things to Lieutenant Gabe Morris.
A cop, she had a cop in her house and....
"What is that?" Geoffery asked.
That was a painting.
The last of the brown wrapping paper fell to the floor. One large canvas. The colors were dark: grays, blacks, and blues. In the center was an angel, standing with long flowing hair and too-large gray eyes.
The angel’s mouth opened on a scream, her arms thrown high and wide. Framing the figure were faces, hands, shoulders, elbows, body parts, bare and naked. But it was the face, the same face. Her face.
Gray eyes looking down, looking out, looking back, wide in shock, or narrowed. Her body parts. The macabre disjointed appendages alone were bad, painted strategically together they framed the canvas and the solitary figure in the center. A morbid frame painted on the canvas.
Black roses fell from the angel’s hand. At first glance, it seemed the angel was standing on orange, red and yellow flowers, but a closer look showed they were flames. And in the flames were faces.
Danny.
Susan.
Papa.
Christian jerked back, her hands flying to her mouth. The trembling started as she stared and understood.
CHAPTER FOUR
Brayden pulled away from the window and looked back at the monitor of his notebook. Still nothing from Christian.
What the hell had she been thinking? Answering a door this time of night. It was after three now, and she still wasn’t back on.
Worry fueled his anger.
He strode to the phone and snatched it up. What if everything was fine? What if he made a fool of himself? The phone weighed in his hand.
Did she even have another phone line? Or was she using it for her computer? He’d never thought to ask.
Now that seemed really important.
Quickly he punched her number and waited as it rang, and rang, and rang.
Brayden hated not knowing what was going on. And where Christian was concerned, he was learning there was a whole hell of a lot he didn’t know.
His grunt filled the silent room as he stared at the clock.
Fine, he’d give her a few more minutes. He was probably just overreacting anyway. But the worry didn’t go away. He thrummed his fingers on his thigh.
Forget it, he’d call her again on the way to her place, then head to the hotel and finally, over to the shop.
If everything were fine, he’d simply say he decided to get an early start on the day--it was hardly important that it was only after three. Who the hell needed sleep anyway?
First, he left a note for his parents on their apartment door to please see Tori got to school. One good thing about living in the same house with family, there was always someone there when needed. He checked the clock in his room. He’d give her two more minutes. He’d be dressed by then anyway.
* * * *
"It’s almost beautiful in a contradictory, morbid sort of way," Drayson commented.
"Part celestial, part pagan," Geoffery agreed.
Evil. It was evil.
She looked to them and noticed they were studying the picture.
Gabe, however, was zeroing her with his dark eyes. "It’s weird as hell to me."
Christian looked back at the painting. A painting she knew he’d done himself. There were others in his private collection. She’d seen them, been forced to pose for them.
But this one was different. This one was new; a reminder of who he was, what he could do, and how he controlled it all.
Her chest vised and she gasped for breath. This time when she closed her eyes, the breathing exercise didn’t help. Her lungs tightened, until she wheezed a breath out.
Patting her side, she realized she didn’t have her inhaler.
"Luv, you’re scaring us. Come on, calm down. Come sit down in the kitchen." Drayson took her arm to steer her there.
She needed her inhaler. Looking to the stairs, she shrugged him off as her hand rubbed her breastbone.
All she could hear was the pound of her heart and the wheezing of her own breath fighting out as her expanded bronchial tissues closed off the escape of carbon
A cop, she had a cop in her house and....
"What is that?" Geoffery asked.
That was a painting.
The last of the brown wrapping paper fell to the floor. One large canvas. The colors were dark: grays, blacks, and blues. In the center was an angel, standing with long flowing hair and too-large gray eyes.
The angel’s mouth opened on a scream, her arms thrown high and wide. Framing the figure were faces, hands, shoulders, elbows, body parts, bare and naked. But it was the face, the same face. Her face.
Gray eyes looking down, looking out, looking back, wide in shock, or narrowed. Her body parts. The macabre disjointed appendages alone were bad, painted strategically together they framed the canvas and the solitary figure in the center. A morbid frame painted on the canvas.
Black roses fell from the angel’s hand. At first glance, it seemed the angel was standing on orange, red and yellow flowers, but a closer look showed they were flames. And in the flames were faces.
Danny.
Susan.
Papa.
Christian jerked back, her hands flying to her mouth. The trembling started as she stared and understood.
CHAPTER FOUR
Brayden pulled away from the window and looked back at the monitor of his notebook. Still nothing from Christian.
What the hell had she been thinking? Answering a door this time of night. It was after three now, and she still wasn’t back on.
Worry fueled his anger.
He strode to the phone and snatched it up. What if everything was fine? What if he made a fool of himself? The phone weighed in his hand.
Did she even have another phone line? Or was she using it for her computer? He’d never thought to ask.
Now that seemed really important.
Quickly he punched her number and waited as it rang, and rang, and rang.
Brayden hated not knowing what was going on. And where Christian was concerned, he was learning there was a whole hell of a lot he didn’t know.
His grunt filled the silent room as he stared at the clock.
Fine, he’d give her a few more minutes. He was probably just overreacting anyway. But the worry didn’t go away. He thrummed his fingers on his thigh.
Forget it, he’d call her again on the way to her place, then head to the hotel and finally, over to the shop.
If everything were fine, he’d simply say he decided to get an early start on the day--it was hardly important that it was only after three. Who the hell needed sleep anyway?
First, he left a note for his parents on their apartment door to please see Tori got to school. One good thing about living in the same house with family, there was always someone there when needed. He checked the clock in his room. He’d give her two more minutes. He’d be dressed by then anyway.
* * * *
"It’s almost beautiful in a contradictory, morbid sort of way," Drayson commented.
"Part celestial, part pagan," Geoffery agreed.
Evil. It was evil.
She looked to them and noticed they were studying the picture.
Gabe, however, was zeroing her with his dark eyes. "It’s weird as hell to me."
Christian looked back at the painting. A painting she knew he’d done himself. There were others in his private collection. She’d seen them, been forced to pose for them.
But this one was different. This one was new; a reminder of who he was, what he could do, and how he controlled it all.
Her chest vised and she gasped for breath. This time when she closed her eyes, the breathing exercise didn’t help. Her lungs tightened, until she wheezed a breath out.
Patting her side, she realized she didn’t have her inhaler.
"Luv, you’re scaring us. Come on, calm down. Come sit down in the kitchen." Drayson took her arm to steer her there.
She needed her inhaler. Looking to the stairs, she shrugged him off as her hand rubbed her breastbone.
All she could hear was the pound of her heart and the wheezing of her own breath fighting out as her expanded bronchial tissues closed off the escape of carbon
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