Edge of Midnight

25



Pulling to a stop under the columned portico, Mia got out of the Volvo and handed the valet her keys. She had dressed for the five-star resort on Ponte Vedra Beach in an ice-blue silk sheath dress and heeled silver sandals. It was Saturday and she’d received an email from Grayson that morning, instructing her to meet him at the hotel’s main restaurant at 8:00 p.m.

Eric, however, had been maintaining his distance. He’d called once to check on her but had kept their conversation brief and impersonal. Mia hadn’t pushed.

Entering the upscale lobby with its marble floors and tiered chandeliers, she tried not to dwell on it. She yearned to see him, but she had learned a long time ago one couldn’t force something to happen simply by obsessing over it hard enough. He’s busy with the investigation, she reminded herself.

Still, with each passing day her heart had grown a little heavier.

At the restaurant, she gave Grayson’s name and the hostess escorted her inside. Like the resort, the dining room was posh, with starched linen tablecloths and glowing centerpiece candles. The tinkling sound of a piano came from the adjoining bar.

Mia wasn’t certain what to expect—she’d had meals with Grayson before. But the majority of those were eaten with chopsticks from take-out cartons, or accompanied by draft beer in a paneled barroom overlooking the EverBank Field stadium where the Jacksonville Jaguars played. Those times had been comfortable, enjoyable. The atmosphere here seemed off for what he had classified as a business dinner.

He sat at a table beside a long window that provided a dramatic view of the darkened ocean, and he stood as Mia and the hostess approached. Pulling out a chair for her, she noticed he wobbled a bit before reclaiming his own seat. He indicated the empty crystal tumbler in front of him.

“Have the waiter bring another vodka tonic.”

“And you, ma’am?” the hostess asked.

“Pinot grigio.”

He waited until they were alone. “You look great, kiddo.”

She toyed with the small clutch purse in her lap before placing it on an empty chair at the table. “I didn’t have much choice. This is hardly a blue jeans, shrimp-in-the-shell kind of place.”

“I’ve been traveling all week for the damn newspaper,” he grumbled. “Let them pick up the tab.”

Mia was aware of the faint slur to his words. She wondered how many drinks he’d had before she arrived. Grayson appeared tired and tense, the lines deeper on his face than she remembered.

“Are you all right?” she asked quietly.

Before he could answer, they were interrupted by the arrival of the waiter, who had their drink order and gave a rundown on the evening’s specialties. Once he was gone, Grayson asked, “Now where did we leave off on Tuesday? Right…you were reaming me out for that piece on Macfarlane.”

“I’m sorry for that,” she admitted. She didn’t want to argue again, especially not here. Besides, she’d thought about it and realized he was right. “I was surprised by the profile, that’s all. Sometimes I forget you’re my boss, Grayson. I was out of line to question you and I should’ve left my personal feelings out of it.”

“Everything in the article was accurate,” he pointed out.

“With the exception of my being a contributor.”

“Like I said, mistakes happen. Damn copy editors.” His blasé comment suggested again it hadn’t been an error. She studied him as he took another sip from his drink.

“So what’s this about? You said you wanted to talk to me away from the office.”

“Can’t we just enjoy ourselves for a little while?”

Mia held his gaze until he spoke.

“The Courier’s having issues,” he said finally. “Our circulation’s declining and we’re losing subscribers.”

None of this was new information in the digital age. Most newspapers and magazines were experiencing similar difficulties as readers moved to other sources—television and the internet especially—to get their news. Still, Mia had thought a recent paring down of staff, combined with an increased emphasis on ad revenue from the paper’s online edition and social networking initiatives, had evened things out.

“How bad is it?”

“We may have another round of layoffs.”

She felt butterflies in her stomach, wondering if that was why he’d brought her here. “Does that include me?”

“I hope not,” he said carefully. “But that’s up to you.”

The waiter returned to their table. Neither of them had glanced at the menu yet.

“Could we have a little more time?” she asked.

With a small bow, the man retreated. Mia returned her attention to Grayson. “I don’t understand.”

He took another long sip from his drink, ice cubes clinking against the crystal. “You’re a good reporter but you’re still young and learning, Mia. You have the potential to be great—I’ve always believed that. I want to continue investing in you.”

“But something’s changed?”

“You’ve changed.” He raised his shoulders in a shrug. “Maybe it’s the abduction. I can’t imagine what it must be like to deal with something like that—the lost hours, realizing how close you came to… Sometimes I have a hard time dealing with it myself. I care about you, Mia.”

He reached across the table and took her hand.

“I care about you, too, Grayson,” she said, feeling a little uncomfortable. After a moment, she gently slid her fingers from his. “You know that. But I still don’t see what you’re driving at.”

He frowned as he looked into her eyes. “I thought you had the fire in your gut. That you wanted to be a journalist.”

