A Whisper in the Dark Page 13

  “It would be if you let it.”

  Giving her a dry smile, he carried the lamp and table out the door and went down the stairs.

  THIRTEEN

  A steady stream of customers kept Julia busy the rest of the day. Once he had moved the table and lamp to the storage room, John had asked to use her shower. Julia had given him the key and tried not to think about it. She worked the cash register and chatted with Claudia and Jacob and several customers that had come to New Orleans all the way from London. But the whole while she was keenly aware of the pipes clanging, and she couldn’t keep her mind from conjuring images of John with water sluicing over taut male skin . . .

  At noon, Claudia left for class at Tulane. Jacob manned the cash register while Julia stocked a box of old books she’d ordered online. She’d just slid an Agatha Christie first edition on the shelf when Jacob’s voice right behind her made her start.

  “So what’s the story on Macho Man?” he asked.

  Casting him a frown, she slid another book onto the shelf. “You mean John?”

  “Yeah. John. The whole time we were moving furniture, he treated me like some kind of criminal, asking me all sorts of questions. For God’s sake, Julia, he thinks I’m the stalker.”

  “He’s just covering his bases.”

  “Or maybe he’s a homophobe.”

  Julia bit her lip. “He didn’t know you were gay until a while ago when I told him.”

  Jacob rolled his eyes. “Great. Now he’s probably going to want to beat me up.”

  “Come on. He’s not like that. He’s tough on everyone, Jacob. Even himself.”

  “Well, knowing he’s an equal opportunity jerk makes it all better.” Shaking his head, he usurped her latte and sipped. “What, is he going through a divorce or what?”

  Julia had assumed Jacob knew about the shooting by now. She stopped shelving books. “A few months ago he was a detective with the Chicago PD. I don’t know the details, but during a bust there was some confusion and he accidentally shot and killed a fellow officer.”

  Jacob looked appropriately solemn for a moment. “That’s heavy stuff.”

  “So cut him some slack, will you?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Thank you.” Smiling, she reached for her latte and sipped. “And leave my coffee alone, too.”

  John spent the first part of the afternoon at the hardware store picking up new bolt locks for Julia’s shop, and the second half of the afternoon installing them. He spent twenty minutes on the phone with a local security company, negotiating prices and trying to get the new security system installed sooner than next week. In the end he settled for five business days.

  More than once during the day he found himself watching Julia. She was charming and funny with her customers, many of whom were eccentric. But she could be serious and knowledgeable when the situation called for it. He kept an eye on Jacob. The guy seemed normal. But John knew all too well that behind even the most benign of faces a monster could lurk. He knew most stalking victims knew their stalkers. Did Julia know hers? Was her stalker the same man who’d murdered the young woman in the cemetery?

  At five o’clock, business began to wind down. Jacob sat on the stool at the cash register, reading a book. Julia sat at her desk, calculating the day’s receipts. John knew better than to stare, but he’d been telling himself that all day, and yet here he was, unable to take his eyes off her.

  The black turtleneck she wore swept over her slender frame like velvet skin, revealing subtle curves that made his hands itch to touch. Her slacks were just snug enough to let him know she had one of the nicest asses he’d ever laid eyes on.

  He wanted to blame his lack of willpower on the hangover—or maybe the need to protect that rose inside him every time he saw the bruises—but deep inside he knew his watching her had more to do with good old-fashioned sexual attraction.

  Of course, he wasn’t going to do anything about it. He hadn’t so much as thought about women since that terrible night in Chicago. His head was too fucked up to consider anything more complicated than getting out of bed in the morning and putting on his shoes. That wasn’t to say sex wouldn’t be a nice distraction. It definitely would, especially with Julia. But he knew she was not the kind of woman to partake in a one-night stand. Anything more and John was simply not interested.

  He’d just finished with the lock on the alley window when the bell on the door jingled. He looked up to see a tall, well-dressed man with sandy blond hair enter the shop. He wore a long London Fog raincoat. Expensive wingtips. A lawyer or banker type, John thought.

  The man looked around, spotted Julia at her desk, and a grin the size of Lake Pontchartrain split his face. “You’re never going to believe what I have in my hand,” he said, crossing to her desk.

  Curious, John stopped what he was doing and straightened. He didn’t know who the man was. Didn’t know what he wanted or why he was staring at Julia as if she were some coveted prize. But he was damn well going to be ready if Mr. Investment Banker got out of line.

  Looking surprised by the man’s presence, Julia rose. “Hi.”

  The man leaned close and kissed her cheek, his hands settling comfortably on her shoulders. “How are you?” he asked.

  “Fine.” She leaned into him and pecked air. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until the weekend.”

  John knew it was stupid, but he was inordinately pleased that she had pecked air instead of skin. He wanted to describe the feeling jabbing his gut as suspicion, but he was honest enough with himself to realize he didn’t like the familiar way the other man was touching her.

  “This wouldn’t wait,” he said excitedly.

  The man didn’t acknowledge John or Jacob. It was as if he didn’t even realize there were two other people in the room. One hundred and twenty percent of his attention was focused on Julia.

  “What?” she asked.

