Won't Let Go Page 15

  I want to smile at his compromise, but I know the truth. “You can’t make that promise. You don’t know if you can keep it.” Because unless a miracle happens, I’m just not sure we can solve this mystery by Monday.

  That’s two days.

  “I can. And I will. I promise you, Alexia.”

  I look into Embry’s eyes. His jaw is set, lips in a hard line. He’s totally serious. For me though, that doesn’t solve everything. But for right now it has to be good enough. A few more days with him are better than nothing. I wriggle my body up, lift my chin and for the second time, place my lips on his.

  He responds instantly, parting my lips with his, wrapping his arms tighter around me. My heart gallops in my chest. Heat spreads over my body but is quickly overshadowed by the intense frostiness pouring off Embry. His hands tangle into my hair, pulling my head up, deepening the kiss, as my own hands touch every bit of Embry’s body they can reach.

  Time stops. The whole world could be at a standstill, because right now, all I care about is Embry and the way he makes me feel. His hand leaves the tendrils of my hair, his fingertips glide down my face, my neck, and rest firmly on my hip. And in one smooth motion, he somehow manages to push me down into the mattress, slip out from beneath me and gently rest half on top of my body. I open my eyes at the feel of his chilly body pressing against mine. He stares back at me. A grin spreads across my lips at the sight of the ocean blue ignited with such passion I can almost taste it.

  Wrapping my hands around his neck, I pull him down to me, and he brushes his lips against mine. His hand moves lower, playing with the hem of my shirt, then lightly he presses his cold hand against my burning hot tummy. I gasp.

  Instantly Embry pulls away, hair falling into his eyes, concern on his face. “We should—stop.”

  A whimper escapes my lips, “But why?”

  Embry places a few chaste kisses on both cheeks, my forehead, and one on the tip of my nose. “This isn’t...right.”

  I push Embry up and away as I sit up. My heart stops dead in its tracks and sinks to the bottom of my stomach. “Of course it’s right,” I say, but the moment’s gone, torn away and replaced with...annoyance.

  He shakes his head, sending his hair to flop around as he leans back on his heels. “It’s not, I don’t even know—if I can do that,” he gestures into the open space between us.

  “But we could try?” I say. The rejection stings my eyes with tears. Dammit, why isn’t there a tear tap I can shut off?

  He sighs. “Not now. Please. Not yet. Not while I’m like this.”

  “But you might always be like this.” Or gone—forever.

  “I know. But it just doesn’t feel right. I want it to be special and not because we are—desperate.”

  How is it that the Embry who lies in a hospital bed is so completely different from the one sitting in front of me? This Embry is so gentlemanly, old fashioned, caring.

  Reluctantly, I comply. I can’t believe I just tried to get a ghost to deflower me! I scramble forward and pull him into a tight embrace and say, “Okay.” And I kiss him. When we pull back for air, I say, “Stay with me?”

  “Of course.”

  Embry pulls back the rumpled blankets, letting me slide in and get comfortable before he tucks me in like a burrito. I lie in the crook of his armpit as my arm drapes across his chest. If I concentrate enough, I can see my breath as it billows out of my mouth in a frosty fog.

  Embry kisses my forehead. “Sleep,” he whispers. “I promise I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I’ve felt compelled to do some stupid things in my day. One time I smoked pot. It was rolled up into a tight joint. The crisp white paper was stained by tar, and a small roach clip held it together. I remember the moment clearly. The ground beneath me shook, the bass of the music pounded loudly, as though the house, the walls, had a heartbeat of their own. I pressed my lips to the joint, inhaled deeply and held it. My group of friends—sitting cross-legged before me—took in the moment intently.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  As I exhaled, I choked on the grimy, gray smoke. It burned my eyes, scratched my throat, and stung my lungs. Had there been a mirror, I’m sure I would have seen my face had taken on a green tinge, because bile rose in my throat. Quickly I passed the evil smoke to the next idiot person. I vowed in that moment, never to do something so stupid again.

  But what I’m doing right now, at this moment, doesn’t even rank on the same scale.

