The Company of Shadows

Chapter Twelve

  A fine sheen of sweat covered his torso as Ethan bobbed in the doorway. Up and down – the movement steady, not at all jerky or uncontrolled. Itching for some kind of physical exertion, his usual strenuous exercise routine was out of the question with the stab wound just a couple of days behind him. Pull-ups provided a safe enough challenge to his upper body. Once his muscles were properly warmed up, he planned on attacking the stairs. A few circuits of five flights up and down in the relatively cool stairwell should give him the cardio he needed without straining his newly healed side.

  The knock at the door had him instantly on guard, catching up a small towel to dry his hands before pulling a 9mm from the desk drawer. Light on the balls of his feet, Ethan approached the door without a sound, careful to keep the bulk of his body to the side as he checked the peep hole.

  Cady stood in the hallway, a glass covered dish in her hands.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, unsure if his pulse still raced because of the adrenaline pumping over the unexpected knock, or if he was glad to see her in particular. While he watched, she reached out to knock again, and he pressed the towel to his sweaty brow. “Just a minute,” he called through the flimsy door, backing away to stick the gun away in a kitchen drawer.

  Swabbing himself with the towel, Ethan tugged on a t-shirt, running a hand through his hair before he unlocked the door. “Hi,” he said awkwardly, in unfamiliar territory to find a pretty girl with a care package at his door.

  “Hi,” she smiled brightly. “I made you some soup.”

  Soup? In the middle of summer? It seemed an odd choice. “I… um…”

  “Nothing fancy, just ramen noodles. Should I bring it in here? It’s kinda hot.” Before he could get out another word, she’d brushed past him to set the dish down on the counter, chattering the whole while. “I thought you might still be too sick to eat solid foods, and soup would hit the spot. I promise it’s way better than regular ramen, wait until you taste it. Are you hungry?”

  “No, thank you,” he answered truthfully. At seeing her crestfallen expression, Ethan almost wished he was hungry. “But it was nice of you to think of me, I’ll have some later.”

  Cady’s eyes made a circuit of the small apartment before landing back on him again. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Really? Because you look kind of sweaty. Have you checked to see if you have a fever?” She started towards him with a hand outstretched to his brow and he side stepped her.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Yeah, but that wound was hella nasty, I think I should take another look at it. What if it’s infected?” She drove him backwards relentlessly, until the back of his heels came up against the wall.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Don’t be such a baby, I’m not going to hurt you,” she teased, reaching for his shirt. Ethan caught her hands easily, even as she twisted to avoid him. Her delicate wrists slipped out of his grasp and he chased after them. Her hip brushed against his as they grappled, hands sliding intimately. A bubble of laughter came from her parted lips, and Ethan found himself smiling back, lacing his fingers firmly between hers to pin them down. Cady relaxed against him, accepting his dominant hold – or was that intimacy her intent all along?

  “What about your shoulder?” he changed the subject, but didn’t let go of her hands, enjoying the subtle press of her skin against his. “Did you see a doctor about that?”

  “No, it’s much better. You can hardly see it at all.”

  Ethan released his grip to ease her neckline aside, fingers tracing over the faint line. It looked normal enough, but he wasn’t sure what to check for if any infection lingered.

  “Okay, now I showed you mine, time for you to show me yours.” She tugged at his shirt again, and Ethan let out a breath.

  “I told you, it’s fine.”

  “And I told you, I want to see it for myself.”

  Instead of fighting, he let her lift the bottom of his t-shirt to see that his side was un-bandaged, the skin completely knit together in a puffy, pink pucker of flesh.

  “Amazing…” she breathed, her fingers cool against his skin, making his muscles clench tightly with something akin to pain, but he didn’t make a single move to stop her. Until he noticed the dark designs on the inside of her arm.

  “What is this?” he demanded, jerking her arm to the side to get a better look at it.

  “Ah… I was just doodling at work,” Cady replied, clearly puzzled by his outburst.

  Ethan knew she must think he was nuts, but he dragged her to the kitchen sink all the same, thrusting her arm under the tap. “These are not the sort of things you should be doodling,” he scolded, squirting her arm liberally with dishwashing soap. “These are… how did you even…?” Words failed him as he scrubbed her arm, almost frantic for the inky black stains to fade.