  He pulled a small envelope from the pocket of his Armani jacket and waved it like a flag. “I’ve got two tickets for Phantom of the Opera. Box seats at the Saenger Theatre.”

  She blinked, and then her surprise turned to pleasure. “How did you manage that? The show has been sold out for weeks.”

  “One of my clients gave them to me. He and his wife are going out of town.” He slapped her playfully on the shoulder with the tickets. “Will you go?”

  “Are you kidding? When?”

  “Tonight.”

  John glanced at Jacob, who, he noted, was watching the man with a little too much interest. Jealousy? he wondered. Or something else?

  “Please?” the man said.

  “Oh, Julia, you should!” Jacob brought his hands together. “I’ve heard it’s a fabulous show!”

  “I’d love to go,” Julia said.

  “Fabulous! We can grab dinner, too.”

  Julia’s gaze swept to John, and in that instant, she realized the two men had not yet been introduced. That there would be questions she wasn’t sure how to answer. As if on cue, the man noticed John. His questioning gaze ran from John to Julia and back to John. “You have a new clerk or is he the bouncer?” he said in a lowered voice.

  John almost smiled at the territorial way the other man put his hand on her shoulder. A caveman telling him in no uncertain words that she was off limits.

  Wiping her hands on her slacks, Julia approached John, Mr. Investment Banker trailing her like a puppy. “John, this is Skip Stockton.”

  John crossed to the man and tried to look civil.

  The man stuck out his hand a little too quickly. “Nice to meet you.”

  John waited a beat before taking the other man’s hand and growling his name.

  “Are you two friends?” Skip was curious.

  “John is an old friend of the family,” Julia said. “We’ve known each other forever.”

  John didn’t like the way she’d used the word “old.” As if he were her older favorite uncle or something. Which he definitely was not. In fact, he d
idn’t have an uncle-like feeling in his entire body when it came to Julia.

  “Ah. I see.” But Skip didn’t understand. John could see the questions burgeoning in the other man’s eyes. Questions like: So what is he doing here?

  “Are you a collector?” Stockton asked.

  “I’m here to keep an eye on Julia.”

  Stockton laughed, but when no one joined him he sobered. “Keep an eye on her?”

  “I’ve been receiving threatening letters,” she said.

  “She was assaulted in the alley down the street last night,” John put in.

  “Assaulted?” He looked from John to Julia, his expression shocked and, John noted, concerned. “My God, were you hurt?”

  Something male and uncomfortable rose inside John when Stockton put his hands on Julia’s shoulders and turned her to him. “Let me look at you.”

  “Really, I’m fine.”

  She tried to move away, but he set his palm beneath her jaw and lifted her chin. “How did this happen?” He looked at John as if he were the guilty party, which only served to piss him off.

  “Where were you last night between ten and ten thirty?” John asked.

  Stockton looked as if he’d swallowed his tongue. “I beg your pardon?”

  John repeated the question.

  Stockton’s gaze flicked from John to Julia and then back to John. “What is this? Some kind of interrogation?”

  “Maybe you should just answer the question.”

  “I don’t like the insinuation.”

  “I didn’t make an insinuation. I simply asked you where you were last night between ten and ten thirty.”

  “Guys. Please.” Julia stepped between the two men, but her anger was focused on John. “That’s not necessary.”

  “It’s okay, Julia.” Stockton glared at John. “I was with clients all evening. You can check.”

  “I will.”

  Shaking his head, Stockton turned to Julia. “Look, I’ve got to run to a quick meeting.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be back in an hour to pick you up for dinner.”

  “I’ll be ready,” she said.

  Stockton bent to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek. Giving John a final triumphant look, he walked out.

  John spent the next hour cleaning up the mess he’d made while installing the new locks. But he was keenly aware of the water running through the pipes, and he knew Julia was taking a shower. It was bad enough imagining her beneath the spray, but knowing she was getting ready for a date with some investment banker type put a cruel twist on the situation.

  He knew he’d acted like a jerk earlier. He wanted to believe he’d called his brother and asked him to run a background check on Stockton because everyone was a suspect until he or she was cleared. But John knew that wasn’t the case. He didn’t believe Stockton was the stalker. The truth of the matter was that John was jealous. A petty, stupid emotion that was a total waste of time and energy because he had absolutely no intention of making any advances toward Julia. Not that she would ever reciprocate. No, he thought darkly, Julia Wainwright had too much sense than to get tangled up with a man like him.

  “John?”

  He looked up at the sound of her voice. She was standing in the storage room doorway. In an instant, he took in her silhouette and could have sworn his blood heated ten degrees. She was wearing a silky black dress. Even though the neckline and hemline were conservative, there was absolutely nothing conservative about the way the material swept over her body.

  Looking quickly away, he finished sweeping the chips of paint and wood shavings into the dustpan. “Yeah?”

  “Do you have a minute?”

  He dumped the debris into the trash can and turned to her. “I’ve got all night.”

  She stepped into the storage room and stopped a few feet away from him, her sultry eyes steady on his. He was keenly aware of her proximity. The exotic scent of her perfume. The fact that he was responding to her in a way he did not want to respond.

