Wake to Darkness Read online

  He couldn’t afford to have things getting all tense and awkward between them when he had to keep tabs on her, keep her safe.

  “So what are we gonna do?” she asked.

  He almost choked, then met her eyes, his own no doubt hopeful and eager. “Do?”

  “About this phantom who’s apparently going around collecting your brother’s organs?” she clarified.

  “I knew that.” He got up and poured himself a mug of coffee. “Want some?”

  “Why not? I’m not sleeping anyway.”

  He got down another cup and filled it. “There’s a ski resort up north, in the Adirondacks. Pine Haven. New York’s Aspen, they call it. Even has an indoor water park. I checked online from my cell phone earlier, and they aren’t filled up this week yet.”

  He dared to look at her, to see what she might think of his suggestion. She was watching his face, her head tipped to one side, taking it into consideration, not ruling it out before he’d even finished suggesting it, as he’d half expected.

  “It’s in the middle of nowhere,” he went on, encouraged. “You could take Misty along without raising any suspicions. Spend a week, stay through the holiday. No one would know where you’d gone if you kept it ultra-private. I can book it in my name, in case anyone’s looking for you. You’ll be safe for a while.”

  She blinked. “You really think we can keep our hands off each other if we spend the holiday in some winter wonderland together, Mason?”

  “I...wasn’t planning to go with you. I mean, I’ve got Mother and Marie and the boys to think about. I can’t leave them for Christmas. And work is—”

  “Sure. I mean, of course. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Oh, yes, she was. And why did that make him want to grin?

  She shot him a look, like she knew what he was thinking, so he sobered up again. “I need to find this killer. That’s the whole point, to get you out of his reach and give me time to track him down and lock him up where he can’t hurt you or anyone else.”

  “Makes perfect sense.” She’d stopped eating. Her face was pink. She was embarrassed.

  “For the record, though, no. I don’t think we could keep our hands off each other if we were tucked away in some winter wonderland together.”

  She smiled, her ego soothed, he thought. “Then it’s a good thing you’re not going.”

  “So you’ll do it?”

  “One stipulation,” she said. “They have to let me bring Myrt. Otherwise, I’ll take my chances with the fucking organ thief. It’s my first Christmas with Myrtle, and we’re not spending it apart.”

  “I’m way ahead of you. Pine Haven is pet-friendly. That’s what made me think of it.”

  “I can book it myself, you know.” She sipped her coffee, leaning back in her chair, her plate still half full.

  “No, I don’t want you online doing any of this. I don’t want there to be any possible way someone could hack into your computer and see where you’ve been searching. It’s better if I do it.”

  She lifted her brows, sipped her coffee. “All right.”

  “I’ll get it done tomorrow.” He looked up at the clock on the wall. “Today. You can leave before the day is out. Can you be ready?”

  “I haven’t even unpacked from New York yet.” Then she sighed. “Yeah, I can be ready.”

  “Good.”

  * * *

  Damn. He picked up the plates, scraped them into the trash, rinsed them off and headed back to the living room with his coffee like the conversation was over. He didn’t even try to get into my pants. For fuck’s sake, what did he think I came downstairs in my underwear for, anyway? Was he dense?

  I heaved a pissed-off sigh as I stomped past him, up the stairs and back to bed. Dumbass.

  He was already in the shower when I got up a very few very short hours later, and when he came out, all clean-smelling and wet, he turned down my offer of breakfast. Said he had to get to work. And yeah, he probably did, but if I was heading up to Mount Timbuktu tonight, I wasn’t going to get the chance to see him again until after this thing was solved.

  And after this thing was solved, my excuse to see him would be gone.

  So you’ll just have to make a decision, then, won’t you? Decide you want to get with him or decide you don’t.

  Yeah, but what if I do and it doesn’t work?

  He borrowed my favorite travel mug and told me to be careful today. To keep the door locked, to call if anything suspicious happened, not to let any strangers anywhere near the place, not to breathe a word about our trip to anyone who wasn’t coming along and to be ready to leave by 6:00 p.m.

