Heart of Shadows Read online

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  Awe-Struck

  www.awe-struck.net

  Copyright ©2005 by Joyce and Jim Lavene

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Chapter One

  "Rae Harris?” He walked into the store right behind her and closed the door on the freezing wind that swept in from the street. The little chime tinkled a frantic warning as the scent of the sea rushed in with him. “You're Rae Harris."

  She turned and faced him. He was tall and broad-shouldered. Slender in a way that made her think he wasn't exactly a body builder. He wasn't thin but she didn't think she'd like to try to tackle him and hold him down. There was bound to be a wiry strength to him that was deceptive. She'd been taught to size up an opponent that way.

  "It's cold out there.” She didn't answer him as she cleared a space for her groceries behind the front counter. Outside she was calm, even cheerful. Inside, she was on edge. Waiting. There was something about this man that bothered her. A slight tic started in her left cheek. “I'll make some tea."

  If she knew him, she would've excused herself and gone upstairs to put away her groceries. He'd browse while she started some tea. If he were a regular customer, he'd agree with her about the unseasonably cold weather. They'd have a conversation about the weather or new books that had been released or a movie they'd seen.

  But he wasn't a regular. She couldn't imagine him browsing through the collection of books she'd carefully accumulated. He didn't seem the type to browse. He wanted something. She could feel it emanating from him. The thought made her heart beat faster. Her hands were unsteady. She didn't want to imagine how he knew her.

  A can of pineapple rings dropped out of one of her grocery bags. It clattered noisily on the floor. Before she could retrieve it, he scooped it up and held it out to her. “I've been looking for you."

  "Thanks.” She was careful not to touch him as she took the can from him. He was close enough that his light aftershave teased her senses. She took a step away from him, putting the counter between them. “I think you have the wrong person."

  He stood with his back to the door. There wasn't anything particularly threatening about him. But he was starting to make her nervous. She could feel his intent gaze on her as she finished with her groceries. He was trying to decide the truth.

  "I don't think so."

  She couldn't tell if he was dark or fair. The black hat he wore was pulled down low on his face. It added to his sinister appearance. She had the impression of a strong chin when he was close. The rest was hidden from her. The whole cloak and dagger thing was ridiculous. It irritated her already outraged senses. What was he hiding? “What do you want?"

  Bright blue eyes confronted her. There was a faint rasp to his low voice that sent a shiver down her spine. “I came to find you."

  The chime sounded again on the front door. “Rae Harris, I'm busting to get that book, girl! You promised me it would be in today. Where is it?” Delia Martin smiled broadly and rubbed her hands together. Her dark eyes watched the stranger walk away from the counter. “Friend of yours from the city?"

  Rae got Delia's book from under the counter. “Not exactly.” If he wasn't sure who I was before, he knows now.

  She watched him walk through the shop. He took his time while Delia rambled on about a movie she'd seen. He picked up books. Smelled samples of herbal soaps and teas. He was still wearing his dark gloves and hat. She knew he was killing time. I came to find you.

  By the time Delia left, Mr. Dougherty came in for some fresh parsley. Then it was Mrs. Wentz for her monthly shipment of chamomile. Then it got crowded.

  Rae didn't forget about him. He was lurking there in her shop somewhere. Waiting to catch her alone. She debated with herself about calling the police. But what would she say? He seemed suspicious? He was waiting for her at the shop when it opened? None of that sounded that desperate.

  Despite her anxiety, she stayed away from the phone. She had her own reasons for not involving anyone else. She could handle the problem, if it turned out to be one.

  She wanted to march back to the reading area and tell him to leave. But then whatever he had to say would come out in front of her customers. She was trapped by her own reluctance to let that happen. He knows who you are. He knows you won't make a scene. He's using that knowledge against you.

  Who was he? How did he know her? The questions whispered against her senses and infuriated her.

  One thing for sure, he wasn't there to sample her fresh order of lemon balm, good as it might be. There was the distinct aura of coffee about him. He likes to eat big steaks and large breakfasts. He refuses to sleep in pajamas. He's used to getting what he wants without much trouble.

  The nagging thoughts raced through her mind as she smiled and talked with her customers. She bagged tea and wrapped books but the impressions continued. It was unusual for her to be so in tune with anyone on such close association. She didn't even touch him. Who is he?

  Around six, it was dark enough for the twelve, claw-footed lamps to come on at the same time. She bought them last year at a local flea market. They were set on a timer so she wouldn't have to run through the shop turning them on and off. Their light was so much better than fluorescents hanging from the ceiling. The pink glow cast a soothing, romantic aura across the shop.

  Rae officially closed her book and herb shop at seven. A few customers straggled in and out until seven-thirty. Finally, she wished Sally Newgate good night and realized that the store was empty. Or is it?

  She tried to look through the shelves without craning her neck or walking up and down the aisles. There was a small space set up at the back of the shop where she'd created a cozy spot for reading. Two overstuffed red velvet chairs and a small table away from the street traffic. She never realized that she couldn't see it from the front of the store. Anyone could be back there. He could still be there.

