In My Arms You Shall Hide

Chapter 13

Dorian

P erhaps because of a desperate need to reach out for a time when she looked at me with affection, Katherine fills my hazy dreams. Pinned beneath me, her face is flushed, eyes half closed, lips parted. Arms raised over her head, she moans as I plunge myself into her.

I wake from the dream with a start. I shift on the mattress, feeling a hot, pulsating mixture of pleasure and pressure, my nerve endings demanding my attention. Humiliated, I sigh aloud. I was pushed to the edge of a near climax. It’s been too long since I’ve shared a bed with anyone.

I’ve never even seen Katherine naked—had never dared to imagine the full shape of her body.

I sit up in bed with a groan. I ignore my erection, if only out of a misplaced sense of shame. I stare through the tiny slit of the curtains in the far window, focusing on the knife of light cutting through half the room.

When I get a hold of myself, I skulk to the bathroom and shower. I run the water cold, just a few degrees lower than I usually tolerate. I’m not masochistic, but my brain is still swimming in the blissful cloud of my dreams, and I want them thoroughly doused. There isn’t a chance in Hell I’ll masturbate to the thought of Katherine—certainly not when I have her locked in my guestroom.

I thought it would have been easy to put it behind me, to phantom through my life with casual hook-ups and non- committal short-term flings. Sex is mostly mechanical for me.

That says nothing of my own phobia of relationships with my co-workers, friends, or potential girlfriends. I convinced myself for so long that expectations of relationships had been the kiss of death for my parents.

But to not want Katherine, someone willing to die for another person? Not even out of a measured decision but an impulse. No matter my previous misgivings, I can’t let that slip through my fingers. It’s not a matter of being afraid of relationships, but this all-or-nothing mentality I can’t shake.

After avoiding the mirror, I leave the room and descend the steps.

Predictably, I swing around the banister to glimpse her door, even when I have no intentions of going inside. I want to steal into her room and kiss her goodbye, but I deny myself that as well.

Katherine refused to leave her room after our confrontation. She spent the next day there, as well. Eventually, she’ll need to come out before she goes insane from the isolation.

I’ll leave that coaxing to Raney.

“It’s because of Paul, isn’t it?” Raney asked me last night as I lingered outside Katherine’s bedroom door, much like I’m doing now. “She’s not safe from him, is she?”

“No,” I told her.

Having known me far too long and far too well, Raney narrowed her eyes at me. “Is that the only reason we’re doing this?”

I wanted to argue against her assertions, but how could I?

Perhaps I can make up every excuse afforded me—that being on Paul Ward’s radar is the worst thing for her, as it has been for numerous people who gravitated toward other Ward family members—but I can’t lie to myself.

In the end, my selfishness to keep her safe, to keep her to myself, means that I’m sacrificing her affection for her possession.

I fight the urge to storm into her room, drop to my knees to beg for her forgiveness, and then return her home. All of it in a bid to fall into her good graces again.

But I can’t have nothing of Katherine, so I’m demanding it all.

I wander like a ghost to the living room to at least sit down in the blue glow of the house in the early morning, mangled between the waring of my better and baser selves.

The black police uniforms stick out against the pale, beige walls of the office. The receptionist stands at her desk, chatting away with them in the lobby. When she turns to search the office floor for me, she looks chipper. If I was about to be arrested, I don’t think she’d look so joyful.

I try not to seem so rigid. I was prepared for this.

I make my way around the line of cubicles and hand my meeting folder to Darren Braun, who gawks at them. He’s a tall, lean young man with dark buzzed hair, ordinarily unflappable. This morning, he needlessly adjusts his tie while he stares at the officers.

“What’s this about, you think?” he mumbles, taking the account folder from my hands.

“They’re here for me,” I tell him. “My friend is missing. I imagine they have some questions for me.”

Darren doesn’t seem relaxed by this news and follows me to the front of the lobby. The receptionist waves at me as if to signal me to her despite me already making a direct line for her desk.

“Mr. Ward, these nice men are here to talk to you.”

I offer my hand to both men, and neither seems to have an issue shaking it. They introduce themselves by their last names, though I spy their names on the Velcro patches on their chests. Officers Han Lee and Kenneth Jones.

“I assume this is about Ms. Starling’s disappearance?” I ask casually. I keep cool. There’s nothing I have to be worried about at the outset.

“I’m afraid so,” Officer Lee agrees. He’s the youngest of the pair, wearing a sympathetic smile.

“Darren, why don’t you go ahead and take my spot in the meeting? My notes on my talking points are in the folder.” I turn to him and he stiffens.

When he silently walks toward the boardroom, I clasp my hands together, trying to seem as amiable as possible. “So, are we headed down to the station?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Officer Jones, a much gruffer, more portly man, replies. “We just have a few questions. Is there anywhere we can chat for a minute?”