  “Leave for where?” Misty asked. She’d just come down the stairs in her bunny jammies and plush robe, and she looked like she’d been crying most of the night.

  I was at the front door with Mason. He was pulling on his coat. “I’ll let your aunt tell you,” he said. Then to me, “See you tonight.”

  Did he sound eager?

  Was I pathetic or what?

  Then he was gone and Misty was waiting, arms crossed, foot tapping in a perfect imitation of my sister. “Well? Don’t tell me you’re taking off on me again, Aunt Rache, because I really need you right now.”

  “I know you do, kid. That’s why I’m taking you on a fabulous ski vacation for the holidays.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Really? Where?”

  “Pine...something. Up north in the mountains. It’ll be great, and I would never have been able to get you to come with me if dickwad hadn’t had the bad judgment to dump you.”

  “And that would be what? The bullshit silver lining you always say to look for, the one inside every storm cloud?” she asked, mocking one of my most famous quotations exactly the way I generally did. Did I really sound that cynical? I wondered. Wow, what must Mason think of that?

  Since when do you care what anyone thinks of you, Rachel?

  “Not everything I write is bullshit, Misty.” Oh, yeah? Because if that was the case, Mason would be going north with me and there wouldn’t be a killer after my eyeballs.

  “But we have to be ready before the day’s out, so—”

  “I’ve got to go back to my house! I have brand-new skis I haven’t even used yet. And the cutest ski-bunny outfit you ever saw, and—” She stopped there, looking at me, her head tilting to one side. “You can’t ski, though.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re going. I got my sight back, so there’s no reason why I can’t learn to ski, right? Um, there’s only one thing, Misty.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t tell anyone—and I mean no one—that we’re going.”

  She frowned at me, starting to look worried. “Why?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I know you don’t notice it much, but, uh, I’m kind of a big deal. I can’t have fans and paparazzi drooling all over me if I want to have a nice holiday vacay with my niece.”

  “Paparazzi. Really.” The words dripped sarcasm.

  “What? It could happen.”

  “Fine, don’t tell me the real reason.” But she zipped her lips anyway and headed back upstairs to get ready. We had a busy day ahead of us.

  Monday, December 18

  Amy headed home right after breakfast. I told her it was only a week until Christmas and she should go have fun, because I wouldn’t need her again until after the holidays.

  Midmorning, I dropped Misty off at her house to pack. She was still pissed that I tried to make her sit in the backseat so Myrtle could have her place of honor up front. I did give in, but only after she accused me of loving my dog more than my family.

  However, she was the one who insisted on taking Myrt with her to keep her company while she packed. I had some fast and furious shopping to do, and neither of us wanted the poor dog sitting in the car alone waiting for me. Not that Myrt would mind. My vehicles were her homes away from home. I think she was missing riding around in the T-Bird with the top down. But it was winter. What could I do?

  I was being careful. W
atching my rearview mirror as I drove, keeping track of any cars that I saw more than once. But deep down, I didn’t feel anything but good. I’d been gearing myself up to feeling good all night long, instead of moping that I wouldn’t get to see Mason the entire time I was gone—which was the biggest downer, even though there was the strong possibility that a killer was after me, looking to gouge out my eyes. I know. Pathetic. I took a page from my own book—pun intended—and started counting everything good about this situation. First and foremost, it had brought Mason back to my door, and he was clearly still interested. He’d even admitted he’d had trouble staying away. Sort of. That was good, right?

  I thought it was, even though I wasn’t yet sure where I wanted this thing with him to go.

  Second, this trip would give me time to think about that very thing. Where I wanted us to go. Was I ready for a real relationship? And what the hell did that mean, anyway?

  Okay, to keep this trend going, my third silver lining was that I would get to do something really special for Misty. I had wanted to, had been racking my brain to think of something to make up for her missing the Bahamas and getting dumped by her useless boyfriend, so this was good.