  "Hello?"

  There was no reply. Maybe he slipped out while she was busy. Maybe he was tired of waiting. Maybe he gave up and went home. She knew it was wishful thinking. She saw the look in his eyes. I came to find you.

  Rae switched off the big hot water dispenser she kept in the front of the store for making tea. She closed up the honey and cream. She stored everything away in the little refrigerator behind the cabinet then started to straighten up the shop.

  There were always stray books where they didn't belong. Careless hands moved tea bags and teapots and forgot to put them back. There was a gum wrapper in the middle of one aisle.

  It was so quiet. She never noticed before. She was alone in the shop plenty of times. Maybe it was because she knew she wasn't alone. Instinct told her he was still there. Waiting.

  Rae realized that she was avoiding going to the back of the store. She straightened her curly dark hair back in its clip and tucked in her green sweater. She really couldn't believe he was waiting back there. She consulted her watch. It was three hours. Anyone would be tired of waiting.

  She stopped short as she rounded the last aisle. There he was. He was reading an old book, a treasure she found at the auction last year. It was a book of love poems written by an eighteenth century monk to a wealthy matron. The copy was handmade, bound in cloth, and written in the tortured monk's own hand.

  Rae's heart was pounding. Whispers of sound buzzed through her head. Snatches of conversation and random thoug
ht tugged at her awareness. The scents from her shop mingled with the salty smell of the ocean on the night air. Control. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, fighting for serenity through the whirl of her emotions. She hadn't had a problem with control for so long.

  He looked up. “Finished?"

  "What do you want from me?"

  "Just an answer."

  He'd removed the hat, gloves, and coat. His face was arresting. Angular lines, high cheekbones, and a clever chin defined it. It reminded her of a painting she saw of the fairy king. His eyes were bright blue between dark lashes. His mouth had an ironic quirk to it. Either he had a wonderful sense of humor or he thought the world was a pretty strange place.

  He watched her as closely as she watched him. Like two jaguars claiming the same prey. Straightening her spine, she pushed back a strand of her hair that always refused to be tamed by her clip. “You've waited a long time. You must be a very patient man."

  "Not really. But sometimes, you have to be patient to get what you want."

  "And what is it that you want?"

  The blue gaze pinned her in place then assessed her slowly. “You."

  She laughed nervously. “Me? I'm flattered but—"

  "I need your help, Ms. Harris. I have a question to ask you."

  "Are you a reporter?"

  "No. Is that what you're afraid of?"

  "I'm not afraid. But I don't know you."

  "I can take care of that. I'm Steve Williams. I own a computer software company."

  "Here?"

  "Not exactly. I live in Atlanta. Obviously, we sell our software everywhere in the world. There's an office in Charleston."

  "Obviously.” She matched his tone, watching for any sudden moves. It was silly to think he came all the way from Atlanta to hurt her. He was a stranger. Still there was something more than his dark, suspicious appearance bothering her. Something's wrong. Something terrible happened. “I'm sorry, but I don't own a computer."

  He smiled a little. He needed to smile more often. He was happy at one time. She could see the smile lines from his eyes and mouth. But he wasn't happy at that moment. Life had changed. Gone sour. Something he couldn't comprehend and couldn't control.

  "That's too bad. But I'm not here to sell you software."

  She sighed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. He was being deliberately vague. “Then why are you here, Mr. Williams?"

  He took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and offered it to her. “Is this you?"

  Rae was cautious when she took the paper from his outstretched hand. She didn't want that intimate contact with him. Not yet. His fingers were long and shapely. Manicured. He took care of himself. He took care of the people around him.

  It was a newspaper clipping. A bad copy of an old newspaper clipping. The woman's face was grainy and younger but it was clearly her face. The headlines under it spelled out the story:

  FBI agent attacks man accused of killing girl

  "There's more. I found them in the newspaper archives on the Internet. Most of your cases were more successful than this one. You were one of the best, weren't you?"

  She handed him back the clipping. She'd read it so many times that she knew it by heart. “What do you want, Mr. Williams? Stop playing games with me."

  He put the copy back into his pocket. “If you're going to hide, you should change your name. You weren't that hard to find."

  "I think you have me confused with someone else."

  His eyes followed the line of her face faithfully. “You're Rae Harris."

  "Yes, I am. But I'm not the woman in that clipping. I'm sorry."

  "I didn't come here unprepared. I've checked. I know who you are."

  Her throat felt tight. “I think you should leave now."

  "We can go someplace more public if you'd like.” He looked around the closed shop. “I'm not here to harass you. I need your help."

  "Then why show me that paper?"

  "All I know about you is what I've read. That's all I care about. Nothing else matters. I just need to ask you one question."

  "It won't do any good. I'm not who you think I am!"

  "Are you as good as they say?"

