A Whisper in the Dark Page 9

  “I don’t know,” he said. But he fit the profile. John bent slightly to make eye contact with her. “Can you tell me exactly where this happened?”

  Julia nodded. “It happened just past Goubeaux’s Antiques. There’s a narrow courtyard. I was on the sidewalk. He . . . came out of nowhere. Grabbed me, dragged me into the courtyard.”

  John rose abruptly. “You two hang tight. The police should be here any moment. Lock the door behind me.”

  “Where are you going?” Claudia asked.

  “I’m going to see if that son of a bitch is still hanging around.” But as John started for the door, he knew the stalker was already gone.

  Julia couldn’t stop shaking no matter how hard she tried. In the minutes after the attack, Claudia had brewed herbal tea and tried to make conversation while they waited for the police to arrive. John had questioned her; Julia did her best to answer, but everything had happened so fast she didn’t think she was much help. All she could do now, it seemed, was sit at her desk and try not to relive the terror of the attack.

  She knew it could have been worse, but she’d never been subjected to violence, and she couldn’t get the terrible shock of it out of her mind. The stark feeling of helplessness. The sensation of being unable to breathe. The keen sense of vulnerability. The incident had probably lasted no more than three or four minutes, but she knew that tiny moment in time would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  She sat at her desk, gripping the mug of tea, wishing the warm brew would melt the ice jammed inside her. She’d lost track of the number of police officers she’d talked to. Toward the end, a detective had arrived and asked her the same questions all over again. Claudia had been hovering like a mother hen, brewing tea and talking too much in an effort to put her at ease. But Julia wasn’t sure she’d ever be at ease again.

  She’d lost sight of John. After making sure she was all right, he’d left and gone to the scene. By the time he’d come back, the police had arrived and she spent what seemed like an eternity answering questions. Mitch had even stopped by to check on her after hearing the address come across his radio.

  It was nearly eleven P.M. by the time the last police officer left.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the emergency room to have those bruises checked out?”

  Julia looked up to see John approach, his expression grim. “The last place I want to go is the hospital,” she said.

  Kneeling in front of her, he reached out and touched her throat. “You’re abraded. You’ve got some swelling here. Bruises.” He glanced down at her bloody knees, and some dark emotion she didn’t quite understand flashed in his eyes. “At the very least you need to get those knees cleaned up.”

  “For God’s sake, will you two stop hovering?” Julia fought unexpected tears. “I’m fine.”

  Claudia picked up a cup of the tea and shoved it into Julia’s hands. “Sip this and we’ll give you some space, okay?”

  Feeling like a fool, Julia rolled her eyes, but sipped the tea. Nobody said anything when her hands shook so badly she nearly spilled it.

  Claudia looked at John. “Do you think the police will catch him?”

  He lifted a shoulder, let it fall. “If they can lift some latent prints and get a hit in the system, there’s a good chance they’ll get him.”

  “The police won’t get prints,” Julia said. “He was wearing gloves.”

  Claudia’s cell phone chirped. Frowning, she glanced at the display and quickly put the call to voice mail. But Julia knew it was Rory calling for the dozenth time. And it suddenly dawned on her that her sister had missed the first half of Phantom.

  “You should have gone ahead with your plans,” Julia said.

  Claudia rolled her eyes. “Like I’m going to leave you here alone after what you went through tonight.”

  “I’m fine. In fact, your hovering and tea brewing are driving me nuts.” When Claudia only continued to stare at her, she added, “Besides, John is here.”

  In the beat of silence that followed, John felt a mild rise of panic. Suddenly he found himself in a position he did not want to be in. A position he was probably not qualified to handle.

  Claudia’s gaze snapped to John’s. “He’s got to go to Chicag—”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he heard himself say.

  After seeing Julia bruised and bleeding, he knew there was no way he could walk away from this. He sure as hell had no intention of leaving her alone.

  “But I thought—”

  He cut her off. “I changed my mind.”

  Julia looked from John to her sister. “Changed your mind about what?”

  John held Claudia’s gaze. “I don’t want you walking to the theater alone. Call a cab or have your boyfriend pick you up.”

  Claudia sighed. “Okay,” she said and looked at Julia. “Sis, are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  Julia nodded. “Of course, I’m sure. Go. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  John watched the two women embrace, pleased that Julia had a good support system. With the stalker becoming increasingly violent, she was going to need all the support she could get.

  Claudia went to the counter and picked up the phone to call a taxi. Julia turned to John. “Don’t look at me that way.”

  “What way?”

  “Like I’m going to fall apart. I’m not.”

  She was playing it tough. Good for her. But he didn’t put too much stock in the facade. He’d seen the terror in her eyes when she’d burst through the front door. He felt some of that terror himself every time he thought about how things might have turned out if she hadn’t gotten away.

  She spent a moment straightening some papers on her desk that didn’t really need straightening. “You mentioned earlier that the police might be able to get fingerprints. He was wearing gloves, John. How could they get prints?”

  “Our perp left behind a couple of items.”

  “What items?”

