Read Nightfall for Free Online Page B

through the milk, through the memory.
    There was no key to the lock on her door. She'd never realized it before, never needed one before. She needed one now. Not that Richard Tiernan was going to come wandering down the long hallway, past Sean and Mabry's bedroom, to sneak into the Gothic nightmare and have his wicked way with her.
    But there was no way she was going to go to sleep without something pulled in front of the door. Even if it was one of those mock-baronial chairs. First thing in the morning she'd go in search of a key.
    When she climbed into her bed, the noise from the city seemed to have faded. It was slowly approaching dawn; soon the city would awake in earnest, and there'd be no rest for the weary. She lay back and stared at the carved bed, barely taking it in. She could call Emmie, ask her to manufacture an emergency that would force her to leave on the first train south. She'd even take a plane in order to get the hell away from here.
    But as soon as the idea came to her, she dismissed it. She wasn't a quitter, a coward. And Sean, for the first time in his self-centered, misbegotten life, needed her. If she went now, he'd never ask again.
    She closed her eyes, listening to the night. The sounds of the old building, the distant roar of the subways deep underground, the squeal of the busses, the clang and rattle of garbage cans. The city was coming awake.
    And she was going to sleep. And this time, damn it, there would be no dreams. Of blood, or death.
    Or Richard Tiernan's haunted eyes.
     
    Not a qualm, he told himself, listening for her footsteps in the thickly carpeted hallway. Not a doubt, not a second thought.
    He leaned against the closed doorway, thinking about her feet. He'd never thought he could consider bare feet erotic. Everything about Cassidy Roarke was profoundly sensual, from her blaze of flyaway hair to her ripe, luscious body, to her innocent face. Like a Botticelli angel, unaware of the havoc she caused. He'd never felt such lust in his life.
    He used that lust for his rationalization. He never thought he'd feel even the faintest trace of interest in sex again, which, considering he was probably going to spend his last few months on earth solely in the company of men, was just as well.
    But he'd taken one look at the photo Sean kept on his cluttered desk, and it had been like a physical blow. Feelings, something he'd fought against for more than a year, flooded in before he was able to slam them down again. Something about her face, with the cloud of hair, the stubborn mouth, the wary eyes, the faint, troubled smile had called to him, when he thought nothing could ever reach him again.
    He was going to use her. Sacrifice her, if need be, for his needs. Not for one moment was he going to consider her future, her well-being. In the darkest time of his life, he had seen her picture and with it had come light. If he had to burn her out, he would do so, and not count the cost. Anything to dispel the blackness.
    The photograph had disappeared from Sean's desk today. He'd gone looking for it while the happy little family was out at dinner, finally finding it in the bottom of Sean's sock drawer, beneath the mismatched hand-knit argyles from the Auld Sod. Richard had taken it, hidden it beneath his own clothes. He could only draw one logical conclusion—Sean didn't want his daughter to know he kept a silver-framed picture of her on his desk.
    He pushed away from the door and pulled out the picture, staring down into Cassidy Roarke's eyes. She'd been mesmerizing in the photo—now that he'd seen her in the flesh the photograph took on an even more powerful significance. He didn't believe in coincidence. She hadn't come into his life for no reason. She was there, for him. And he would use her, no matter what the consequences.
     
    Cass followed the rich smell of French roast coffee, the irresistible, seldom-indulged scent of bacon and eggs. She found those things in the kitchen, filled with light from