Dark Whispers Page 6

  She nodded. “I see. Well.” Shoulders squared, she picked up her cup. “I don’t see any reason to discuss the matter.”

  He wanted to be relieved but he understood this would not be the last time the issue came back to haunt him. “Why put off the inevitable? April feels the issue is relevant to my trustworthiness.”

  Natalie lifted her chin. “But I don’t. Despite recent events, my sister is not my keeper.”

  The seed of doubt had been planted. Clint was well aware how this worked. The subject might feel irrelevant at the moment but in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep it would nag at her.

  “My father worked in a factory,” he began. “My mother operated a daycare in our house for the neighborhood children. Together they made enough to keep a roof over our heads and to fall above the income level for any sort of government aid. There was no money for college, much less law school.” He resisted the urge to stand and pace. “I was a smart kid. I didn’t get the kind of scholarships the athletes received, but it was enough to get me in the door. The rest, however, was up to me.”

  “So you worked your way through school,” Natalie offered. “There’s no shame in hard work. College is expensive. Law school is even more costly.”

  She couldn’t hide the automatic guilt she clearly felt for growing up rich when she heard stories like his. No matter, when she heard the rest that guilt would shift into outrage and disgust. What the hell?

  “I worked as an escort.” He figured she would comprehend the full implications of the statement without him going into graphic detail.

  She sipped her tea, cleared her throat and took a breath. “Do you mean—?”

  “I mean exactly what you think I mean. The Alabama State Bar used its morals clause to preclude my admission to the bar based on my character and that was that.”

  “You did this for...?”

  If she blinked too hard the frozen expression on her face would no doubt shatter. Clint almost laughed. He was a damned good investigator. Whether he’d delivered pizza or pleasure during college should be of no consequence to the job he had to do now. “Five years.”

  The duration of his early career startled her and the dainty cup almost slipped from her slim fingers. “I see.”

  No. She didn’t see at all. There were other things he could tell her, like the fact that he earned more in his first year than the average attorney did in his first four. He’d had a high-end operation, not a street corner. His clients had been the rich and famous of Alabama. By the time he hit law school he had invested widely and wisely. He could retire now, if he chose, on the investments he’d made. None of that would matter. He saw the horror and disbelief in her eyes.

  He stood, fury and frustration beating in his pulse, and buttoned his jacket. “You have my number. Let me know if you still require my services. If not, I’ll ask the boss to send someone else.”

  “Sit down, Clint.”

  Whatever hesitation she’d felt before, there was none in her blue eyes now. He, on the other hand, hesitated. He wasn’t apologizing for his past.

  “Please,” she added.

  He ripped the jacket button loose once more and sat. His boss, he still had to work at reminding himself not to call Jess chief, would be the first one to say he didn’t care for taking orders. He preferred giving them. That said, he wanted this new venture to work out for all concerned—including the lady staring at him right now. Whether she realized it or not, she needed him.

  “I don’t care what you did to survive in college. We all did things we might not have done at any other time in our lives.” She smiled. “Kudos to you. Law school was tough as hell and still you made it. The State Bar’s decision was unfair and antiquated in my opinion. If you ever decide to fight that decision, I would be more than happy to represent you.”

  Clint did laugh then. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m completely satisfied with my current career.”

  She drew in a deep breath and immediately pressed a hand to her chest. He imagined she’d be damned sore for a few days. Did she understand she could have been killed in that crash? She could have killed someone else?

  “What do we do now? You said my car is at the lab.”

  “Ricky Vernon, one of the forensic guys at the lab, is sort of a computer geek. He’s the best. He’ll be able to tell us why the air bag launched prematurely. If the perp left prints or any other evidence, he’ll find that, too. If we find evidence a crime was committed, Lieutenant Harper—he leads the BPD’s major crimes unit—will give us the full support of his team.”

  “How long will the lab take?”

  “Harper put a rush on the analysis. Vernon will probably work all night if necessary.” Clint had seen the guy pull an all-nighter more than once. Damn he missed the team, but working with Jess was where he wanted to be.

  A knock on the open door drew Clint’s attention there. Suzanna, the housekeeper, stood in the open doorway, her bag draped over her shoulder. “Ms. Natalie, Leonard and I are done for the day unless you need anything else.”

  Natalie smiled, clearly fond of the older lady. “We’re fine, thank you.”

  “I left chicken salad in the fridge.” She turned to Clint. “You take good care of her.”

  He smiled. Suzanna and her husband had worked for the Drummond family for three decades. “You can count on it, ma’am.”

  When the housekeeper was gone, Natalie stood. “We should eat.”

  Clint pushed to his feet. “You go ahead. I’d like to have a look at the garage.”

  Someone who had access to her home was screwing with Natalie’s life. No matter how long the housekeeper and her gardener husband had worked for the family, everyone was a suspect. Even Natalie’s sister.

  Especially her sister.

  Chapter Six

  Athens-Flatts Building, 2nd Avenue

  7:30 p.m.