  “Ow… careful,” she winced, adjusting her stance to get closer to the sink. “What’s the big deal? I noticed the symbols on your back and I thought they were cool.”

  “They’re…” What could he say? “Trust me when I say they’re not something you want to be drawing on your body.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just… trust me,” he pleaded, gentling his touch when the designs began to pale.

  “How about if you trust me instead?” Cady fired back, and he had to shake his head. Definitely not one to give up without a fight.

  “It’s not that simple. They’re not all my secrets to tell.”

  “Then you do admit there are secrets,” she smiled.

  Ethan opened his mouth to reply, but for the second time that afternoon, a knock sounded at his door. Without skipping a beat, he dropped her arm, opening the kitchen drawer to retrieve his gun. Cady’s eyes widened at the sight of the weapon, but he held a finger to his lips and she stayed quiet. Following the same protocol, he checked the peep hole.

  Rikard.

  Without hesitation, Ethan grabbed Cady by the arm and shoved her into the hall closet. “Don’t move a muscle,” he breathed.

  “But…”

  “I mean it, Cady. Silence.” He tried to ignore the way her pretty eyes stretched wider, fear clouding their depths as he shut the door in her face. Whatever she was afraid of, shutting her in the closet was the lesser of two evils. Tucking the gun back into the kitchen drawer, he answered the door.

  “Rikard,” he nodded. “Sorry, I wanted to finish the set before I answered the door.”

  The man standing in the hall smiled wide when he saw him. His reddish brown curls had long since resisted whatever styling product he’d used that morning, and pointed every which way. Even in the heat of the day, he wore a brown leather jacket, to conceal the weapons Ethan knew he had strapped to his body.

  “Shaw, you always were a machine,” he grinned. “I thought you might have company.” His blue eyes scanned the apartment, cataloguing.

  “No… I had the TV on.” Ethan stood back to let him in. “You didn't have to come all the way up here. I said I was fine in my report.”

  “I’m passing through on my way to a job in Sacramento.”

  That meant someone wouldn’t live to see the end of the week; Rikard was nothing if not thorough. “Sacramento? Shit, isn’t that punishment enough? Might as well leave ‘em be,” Ethan joked, but he couldn’t shake the thought that Rikard was there for more than a social call. They’d been friendly enough in the past, but not enough to warrant his going out of his way for a visit.

  “You know that’s not an option.” Rikard’s eyes narrowed.

  “Jesus, lighten up, man. It was a joke. Do you want a beer or something?” He pulled open the fridge, relishing the blast of cold.

  “Sure, I’ll take a cold one.” Holding up his hand, he deftly caught the can of beer Ethan tossed across the kitchen. “I heard about your trouble the other night.”

/>   Just what he’d been afraid of. “I’m surprised they bothered to tell you about it. I’ve got things under control.”

  “Letting him slip through your fingers, leaving a body behind like that… it’s sloppy.” Rikard shook his head. “It brings up the question, what else have you been sloppy about?”

  The menace was there despite the mild tone, but Ethan let it roll off his back. “I had to get out of there, I was hurt.”

  “Bad?”

  “Bad enough.”

  “Like Cairo?”

  “About that, yeah.”

  Rikard’s brows came up as he considered that. “In that case, you did better than I would have thought.”

  Satisfied he’d passed the informal interrogation, Ethan poured himself a glass of iced tea and shut the fridge. “How long are you going to be in town?”

  “I’m headed out tonight. I thought maybe we could grab a bite to eat at that taco place around here. Is it still open?”

  “Yeah, tacos, that’s cool,” Ethan nodded. “I’m pretty sure they’re still open.” Anything to get him out of the apartment with Cady hiding in the closet before the shit hit the fan.

  “Or are you already set?” Rikard lifted the lid off of Cady’s dish, a single brow poised in question. “Soup? I’ve never known you to cook before.”

  “That’s not cooking, it’s instant noodles. A child could do it.”

  “But a child didn't make this, did they?” Rikard leaned over to inhale deeply over the steaming dish. Chunks of chopped vegetables floated above the noodles and the smell of spicy herbs wafted in the air.

  “A neighbor brought it over,” Ethan answered truthfully.

  “Making friends, are we?”

  His tone spoke volumes, and Ethan was quick to downplay the food’s significance. “It’s a nice little old lady, she leaves me cookies every now and again. She saw me in the elevator the other night after the brawl. I was all sweaty, I said I had the flu, this was her way of helping.”