  Nowhere is it on the same level.

  I’ve tried to reason with myself, but the only option I have right now is to face Allison. I had hoped I’d have more time. That I could be absolutely sure she was lying before I confronted her, but dammit, I’ve got to solve this case, right now. I cannot let Embry disappear, or die without knowing the truth. If I only have a few more days with him, I want to do everything I can to at least give him this one thing.

  Part of me knows it might be a lost cause. Maybe spending more time with him would be better, but I can’t ignore the nagging feeling in my stomach. My father might have crushed any hope I had of Embry waking up, but I will not break my promise to him that I will uncover the truth. And I hope, against all odds, that he won’t have the chance to break his promise to me.

  Allison’s front door hangs open on creaky hinges. The slight breeze blows it back and forth as I stand motionless on the threshold. I inch my sneakered feet into the house, my hand pressing against the door, pushing it open wider.

  When I came here, breaking and entering wasn’t on my mind. Instead, like a normal person, I walked up the paved sidewalk, up the concrete steps, and pressed the doorbell. I waited, pushed the doorbell again with my index finger as my foot anxiously tapped against the small welcome mat beneath my feet. Yet when no one answered, instead of turning my back on the house, and retreating down the steps, I reached for the brass knob with a shaky hand.

  I let it turn beneath my palm until it clicked open. I even took a step back, astonished by the idea that here in this town, in the middle of nowhere, these people felt safe enough to leave their homes unprotected. Unlocked. You’d never find that in LA. Nobody trusts anyone. Ever.

  Then again, I almost should have known. Allison’s place of work doesn’t protect their employees, either. It was so easy. I went to the grocery store in hopes of finding Allison’s apron swathed body standing behind a cash register, scanning endless amounts of produce and household products. Wanting the element of surprise on my side, I didn’t call first, but just showed up.

  However, when I learned she wasn’t there, my mouth quickly took over, speaking words faster than my mind could process. “We were supposed to meet for coffee, but she never showed. You wouldn’t happen to have her address handy?”

  Without much thought, the equally young girl behind the cash register grabbed a pen, some paper and scrawled Allison’s address down for me. She handed it over without asking who I was, without assuming I should know where Allison lived. Instead, with a smile, she only said, “She’s bad for that.” And added, “If you could, remind her she works tomorrow at five.”

  Graciously I smiled, said I would, and wished her a good day. This is how I find myself in the foyer of Allison’s small, conservative home on Maple Close.I take a deep breath and push my way into the living room. My heart quickens as I scan the room before me. It’s a space so immaculate it’s hard to believe real people live here. Beneath plastic sits a blue upholstered couch in perfect condition. There are tall potted plants reaching towards the ceiling. Instinctively I reach out and touch the bright, green leaves. They’re waxy to the touch and most definitely fake. Even the coffee table has a freshly polished glow to it, not a single water rim in sight.

  Beyond the fake plants and plastic covered couch, I’m drawn to a thick white mantle atop a wood burning fireplace. I make my way closer. The smooth marble is lined with photos, all in identical frames set equal distances apart.

&nb
sp; I pick one of the frames up. It’s a black and white photo. A very stout man, rough around the edges, five o’clock shadow, and shaggy dark hair, has his arms protectively wrapped around a tiny woman. With ringlets of hair framing her china doll face, she looks like a child. The elegant white lace wedding gown is the only tip-off she’s not and that she’s being cradled by her husband. Her eyes beam at him, head tilted up to look directly at him. However, he’s staring at the camera, eyes pools of emotion—mysterious, dark emotion.

  Setting down the frame, chills run up my spine. It’s like a creepy painting. Even when you move away, his eyes follow, glaring at you with what looks like malicious intent.

  I pick up another, look it over and move on to the next, until I pick up one that grabs my undivided attention.

