Edge of Sanity: An Edge Novel Page 2

  “Mira and I are clearly going to have to have another talk about oversharing information.”

  “She trusts me. You should, too. I’m not here to judge.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Payton’s direct gaze slid away to the empty mug he was holding. “We all make mistakes, Clay. If you’ve made one, I can help set things right. All you have to do is tell me the truth.”

  The truth wasn’t going to help him any more than it was going to help the person whose blood he’d been wearing when he woke up. “I’ve got it under control.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah. So you can take your coffee to go. Keep the mug.”

  Payton stared Clay right in the eyes, daring him to lie. “Did you kill someone last night?”

  In that moment, Clay’s world began to close in around him. The panic he’d felt since seeing the blood exploded until there was no room left to breathe. The edges of his vision began to fade out into gray nothingness. Sound became muted until all he could hear was the rapid, out-of-control beat of his own heart.

  He needed help. He needed to find someone who could make sense out of the chaos his life had become. Mira was too vulnerable and precious for him to fuck over with his problems. As far as she stuck her neck out for him, one of these times, she was going to lose her head.

  Payton stood there silently, patiently. He didn’t move a muscle or blink a lash. There was no hint of reproach on his face, only the faintest lines of regret.

  Clay swallowed, barely able to work up enough moisture to move his tongue. His choices were simple: continue on alone and wakke lone ane up covered in blood again, or grab ahold of the lifeline Payton offered.

  He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He knew he was completely capable of killing and not remembering much. The mission in Arizona a few months ago had taught him that. Even now, he had only vague flashes of images, like dreams fogged over by time.

  What if he killed again? What if this time he hurt someone he cared about? What if he hurt Mira?

  That couldn’t happen. He’d eat a bullet before he’d take that risk.

  And yet he took that risk every day, never knowing when he’d lose another chunk of time and wake up bruised and broken, with no memory of what he’d done or where he’d been.

  Today had to be his wakeup call. Mira was still alive and safe. That could all change so fast. She was the only family he had, and he couldn’t gamble with her life.

  Clay met Payton’s stare and told him the truth. “I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know? Either you killed someone or you didn’t.”

  “I don’t remember anything about last night. That’s how. I remember grabbing a burger at lunch yesterday. After that . . . nothing. Until this morning, when I . . .” He couldn’t even say the words. If he did, they would make this whole bizarre nightmare real.

  “What happened this morning?” asked Payton, his voice gentle but insistent.

  Rather than reply, Clay fetched the trash bag and dumped it out on his kitchen floor. Bloody sheets and clothes tumbled out in a stiff clump. The meaty smell nearly gagged him.

  “This happened,” said Clay.

  A look of panic that mirrored Clay’s brushed over Payton’s aristocratic features. “Are you hurt?”

  “Not enough to make this mess. It’s someone else’s blood.”

  “Or something. It could be animal blood.”

  Clay hadn’t even thought about that, and it brought him a sense of relief so heavy his knees buckled under the weight. He collapsed into a kitchen chair, dizzy and swaying. “You think?”

  “It’s possible. I’ll have it tested.”

  “I don’t want anyone else involved.”

  “I understand. I’ll make sure the test is anonymous.”

  Clay’s head was suddenly too heavy to hold up. He propped his elbows on the table and let it sag into his hands. “Things are all fucked-up, Payton.”

  “I know. I’ll help you sort it all out. But you’ve got to be completely honest with me. No more evasion. No more lies. Agreed?”

  Clay hesitated. As much as he liked the man, he didn’t trust anyone as much as he’d need to if he was going to spill his guts about everythiumbout eveng. Instead, he let out a grunt that could be taken as agreement.

  “This has been happening for a while, hasn’t it?”

  “The bloody clothes? Hell no. At least not like this.”

  “No, I mean the lost time—the blackouts. This isn’t the first time you lost your memory.”

  Clay debated lying, but Payton didn’t seem too freaked-out by the possibility, which gave him the boost he needed to say what needed to be said. “It’s been going on for months now.”

  “How often?”

  “Not very, at first. These past few weeks . . . at least four times that I know of.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “There were a couple of times that I woke up and things weren’t where I thought I’d left them. Once I was wearing clothes when I was sure I’d stripped down before going to bed.” He lifted his head and forced himself to confess. “I think I’m going insane.”

  Payton’s mouth turned down and a haze of regret dulled his eyes. “You’re not. I won’t let that happen. I’m going to see you through this. If you do what I say, everything is going to be fine.”

  “I don’t see how. Once Bella finds out, I’m going to lose my job.”

  “Bella won’t find out. We’re going to fix this. I swear it.”

  For a glittering, hopeful second, Clay believed him. He clutched onto that hope and held on tight. “How?”

  “First, you need to give me your phone.”

  “What?”

  “Your cell phone. If I’m right, then it’s dangerous for you to carry one.”

  Clay had no idea what to make of that, but he shoved his hand into his jeans and pulled out his phone. He set it on the table.

