Midnight Redeemer Read online

  He restrained his own anticipation upon hearing the firm timbre in her tone. A warning.

  "No more games, Louis. No more threats. You've no point to prove any more. We can afford no undue attention to focus on this project. Secrecy is our only means to success. I can't change what has already been done, but you must control yourself or our association ends here."

  He tilted his head, as if bewildered by her stern statement, but he nodded somberly.

  "We will work together, Doctor Kimball. And I will walk in daylight again and lead a normal life."

  And if things went as planned, so would she.

  * * * *

  It was possible.

  After Stacy had delivered her rather odd ultimatum and gone, Louis sat back on his sofa and dared to dream.

  Human again.

  To breathe the warmth of sunlit air. To feel the heat of the day upon his skin. To live in a world not doomed to shadow and artificial light.

  To escape the damning necessity of his curse.

  To never hunt again.

  Only Arabella's love had kept him going after her father's experiment had failed almost two centuries ago. He'd been so close, so close to finding redemption. Bella's faith and Cassandra's strength had bolstered him when the weariness of his existence made him think perhaps prolonging his life was a greater sin than seeking a way to revert it back to the realm of the natural. If he died in this unholy form, how could his soul be saved? How could he join the two women that he'd loved in their pure states of grace?

  The thought of existing another eternity without hope of ever seeing them again was the encouragement he needed to continue on.

  And now, now this bold and beautiful woman of logic and knowledge offered what he daren't believe. That he could live again. That he could finish out his normal years then go to his reward beyond.

  "Dare I believe, Bella?” he asked aloud. “I have known such failure and despair before, I fear I'll not survive another disappointment."

  No answer came except in the quiet corners of his heart where faith still resided.

  "She is smart and determined, Little One. She reminds me of you. Perhaps that is why it is so difficult to resist—"

  He broke off, sensing some things were best left unshared with the woman who'd held his heart, his hopes and his dreams of salvation. His Bella was ever the matchmaker, seeking his own happiness over her own. Hadn't she pushed him into Cassandra Alexander's arms when she knew her own days were numbered? She'd seen he had a companion to support his cause, to give him a reason to rise with the end of each day so she could seek her well-deserved rest away from the anguish of age and the merciless passage of time. She had chosen well. Cassie had filled a void he'd thought he could not survive. He'd loved her, and she'd been devoted to him.

  And now the two of them were together. Conspiring, he wondered, to make Stacy Kimball his new heart's desire? Part of him wanted to surrender to their well-intentioned meddling. But part of him resisted.

  He couldn't bear the pain of having and losing another mortal love. Despite the promise of pleasure a relationship with Stacy offered, its finite nature made him reluctant to give in. True, he found her attractive and intriguing, but what kind of a future could they have together?

  Unless she cured him.

  Unless she made him into a man who could woo and win that love.

  And then, what could stop him from finding happiness again?

  Chapter Ten

  In the morning, Stacy filed her project report with Greg Forrester. Her area of study, acute myeloid leukemia. He approved the choice without comment once she told him of Louis's support.

  Anxious to begin, she ordered the necessary equipment and arranged her lab accordingly, with Cobb a silent background observer. She was somewhat surprised to still see his shadow. Her field of research wasn't likely to interest the government. It had no political or military applications—at least, that they were aware of. But if they got wind of what she was really working on, she gave her independence about a three second life expectancy.

  And what would that do to her own?

  Now, to put aside the moral issues that had prevented her from finding sleep. She wouldn't think about what manner of creature Louis Redman was, or whether or not he could be trusted. She would concentrate on the work ahead and think of its ultimate value to mankind.

  With Cobb a continual reminder to take care, Stacy separated her work into two areas: the expected and the experimental. The normal procedures she ran through her lab computer but those comparative diagnostics which ran an infected sample alongside Louis's she would chart on her home computer, upon her own disks. Her rationale was simple. Anything that plugged into Harper Research's power supply was suspect—her phone, her conversations, and her computer entries. Excessive caution, perhaps, but a glance at Cobb's pseudo-casual pose near her door said perhaps not. She had no idea what was being developed on the security floor below. Rumors that it was germ warfare were expected. Whispers that it was something worse—if that was possible—made them all tread carefully.