  Staring back at me is Allison, unmistakably, in a flowery print dress cut just above her knees and a wrap covering up her bare arms. Next to her, in full makeup, poufy hair, and a prom dress so purple it stings my eyes is Danielle Blake. I can't believe I didn't see it before, but the two, standing side by side, look very much alike. Sure, there are small differences, like hair colour. Danielle is curvier, where Allison is tall and lean. But it's the eyes, and the nose, and the way both their smiles tug up a little higher on the right side. And after seeing the wedding photo, it's hard not realize they're a family. The four of them. Shit. I knew she was hiding something.

  As my shaky hands reach out to put the frame back in its place, I’m startled by a voice screeching, “Who the hell are you?” The frame catches the ledge and shatters as it hits the stone hearth below. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Slowly, I take a deep breath and turn towards the foyer and the voice. Allison’s.

  I have no idea what to do next, maybe rush forward, push her down and bolt out the door. But then again, probably not. She’ll have seen my face, know who I am. And in fact I did break into her house, sort of. Instead I shrug, keep my cool, and say, “Uh—waiting for you?”

  Allison has an extremely cross look about her as her pink heel taps furiously against the fake tiled linoleum floor. “I doubt that. Looks to me like you were snooping,” she says tersely.

  “Oh, that?” I look down at the frame. “It was an accident. I thought we could grab a coffee. I came by. Your door was already open. You should really do something about that. It’s not safe.” I realize I’m talking too much, like way too much. For some reason I can’t help it. My heart is pounding against my chest. Guilty conscience, I guess.

  Allison’s body slouches against the doorway. Her black leather pencil skirt crinkles. “I think you should leave. Now,” she says, folding her sleeved arms across her blush colored top.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding, give her a nod, and make a beeline for the door.

  There’s no need to test her, there’s no need for a show down. This wasn’t quite what I had in mind, and if she’s already angry, I can’t make it worse by pointing the lying finger in her face. As much as I hate to say it, now’s not the time to dig for answers. It’s just going to have to wait. I ignore the ticking that sounds in my head, the one that’s counting down the seconds until Monday.

  I want an out, and she’s giving me one.

  Just as I see the door, still hanging open, the lush green grass, and freedom, I stop, hesitate, because another voice comes into play. “Allison!” It booms loud, followed by the sounds of heavy footfalls overhead.

  I turn my head and look back just as an image barrels down the stairs full force, thudding against the steps, slamming against the walls. Quickly I glance back at Allison. Her body is no longer leaning against the doorframe. Instead she stands tall, rigid, and her eyes are wide with—shock?

  No way, that’s fear, most definitely fear. Her hands are balled into fists, her mouth pressed in a hard line. And I know I should just keep on walking right past her, out the door and move on. But there’s something about the way she stands there, her chest rising and falling in quick bursts that makes me believe I shouldn’t leave her behind.

  “Allison! What the hell are you doing? What’s with all the ruckus? I told you I had the night shift.” Allison’s dad comes to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. He's older, his facial features looking rougher around the edges, and he's definitely put on some weight...but, he's the same man from the photograph on the mantle.

  I’m in the middle.

  Allison meekly replies in a tiny, innocent voice, “Sorry Daddy. My friend was just—leaving.”

  My head moves from left to right, looking at Allison, cowering now like a little girl being scolded for stealing cookies. Her dad on the other hand, towering over us with a bulky six foot frame, looks pissed. His wrinkled plaid flannel shirt is un-tucked, his hair is standing on end, and his jeans are worn almost right through. “I told you no company.”

  “I know. She—she just stopped by for a minute. She’s new in town, but she was just leaving.” Her chin flicks towards the door as her eyes urge me to leave.

  But I don’t.

  I can’t.

  My stomach’s in knots, because something’s not right here. Detective’s my middle name, isn’t it?

  Allison’s dad relaxes. His face of firm, hard wrinkles, slacks. “New in town, you say?”

  “Right, Daddy this is—” She stops short, clamping her mouth shut.

  If I was smart, maybe had some self- preservation instincts, I would have said nothing. I turn, square my shoulders, and reaching out a shaky arm say, “I’m Alex Stone, sir.”

  The whisper that seeps from Allison’s mouth is barely audible, but I catch it, “Oh, shit.”

