Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

Darla, he thought. Probably with help from her son.

Even as the thought entered his head, a gangly boy with dark hair came barreling around the corner. He wore a simple blue T-shirt and jeans with holes at the knees. He skidded to a halt when he saw the car, and his dark brown eyes went wide.

Noah looked at his face, and his heart flipped over.

The boy turned sharply and barreled up the stairs onto the porch. He yanked open the door, his cry of "Mama, Mama," echoing behind him.

Noah parked the car, gathered himself, and walked to the steps.

He was just starting to climb them, when he heard Darla's still-familiar voice from inside the house. "Ricardo Garcia, do we yell in the house?"

Noah couldn't hear the answer, but a moment later she pushed open the screen door, then stepped onto the porch at the same time he reached the top step.

Her eyes widened. In surprise. In joy. Maybe even in fear. He didn't know, and he supposed it didn't matter. For better or for worse, he was here.

"Noah," she whispered.

"Darla. Oh, God, Darla." His throat was thick. His vision blurry. She was alive--she was really alive.

He'd known it, of course. But seeing it was different, and a whirlwind of emotion swirled inside of him, both wonderful and terrifying.

She hurried to him, obviously intent on throwing her arms around him, then stopped only inches away, her head down, her hands going deep into the pockets of the simple dress she wore.

He took her hands and held them tight in his. He knew she wanted more--a full-on embrace--but this was all he could offer her right now. Slowly, he thought. Right now, he had to move slowly.

"How?" he said. "How are you here? I thought--I thought you were dead. Diana, she--"

"I know." She blinked, and tears spilled from her pale blue eyes. "They took her. They took us both."

He swallowed, not wanting to hear this, but knowing he had to. "Tell me what happened." His voice was gentle. But also insistent.

With a small nod, she took his hand, then led him to the porch swing. "You don't want to go inside. It's--well, my mother hasn't been well for a while. I'm trying to help her clean it up, but I work a double-shift at the Dairy Queen, and I'm usually too tired to do much cleaning."

She said it casually, and once again he wondered why she'd sought him out. Was it for help? Or was it simply for the connection to someone from her past?

"Outside is fine. Is your son--is Ricardo okay by himself?"

"He's fine. He's a good kid." She drew a deep breath, then dove into her story without warning. "You remember I'd taken Diana out to the market, and we were supposed to meet you later, after you gave that presentation."

It wasn't a question. Of course he remembered that day. It was burned into his memory. "I never saw you again."

"I never saw Diana again," she said, then reached out, took his hand, and squeezed. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry they took her from me. I'm sorry she--"

"No." His voice was hard. Firm. "Don't do that to yourself. Do you think it was your fault? It wasn't. It was their fault. Whoever they were, they're the ones who did this to her. To us."

The words came out with a fierce intensity, and he meant every one of them. But it was only then--in that moment of speaking them to the woman who'd been his wife, who'd been the mother of his child--that he realized how true they were for him, too. Diana's death wasn't his fault any more than it was Darla's. And whatever hell Darla had experienced wasn't his fault, either.

The revelation felt transcendent, and yet the world remained remarkably mundane. The porch swing creaked. The wind whistled through a nearby elm. And Darla sat beside him, her face sad but hopeful. As if s

he wanted to believe, but couldn't.

"Go on," he said gently. "Tell me what happened that day. And then what happened after."

"That's just it--I don't know. All these years, and the only thing I know is that I was wearing the baby sling, and Diana was asleep. I was in the market looking at leather goods. I wanted to get you a wallet. I remember it was very crowded, people bumping into me all the time, and I kept one hand on Diana. I remember I was glad that my money was in my bra, because it would be so easy for someone to pick a pocket in that crowd."

She licked her lips. "I turned toward the noise, and as I did, I felt something sharp prick my arm. I was wearing a sleeveless dress, and I thought I'd brushed against a display rack or something. I remember thinking that I'd need to put some Neosporin on it when we got back to the hotel. And that's it."

"It?"