  What would they say if they knew she was tinkering with immortality?

  Better they not know. Not now, not later.

  As she leaned back from the computer screen to rub her neck and give her eyes a break, a cup of strong coffee appeared on the desktop at her elbow. Too tired to affect the usual irritation, she smiled up at Frank Cobb and was gratified by the look of alarm that crossed his face. A nice face, really, once she got past the all-seeing eyes and smug grin.

  "You're quite welcome,” he volunteered. He started to turn away.

  "Are you married, Frank?"

  He glanced back at her. “Are you asking, Doc?"

  The lack of antagonism between them was almost as scary as the fact that he was there to spy on her. She pointed to the mellow green screen.

  "Married to the job,” she told him.

  "Me, too."

  "What's wrong with us?"

  He shook his head. “I do not know."

  She pushed back in her chair, the abrupt movement startling him back into wariness. What kind of jobs had he done before he came to work at Harper? Something that had him honed to a fine edge. Something more dangerous than baby-sitting a scientist in a security-tight lab. So, why was he assigned here, wasting his valuable talents?

  She knew better than to think he'd tell her.

  "I'm going home and pretend I have a life."

  He relaxed at that announcement. “I've got a cold brew and ESPN waiting up for me."

  She sighed. “Sounds good."

  "I've got extra."

  The unexpected invitation hung between them for a long, awkward minute. He seemed surprised that he'd said it out loud, and Stacy was surprised by her own response. Frank Cobb was exactly the kind of guy she usually looked for—commitment-shy, good build, great if rare smile, and no strings, with a brain thrown in as a pleasant bonus. A few hours relieving tension and stopping the clock while rolling between the sheets with him would have tempted a month ago, hell, even a week ago.

  She knew exactly when the idea of exhausting sex had lost its medicinal appeal. When she looked from Wanda Cummings’ blue complexion to the sample of Louis Redman's blood. Everything in her life changed at that moment. Her focus refined, her attention centered.

  Frank held up his hand. “You don't have to answer. I shouldn't have asked."

  "I'm glad you did. It means we might just call a truce and be friends."

  "Friends?” His brow quirked, as if the concept was unique to him. It probably was. “Yeah, okay. Friends, it is."

  "Or is that against the rules?"

  He grinned at her sassy tone. “Probably, but I've broken a rule or two in my life."

  "No!” She pretended shock, and he looked almost embarrassed. “Well, at least I know where to find a cold beer when I need one."

  "C'mon, Doc. I'll walk you to your car."

  Too weary to protest, she packed up and led the way
to a silent elevator ride. But instead of being steeped in adversarial tension, the mood between them was almost companionable. As he guided her through the dim parking aisles, his fingertips rested easily at the small of her back. She allowed it because there was nothing sexual involved in that touch. And because, after all the confusion and fear of the past few days, it felt good to let down her guard while knowing he wouldn't compromise his.

  He unlocked her door and held it open for her, then secured the latch before he shut it. Stepping back, he raised a hand in farewell.

  And Stacy knew she was no longer alone.

  * * * *

  A terrible fatigue had settled in by the time Stacy entered her apartment building. Though she had mounds of work ahead of her, her only wish was to fall into bed and sleep. But sleep was hours away.

  "Hi, Stacy. Haven't seen you for a while."

  Stacy smiled at the perky young coed who shared a ground floor apartment with her rock drummer boyfriend. “Hi, Glenna. How are the classes going?"

  How strange it felt to conduct a normal conversation with an average girl. No intrigue. No double entendres. Just casual words with a casual acquaintance.

  When had she lost touch with reality?

  "I wish I had a sliver of your brain power,” Glenna was saying. “Chemistry is brutal."