  I look to her, my eyes knitting together. Then, just as I turn back towards her dad, a fist flies in front of me. Before I can react, or attempt to defend myself, it slams against my cheek.

  The pain is magnificent. I can feel my jaw tremble against the force. My eye feels as though it's going to pop right out of its socket. Reaching a hand up, I go to assess the damage—just as the fist lands again and rocks me back.

  Suddenly everything goes black.

  I force my eyes, or rather eye, open. The other one seems glued shut. My ears ring loud, and it takes a second for them to zero in on my own voice moaning in pain. I lift my head up. It’s heavy. My neck is stiff, and I’m almost unable to hold up the weight of my enormous brain.

  Allison sits on the floor in front of me, her own face pain-stricken.

  “I told you to leave,” she says. Her usually tall stature looks miniature as she sits cross legged.

  “Right. You sure did. Maybe if you told me your dad was a psycho, I would have listened.” I wince at the metallic taste in my mouth and go to reach my arm up to wipe the blood away.

  Only my arm doesn’t move.

  It’s stuck. Glued in place like the lid that still covers one eye.

  I look down. This is a disaster.

  My arms are bound with duct tape to a wooden chair, my legs are as well. “What the hell?” I fight against the constraints.

  “Don’t do that. You’ll only make it worse.”

  I spit saliva and blood to the floor. “Worse? I’m tied to a chair, Allison. What could make this worse?” I seethe through gritted teeth.

  She murmurs, “A lot of things. Trust me.”

  I try to kick out my legs, push and pull against the duct tape. When the tape doesn’t budge, I scream. I yell as loud as I can for help. Only I know no one’s going to hear me.

  “I said don’t do that. Please. Please just listen.” She pulls herself off the floor, takes a step towards me, and places a cool compress against my cheek. I flinch, my body instinctively pulling back. “This should help—lessen the pain.”

  Lessen the pain? I laugh on the inside, maybe on the outside too. I can’t tell because this is just so insane, a dream, maybe.

  “Why am I here? Why are you acting like an accomplice? You do know how wrong this is, right?”

  Allison recoils, stepping back on her heels. As soon as the cool o
f the compress leaves my face, the skin flares with pain.

  “Of course I do. But if I—if I don’t listen, you won’t be the only one taped to a chair,” she says.

  “Are you kidding me? Don’t be stupid. Untie me. Go get help.” I shove my body up and down, pulling my arms up and trying to kick my legs out of the constraints. “Untie me, Allison. Please.” I lower my voice, “Please. Please untie me.”

  Suddenly the full impact of my situation hits me like a ton of bricks.

  I’m taped to a chair in Allison’s dark and dank basement.

  No one knows I’m here. The throbbing in my head and face is almost unbearable.

  Tears well, pooling up before spilling over the edge. “Please. It’s not too late. Get help, or untie me.” I take a deep breath, sniffling, “I won’t tell. I swear.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Allison walks away and up the stairs. They creak and whine with her weight. Her hand tightly grips the rail on the wall until her sleek form disappears. A heavy mass settles into the pit of my stomach.

  I’m scared.

  I’m in a position that my brain can’t fully comprehend.

  I take stock of the room. A round green shag rug is beneath my feet and the chair legs. It takes up the centre of the space and where the rug doesn’t reach, it’s solid concrete. To one side, a freezer hums. On the far wall sit a washer and dryer.

  But I don’t see anything useful. There’s a window that’s too high, caged with iron. A small shelf holds old paint cans and rags and there’s a heap of newspapers yellow with age on the floor. There’s no tool bench, nothing that I can reach to help get me off this chair and away from the duct tape.

  My head lowers. Maybe I can talk my way out of this? Or maybe Embry will find me. Embry. My heart sinks lower thinking about him. I wish I told him where I was going, maybe left a note taped to my vanity mirror. He’d be a really big help right now. His ghostly form could scare the crap out of my captors. His awesome ability to manifest a body could untie my constraints. Even his presence of frigid air would be comforting.