“And I don’t now?”

“Goddamned if I know,” he muttered. “Lately you’ve been distracted, missing time from work, running around like some smitten kitten after Macfarlane. It’s not who you are.”

Mia felt her face grow hot.

“That’s not fair,” she argued. “You’re the one who told me to take a few days off, remember? And I’ve been asking for my previous assignment back. You keep refusing me, telling me I’m not ready for it—”

“Then prove to me you are. Prove it and I’ll take Walt off the whole thing. You just said yourself you haven’t been objective.” Turning, he caught the passing maître d’ and asked for another drink.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve been drinking since you were in diapers, Mia. Don’t monitor my alcohol intake,” he snapped. The reprimand stung. “I want to do a piece on the memory-retrieval therapy you’ve been undergoing at the Naval Air Station. You’ve got information, details, no other media outlet has access to. Not to mention the whole sci-fi aspect—”

“I can’t—”

“You can. I’ve got one of my reporters smack-dab in the middle of the year’s biggest story and you’re as tight-lipped as a priest. I want details on what’s been going on—”

“We’ve discussed this.” She strove to keep her voice calm. “I agreed to confidentiality. That’s off-limits.”

“Like Eric Macfarlane? The paper’s not supposed to cover him, either.” His eyes narrowed inquisitively. “What is it, Mia? Hero worship? You’re frightened and vulnerable and he has a badge and a gun? That gets you off?”

She’d been twisting the linen napkin in her lap, but she stood and dropped it on the seat. Her insides knotted with irritation, she picked up her purse. “If I’m being laid off, I’ll get by. Good night, Grayson.”

“Mia, sit down. Mia!”

She heard him calling her name, but she kept walking as quickly as she could in the suddenly ridiculous evening sandals. Anger and humiliation tightened her lungs. Was he threatening her? Telling her she had to divulge confidential details about the therapy in order to keep her job? Maybe he just wanted her to prove that her allegiance to him outweighed whatever she’d had with Eric. A bellhop held the door for her in the hotel lobby. She went outside, noticing there were several people waiting in line for the valet service to retrieve their cars.

She needed time to collect herself. Mia bypassed the line and headed toward the beach. Stopping at the boardwalk, she bent to undo the straps of her shoes. Leaving them on a concrete ledge, she walked barefoot down the short flight of stairs and onto the resort’s pristine white sand. Moving to the shoreline, she closed her eyes against the warm, briny breeze and reminded herself to breathe.

She’d never known Grayson to behave like this.

“Mia.” A minute later, she turned at the sound of her name. He was walking toward her, his dress shoes sinking into the sand.

“Christ,” he said when he reached her, shaking his head. “That wasn’t me in there.”

“I don’t know what to say. If you’re that unhappy with my work…”

“No.” Grayson clasped her upper arms. His face appeared pale in the moonlight. “You’ve been through hell and I’ve been acting like a total shit tonight. Taking my problems out on you. I’m sorry.”

He let go of her and briefly laced his fingers behind his neck, cursing under his breath. “I’ve been in the newspaper business for twenty-six years. It’s my life. It’s all I’ve got and things are getting harder every day. It’s making me insane…”

He paused, swallowing hard as he looked at her. “I’m also in love with you.”

Her lips parted slightly, her throat going dry.

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” he said hoarsely. “I just never had the guts to tell you. And then I almost lost you.”

Mia stared at him, her heart beating hard. Grayson was eighteen years her senior, but she had never thought of him as old. He had always been just Grayson to her. He was her friend, her mentor, even a father figure. She’d known he was fond of her. But Will had been right; she should’ve taken his feelings for her more seriously.

“After the abduction, I realized I had to do something. I had to put my stake in the ground. And then this FBI agent arrives…” Inebriated, sliding his hands into his pockets, he stumbled a little in the sand as he looked out at the crashing waves. “I see the way you look at Macfarlane. The way you talk about him and defend him. I know you, Mia. You’ve never acted like that about any man, as far as I can recall.”

He shrugged weakly. “The green-eyed monster rears his head. He was the one talking to you in there.”

“Grayson…” She shook her head as she struggled with what to say. “You know I would never want to hurt you…”

He laughed, his eyes sad. “To quote Bob Marley, ‘Everybody’s going to hurt you. You’ve just got to find the ones worth suffering for.’ I already know you don’t feel the same way about me.”

Vacationers strolled in front of them, including a man and a woman, arm in arm. They stopped to kiss, the waves’ foam floating around their bare ankles. Mia looked away, the act of passion playing out in front of them making their conversation even more awkward.

Grayson continued. “The Macfarlanes are loaded, you know. Old money. It beats the hell out of me why any of them went into public service. Eric Macfarlane should be sailing around on a yacht somewhere, not down here, watching autopsies on dead women. Or stealing you.”