  "I remember.” And she did. A lifetime ago, when goals were simple and death didn't dwell in a dark corner of her mind.

  "Like you ever had to worry,” was the young woman's warm complaint.

  They'd discussed her desire to go into medicine as a nursing assistant. Stacy had made a few contacts for her to follow up on after her graduation. She was a sweet kid who could do better than the short-tempered musician with a penchant for heavy-handedness. Stacy had iced her bruises and helped dry her tears on more than one occasion.

  She was the closest thing Stacy had to a friend and they hardly knew anything about each other.

  They stood together at the mail boxes, sorting the wheat from the chaff.

  "How's Buddy doing?” Stacy asked at last because it was expected.

  "He's got a gig over in Fremont this weekend. You should let your hair down and come see him."

  Stacy smiled to be polite. “Maybe I will."

  "Let me know. Give me a call, and we can ride together. Gotta go or I'll be late to class."

  Stacy waved, finished thumbing through her bills, then started up the stairs to her solitary haven. She knew she wouldn't call. There was no time for rock ‘n roll in her immediate schedule. She had no time for a normal life until she was assured of a normal future.

  Fun and future fantasies were for girls like Glenna.

  As she rounded the second landing, Stacy fished in her gigantic purse for her keys. She heard them jingling just out of reach when, suddenly, the lights went out in the hall. Because it was an interior stairwell, the darkness was complete.

  Muttering a curse upon the head of the power company, Stacy continued to rummage for her keys until a chill of air blew softly against her cheek.

  She went still, her breath suspended. Her heart banged noisily against her ribs, creating a tight, panicked rhythm as she waited in the dark.

  "Stacy."

  She expelled her breath in a shuddering rush. The disembodied voice seemed to whisper in her ear. A quick revolution convinced her that she was alone on the landing.

  "Who's there?” she demanded, the bravado shaking in her tone. Where were those damned keys? The prism ball on the end of her key chain grazed her fingertips then disappeared beneath her checkbook and TicTacs.

  "Stacy,” he whispered, the sound coming from everywhere and nowhere. “I've left you something right outside. Hurry. It's just for you."

  Then, just like on the monorail, the cold evaporated, leaving her shivering in the overheated hall.

  For a moment she couldn't move, couldn't catch her breath. Then, when a strangled gasp allowed a surge of air and adrenaline, she let her purse and briefcase fall forgotten, and raced down the steps. Shoving open the front door, she blinked into the sudden blinding brightness of the overhead security light, and with her first step forward, stumbled. Righting herself, she glanced down and choked, her scream tangling with the acidic backwash of sickness.

  Glenna.

  The coed lay sprawled half on, half off the sidewalk, her feet splayed as if in mid-stride, her outflung hands lost in the carefully trimmed yews that lined the walk. Chemistry notes spilled from an opened text just beyond the reach of still fingertips. Innocent blue eyes stared up at the sky, as blank and shiny as twin stars. And beneath the spill of her blonde hair, a seeping crimson from the gash in her throat quickly dyed the ends a terrible red.

  Stacy reeled in an uncoordinated circle, her world lurching drunkenly, until strong hands gripped her by the upper arms. The scream managed to free itself, then, warbling as high and thin and foreign as an exotic night bird startled into flight. Her feeble efforts to pull away were easily subdued, but it was the brusque voice that returned her sanity.

  "Doc, what the hell? I saw the lights go out inside. Are you all—"

  She collapsed against him at the same time Frank Cobb saw the body on the ground. One hand cupped the back of her head, yanking her tightly into his shoulder. In the other hand, she was absurdly grateful to see a gun appear. God bless Frank Cobb for being a handy guy to have around. And for being intuitive when he needed to be.

  He steered her quickly into the bushes on the other side of the walk, holding her by the shoulders as she threw up, then just holding her in the weak and quivery aftermath. She found herself sitting on the front step in the protective curl of his embrace as his calm call on the cell phone brought sirens shrieking in answer. He said nothing as she clung to his denim varsity jacket, the repetitive stroke of his hand through her hair more soothing than any words.

