He opened the door and stepped into the dark apartment, feeling for the light switch. There it was. He flicked it on as he peered in.
No one there. He took a step farther, and looked around in startled wonder.
Elisa gently pushed him out of her way, closing the door.
The apartment was a long, narrow room with a kitchen at one end. Almost the entire floor was covered with paint-spattered drop cloths which had been taped to the baseboard, and every free wall was covered with butcher paper, floor to ceiling.
Elisa had drawn or painted on all of it. Some of it was done directly on the butcher paper, some smaller ones were tacked up over it. It was a writhing mass of dark, chaotic images, and it created a strange, mythic environment. Even the paint-spotted plastic tarps on the floor were a part of the strange art installation.
Nate approached the nearest, largest painting. A huge, leafless, half-burned tree stood alone on a stark, desolate plain. There was a hollow in its charred trunk. A fearful face peered out, with big shadowy eyes. A thin, dirty hand covered its mouth.
The style was wild, chaotic and savage, but the technique was sophisticated. The images were disquieting. They would linger in his mind for a long time.
The next big one, which was a ruined, dilapidated house with rows of carrion birds perched on the ridgepole. A smaller one was tacked up next to it, of a little girl with long dark hair standing in the middle of a Persian rug in a dark library, the books above her disappearing up into the vaulted darkness. She clutched her doll in her arms, and her big, sad looking eyes were wise beyond her years.
“Is that you?” he asked.
Elisa shrugged. “Isn’t all of it me, in some way or another?”
“Maybe,” Nate murmured, moving to the next one. “Holy shit. I had no idea.”
“About what?” She looked self-conscious. “You know I like to draw. You’ve seen my stuff in the café. I just turbocharge it up here when I’m on my own.”
“I had no idea you had this kind of range.” He gestured at the walls. “The stuff in the café was colorful. Cute and cheerful. This stuff…it grabs you by the throat.”
“Oh. Gee. Uh, thanks. I think.”
“You’re welcome,” Nate said. “I mean it in a good way. Bad art doesn’t grab anyone’s throat.”
She laughed under her breath. “I guess that’s a compliment I can accept. Sometimes it surprises me, too. My stuff didn’t used to be quite so gloomy.”
“Before you went on the run, you mean?” He leaned in to examine the face that peered from the painting of the hollow burned tree. “This is you, right? Covering your mouth because you’re afraid to tell us who’s after you.”
She stiffened. “Don’t start,” she warned him. “You’re the first one who’s ever seen these paintings. Do not make me regret inviting you up here.”
Nate turned to the next picture, drawn in blunt black charcoal, a looming shadow figure with the lit-up points of its eyes glowing malevolently in the dimness. Bony fingers reached out, ready to clutch and squeeze.
He studied it for a long moment. “That’s him,” he said.
“Who?”
“The guy you’re hiding from.”
“It’s just a spooky drawing, Nate,” she snapped. “I was in a bad mood that day. Don’t make a thing of it.”
His eyes didn’t move from the painting. “That’s not a drawing,” he said slowly. “That’s a fucking exorcism.”
“Stop being melodramatic,” she snapped. “I was just trying to get it outside my head, so I could sleep. I don’t want to talk about my pictures. That’s not why I asked you up here.”
“No?” He turned to her. “So why did you ask me up here?”
The question hung in the air between them. Finally, Elisa shrugged, self-conscious. “What, you mean, I have to come right out and say it? In so many words?”
“Yes,” he said. “After the way you’ve been ducking me for months? I deserve to hear the words. That way I can be absolutely sure we’re on the same page.”
“I was hoping that one thing would just lead to another. I didn’t expect you to put me on the spot.”
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he murmured. “I’ll make it a really good spot to be.”
She was clearly trying to speak, but nothing came out. He thought of the face peering out of the burned tree, that hand pressed over its mouth. The words locked inside her. It couldn’t be easy for her to speak, after being quiet for so long.
He took her hand, lifting it to his lips, breaking eye contact as he kissed her knuckles gently. Taking the pressure off. No hurry. Kissing each finger. Each joint.
He felt her let out a shuddering sigh, the tension easing.
“I want you to spend the night with me,” she said softly.
Nate let out a ragged breath. “You got it. I have a request to make, though.”
She let out a short, nervous laugh. “A request? Should I be scared?”
Nate glanced over his shoulder, and gestured at the shadowy charcoal drawing of the looming monster. “I don’t want that thing to watch us.”
Elisa glanced up at the image, startled. “Seriously? It bothers you that much?”
“It’s looking down on you,” he said. “Threatening you. Taking up space. You shouldn’t allow him to do that. You should shut him out.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask you up here to psychoanalyze me.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m not a shrink. I’m a security expert, and I’m just doing what I do. That picture feels like a security breach. It’s invading your privacy. You should take it down.”
Then he held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t throw his ass out. Hoping he hadn’t burned his one shot at this.
Fingers crossed.
6
He had no goddamn right to ask that of her. And even so, the suggestion sent an electric thrill of wildly conflicting emotions through her body. Confusion, indignation, because who the hell did he think he was, and what the fuck did he know about it?
And then, as the noise abated, she realized that he was right.
So obvious. Why the hell hadn’t she realized it before? Gil did not deserve pride of place in her living room. She’d just granted it to him out of habit. She’d always given him too much space, the same way she’d always given Dad too much space. The same reason she’d missed the warning signs of a domineering, controlling man when she got involved with Gil. She was so accustomed to them in Dad. They were like the water a fish swam in. Her world had always been a carefully controlled, luxurious fish bowl. She’d always been observed, examined, judged, pushed. By Dad, and then by Gil.
Even now, he was still taking up real estate in her head. All she did, night and day, was worry about what he might be doing to her little brother.
That was his plan. To show dominance. To drive her slowly nuts.
She’d done the drawing to drag that image outside of her head so that she could sleep. But then she’d left Gil up there on the wall, menacing her. Like Kimball did to the Trasks, with his cameras and bugs. Screw that. It stopped now.