  Payton stowed it in his pocket, his demeanor changing to one of all business. There was no more emotion showing through—just the get-it-done attitude that Clay had come to recognize. “I’m going to send you someplace safe. Isolated. I want you to take my car and go there right now.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll explain everything once I’m sure, but for now, I need you to trust me.”

  “Why send me away?”

  Payton pulled a key from his ring and wrote an address on the back of his business card. “The farther you are away from here, the better. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Don’t speak to anyone along the way—not even a clerk at a gas station.”

  “Payton, you’re freaking me out here. Why go to all the—”

  “When you get there, unplug the phone. Don’t bring any electronics with you. Nld with yo laptop, no games, no GPS. Nothing—understand?”

  “No. I do not.”

  Payton shoved the key and the card at Clay. “I need a couple of days to gather some information, but you shouldn’t be alone. I will send someone to stay with you.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “You do. If you don’t want to hurt someone else, you do. Trust me.”

  “I don’t want anyone from the Edge to know I’ve gone off the deep end. I have to work with these people.”

  “It won’t be someone from work. I’ll have your guardian show up at the back door at exactly six thirty-two. If anyone but me shows up at any other time . . .”

  He trailed off as if debating his options, leaving Clay hanging.

  “What? What crazy thing do you want me to do along with all this other cloak-and-dagger bullshit?”

  “If anyone else shows up at any other time, kill them.”

  * * *

  Payton waited until Clay was behind the wheel and on his way before he left in the other man’s car.

  First order of business: Burn the evidence. He didn’t need to keep a sample to see whether it was human blood. He knew it was. The things Clay would be used
for had nothing to do with animal control.

  The suggestion about it being animal blood had been a strategically timed diversion to keep Clay from breaking. The man was already on edge. There was no way to know how long he’d been suffering with his secrets. He’d said months, but chances were even Clay wouldn’t remember everything.

  Payton was counting on it.

  After a quick stop at one of the houses Payton kept set aside for extreme circumstances, the clothes and sheets were no more than a burning ball of ash. He watched the glowing embers while he made the call.

  Dr. Leigh Vaughn answered on the sixth ring, leaving Payton biting his nails.

  “This had better be good. I’m in the middle of something.”

  “I’m sorry for the interruption, but it’s important.”

  “It always is,” she said on a sigh. “What is it this time? Another secret gunshot wound I can’t report?”

  “No. It’s a much bigger favor than that.”

  “Spit it out. I don’t have all day. Patients are waiting.”

  “Send them home.”

  “What? No way. If your emergency is that serious, then go to the hospital.”

  “If you do this, I’ll get you in Std get yoto see Garrett.”

  The line went silent for too long.

  “Leigh? Are you there?”

  “Yeah,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I just . . . You’re not joking, are you? Because if you are, you should know that I’m really good with a scalpel, and you have to sleep sometime.”

  “No jokes. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Whatever you need. Name it.”

  “Be sure. Because once I drag you into this mess, you’re in it for good. Understand?”

  “I don’t care. If you can promise me a visit, then I don’t care.”

  “Good.” Relief poured over Payton like cool rain. Until now he hadn’t been sure exactly how he was going to keep Clay safe while Payton took care of his own mistakes.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Pack as fast as you can. Bring your medical supplies. And a gun. Make sure you pack a heavy se

  dative. Chances are you’re going to need it.”

  Chapter Three

  Clay watched the clock all day long.

  As posh as Payton’s vacation home was, done all in pale blues and greens, it did nothing to soothe the restless itch on the back of his neck. He couldn’t turn on the TV and distract himself. His mind was too scattered to read a book. When he’d tried, he’d read the first sentence sixteen times before finally giving up.

  He was too nervous to eat, despite having gone all day with no food. If he shoved anything in on top of his anxiety, he knew it would come right back up. He couldn’t stand the thought of doing that to Payton’s plush carpet.

  At six thirty-two and six seconds, a quiet knock sounded on the back door.

  Clay had been waiting for it—wishing for that knock to come even as he dreaded it. And now that the moment was here, he felt glued to his seat, unable to stand.

  His Sig sat on the little round table in the breakfast nook, next to a cold cup of coffee and a lace doily. He picked up the weapon, letting the cold steel ease his nerves.

  Whoever was behind that door was going to know what a head case he was, and as much as he hated that, he knew Payton was right. Someone needed to keep him from slipping out at night to do whatever it was he did. If that meant letting some dude handcuff him to a bed, so be it.

  Clay eased the door open two inches, letting his weapon ride along his thigh, out of sight. Standing under a yellow lightbulb, huddled inside a jacket, was a woman he’d never seen before.

  He was so shocked by her presence—that she wasn’t aoma man—that he stood there like an idiot, staring. She had dark, reddish hair she wore pulled back from her face in a high ponytail. Small, fine curls escaped at her temples, springing away in defiance from the rest of the carefully smoothed strands. Freckles decorated her nose and cheeks, and the cold wind had rubbed a deep pink color over her skin.

  “Clay?” she asked.

  He nodded, mute.

  “Payton sent me. I’m Leigh.” She didn’t offer to shake his hand, which was just as well, considering his hand was full of gun.