  The elevator door opened and Natalie’s jaw dropped. “Wow. What a view.”

  Before Clint even invited her to step out of the elevator that opened into the foyer of his condo, she was already walking toward the incredible wall of glass that looked out over downtown Birmingham.

  She turned to the man watching her so closely as if he feared her disapproval. “This is the penthouse.” She shook her head. “I’ve always wondered who lived here.” She laughed. “Just wow.” The view was absolutely amazing.

  “It came up for sale last year. The couple who owned it were getting divorced and neither wanted the other to end up with the best party spot in the city.”

  Natalie lifted her gaze to his. “You bought it for having parties?” She’d spent the past four hours struggling not to think about him having sex with all those women...

  Don’t think about him that way.

  “I’ve been to my share of parties, but I rarely play the role of host.”

  She turned back to the view, certain she didn’t want him to see the trouble she was having keeping his past occupation out of her head. Had she ever known a man who provided personal services?

  No. No, she had not.

  “Well, it’s a lovely home.” There. A perfectly benign statement of the truth.

  “I can’t take credit for the decorating. I bought the place, furniture and artwork included.”

  “The previous owners had good taste.” She tugged at the collar of her blouse, feeling warm. She’d changed into casual slacks and a blouse and still she felt constricted and...hot. “Is it all right if I see the rest of the place?” She had to do something besides stand here and make small talk.

  “Of course. I’ll grab a few things.”

  They came to his home so he could pack the clothes and other essentials he would need to stay with her for a few days. The idea of having him right down the hall had abruptly taken on a whole
new connotation considering his confession. She refused to linger on the subject. She needed help finding the truth. Clint was helping. End of story.

  Natalie waited until he’d disappeared into the master suite, and then she moved in the opposite direction. The main living space was one massive room with that breathtaking view. Lots of gleaming hardwood, sleek granite and stainless steel. The furnishings were a tasteful blend of leather, wood and upholstered pieces. The ceiling soared high overhead where metal pipes and ductwork lent an urban feel. The few art pieces on the muted gray walls were stark and yet somehow compelling. The one that drew her in was the artist’s rendering of a city street disappearing into the night. She thought of the way so many pieces of her life had slipped into the darkness. How many more pieces were missing?

  Dismissing the worry, she wandered into a short hall that led to a well-appointed bedroom with an en suite. What she decided was the guest room had a similarly spectacular view. The glimpse of her reflection she caught in the mirror over the bathroom vanity made her groan. No black eyes, but her left cheek was bruised. Her chin was scraped. Her chest felt as if the bare skin had been slapped over and over. Was it possible someone close to her had caused the accident? Clint had suggested as much.

  “Not possible.”

  Natalie turned away from the mirror and wandered back into the main living area. She perused the kitchen with its restaurant-quality style. Checked out his wine selection and then rifled through the magazines on the coffee table. She noted the coat closet and the powder room near the elevator.

  She roamed back to the sofa. “What now?” she muttered to herself.

  “You doing okay out there?”

  His deep voice drifted through the space making it seem somehow smaller.

  She cleared her throat. “Yes.” Natalie rolled her eyes. Evidently the proper etiquette for visiting a friend’s home was another of those missing pieces.

  “I’m almost finished.”

  Before she could come up with a good enough reason not to, she strolled in the direction of his voice. A short walk down the hall off the kitchen side of the condo led into the master suite. A jacket landed on the king-size bed. Again there was that stunning view. The city was the first thing he would see when he woke in the morning. She pictured him lying in that enormous bed and—

  He appeared from the door to her right, a couple of shirts in hand. “I’ll get these in the bag and I’m ready.”

  She peeked beyond the door to the walk-in closet. The only place she’d ever seen that many suits was at a men’s clothing store. Her father had owned his share of suits, but not even her pompous brother-in-law owned so many. She wandered into the closet, allowed her fingers to drift over the fabrics as she walked past. The suits were arranged according to color and fabric, she realized. Dozens of pairs of shoes. She raised her hand as she reached the starched shirts, her fingers slipping over the smooth fabric. Most were white. There were a few others in pastels and a couple of gray ones. And, sweet Jesus, the silk ties. All hanging neatly behind glass doors.

  When she turned around he waited in the doorway, one shoulder braced against the doorframe. “Clothes are an addiction of mine.”

  Her mouth felt dry. She moistened her lips and managed a smile. “I see that.”

  He watched her as she turned all the way around for one last look. The idea that he was watching her made her heart beat faster.

  “I don’t see any jeans or plain old get-my-hands-dirty shirts.”

  “I have a few.”

  She laughed, couldn’t help herself. “Somehow I can’t see you getting your hands dirty under the hood of a car or in the yard.”

  “You’d be surprised at all the ways I’ve had my hands dirty.”

  There was a warning in his words. She heard it clearly and still she dared to move closer. After all, he stood in the doorway. If she intended to escape she had to move past him. “Would I?”

  He studied her for another long moment, and then he straightened away from the door. “We should go.”