  “I just wanted to tell you that you don’t have to worry about Skip. He’s a good guy. I’ve known him for almost two years now. My father introduced us.”

  “Do you only go out with men your father approves of?”

  She blinked. “I go out with whomever I choose.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Frankly, I don’t think the men I go out with are any of your business.”

  “Ninety percent of stalking victims know their stalkers.”

  “Skip is no stalker.”

  John knew now was probably a good time for him to tell her he’d run a background check on the man in question and let her know it had come back clean, but he wasn’t feeling particularly hospitable at the moment.

  “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Her gaze flicked to the brown paper bag he’d set on the desk. The top of a bottle of gin peeked out. “That’s not going to help.”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  “John . . .”

  “Let it go, Julia.”

  She hesitated. “You make it difficult to know you. You don’t let people in.”

  “You don’t want to know me.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  John said nothing. As far as he was concerned there was nothing left to say. “Be careful tonight.”

  Julia rolled her eyes and started to say something flippant, but John cut her off. “I mean it. Make sure that pencil-neck date of yours escorts you to and from the ladies’ room. To the concession stand. Everywhere.”

  She sobered. “Okay.”

  She was still looking at him when he stepped back and closed the door in her face.

  John had never been good at doing nothing. But as had been the case for the last two months, there wasn’t anyone he wanted to see. There was nothing he wanted to do. He hated to admit it, but his brother was right. The only thing he seemed to do well these days was feel sorry for himself. And, of course, get drunk.

  He’d felt like an idiot, but he’d stood at the front door of the shop when Stockton had come to pick up Julia. He’d drilled him on a few safety measures, told him not to let her out of his sight. Stockton had agreed. But John could tell the other man thought he was overreacting.

  They left at just before seven P.M. John went into the storage room, sat down on the cot and broke the seal. The first sip went down like a ball of fire. The second made him want a third. By the time he got around to the fourth, his head was already beginning to spin . . .

  He knew this was the last thing he should be doing. Julia was in very real danger. He should be keeping a more vigilant eye. But already he could feel the walls closing in, the nightmares knocking at his door. When he looked down at his hands, he could almost see Franklin Watts’s blood. The guilt churned like vomit in his gut. He would never forget the pain in the eyes of Watts’s wife and two children the day of the funeral. He could still hear the blasts of the twenty-one-gun salute. Angela Watts had made eye contact with him as she’d folded the flag over the casket, but there had been no forgiveness in their depths. John hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t even wanted it.

  He thought about Julia and reluctantly acknowledged that the reason he felt so crummy tonight was because he was jealous. But John knew she was better off with Stockton than she would ever be with him. He was in no condition to even entertain the idea of a relationship. He liked and respected her too much to do that to her.

  Turning on the floor lamp, he set the bottle on the table and put his face in his hands. He wasn’t proud of what he had become. Like a thousand other troubled cops before him, he had turned to the bottle for solace because nothing else worked. It was pathetic that he’d arrived at a place where he preferred the oblivion of alcohol to life. He’d learned to settle for less. A whole fucking lot less.

  Sudden fury had him reaching for the bottle. Grabbing it by the neck, he flung it as hard as he could. Glass shattered as
it struck the steel shelving. Gin spewed onto the floor. And John found himself facing a night without the anesthesia of alcohol.

  Trying not to think about that, he rose and mechanically cleaned up the shards and spilled gin. He tossed the paper towels in the trash and looked around, ashamed and feeling trapped. If things got bad, he could always make a run to one of the bars on Bourbon Street and buy a bottle.

  He spotted Julia’s book lying facedown on the recliner. It had been months since he’d read a book. And while the thought of reading one now did not appeal, he knew that in this case the contents might give him some insights as to why she was being stalked.

  He crossed to the recliner and picked up the book. Settling into the chair, he opened it and began to read. In the back of his mind, he prayed it would be enough to keep the demons at bay, at least for the night.

  FOURTEEN

  Phantom of the Opera was Julia’s favorite musical. She loved the powerful score, the colorful costumes and the gothic tone of an ageless story. Combined with the beauty of the historic Saenger Theatre, the night had been truly magical. Skip had been funny and witty and attentive, walking her the ladies’ room twice, once during dinner at Arnaud’s and then once during the intermission at the Saenger.

  Julia had always enjoyed his company. Skip was a handsome man with a sharp mind and a kind heart. He was well educated and fun to be with. He was a successful investment banker with a bright future. One day he would make some lucky girl a wonderful husband. He would be a loving father.

  But Julia was not in the market for either of those things. She liked her life the way it was. She liked her independence, the freedom to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to do it, and without having to answer to anyone.

  She’d been blessed with good parents. Benjamin and Jillian Wainwright had loved each other, but it hadn’t been enough to make the marriage work. An astute child, Julia had seen more than they’d intended. She’d watched her domineering father break her mother’s spirit. She’d seen the kinds of things a man and a woman could do to each other when they were unhappy. Finally, unable to cope, Jillian left and filed for divorce, leaving her two small daughters behind. Though Julia had been only ten years old, she had been mature enough to understand her mother’s motives and to this day Julia had never blamed her.