  And when the EMTs and first squad car arrived, he exacted the information they needed from her in a firm, nonthreatening manner, keeping her close and the others at bay.

  "Did you recognize the voice, Doc? This is important. Try to remember. Had you heard it before?"

  Yes. Yes, she had. Familiarity teased along the frazzled edges of her memory but refused to be categorized. “I don't know. It happened so fast."

  "It's all right. It's all right. Don't worry about it now."

  And just as she thought she felt the soft brush of his lips against her brow, another urgent voice intruded.

  "Doctor Kimball? I just heard the call. Are you all right?"

  The alarm in Ken Fitzhugh's tone was the bracer Stacy needed to pull herself together and out of Cobb's cocooning arms. The young officer stood on the walk, his gaze flashing between the sheet covered body, to her, then to Frank, that last connecting jump narrowing his eyes slightly.

  "I'm fine, Ken. It's my neighbor, G-Glenna."

  Frank's hands massaged the caps of her shoulders in unspoken support, a gesture Fitzhugh couldn't fail to notice. Nor could Stacy miss the obvious territorial bristle as the two men regarded one another.

  "Ken, this is Frank Cobb. We work together. He was..."

  Was what? What was Cobb doing outside her apartment building?

  She canted a glance up at him, and he met the question without a blink.

  "He was following me home because I'd had some car trouble,” she concluded in what she hoped would be a plausible lie.

  "How very fortuitous."

  "Yes, wasn't it?” Cobb countered.

  Remembering suddenly, she squeezed Cobb's arm. “Frank, I dropped my purse and my case on the landing."

  "I'll get them for you.” He stood, never taking his eyes off the young officer until the last moment. The instant he went inside, Fitzhugh bent down in front of her.

  "Stacy, I found something out. Listen to me."

  She took a deep breath to bring her fractured attention into focus, then looked for him to go on.

  "There were prints on that box that was left outside your door."

/>   An awful certainty began to constrict within her chest, crushing her lungs, her heart, her hopes. “Whose?” she whispered.

  "Redman's. This is probably his handiwork, too. You're in danger. I can't keep it unofficial any more. We need to talk about how we're going to handle this."

  "Handle what?” Frank stepped between them, forcing Fitzhugh to straighten and back away. When he received no reply except the abrupt evasion of both their eyes, he moved on to another direct topic. “You didn't say how you two know each other."

  Stacy put a staying hand at Cobb's waist, distracting him from further aggression. “Officer Fitzhugh and I were consulting on the same case. We'll talk soon, Ken."

  Please don't do anything until then, her penetrating gaze conveyed.

  "All right."

  Then, Stacy's eyes teared up as the medics shifted Glenna's body to their gurney and the heavy-gage plastic bag was zippered up around her. Only a chalk mark and the bright red wetness remained beneath the flash of investigators’ camera bulbs. And Glenna was gone.

  Fitzhugh followed the EMTs to the now silent ambulance. Frank's hard glare remained on him until he returned to his car and drove off into the night. Then he looked down at Stacy, his expression one of cautious concern.

  "What can I do?"

  Taking his request at face value, she said, “I don't want to be alone tonight."

  "I'll stay."

  Good as his word, he helped her climb the stairs, the curl of his arm about her waist encouraging her wobbly legs to support her. He opened her door, making her stand on the threshold until he'd checked the interior. When he saw her staring at his revolver, he tucked it discretely out of sight in the holster he wore at the small of his back. She could have told her no self-respecting killer would choose to wait inside her chaotic apartment.

  "Doc, you need to get yourself a cleaning lady,” he advised as he led her inside.

  "One look, and they run away screaming."

  He responded to her pale attempt at humor with an admiring grin. With the sweep of his arm, he cleared a cushion on the couch where she dropped like a sack of Ready Mix cement. She rested her head against the back, her eyes closed as she listened to him rummaging about in her kitchen.