  Oh, and fourth! I was going to learn to ski.

  And, of course, I’d be safe from any potential eyeball-hunting serial killers.

  There really wasn’t much to be bummed about after all.

  I pulled into the Oakdale Mall’s giant parking lot, using the same entrance I always used and parking in the same area I always parked in, no matter what store I was going to visit. It was near the spot where the taxi or Amy always used to drop me. Some habits died harder than others, and the lifelong need to do new things in the same way every time—because being blind meant I had to memorize everything just to get by—was one habit I was having a hard time breaking. I kept reminding myself that I could see. I could park anywhere I wanted and get around just fine. But no, my inner blind chick liked her routines. So I just gave in. At least I would never forget where I’d parked.

  I had no doubt the mall would have everything I needed. Misty had assured me it would be faster and easier to rent my skis and all that went with them at the lodge. My main goal today, she’d insisted, was to get hot-looking ski-bunny clothes. To be precise, she’d ordered me to find “ski pants and a matching jacket that don’t make you look twenty pounds heavier, and a cute as hell hat and scarf.” She would have come with me to tell me what qualified as “cute as hell,” but since she insisted it would take her a minimum of two hours to pack and we were short on time, I was on my own.

  And it took a while. But I finally found what I needed. A pair of very thin, very lightweight black ski pants guaranteed to keep me warm at temps down to twenty below, and a black-and-white jacket that matched the one I bought for Myrtle. (Naturally I’d shopped for her first.) I headed back to the Subaru and got in, slung my bags onto the passenger seat and cranked her up. I was debating whether to get some takeout on the way to pick up Misty as I headed onto 17, whipping through traffic until I hit 81, and then taking the Whitney Point exit a half hour later. Almost home.

  I decided at the last minute to grab us some subs and told my dashboard to call Misty as I took the left into the village, and sat waiting at the light.

  “How’d it go?” she asked in lieu of a greeting.

  “I think you’ll approve. The hat is red—but you’ll see it soon enough. I’m in the Point.”

  “Already?”

  “Yeah, you almost done packing?”

  “Close. Are you bringing anything to eat? Our fridge is bare.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. You want Subway?”

  “Tuna,” she said. “Toasted. You know my veggies, right?”

  “Lettuce, tomato, spinach and pickles?”

  “Right. And some chips. Baked ones, okay?”

  “Got it. I’ll see you in ten. Maybe fifteen.”

  “Cool.”

  I got our subs, which took almost no time at all, and then I was back in the car and heading into traffic, past my road and on out the other end of the village, then turning onto the twisty side road that wound uphill to my sister’s place.

  I glanced up at my rearview mirror and saw something: a dark, hooded form rising up from my backseat, and I swear to God my blood froze and my heart tried to break out of my chest. I jerked the wheel and cringed toward the passenger side, away from the phantom, as one of its arms came around my neck. My momentum carried me though. I ripped free of the attacker’s grip and felt something sharp jabbing me in the shoulder, right through my jacket, and then the car was rolling and I was being snapped left and right, up and down against my seat belt. My head hit the side window, and I didn’t know anything else.

  6

  Monday, December 18

  I woke with a sudden gasp, my eyes flying wide. I was suspended at an odd angle, up in the air, my seat belt keeping me from falling toward the passenger door. Through that window there was only the snowy ground. Through my own window, sky. I jerked my head toward the backseat, but there was no one there. The rear hatch was open, showing me a view of a rocky stream bed. But I couldn’t see the entire backseat.

  Was my attacker still there, crouching, waiting to spring on me?

  I was shaking, and then I remembered the needle and quickly looked to my shoulder to see it still there, the tip embedded in my flesh but the plunger still extended. Carefully I grabbed it and pulled it out, sucking air through my teeth as I did, not in pain, but in fear some of the drug would seep into my flesh. I didn’t want to toss the needle, but I wasn’t going to pocket it, either, and risk injecting myself by accident. I aimed toward my shopping bags, which had landed against the passenger door, and dropped the needle into one of them.

