Pamela Palmer - The Dark Gate.pdf

(394 KB) Pobierz
699622534 UNPDF
THE DARK GATE
PAMELA PALMER
n o c t u r n e™
To my parents, Stew and Pat Palmer,
for believing I could be anything I wished…
and for raising me to believe
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
 
699622534.001.png
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Coming Next Month
Acknowledgments
If I were to list all the people who’ve helped me get to this place—the publication of my first book—the
acknowledgments would rival the novel for sheer number of pages. So, in an effort to save the pages for
the story, I want to thank a few special people who have made all the difference. Laurin Wittig, Kathryn
Caskie, Denise McInerney, Elizabeth Holcolme, Ann Shaw Moran and Sophia Nash for their critiques,
advice, encouragement and unyielding support. My husband and kids for always being there to celebrate
the joys. The Mom’s Book Club, who cheered me on every step of the way and were waiting with
bottles of champagne when the dream came true. And last, though never least, my agent, Helen
Breitwieser, and my editors, Ann Leslie Tuttle and Tara Gavin, for taking a chance and opening the door
to a dream. My heartfelt thanks.
Chapter 1
“Three assaults in five days, more than a dozen bystanders and no one remembers a thing.How in the
hell is he doing it? ”
Metropolitan Police Detective Jack Hallihan paced the aft deck of the small cabin cruiser docked on the
Potomac River in downtown Washington, D.C., his steps echoing his frustration. A jet roared overhead,
making its final approach into Reagan National, while the summer sun beat down on the back of his neck,
sending sweat rolling between his shoulder blades. He was running out of time.
“He’s gotta be knocking ’em out, Jack.” Duke Robinson, a fellow detective and the wiry dark-skinned
owner of the boat, tipped his baseball cap to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun even as his head
turned, his gaze following the progress of a pair of young women strolling down the dock in bikini tops
and short-shorts. “What’s up, ladies?”
The voices in Jack’s head surged suddenly, unintelligible voices that filled his head night and day, and
had for as long as he could remember. He clenched his teeth and dug his fingers into his dark hair,
pressing his fingers to his scalp, trying to quiet the ceaseless chatter, if only a little.
“You okay, man?” Henry Jefferson, Jack’s partner of ten years, eyed him with concern from the second
deck chair as he rolled a cold Budweiser across a forehead several shades darker than Duke’s. Henry
was as tall as Jack, but no longer lean. Too many years of his wife, Mei’s, fried egg rolls had softened
him around the middle. There was nothing soft about the gaze he leveled on Jack. “You need to see
someone about those headaches of yours.”
 
Jack snatched his hand from his head.Hell. The last thing he needed was to bring attention to his
worsening condition. No one knew he suffered from the same madness that destroyed his father. If he
had his way, no one ever would.
“It’s just the heat,” he told his friend. If only. He’d be happy if they were just headaches. Sometimes he
felt as though he lived in the middle of a raucous party that never ended, a party where everyone spoke
Bulgarian, or Mongolian, or some other language he would never understand. Usually he could tamp
down the noise so it didn’t overwhelm his mind, like moving the party into the next room. But the past
couple of weeks the voices had been all but shouting in his ears. It was starting to scare the shit out of
him.
He pulled the discussion back to the problem at hand, a mysterious rapist terrorizing the Dupont Circle
neighborhood of D.C. “In each of the three cases, multiple victims were knocked unconscious by some
unknown means to awaken simultaneously a short while later—estimated at anywhere from fifteen to
thirty minutes. In each case, one young woman among them woke to find her clothing partially removed
and blood and semen between her legs. In each case, no one, including the assault victim, remembered
anything to help us identify the attacker and solve this case.”
“It makes no sense,” Duke said. “How is he knocking them out before they ever get a look at him?”
“We need those tox reports,” Jack said. “He’s got to be using some kind of gas or drug.”
The muscle in Henry’s jaw visibly tightened. “I want himnow, before he hurts another girl. The last
assault victim was just eighteen years old. Barely more than a kid.”
Henry’s own daughter, Sabrina, was only a handful of years younger. She and her brother were
belowdeck even now. Henry wasn’t leaving her home alone. He wasn’t taking any chances. Jack didn’t
blame him a bit.
“And what does the theft at the Smithsonian have to do with all this?” Henry wondered out loud. During
the first attack, an ancient stone amulet had been stolen.
“What did you find out about thisStone of Ezrie? ” he asked his friend. But Duke’s gaze was firmly fixed
on a well-endowed woman making her way along the dock.
Henry gave Duke’s shoulder a hard slug. “Stay in the game, man. We want to know what you learned.”
Duke released a frustrated sigh. “It’s Sunday. Even cops need a day off.”
“Not when girls are being attacked,” Henry said.
“Yeah, okay.” Duke pulled out his wallet and removed a small paper photo.“The Stone of Ezrie.”
Jack took the piece of paper and held it for Henry to see. The photo revealed a sky-blue,
teardrop-shaped stone hanging from a simple silver chain. Engraved on the surface of the stone was a
seven-point star.
“Why would anyone want this thing?” Henry asked, echoing Jack’s own thoughts. “What kind of rock is
it, anyway?”
 