“Whatever was between us…I don’t think it’s going to work out,” she confessed softly.

Grayson considered her statement. “Then he’s a damn fool.”

“You shouldn’t be driving. Can I give you a ride home?”

“I’ll call a cab or get a room. I might not be done drinking yet.” He took a deep breath and let it out with a resigned sigh. “But now you know. Hopefully I won’t remember the ass I made of myself tonight.”

“Grayson, please don’t go.”

She fell silent, watching as he lifted a hand to silence her and then walked carefully away, trying not to stagger so that he might maintain some last shred of dignity. He headed back up the stairs to the hotel.

Like the sand she stood on, the world seemed to be shifting under her feet. Her heart hurt for Grayson, for his unrequited love and the crack in their relationship that could probably never be fully repaired. She wondered again if she would be on the chopping block if and when more staff was let go by the paper. Without him in her corner—if she’d lost his friendship—it was possible.

None of this was fair.

Looking up at the black sky, she thought about the past few weeks of her life. It all seemed so surreal—escaping a serial killer, then getting involved with the federal agent assigned to hunt him down. She held her purse, her phone inside it. More than anything, she craved the sound of Eric’s voice. She’d become addicted to it, she realized. But she didn’t call. Instead, she sat on one of the resort’s chaises lined up on the beach. Mia dug her toes into the cool sand, feeling tired and contemplative, unsure.

Night had fallen over the San Marco neighborhood like a heavy blanket.

Allan crouched inside an older model Mercedes, well hidden by the heavy, drooping branches of a weeping willow on a nearby property. He had been there for over two hours. In fact, he had watched her leave earlier that night. From where he sat, she’d looked so lovely in her new hairstyle and pale blue dress. But it had been too early in the evening then, too many cars and passersby.

Now, however, traffic had begun to die down on the residential street.

He fidgeted, gathering his courage. For weeks, he’d been telling himself to forget her. Trying again would be too dangerous. But his desire for her had only gotten stronger and the brunette divorcée was starting to lose her appeal. She’d become an obsession to him.

If he were really going to do this, now was the time.

His heart began to beat a little harder.

Exiting the Mercedes, he closed its door with a soft snick. He stole across a lush lawn, then climbed through a line of shrubs until he stood near the building’s Tuscan-style courtyard, still out of reach of the streetlight. So close. He’d been watching the place for a while now and he knew when no one in the three-level structure was home. The men who lived in the ground-floor unit had departed with suitcases days ago.

He had thought about waiting for her in the darkened recesses of the courtyard, but it was too open and there were too many paths for escape. Allan needed her closed off and cornered. He looked upward to her apartment. She would hurry cautiously across the patio from her car, but up there at her door, she would think she was home free. Safe. He could overpower her. It would be a long way to get her to the Mercedes, but if she were unconscious he could carry her down, leave her behind the gardenia bushes and bring the car over to pick her up. He would only have to time it against the squad car that conducted a drive-by on the half hour. Besides, she probably only weighed a hundred and ten sopping wet. He’d moved televisions that were heavier.

The deputies had gone past just a few minutes ago. Waiting for the residential street to be devoid of cars, he slunk up the staircase on the building’s right side, keeping against the stucco wall so that he remained in shadow. Up here, there would be no escape for him, either, he realized. His plan would have to play out, no matter what. Throat dry, he glanced at the wedge of moon above him.

It had already occurred to him she might not come home alone. He had seen her in the company of Eric Macfarlane before. Which was why Allan had brought his gun as a precaution.

The level of danger was both nerve-racking and exhilarating.

On the landing, he unscrewed the bulb inside the antique bronze sconce next to her door. The light, hot against his fingers, sputtered out, leaving him in darkness. To the left of the apartment, there was a space underneath the stairs that rose to the building’s top level. It presented the perfect crevice in which to hide. He would wait for her to insert her keys into the door and then he would advance, let her glimpse his face before her world went black. His memory conjured up an image of Mia as a skinny, forlorn child, her large brown eyes fearful as she backed away from him on the street. He wanted to see that same fear in her eyes tonight. He believed in closing the loop. It was an anomaly that she’d escaped him twice now.

It wouldn’t happen a third time.

As he waited for her, he allowed his fantasy to play out in his mind. His big hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming, the sharp jab of the needle and the feel of her body as it sagged in his arms. Allan realized he had half an erection at the prospect of total power. The sickly sweet scent of gardenias in the courtyard wafted up to him.

Some time later, headlights illuminated the street in front of the building. Then the sound of a car slowing and pulling into the driveway below. Quickly, he stepped farther back into the stone-black cove and rubbed his latex-clad fingers together in anticipation.

His nerves zinged. Only one car door slammed. Good. She was alone. It was all falling into place. He took the filled syringe from his pocket and removed the safety tip, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Come to me, little girl. You won’t cheat your destiny again.