Chapter 18

“Kemet, can you hear me?”

“Genevieve?” I held the cell phone to my ear, straining to make out her words. It was barely an hour before my rehearsal dinner and I was sitting alone on my lumpy loveseat, trying to work up the energy to get a shower and get dressed for the happy occasion. So far the farthest I’d gotten towards this lofty goal was kicking off my sensible black leather pumps and letting down my hair. The huge vulgar diamond engagement ring Charles had given me was lying discarded on my coffee table. It had suddenly seemed too heavy to wear when all I could think about was Richard and whether he was alive or dead. I had been sitting for hours in the semi-gloom of my living room reliving the feel of his hands on my skin, the taste of his lips on mine. Only when the shrill tone of my cell phone intruded did I come to life.

“Kemet?” she said again in a barely audible voice. “Sorry I have to whisper but I don’t think I’m alone here.”

“Where? Where are you?” I demanded breathlessly.

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to come down here until I get some back-up and clear the scene,” she whispered. “Swear it, Kemet.”

“I swear,” I said at once, fully aware that I was lying through my teeth. But at that point I would have said anything, would have told any lie, to find Richard. To have him near me, to touch him again.

“Well…okay.” Detective Marks sounded doubtful but to my relief she began to talk anyway. “I’m down here at the far end of Channelside. You know the part with all the abandoned warehouses?”

“Yes? Go on,” I urged her.

“Well, I’m beginning to think that one of them—the old Ormond one, isn’t quite as abandoned as the others,” she murmured. “At least, not many abandoned buildings have a brand new Mercedes I-class parked around back.”

“Is that all?” I asked, my heart sinking. “What makes you think Richard is there just because of some car parked out back?”

“For one thing I followed a lead out here—a tip from my best informant,” she said, still keeping her voice low. “Word on the street is that Momo wants to make an example out of your brother. Or, uh, whatever he is to you. The wiseguys like to spend time on this end of town—not many prying eyes to interrupt their deals. So I figured if they snatched Richard, they took him here.”

“Oh, my God.” I clutched the cell phone so hard its plastic casing creaked in my hand. “Oh, God, Genevieve, what if he’s dead? What if they killed him?” Just the thought of never seeing him again, of living the rest of my life without him was enough to bring me to my knees. I couldn’t live without him—I just ~couldn’t~.

“Settle down, Kemet,” Genevieve muttered. “He’s not dead.”

“No?” I asked, almost afraid to let myself feel relief.

“No, but he is hurt. Or it looks like it anyway. I’m watching him through a busted out window around the side of the building. They’ve got him in some kinda weird cage and he’s laying on his side. Looks sick.”

“God.” I closed my eyes briefly, remembering my dreams. ~Rachel, please come to me. The moon is full tonight. ~I had to get to him. Had to get to him ~now. ~Genevieve must have heard the anguish in my voice because her own voice sharpened considerably.

“I’m telling you, Kemet, don’t come down here,” she warned. “It’s not safe. I mean, I shouldn’t even be here by myself and I’m ~armed~. I’m going to call for back-up just as soon as I hang up with you. We’ll clear the scene and get him out of there. I want you to just wait by the phone until you hear from me again. Got it?”

“Got it,” I said obediently, but I was already slipping back into my shoes and grabbing my keys. I knew the warehouse she was talking about because I’d taken a field trip down to the seedy area of Channelside once while doing research for a case. It was at the far end of the industrial district about a mile from where the cruise ships docked and it had peeling orange paint and the word, ~Ormond~, printed in huge black letters along the side.

“Good.” Genevieve Marks sounded relieved that I was obeying orders so nicely. “I’m gonna let you go now and call--” There was a sudden thumping sound and then a clatter, as though she’d dropped the phone and it had landed on concrete.

“Genevieve?” I asked. “~Genevieve?~” There was a dry click on the other end and the phone in my hand went dead abruptly. Oh, God, what had happened? Was she all right? Or had she just dropped the call?

I stood shifting from foot to foot for almost a minute, paralyzed by indecision. Then I thought of my dream again. Of the boy with Richard’s eyes. With eyes like a wolf. ~Rachel, I’m dying,~ he whispered in my head.

Suddenly, my paralysis broke and I knew what I had to do. Richard was sick, maybe dying and I knew without anyone having to tell me that he was dying for want of me. For lack of my touch. No matter what danger I was walking into, I had to get to him. And I had to go now.

I ran out the door, forgetting all about Charles, forgetting about the rehearsal dinner and the fact that I was supposed to be married at eleven o’clock the next day. Forgetting everything but the man I needed so desperately.

“Richard,” I murmured under my breath as I started my car. “I’m coming. Just hold on—I’m coming.”