turn the damned thing.

“I see what’s driving you, Detective Gentry,” he warned, his voice dangerously low. “It shows in every move you make. Your need for vengeance is blinding you. You should think long and hard about the danger to yourself and to others before you proceed.”

A flood of outrage spun her around to face him once more. “You’ve done your homework. Good for you. You’re damned straight I want him to pay for what he did to me.” Her fingers curled into fists. “For what he did to all the others. Come back when you have something original to talk about, Mr. Shade.”

“He stole everything from you.”

The words were uttered so softly and yet they pierced her like the sharpest knives. She closed her eyes, unable to conceal the pain burning there. He’s seen too much already.

“He crushed you, shattered your entire world. Knowing he’s still out there can’t be easy. It would be completely understandable if you wanted nothing more than to lock yourself away and hide in fear.”

Bobbie blocked the images his words triggered, summoned her goddamned MIA courage and looked him straight in the eye. “You’re mistaken if you think I can give you any answers. Now.” She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “I’ve had a long day. I need it to be over.”

When she reached for the door once more, he flattened his wide palm against it, blocking her move. “You’re the one who’s making a mistake, Detective.”

If she managed to hold back the hurricane of emotions another thirty seconds, it would be a miracle. She grasped the doorknob tighter as if it were the anchor that prevented her from spiraling out of control. “Leave or I’ll have you hauled away for harassment.”

“We both know you’re not the slightest bit afraid,” he went on, ignoring her edict.

He was so close she could feel the heat of his words against her skin, blocking her ability to do anything except to listen.

“You maintain a public Facebook page without turning off the location services when you post. You go to work, and you come home. You’ve pushed away all the friends you once had, unless you count your partner and the chief of police. I suspect you only interact with them because you have no choice.”

A new rush of anger roared through her. She hated herself for permitting him to see her emotions. She hated him for making her lose control. “You don’t know a damned thing about me.”

“I know all I need to. You have a home in a tidy, middle-class neighborhood on the east side, yet you rent and reside in a house in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. You run alone every night well after dark.”

“That’s right.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “I’m more than capable of defending myself if the need arises.”