“Sure, right this way,” I say, holding an arm out toward the furthest point of the floor, guiding them to my office. Once they’re seated and I round my desk, I settle in.

What I don’t like about cops is that it’s impossible to discern their motives or theories. How they view me and what they assume puts me on edge. They might be perfectly cordial, even friendly, but they may also be entirely suspicious of me.

“So, you and Katherine met under some unusual circumstances,” Jones begins. When he leans back, I know better than to take his relaxed posture as comfort around me.

“Yes.” When he’s quiet, I recite anecdotal information they likely already know. “A few weeks ago, she pushed me out of the way of an oncoming vehicle. Saved my life.”

“And after that incident, the two of you became close?”

“Yes. As it turns out, a person who saves your life while asking nothing in return is usually very likable.”

“And she’s very fond of you,” Lee adds, sitting more rigidly than his partner.

“Correct.”

“When you last spoke with her, did she seem coherent?”

“Yes, I thought she seemed of sound mind,” I reply. “I was just as shocked as Dana when she called to tell me what happened.”

“Right, her mother,” Jones says as if to remind himself. “You don’t have any ideas where Katherine was headed? Did she have a boyfriend or something she might’ve kept from her mother?”

I wince, and they obviously catch it. I hope they interpret my reaction as the jealousy it is and not a man caught in a lie. “Not one that she mentioned to me,” I manage to say. “Wherever she left…she didn’t mention anything about it to me.”

“It’s just that Ms. Starling is under the impression that her daughter wouldn’t leave, and in Katherine’s condition and the fact that she left behind her personal effects, there’s some concern that her head injury might have played a factor.”

“I’m afraid I can’t weigh in one way or another. She seemed fine, but I don’t know her as well as most. I’m not a reliable source.”

Lee and Jones exchange a look. I can’t decipher it. It’s loaded, but I’m lost on the context.

Eventually, when I become uncomfortable under the silence, I say, “Well, you both must have theories, correct? Have you reviewed the security footage from the hospital?”

“Yes, and we confirmed Katherine walked out on her own,” Lee explains, shifting in his chair. “We’re trying to figure out if something happened to her. Understanding if she was cognizant and had a plan and destination will change our approach. Otherwise, if she wandered out in some psychosis, we’ll have to assume the worst.”

Jones cut in, less warmly than his partner. “I’m sure this is challenging for you, given your history.”

A flicker of anger touches my face before I can control it. I fold my arms. “Are you implying something?”

Even though Lee keeps moving around in his chair, Jones is a statue, his stare unwavering. “The Ward family is famous for the…misfortune of some of your relatives.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you referring to my mother…or my father?”

Jones doesn’t back down. “No…I wouldn’t imply that their deaths were anything beyond accidents . But there is also the murder of your aunt, Annette Ward, and the disappearance of her daughter. Pretty bad string of luck there.”

I try to control my reaction to that imagery as best I can, but I feel my face twitch. My family is damned, and coming to terms with the fact that I have fallen into the rut of their fates makes me ill.

But I’m protecting Katherine. If I can’t escape this curse, I’m satisfied that it’s in the vein of keeping her breathing rather than hurting her.

“I spoke to the police about that three years ago,” I state through set teeth.

“Of course,” Lee cuts in, face crumpled in sympathy. “It’s a terrible thing that’s happened. I’m sure it’s been hard for your family.”

“Of course, if you did have any information that might shed some light on where Katherine might have gone,” Jones adds, “ her family would greatly appreciate it.”

I fight to keep the annoyance off my face.

Lee seems a little green to me; not that experience in anything always gives one the ability to sniff out someone lying through their teeth. He’s giving me too much benefit of the doubt.

Jones, however, has a lot on his mind. I can’t tell if he has a resting scowl or doesn’t believe a word I said. Maybe he has better instincts than his partner, or maybe pushing the boundaries of people with his questions is his tried and true method. It doesn’t matter either way. Lying my ass off isn’t the only thing I’m willing to do.

“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to look as if I mean it, “but I’m just as in the dark as her mother is.”

There’s another look exchanged, this one briefer but no less troublesome. When Jones gets to his feet, Lee follows. I mirror them, reaching over my desk to shake their hands again.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Ward,” Jones says stiffly, his handshake much firmer than his younger partner’s. His grip on my hand tells me nothing about his thoughts, but I don’t care. “Let us know if you hear anything.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” I reply.

I show both men to the lobby, and as I make my way back to my office, I’m intercepted by Darren.

“Hey,” he says, opening the folder I provided him. “I had a couple questions about the areas you highlighted.”

Darren seems focused on something down the short hallway, so I follow his eyeline toward the lobby.

I spot Paul by the receptionist’s desk, leaning against the edge with his ankles and arms crossed. His tell-tale grin mars his face, but when I return a confident one of my own, his wavers.

“You piss off your uncle or something?”

“No,” I say, enjoying how his face warps with displeasure and annoyance. “He blinked.”