A Voice in the Dark
Jenna Ryan
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
About the Author
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Copyright
JENNA RYAN loves creating dark-haired heroes, heroines with strength and good murder mysteries. Ever since she was young, she has had an extremely active imagination. She considered various careers over the years and dabbled in several of them, until the day her sister Kathy suggested she put her imagination to work and write a book. She enjoys working with intriguing characters and feels she is at her best writing romantic suspense. When people ask her how she writes, she tells them, By instinct. Clearly its worked, since shes received numerous awards from Romantic Times BOOKreviews. She lives in Canada and travels as much as she can when shes not writing.
To Merlyn. Keep fighting, sweetheart. Win or lose, well always love you.
Prologue
Who are you? The man on the dock frowned. You said it was urgent. You told me His voice flattened. You lied.
I did. But you love, so you believed. You were vulnerable. Thats how I succeed. Love is joy. Its also pain. Which emotion we experience depends on the person we love.
A cruel north wind blasted the man from behind. His muscles tightened beneath his overcoat. His hand crept toward his pocket.
The person opposite smiled. Theres no point trying to be subtle. I can see you have a gun.
The mans fingers balled.
You know, for such an educated man, you strike me as rather stupid. Still, I dont really expect you or anyone to understand. It doesnt work that way in my case.
A knife blade appeared out of nowhere to press against the mans throat. He made a choking sound and froze.
Maybe not quite so stupid after all. But an unfortunate victim just the same.
Why are you doing this? the man whispered. Cant I at least know that?
I already told you. Love is pain.
Which youre going to inflict.
Unfortunately.
Before the man could react, the knife shifted. The blade slashed.
Blood spurted, a steaming red fountain of it.
The man jolted and clawed. He tried to grab the knife, as if that would help. He staggered forward in an attempt to run.
But he was dead, and he knew it, even if he didnt know why.
When the job was done, the mans killer stood back. A measure of sorrow crept in and, yes, pity. But no second thought. No regrets.
The time for waiting was over.
It had begun. Again.
Chapter One
A dockyard in Boston
Wind whipped the rain-soaked body of the forty-something male who lay prostrate on the pavement. Two pennies, one shiny, one dull, sat on his closed eyelids. Even so, FBI agent Angel Carter thought he looked shocked, as if he couldnt believe he was dead.
Behind her, a Boston police officer made notes and muttered. About the federal presence, Angel imagined. Or maybe he didnt like the traditional time of death pool taking place around him.
Four hours, one of the patrols said.
Its forty degrees, another argued. Factor in the wind chill and were talking thirty or less. The guys stiff and blue. Ill go under three.
Their voices swirled around Angels head like the stinging pellets of rain. She studied the corpse and waited patiently for the official pronouncement of death.
At length, the medical examiner stripped off his gloves and blew on his hands. Someone sliced him up real good, Angel. He pointed. Opened the carotid artery, which is why youll find a diluted stream of blood from the dock halfway to your place. Guys big and well built. Probably put up a fight, but only with one hand. He was trying to stem the blood flow with the other.
One of the uniforms leaned in. How long dyou figure, Doc? Im in for three and a half hours.
Joes the one who puts the stamp on the time of death, Angel reminded him.
I only confirm that he is in fact dead. The medical examiner signaled the ambulance attendants. And this one definitely is. Has been since a minute or two after the knife sliced his neck.
Angel had trained herself long ago not to let a victims facial expression affect her. Easier to focus on the wounds.
As the ME left, Angels eyes followed the gash on the victims neck. Its a jagged slash. Either the killer had an unsteady hand or the victim was struggling. Second thing makes more sense.
Uninterested, the uniform moved off. Another pair of boots sloshed in. The woman wearing them hunkered down. The victims name is Lionel Foret. Forty-two years old. Officially, he lived in Boston, but his work appears to have taken him between here and DC.
Government?
So his soggy credentials say. State Department. Bergman might know more by the time we check in.
He has the look of a politician. Or a lawyer. Whatever he is, Bergman barked at me to get down here, and in the year and a half Ive known him, hes never barked.
Ditto. Liz fingered the mans coat. His clothes say major money, but with the exception of his drivers license and a few credit cards, his wallets empty. My guess is he was rolled by a junkie.
The skin on Angels neck tingled, as if an army of invisible ants were marching across it. She glanced behind her. Do you feel something, Liz?
Other than waterlogged?
I think were being watched.
FBI agent Elizabeth Thomas blew out a steamy breath. Any thief desperate enough to slice a guy in this weather wont be hanging around to observe the cleanup crew. Hes long gone and probably high as Franklins kite by now. Which is why well nail him before first light.
If the perps an addict.
Okay, its an assumption, but my moneys on the easy answer this time.
Sensation, like a finger stroked across the back of her neck, sent a shiver of reaction down Angels spine. Okay, this is way too weird. She whipped her head around, but saw only shadows behind the fish processing plant. Someones back there.
Liz rose with her. I promise you, Angel, theres no one. We told the cops to secure the area, and they did. All shadows duly checked, all boxes on the list ticked empty. She nudged her partners high-heeled boot with her toe. Maybe your brains starting to freeze. Youre not exactly dressed for this weather.