  She watched as he grabbed the garment bag and the duffle from the bed. “You have a truly beautiful home.” Had she said that already?

  He nodded and walked away. She followed. He didn’t speak again. Perhaps it was best he didn’t. Natalie admired the view one last time before the elevator doors closed.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and examined the feelings swirling inside her. There was another piece she’d lost. It startled her a little to suddenly remember it now.

  How long had it been since she’d actually been attracted to a man?

  Why in the world did her libido have to show up now?

  Southwood Road

  11:45 p.m.

  WHISPERS ROUSED NATALIE. The sound seemed to slide over her skin. Her heart beat faster; her skin tingled. Pages and pages of briefs drifted downward, the words sifting from the paper and falling into a pile. The pages faded into darkness. She was walking...walking toward the light, her fingers sweeping along the soft fabric of suits, rows and rows of suits.

  Her eyes opened, she blinked and stared into the darkness for a moment before rolling onto her side. 11:45 p.m. She came a little more awake, her mind grappling for some sense of the dream.

  It was the same every time.

  Except this time there had been the suits. It didn’t take a degree in psychology to know the suits were about her visit to Clint’s home this evening. She pulled the sheet closer and thought about the man who somehow managed to invade her dreams when no one—not even her ex-boyfriend—had done so.

  April was furious that Natalie had asked Clint to stay here with her. Her sister wouldn’t be back, she’d warned, as long as he was here. David was coming to speak with her tomorrow. Natalie sighed. She had lost all control over her life. On some level she understood her sister’s concerns. The brain injury had made a mess of Natalie’s ability to function and think for herself—that was true. But the worst was behind her and she continued to get better...the intruder episode aside. She refused to consider last night’s hallucinations. Sadie was probably right. Natalie had been dreaming. Dreaming and sleepwalking.

  Tinkling laughter floated through the air.

  Natalie stilled. Had April changed her mind? She threw back the covers and sat up, dropping her feet to the cool floor. Her sister had sounded quite adamant when she’d called about nine thirty. Maybe guilt had gotten the better of her.

  Running her fingers through her hair, Natalie moved soundlessly toward the door. When she reached the hall, she listened. Those soft whispers reached out to her. The sound was definitely coming from her sister’s room. She continued toward the sound. The laugh was April’s. There was that deeper voice again. Natalie frowned. David hadn’t ever spent the night to the best of Natalie’s recollection.

  Natalie stopped and took a moment to confirm that she was indeed awake.

  If she was awake, that meant her sister was in this house, in her old room. Natalie walked to the door of April’s childhood room and reached for the knob. She curled her fingers around it, the whispers wrapping around her like a swarm of bees, and turned the knob. She pushed the door inward and reached for the light, the sound of the whispers growing louder and louder.

  The bright light made her squint. April’s bed was made...the room was empty. The voices vanished.

  Natalie closed her eyes and fought the urge to cry. Why did this keep happening?

  She turned off the light and closed the door. Maybe she couldn’t stop the voices, but she could prevent the incidents from shaking her up so badly. Whatever the voices meant, since they clearly weren’t a dream as Sadie had suggested, there was something she needed to remember. Her mind was struggling to bring something to the surface. Fine. She could live with that. Maybe.

  She stood in the hall trying to decide what to do next. She could
go back to bed and toss and turn for the next couple of hours or she could admit defeat and go downstairs for a glass of wine. Since coming home from the rehabilitation center she had avoided all alcohol. She’d wanted to keep a clear head. Tonight she needed something and she despised the idea of taking the medication again. To reach for the sleeping pills felt like going backward.

  She descended the stairs slowly, taking special care to be quiet. Clint had insisted on sleeping on the sofa. He’d put his things in one of the spare bedrooms but he maintained that it was better if he was downstairs. Natalie wasn’t sure if that was because downstairs was the most likely entry point for an intruder or if he was trying to protect her reputation.

  She felt reasonably certain the part of her reputation that mattered to her, her professional one, was forever damaged already by the TBI. She genuinely appreciated the firm allowing her to return to work, but it was painfully obvious they had no intention of assigning her a case anytime soon.

  The lamp on the hall table provided a warm glow in the darkness. The lamp had been turned on each night for as long as she could remember. Neither she nor her siblings had been afraid of the dark, but her mother had insisted there be enough light to get safely down the stairs even in the middle of the night.

  As difficult as it was not to peek in at her protector, she managed. He wouldn’t appreciate his privacy being invaded. She turned on a light in the kitchen and headed to the wine fridge. She selected a bottle of her favorite white wine, something light and sweet with a slight fizz. A few moments were required to open the bottle. When she’d managed to release the cork, she found a glass and poured a healthy serving.

  As she sipped the sweet drink, she stored the bottle in the fridge. She wouldn’t risk a second glass. Out of habit she checked the back door before turning out the light and padding back to the staircase. She paused at the bottom, tempted again to peek into the great room.

  Instead, she reached for the bannister and started up the stairs. If she was lucky the wine would help her get back to sleep.