Duke shrugged. “Nothing valuable. The Smithsonian dude didn’t know why anyone would steal it. There
were better things all around. The only thing this rock has going for it is some quack legend. Something
about it being the key that opens the gates to Ezrie.”
Henry lifted a thick brow. “What’s Ezrie?”
“Don’t know. It’s all bogus, man. Prime bogus. There ain’t no way to solve this case or to catch the
perp until the son of a bitch screws up and leaves us a witness or clue. We’ve been over everything a
dozen times.” Duke reached for another beer. “Ineed a day off, even if you two don’t. So no more talk
about work. How ’bout them Nationals, huh?”
Jack took a long drink of Coke, letting it fizz on his tongue as impatience boiled under his skin. He didn’t
have time for talk of baseball. He’d managed to push the voices back, but for how long? How much
longer until he couldn’t control them at all?
He had to solve this case while he still had the mental strength to do it, before the voices became too
much to bear and he ended up like his dad—an alcoholic with a gun in his mouth and his brains
decorating the living room wall.
The silken sound of a woman’s laughter yanked him out of his dark musings, stealing every thought from
his head. His gaze snapped to the houseboat in the next slip as a tall, slender blonde in nice pants and a
trim sleeveless sweater emerged from the door of the boat, holding a cell phone to her ear. She was
laughing as she stepped outside, her chin-length hair glowing golden in the summer sunshine.
Jack swallowed. “Who’s that?”
“Larsen Vale. Bleeding-heart lawyer and Ice Bitch extraordinaire. Forget about her. She don’t give it up
for no man.” Duke’s words were too loud for the small distance between the boats, but he didn’t seem
to care.
The woman glanced up. The laughter drained from her features as though someone had pulled a plug. All
emotion fled. Her gaze slid over the men, one after the other, as if they were nothing more than inanimate
objects unworthy of her notice…until her gaze slammed into Jack’s. His heart bucked in his chest, a
physical jolt like he’d been sucker punched. She held his gaze, then dropped it, shattering it as she turned
away.
She clicked her cell phone closed and started across the boat’s narrow deck with quick, confident
strides, a briefcase swinging at her side. Without another glance his way, she hopped lightly onto the
dock and strode away.
Jack exhaled. “Wow.”
“She’s cold, dude,” Duke insisted. “Ice cold. Don’t waste your time.”
“Dad.” Henry’s ten-year-old son, David, ran up the stairs from below, making enough noise for three
kids despite his slight build. “When are we sailing?”
“You don’t sail a motorboat, moron.” His sister, Sabrina, flounced up the stairs behind him.
“Sorry, you two. We’re not taking the boat out,” Henry told his kids. “This is a marina party, not a river
cruise.”
 
“What party?” David asked. “This is boring.”
“David…”
Jack set his half-empty Coke can on the railing. “Who’s up for a walk?” He had too much on his mind
to make small talk. If he had to take the afternoon off, he’d rather spend his time with the kids, anyway.
He sure as hell wouldn’t have any of his own. Not after what his dad had put his own family through.
“Me, Uncle Jack, me,” David exclaimed, jumping up and down. “Can I get the football out of the car,
Dad?”
Henry nodded and Jack turned to Sabrina. “You coming, beautiful?” At fourteen, the girl was already
showing signs of the heartbreaker she was destined to become. Unlike her brother, she’d inherited a
healthy dose of the exotic from her mother’s ancestry. Her skin was a light coffee color, her intelligent
eyes slightly tilted and her hair silky black as she flicked it behind her back with a toss of her head.
He held his breath, waiting for her reply, wondering if this would be the time she’d finally grown too cool
to have anything to do with her “uncle” Jack. But she flashed him a smile full of braces and youthful
exuberance, and he knew today wasn’t that day. They found a patch of grass in front of the marina to
pass the football.
“You suck,” Sabrina shouted as David ran for the ball he’d missed.
“Yousuck,” the boy called back, laughing. If there was a natural athlete lurking in the kid somewhere, he
had yet to show himself. David grabbed the ball and started running toward them.
Jack held up his hands. “Throw it, pal.” But the boy kept running. Jack laughed, happier out here with
these two than he’d been in weeks.
“Throw it, David.” Sabrina waved her hands in the air.
The boy finally heaved the football, getting a nice spiral on it, at last. Unfortunately his aim was off. Way
off. The ball sailed directly at the door of the marina office and the woman exiting through it—the Ice
Bitch, Larsen Vale.
Jack cringed as the ball hit her square in the arm, knocking her briefcase out of her hand. The briefcase
hit the wall and clattered to the sidewalk, snapping open. Papers spilled everywhere.
Hell.She was going to tear the kid to pieces. As David started toward her in his loping run, Jack headed
after him, determined to save him from a tongue-lashing that would make his sister’s impatient comments
sound like sweet nothings.
“Sorry,” David called good-naturedly as he approached the she-devil.
The woman picked up the ball. To Jack’s amazement she gave David a rueful smile and cocked her arm
as if to throw it.
“Go long,” she told him.
David grinned and started running. The woman threw an admirable pass with only a slight wobble, right
 

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika:

Zgłoś jeśli naruszono regulamin