  “A crucifix and some kind of glass vial.”

  Her eyes widened. “My God, I forgot to mention that at some point I thought he splashed something in my face. I was so scared I wasn’t sure. But now I remember him holding some kind of small glass container.”

  “Any idea what the liquid was? Did it have a smell or sting your skin?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t notice either of those things.”

  The situation just kept getting stranger and stranger. “Did you see a crucifix at any time during the attack?”

  Her brows knitted. “I saw something in his hand. It flashed in my mind that maybe it was a gun or knife, but I didn’t get a good look at it.” Her gaze met his. “That’s strange about the crucifix. Are you sure he dropped it? Maybe it was already lying in the courtyard.”

  “The cops are pretty certain it was his.”

  “How can they know that?”

  “Because the crucifix was covered with blood.”

  EIGHT

  “Blood?” The word reverberated inside her head like the echo of a gunshot. Julia found herself looking down at her clothes, looking for signs of blood, and she shivered with revulsion.

  “Mitch told me,” John said quietly, his gaze sweeping to Claudia as she spoke on the phone.

  “Human blood? Animal?” Julia looked down at the drying blood on her knees. “Could it be mine?”

  “CSI took a sample of your blood. They’ll test to see if it matches.”

  “But you don’t think it will.”

  “I think we’re dealing with one sick son of a bitch.”

  Queasiness seesawed in her stomach at the thought of how blood might have gotten on a crucifix of all things. Good Lord.

  “Did you tell the police about the notes you’ve been receiving?” John asked.

  “Of course I did.”

  His smile was wry. “But you didn’t tell them about the book.”

  Julia blew out a breath, ruffling her bangs. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture, John.�
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  “It would have been smarter to tell them everything and let them do their job, Julia. This is serious. Dangerous—”

  “I know,” she snapped.

  “Things could have turned out a hell of a lot worse,” he snapped back.

  “John, the detectives can still investigate this without knowing about the book. They have all the evidence.”

  “True, but they’re not operating with all the facts. For example, motive.”

  The memory of her attacker’s whispered words shivered through her. You’ve got the devil in you . . .

  “This is exactly the kind of thing I was trying to avoid,” she said. “Dad’s already been in the news because of his views. If the media gets wind of the fact that I’ve written a novel, they’ll be all over it. I can see the headlines: Religious Leader’s Daughter Writing Smut.”

  An emotion she couldn’t quite identify flashed in his eyes, and she realized he knew all too well about the media’s penchant for sensationalism. They’d been all over him after the shooting. More than one so-called journalist had suggested John was guilty of murder.

  “You’re suggesting we let the cops operate on the assumption that this guy is obsessed with you?” he asked.

  “That’s not too far from the truth.” But she felt foolish for feeling the need to hide something so trivial when just over an hour ago she’d been fighting for her life.

  “Cab’s here.”

  Julia turned to see Claudia approach, her bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Don’t go anywhere alone,” John said to her. “Keep your doors locked. Alarm system engaged, if you have one. Keep your cell phone under your pillow tonight.”

  “He really knows how to make a girl feel safe.” Claudia smiled.

  But Julia saw through the bravado. Claudia was rattled, too. She hugged her younger sister tightly. “Thanks for hanging out with me tonight. I’m so sorry you missed the show.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If you need anything, just call.”

  A horn sounded from the street. Claudia pulled back, her gaze going to John. “Take good care of her.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Julia motioned toward the door. “Tell Rory I said hello.”

  With a wave, Claudia dashed to the door. “See you tomorrow.” The bell jingled as she opened it and rushed outside.

  John followed her as far as the sidewalk and watched to make sure she got into the cab safely. Once the cab had pulled away, he engaged the lock, tested it, and closed the miniblinds, effectively locking them in for the night.

  A quiver of nerves swept through Julia when he turned to face her. She wanted to blame her jumpiness on what had happened; pan assault in a dark alley was enough to rattle anyone. But she knew the sudden case of nerves had more to do with the man and the way his eyes swept over her.

  “I’m staying here with you tonight,” he said.

  Alarms started going off in her head. The instinct to argue was strong, but Julia didn’t. The truth of the matter was that for the first time in her adult life, she was afraid.

  “There’s a cot in the back room.” Needing something to do, she crossed to her desk and looked desperately for something to straighten. “Or you’re welcome to use the sofa upstairs.”

  “The cot will be fine.”

  “Are you expecting him to come here tonight?”

  “No.”

  When she ran out of things to do at the desk, she crossed to the counter. “So then why do you feel the need to stay?”

  His gaze sought hers, held it. “I don’t trust fate.”

  She knew it was crazy, but for an instant she didn’t know if he was talking about the stalker or his spending the night with her.

  Discomfited by the notion, she bent and straightened the novelty bags beneath the counter. “So what’s our next move?”

  “We let the cops do their jobs.”

  “And tonight?”

  “There’s nothing we can do tonight.” He shrugged. “Check the doors and windows.”

  She smiled. “Check for monsters under my bed?”