  I had to get help. I had to get out of this car. I had to make sure the killer wasn’t still in the car. I didn’t know what to do first.

  I thought of my phone and thanked my stars I kept the thing clipped to my waistband. Still there. Thank God.

  I pulled it out, found Mason’s number and texted 911. Then I hit the “send location” button and sent it.

  Snapping the phone back onto my hip, I tried to make as little noise as possible as I wriggled around to get my legs and feet more or less between me and the passenger side window, which was down to my up. I wanted to land upright once I got free of the seat belt, so I could get out of the car as fast as possible, and I didn’t want to make any noise and rouse the possibly unconscious killer who might or might not still be in my backseat.

  I hope he’s fucking dead back there.

  The car was still running. What a trooper. I could get out faster if the window was open, so I risked waking my attacker by hitting the button. The driver’s side window began to open, and I let go of the button to let it continue down on auto while I quickly reached for the seat belt buckle. The belt was currently supporting my full weight, so I pressed one leg to the dash, the other to the back of the passenger seat to lift myself a little, and I wrapped one arm out the window and up over the roof of the car. Then I hit the release. The buckle snapped loose and I dropped a little, but I managed to catch myself. Frantically I wriggled out of the shoulder harness, my eyes glued to the backseat, though I still couldn’t tell if the killer was back there. I got my other arm out the window and pulled myself through. Once I managed to hook a foot in the steering wheel—don’t hit the horn, don’t hit the horn, don’t hit the horn—it went faster. I pushed up and out, hit the horn and scared myself shitless, and finally got clear, pulling my feet out behind me like the devil was going to grab them. I ended up facedown on a steep slope, my feet on the fender of my car, which was lying on its side. I strained to see into the backseat, but the sun reflecting off the glass made it impossible. I looked around outside. Where the hell was he? Where was the killer?

  I wasn’t waiting around to find out. The slope to the road was steep, but I was determined. I started clawing my way up. As I went, I noticed the snow was turning
awfully bloody. My head, I thought, but I didn’t have time to worry about that now. I felt like someone was pursuing me, that tingle up the spine that makes you walk super-fast when you come up the basement stairs in the dark, only to the power of ten. I was scrambling like a king crab in mating season, scuttling up that slope like Spider-Man on crack. Making up metaphors like a writer having a panic attack.

  And pretty soon I was dragging my sorry ass over the gravel on the shoulder of the road and onto the pavement. I saw shiny black shoes attached to legs that came running toward me, and I screamed.

  “Easy, miss, easy now. You’re okay.” The legs crouched, and I saw the uniform. A cop. Mason had sent the cavalry. I was safe. Thank God.

  * * *

  By the time Mason arrived on the scene there were three cruisers and an ambulance on the side of the road. He pulled over, spotted Rachel’s SUV at the bottom of a massive drop and damn near threw up.

  A big hand clapped his shoulder. Rosie. “Easy, Mace. She’s over in the ambulance, see?”

  Mason breathed again and jogged to the back of the ambulance. A medic was cleaning the blood from a small cut on the left side of her forehead, and she was wincing in pain—until she glimpsed him. Everything in her eased when she met his eyes. Made him feel ten feet tall when he saw that.

  “I need to talk to the detective,” she told the medic. “Can you give us a minute?”

  Mason had to force himself not to pull her off the stretcher and hug the crap out of her, because he didn’t know how badly she was hurt. He settled for touching her face with one hand, her shoulder with the other.

  “I’m sorry it took so long. I was doing a final check of that crime scene. Are you okay?”

  “I think so. Mason, it was him. It was the organ thief.”

  Shock jolted him in the chest. He’d thought it was a simple car accident. “What happened?”

  “He was in the backseat. He tried to jab me with a needle, and I—”