Tonight she had brought out some of her old supplies from the closet in the hallway; the box of tools and half-rendered pieces sat in a cardboard file box on the floor beside her. How often had she retreated into her sculpting to distance herself from her own life? How many times had the clay and knives and awls been her confidante, her best friend, always there for her when she could count on nothing else?
Tess's hands had given her purpose in life, but they were also her curse and the reason she couldn't trust anyone to truly know her.
No one could know what she'd done.
Memories battered the edges of her consciousness--the angry shouts, the tears, the stench of liquor and heated, panting breath blasting across her face. The frantic pumping of her arms and legs as she tried to escape hard, grasping hands. The weight that crushed down upon her in those last few moments before her life tumbled into a chasm of fear and regret.
Tess shoved all of that out of her mind, just as she'd been doing for the past nine years since she'd left her hometown to start her life over again. To try to be normal. To fit in somehow, even if that meant denying who she really was.
Is he breathing? Oh, my God, he's turning blue! What have you done to him, you little bitch?
The words came back so easily, the furious accusations as cutting now as they had been then. This time of year always brought the memories back. Tomorrow--or rather, today, now that it was past midnight--marked the anniversary of when it all went to hell back home. Tess didn't like to remember it, but it was hard not to mark the day, since it was also her birthday. Twenty-six years old, but she still felt like that terrified girl of seventeen.
You're a killer, Teresa Dawn!
Getting up from the sofa, she padded over to the window in her pajamas and lifted the glass, letting the cold night air rush over her. Traffic hummed from the expressway and on the street below, horns honking intermittently, a lone siren wailing in the distance. The chill November wind sawed through the screen, riffling the sheers and drapes.
Look what you've done! You fix this right now, goddamn you!
Tess threw the window wider and stared out into the darkness, letting the night noises cocoon her as they muted the ghosts of her past.
Chapter Thirteen
"Jonas Redmond has gone missing."
At the sound of Elise's voice, Chase turned off his computer monitor and looked up. Discreetly, without letting her see his movements, he slid the utility knife he'd recovered several hours ago while on patrol with Dante into one of his desk drawers.
"He went out last night with a couple of friends, but he didn't return with them."
Elise stood in the open doorway of his study, a vision of beauty, even in the shapeless white mourning clothes that had been a constant about her for the past five years. The bell-sleeved tunic and long skirt fluttered around her petite figure, the only color being the red silk widow's sash that was tied loosely at her hips.
Never assuming, always rigidly proper, she wouldn't enter Chase's domain until he invited her in. He rose from his desk chair and held his hand out to her in welcome. "Please," he said, unable to take his eyes off her as she glided over the threshold and stood against the far wall.
"They say he took some kind of drug while they were at a nightclub, and he became crazed," she said softly. "He tried to attack someone. His friends got frightened and ran off. They lost him in the panic, and they don't know what happened to him. The whole day has passed without any word from him at all."
Chase didn't reply. Elise wouldn't want to know the truth of it, and he would be the last person to subject her to the ugly details of his own firsthand knowledge of the young vampire's agonizing final moments of life.
"Jonas is one of Camden's best friends, you know."
"Yes," Chase said quietly. "I know."
Elise's smooth brow pinched, then she glanced away from him, fidgeting with her wedding band. "Do you think it's possible that they might have found each other out there? Maybe Cam and Jonas are hiding together somewhere. They must be so scared, needing to find shelter from the sun. At least it will be dark again soon, just a few more hours. Maybe tonight there will be good news."
Chase didn't realize he was moving until he saw that he was on the other side of his desk, only a few paces away from the spot where Elise stood. "I will find Camden. I promised you I would. You have my vow, Elise: I won't rest until he is safe at home with you again."
Her head bobbed weakly. "I know you're doing all that you can. But you are sacrificing so much to search for Cam. I know how much you enjoyed your work with the Agency. Now you're getting involved with those dangerous thugs of the Order... "
"You don't worry about any of that," he told her gently. "My decisions are my own to make. I know what I'm doing--and why."
When she looked up at him now, she smiled, a rare gift that he devoured greedily and held close. " Sterling, I understand that you and my husband had your differences. Quentin could be... inflexible at times. I know that he pushed you a great deal at the Agency. But he respected you more than he did anyone else. He always said you were the best, the one with the most potential to be something great. He cared for you, even if he often had trouble expressing that to you." She drew in a breath, then exhaled it on a rushing sigh. "He would be so grateful for what you are doing for us, Sterling. As I am."
Looking into her warm lavender eyes, Chase pictured himself bringing Elise's son home like a prize he' d won just for her pleasure. There would be joyful tears and emotional embraces. He could almost feel her arms thrown around him in cathartic relief, her moist eyes anointing him as her personal champion. Her savior.
He lived for that chance now.
He craved it with a ferocity that startled him.
"I just want you to be happy," he said, daring to move closer to her.