  Her dark gaze drifted down his body and back up again, as if assessing him in a single glance. While there was a no-nonsense air about her—a directness in her stare that surprised him—he found himself relaxing.

  He’d been expecting a confrontation—some big, burly asshole who was going to try to bully him around. He hadn’t considered that Payton would send someone Clay could easily overpower.

  “Are you going to let me in?” she asked, her tone as brisk as the wind.

  He stepped back, sliding his weapon into the back of his waistband as he moved.

  Leigh stepped inside, brushing so close to him, he could smell her skin. Muscles along his spine began to loosen up, and he realized just how tightly he’d wound himself as he’d waited for six thirty-two.

  She set two overnight bags on the counter. “Do you talk?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Good. My sign language is rusty.” She stripped out of her jacket, making the buttons on her modest blouse strain to confine her breasts.

  Clay froze, unable to look away, despite what manners dictated. He was completely captivated by the sight, marveling in how easily his brain switched from red alert to blunt male interest.

  The pain in his ribs faded away, and all the tiny muscles lining his skull eased up their death grip. Until now he hadn’t realized just how much pain had been running in the background, shoved down where it wouldn’t distract him.

  He was definitely distracted now.

  “Do you have anything else to carry in?” he asked, looking for some excuse to leave her presence and get his shit together.

  “No, I got it all.” She wasn’t looking at him as she spoke. Her gaze was on the kitchen, taking in the rich cherry cabinets and granite counters. “Swanky place Payton’s got here.”

  Clay hadn’t noticed how nice the kitchen was until he’d watched her notice. He didn’t give a shit what the kitchen looked like so long as it had a coffeepot and a microwave. But he didn’t want to be rude, so he grunted at her so she’d know he’d heard.

  Leigh turned and lifted an eyebrow at him. It was slightly darker than her hair, but with the same warm coloring.

  He’d always had a thing for redheads. Especially C. Ee what maones who were stacked. It was predictable and clichéd, but there was no help for it. The hormones wanted what the hormones wanted.

  And Clay’s hormones were going to continue to want. No way was he going to hit on this mystery woman when he had no clue who she was or what Payton had told her.

  What if he’d warned her that Clay was a potential nut-job, blacking out and slinking around at night, hurting people?

  Even worse, what if he hadn’t warned her?

  Her gaze swung back to him, and he was struck by how pretty her eyes were. Big, conveying an open kind of innocence, but also dark, glittering with keen intelligence. She was watching him closely, but he couldn’t tell whether she was trying to figure something out or making sure she could get out of the way if he took a swing.

  “You look hungry,” she said. “Have you had dinner?”

  “No.”

  “Good. That’ll give us something to do while we get to know each other.”

  She opened the bottom freezer drawer and leaned over to rummage inside.

  Clay’s clichéd hormones had a predictable response when presented with what was possibly the finest ass he’d ever seen. Her slacks molded to her curves, hiding more than they showed. And yet it was more than enough for Clay’s dormant libido to sit up and stretch.

  His mouth watered and a slow burn began heating his skin as he stared in helpless fascination. He was like some kind of hypnotized, drooling idiot, his eyes following where she led. Each min
ute sway of her hips pulled him along for the ride, leaving him standing there, too dumbfounded to realize she’d been speaking to him.

  She turned around, frowning at him. “Did you hear a word I said?” There was no heat in her tone, only gentle curiosity as she crossed the big kitchen to where he was standing.

  “Sorry. I’m not myself lately.”

  Leigh was close enough now that he could touch her if he so much as swayed forward. Too close. He could smell a trace of vanilla and something sweet he couldn’t identify. Beneath that was the scent of heat and woman—something he hadn’t noticed for a long time.

  When was the last time he’d so much as gone on a date? Like so many other details, it was something he couldn’t remember.

  A starburst of golden green radiated from her pupils, brightening her dark brown eyes. On her right cheek was a cluster of freckles that were thicker than the rest. There was a slight dent in the center of her chin that seemed almost too masculine for such a soft, pretty face.

  She reached up toward his head. Clay grabbed her wrist, riding along on a wave of pure instinct. Her delicate wrist bones shifted inside his grip, shocking him back to something resembling rationality.

  He let go of her fast, but the heat of her skin clung to his palm all the same.

  To her credit, she C cr, but didn’t flinch away or cower, even though he was much bigger than she was.

  “I wasn’t going to hurt you,” she said, her gaze fixed on his.

  Clay almost laughed at how ridiculous the thought was. If his laugh hadn’t been rusted shut from disuse, he would have. “I know.”

  “Are you going to let me touch you or not?”

  He wasn’t sure. Part of him wanted her to stroke him from top to bottom and back again, but the rest of him screamed out a warning of danger. She wasn’t going to hurt him, but he couldn’t guarantee the reverse.

  Leigh waited, giving him time to decide. The fact that she didn’t push relaxed a few more of those muscles that had been tied into cramped knots.

  He gave her a tight nod and braced himself for whatever it was she was going to do.