  “That’s sweet.” Rikard fished a carrot out of the soup with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. “Are you sure she’s what she says she is?”

  “Give me some credit, will you?” Ethan scowled deeply. “I’ve been doing this a long time.”

  “I’m just busting your balls,” Rikard grinned, draining the rest of his beer in one long gulp. “Damn, you’re twitchy.”

  “Getting stabbed will do that to a guy,” he muttered, shoulders relaxing. An offer of another beer was accepted, and they fell into familiar shop talk then. Ethan was conscious of the extra pair of ears in the room the whole time, but there was little he could do about it. When Rikard asked to see the sketches he’d drawn of the subject’s victims, he gladly steered him into his office. As he passed by, Ethan noticed the closet door stood ajar by about a half inch, and firmly pressed it shut. What the hell was she thinking?

  Eventually, he got rid of Rikard, promising to go out for beers the next time he passed through town. Ethan waited by the door, waiting until he heard the man’s footsteps on the stairs. Rikard never took the elevator, it was a personal quirk of his.

  Ready to read Cady the riot act for opening the door when she was supposed to be hiding, he threw open the closet door, puzzled to find her crouched behind a long duster, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. “What are you doing?” Her eyes popped open, and Cady lunged for the open doorway, pushing past him with a great gasping breath. “I told you to keep the door shut.”

  “I needed the air,” she said, pacing in a slow circle, shaking her hands like she was trying to fling off something sticky.

  “That’s ridiculous, there was plenty of air in there.”

  “I don’t like small, enclosed places.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” That explained it, and Ethan felt bad about shoving her in there, but how could he have known? “It was for the best though.”

  “Easy for you to say, you weren’t the one in the closet,” she muttered, helping herself to a glass of water. “Who was that guy?”

  “A… friend.” The word wasn’t quite right, but Rikard was the closest thing to a friend that Ethan had in the Company.

  “He’s like you?”

  “Like me… what makes you say that?” Ethan frowned, not sure he understood the connotation.

  “The tattoos.”

  Shit. Even from inside the closet Cady saw too much. “No, he’s not like me.” Ethan took the empty glass from her hands, washing it out of habit. “Well… he is, but he isn’t. If you ever see him coming, you look the other way, you got me?” He looked up to catch her eye, but she’d wandered into his office. Shit. When had his day spiraled so out of control?

  The office was sparsely furnished, a metal desk painted a scuffed brown, a rolling chair, and a small weight bench tucked into the corner. A large map of the city dominated one wall, a series of colored pins tracking his progress, past and present. What drew the eye were the sketches covering the walls. Bold smears of charcoal, delicate pencil strokes; a study in black, white and shades of gray.

  Women’s faces dominated – old, young, drawn with varying expression ranging from scorn to a vacant stupor. One feature seemed to tie them together, they all had long hair. Scattered among the portraits were grisly scenes. The same faces pulled into misshapen masks of pain. Pools of blood matted the long, flowing hair, their eyes staring sightlessly, injuries grotesquely rendered down to the last horrific detail.

  “What is all this stuff? Did you draw these?” Cady asked, picking up one of the sketches from the desk. Ethan took the drawing from her hands, even though there was no point when there were so many covering the walls. “Who are these girls?” she pressed when he didn’t answer.

  “Victims.”

  “Victims of that guy? The gallery owner?” Her eyes widened even as his narrowed.

  “I thought you didn’t know him?”

  “I don’t, I looked him up on the net. You’re saying he killed all of these women?”

  “No, not all of them. Not him directly.”

  “But definitely some of them?”

  “Yes, definitely some of them.” Ethan’s gaze roamed over the faces, deep regret tingeing his voice. That was why he kept them up, a reminder of those he’d failed.

  “Wait... this looks familiar.” Cady picked up another drawing. Long dark hair cascaded over narrow shoulders, the smile on her lips hesitant, like she was afraid to laugh at the joke. “This is Penny.”

  “This is… you shouldn’t be in here.” He reached for the sketch, but she pulled it away.

  “No, I think it’s time you told me what’s going on here. You owe me that, at least.”

  “You’re right, I do owe you.” Ethan let out a long breath, taking in the determination of her jaw and the fire in her eyes. He had to tell her something. Maybe he could get away with a partial truth. “What do you know about murder?”