  The words stunned her. Fractured the breath from her lungs. They tortured and tormented her. Are you as good as they say? “Please leave—"

  "Sixty cases for the FBI in seven years. All missing children. You found all of them."

  She turned on her heel and marched to the front of the store. “Please leave."

  "I need your help. You're my last chance. I can make it worth your while.” He reached out and took her hand as he followed her.

  A hot current leapt between them. Rae saw in his surprised expression that he felt it too. It was like sticking her finger into an electrical outlet. He let go of her before she could demand that he release her. She opened the front door and the chime rang sweetly. “If you don't leave, I'll call the police."

  He was standing close to her. His gaze was hard on her face. “I don't believe you. It would mean telling everyone who you really are, wouldn't it? And that's always a disaster for you."

  He knew too much about her. She didn't know anything about him beyond what he was willing to tell her. Not enough. Tension flared between them. “Goodbye, Mr. Williams."

  "I need your help.” His tone changed. Cajoled. He shifted awkwardly in the doorway. “If you found those children, please don't turn me away. You might be the only one who can help her. I'm offering a reward."

  For an instant, she softened. Always wanting to help. His fear, his anger pulled at her. Not this time. “Please, don't come back."

  "I could ruin you here. If everyone knew—"

  Rae didn't blink. “If you believe that I'm the woman who tried to kill the man in that newspaper clipping, I'd advise against it. I might come after you."

  "Please—"

  She could almost taste the gall in his mouth as he pleaded for her help. He wasn't used to begging. “Goodbye, Mr. Williams."

  He didn't look at her again as he walked out the door. She closed it quickly and pulled down the pretty pink blind. She set the deadbolt then leaned back against it, breathing hard. It couldn't be true. She didn't want to believe that it was true. It had been four years. Wasn't that enough time to forget?

  Rae looked around the shop she'd put together one item at a time. Teapots from local potters vied with wind chimes and books on every subject. She had a collection of fairies and elves from a local painter. Even the worn wooden floorboards held a special place in her heart. She loved her little shop. It was just starting to make a profit. She didn't want to leave.

  But what choice would she have? She couldn't live here if people were going to come looking for her. Her life would be a circus again. She couldn't handle it. His threat meant more to her than he could possibly realize. She calmly ushered him out the door. She wanted to throw herself on the floor and beg him to leave her alone. Hadn't she done enough?

  Rae took one long, last look around her shop. All twelve lights shut down for the night promptly at eight. She locked up and walked away. It broke her heart to think she might never come back. The irony of her predicament wasn't lost on her. Once, she fought to leave this place ... and almost lost herself in the process.

  Ten generations, all on her mother's side, lived and died on Sullivan's Island, South Carolina. The island was ripped apart by war and storms but the Harris women held on to their place there. All but the last two were buried on a small hill overlooking the sea where pirate ships once cut through the coastal waters.

  Eighteen-year-old Rae wanted more than that. She grew up on the island, raised by her mother and grandmother. It was customary for Harris women to live alone, losing their men in one-way or another. Her father died when she was very young.

  This Harris woman dreamed of leaving. It was all she thought about. She watched the sun set on every sunny summer day planning to be different than her ancestors. The island, with it
s slow pace and friendly faces, was enough for them. It wasn't enough for her.

  So, when she graduated from high school, she announced to her mother that she was going away to college. She was going to Washington, DC. Her grades and test scores earned her a scholarship at George Washington University. She was going to be a child psychologist. She wanted to council families in need. She wanted to see the world. She didn't want to be confined to this tiny island with its folklore and superstition. She didn't want to be like her mother or her grandmother.

  Her mother looked at her like she suddenly grew two heads. “It'll be hard for you. You'll be alone."

  "I know.” Rae had all the answers back then. “But I can handle it."

  "You don't know,” Cerise, her mother, prophesied, “You've been sheltered here, cared for. The world out there will kill you."

  "I'm ready for it,” Rae assured her. “And nothing you can say is going to change my mind. You don't have to worry. I won't call for help."

  Cerise glared at her. “And I won't speak to you again until you've come to your senses."

  "It's stupid.” Her grandmother, Lessie, didn't spare her feelings. “No Harris woman has ever left this island. Not for a man and not for a career.” She spat the word out on the floor like an old watermelon seed. “You don't need a career anyway, lamb! You've got your instincts and the plants. Cerise and I will teach you to heal. You know most of it already."

  "I do,” Rae agreed. “But I want more."

  Her grandmother didn't say anything else. Cautioned by Cerise's baleful glare. The two women were close but Cerise didn't allow her mother to interfere with her raising her daughter. Lessie called her daughter arrogant because she wouldn't take her advice. But Cerise nearly left the island once with her own baby daughter. Lessie was always afraid that she would do it again. She kept her own counsel.

  And they let her go. Watched her climb on the bus and leave the island. Cerise broke down at the last and wept. Lessie comforted her. Rae looked out the tiny window and waved to them. She was too caught up in her dreams of a brilliant future to notice their tears.