I was at a play when Bergman called.
Lucky you. Id just settled my toddler into bed and was thinking about streaking my hair for the holidays. Can you believe Thanksgivings only three weeks away? She squinted at the threatening sky. It seems like summer just ended.
Apparently you turned Rip Van Winkle and slept through last weeks blizzard.
That was a freak storm.
That was six inches of snow the last week of October. Normal for Juneau, but in Boston I expected a glorious New England fall, up to and hopefully through Thanksgiving. Didnt get it last year, and so far this ones a rerun.
Write to the Tourist Bureau. They print the brochures. Liz ran her fingers through her short blond hair. Was the play good?
The first act was.
Although she scanned and rescanned the darkness, nothing moved except the rain, currently being driven sideways by a gale-force wind that gusted in hard from the water.
And still the sensation persisted, a featherlight breath on her face, then along the line of her cheek to her throat.
Liz nudged her again. We need to get inside. You might have grown up in Alaska, but Im a Corpus Christi girl and highly susceptible to wet rot. I swear on my nine years of federal service, theres no one and nothing back there.
One final hint of warm, and suddenly it was only the wind on her cheeks.
Angel shook her head. Weird, she murmured one last time. But she had to admit as the victims body was prepped for removal, that despite the unsettling aspect, the sensation had felt strangely like a caress.
Completely sensual, and in an instant, completely gone.
HE WATCHED HER from the narrow walkway that split the old processing plant in two. Shed sensed him. Hed seen it in the way her eyes cruised the shadows, as if shed known more than rats and cockroaches lurked within them.
Suspicion had come first, followed by speculation. Then, when the feeling persisted, impatience.
In unguarded moments, Angel Carter wore her emotions on her face, her incredibly beautiful face. Those same emotions added an element of intrigue to her already exotic features
And he was thinking like a man obsessed.
Still, he didnt move, didnt let his gaze waver. Didnt mean he missed the body at her feet, but hed seen that already, before shed arrived.
Someones back there, Liz
He heard the determination now, and his lips curved. He should go, leave her with partner and corpse, let her draw her conclusions and see where they led.
Icy rain slid along his neck beneath his upturned collar. The man in black. The man who lived in the dark. A phantom. Thats how people described him. He didnt care. Phantoms could slip in and out undetected.
Except, apparently, by an Angel.
When her partner set a hand on her arm, he knew it was time to vanish. Hed done what hed come to do. Now it was her turn.
The shadows shifted as the ambulance arrived. He allowed himself one last look, then disappeared into the heart of them.
Chapter Two
The hands of the clock ticked slowly toward 2:00 a.m. Angel had spoken to her boss three times since viewing the body and his sniveling assistant twice. This time she had a somewhat different number in mind.
She was positioning her thumb over the seventh digit when the head of forensic pathology pushed through the lab door. His smile was automatic, his chuckle a welcome sound in the sterile grid of hospital corridors.
He wont mind, Joe Thomas assured her. Two, four, six oclock. Time of day or night is irrelevant to Noah Graydon. As you should know after eighteen months of back-and-forth phone conversations.
Angels own smile blossomed. Good to hear, Dr. T, but in actual fact, I was calling my mother. And after almost thirty years of close association, I can promise you time means a great deal to her. More than her new Harley, in fact.
Amazing woman. Joe used a blue checked handkerchief to polish his glasses. She crunches numbers in Alaska for the better part of four decades, then meets a long distance trucker and decides to go off and live the life.
Everyone should live the life. Angel closed her phone, met his brown eyes. Not sure about the Harley yet, but Im always open to new. Why did you think I was calling Noah?
Come on, Angel, Ive met Bergmans snotty assistant. The voice of reason would be a welcome change after that. Unfortunately, in terms of your latest murder victim, Im leaning toward a mugging gone awry.
Been talking to your wife, huh?
Yes, I have, and yes, the word junkie came up, but shes only trying to keep things simple after that nightmare of a childnapping case you two were involved in.
Angel dropped the cell phone into her coat pocket. So whats the deal with Foret?
Joe crooked a finger. Come into my parlor, pretty fly, and Ill show you.
Great, I get to see a naked dead man on an empty stomach. Missed dinner, she explained, along with the ending to the play.
Who was the unlucky guy?
She shed her coat, grinned. A podiatrist your wife and my so-called friend introduced me to last week. He looks, talks and acts like a department store mannequin. He has polished skin, Joe, right down to the cleft in his chin. He also has an icky foot fetish which Ill be kind and not go into. Now fess up. Why did you think I was calling Noah?
He pinched her chin before snapping on a pair of medical gloves. Cat with a fish, Angel, thats you. Okay, I thought that because its what you do when youre feeling edgy, and Liz told me about the shadow thing tonight. You thought someone was watching you.
Unperturbed, Angel circled the examining table. Watching all of us, Doc. Im not totally paranoid.
Just ultra sensitive to dark shadows. And bats.
Some people would call the shadow part intuitive.