  He didn’t smile back. “Yeah.”

  “That was a joke.”

  A shiver moved through her when his gaze swept down the front of her. He grimaced when his eyes landed on her knees. “Since you’re too damn stubborn to go to the emergency room, why don’t you let me see to those abrasions?”

  She’d almost forgotten about her scratched knees. But now that the adrenaline had ebbed, the scrapes were beginning to burn, the bruises beneath coming to life. The wounds needed tending. But having John do it somehow seemed far too intimate.

  “If you’re up to it, I’d like to go over what happened one more time,” he said.

  Dread rose inside her at the thought of reliving it. The logical side of her brain knew any small detail could possibly help find her attacker. But the more emotional side of her brain did not want to venture back.

  “I’m up to it,” she replied. “I’ll just check the doors.”

  Before she could move, he started toward the rear door. “Front door is locked down tight,” he called out over his shoulder.

  Because she needed something to do, Julia rechecked the front door lock anyway, then walked to the rear of the shop. John had already opened the door and stepped into the alley, leaving the door open. From where she stood, Julia saw spindly fingers of fog rising from wet pavement. The slightly unpleasant odor of garbage hung in the air. John was standing stone still a few feet from the doorway, looking around.

  She came up beside him. “What is it?”

  He looked back at her, then motioned to the darkened light fixture across the alley. “Is that light always out?”

  She hadn’t noticed before, but now that he’d pointed it out, the alley seemed darker than usual. “I think it’s usually lit.”

  He crossed to the light and reached inside the globe. An instant later, dim light flooded the alley.

  “Loose bulb?” she asked.

  “Or maybe someone unscrewed it.”

  A chill went through her at the thought. “John, I don’t understand why someone would do this.”

  “The mentality of a stalker is so outside the normal realm of a normal person’s mind, it’s hard for anyone to grasp.”

  Julia wasn’t sure she wanted to understand, but she knew this was one of those times where ignorance was not bliss. “You think he’s obsessed with me?”

  “I think he’s fixated on you and/or some perceived wrong that you’ve done.”

  “My book?”

  He crossed to the door and ushered her inside, locking it behind them. “A lot of stalkers are disenchanted with reality, or unable to cope with reality, so they create their own. They tend to blame their problems on others. For example, if this guy has created a world where your novels cause him or others problems, he may feel compelled to somehow rectify the situation. At that point you become the focus of his obsession. His obsession becomes the center of his imagined universe.”

  Julia shivered as they started up the stairs to her apartment. “Scary thought.”

  “I’m no profiler,” John said. “But this guy probably thinks you’ve wronged him. He may even have convinced himself that you are the one who needs help.”

  “Or saving.”

  “Exactly.”

  She unlocked the door to her apartment and stepped inside. A sense of comfort flooded her at the sight and smells of her ordinary things. The overstuffed sofa and chair in front of the television. The clutter of books on the coffee table. The cup she’d left on the kitchen counter this morning. The pleasant scent of the citrus and peppercorn potpourri she’d picked up at the candle shop on Poydras the day before. Until this moment she hadn’t realized just how badly she’d needed to be safe in her own home.

  Normally when she closed the shop for the evening, she would make dinner or perhaps grab something to eat at the Cajun restaurant two doors down from the shop, then settle down with her laptop until bedtime. It was he
r relaxation, her escape. Tonight, however, writing was the last thing on her mind.

  “Do you have a first aid kit?”

  She turned to see John close the door behind him and engage the lock. He looked large and out of place in her small apartment, and it struck her just how seldom she had male visitors.

  “In the bathroom. I’ll get it.” She started toward the hall.

  “I’ll get it.” He motioned toward the chair. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  Sighing, Julia crossed to the chair and sat. She turned on the reading lamp beside the chair and for the first time got an up-close-and-personal look at her knees. Her panty hose were torn and sticky with drying blood, exposing deep abrasions. She could already see the swelling where the bruises were beginning to bloom. Realizing her hose would be in the way, she rose and walked into the kitchen, peeled them off and dropped them into the wastebasket.

  “You’re going to be feeling those bruises tomorrow.”

  Julia looked up to see him standing in the living room, the small red and white first aid kit in one hand, the bathroom water glass in the other.

  “I’m already feeling them.” She crossed to the chair and settled into it.

  “How’s your throat?”

  “Sore.”

  He offered three ibuprofen tablets and the glass of water. “These might help.”

  Julia downed the pills and drank the entire glass of water, all too aware that her throat hurt with each swallow. “If I hadn’t maced him, he would have . . .” She set the glass on the table next to the chair. “He would have—”

  “He didn’t,” John cut in.

  That she could have been killed tonight made her feel sick and intensely vulnerable. Julia had never thought of herself as weak or defenseless; she’d never been afraid of anything in her life. But suddenly she found herself very glad that John was there.

  “It keeps playing in my mind like a bad movie,” she said.

  “A dozen different scenarios could have happened, but they didn’t. You’re okay. You’re safe.” His expression softened. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “You’re not going to get an argument from me.”