Free After Midnight by Sarah Grimm, Sarah Grimm

pounding rhythm that grew stronger with each step closer to the staircase. Sweat slicked her palms. Her body began to tremble. She didn’t want to take that first step, knew once she did, there was no turning back.
    Pressing her fingers against her eyes, she attempted to resist. She dragged in a deep breath, then another hoping the act would help to clear her mind. Only, without her other senses to distract her, the music strengthened its hold on her.
    Releasing her breath on a sigh, she gave in and placed her foot on the stairs. In silence, she climbed. She found what she was looking for in the front room, set against the inside wall, away from damaging sunlight.
    Her grand piano.
    A gift—from mother to daughter.
    Memories pushed in on her, images she didn’t want to see. A sudden, unexpected sense of loss filled her, then something deeper, stronger than she’d expected. Something she had no desire or intention of analyzing. Not today. Not anytime soon.
    Isabeau took a careful breath to counteract the flipping of her stomach. She shoved her hand through her hair. Unable to ignore the irresistible pull any longer, she crossed the room to lay her hand atop the piano’s cabinet.
    Her pulse skipped. Her throat knotted. Beneath her fingertips, she swore she could feel the instrument’s pulse, its very life. Her whole body trembled.
    Don’t panic. Breathe .
    She was too late. Fear of the inevitable had taken hold. The day was coming when she would no longer be able to ignore the pull of the music.
    It was coming. There was nothing she could do to stop it.
    She hoped it wouldn’t be her undoing.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Six
     
    Thomas Cahill’s smile faded the moment Isabeau stepped from the room. He pinned Noah with a look. “You like my daughter.”
    Noah nodded and glanced toward the hallway Isabeau had disappeared down. “Very much.”
    “You the one gave her that bruise?”
    “Of course not.”
    Noah’s denial did nothing to soften Thomas’s expression. Damn but the man was intimidating. Hard. Cold and furious. He had the build of a linebacker—wide, solidly muscled with a thick neck, his arms covered in tattoos. For a moment, Noah was reminded of the younger Cahill. The two men resembled each other in height and build, but that seemed to be where the similarities between them ended. When Junior looked at Isabeau, his gaze had been filled with resentment. Thomas looked at her with affection.
    Thomas’s mouth tightened. His hands fisted at his sides. “Do you know who did put that bruise on her?
    “Yes.”
    “Who? Give me the bastard’s name.”
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
    Thomas’s jaw bunched.
    “I think this is something you should hear from Isabeau.”
    Thomas turned away—but not before Noah caught the flash of emotion in the man’s eyes. “Are there any more, or is that the only mark on her? You can tell me that much, can’t you?”
    “That’s it, that’s the only one.”
    “Good.” Expelling a slow breath, he turned back to Noah. The rush of angry emotion had disappeared from his face. In its place was quiet assessment. “So where’s this tattoo I’m to look at?”
    Noah pushed his sleeve up to reveal his right upper arm. He waited as the man looked closely at the tattoo.
    “How long ago did you get this?”
    “A long time ago.” Noah’s thoughts drifted to the day he and Danny visited the shady little tattoo parlor. Two scrawny boys on the verge of becoming men—believing a tattoo would get them there quicker. “I was a teenager.”
    He noted the clean, sterile conditions of this shop, and was grateful shoddy body art had been all he’d taken home with him that day.
    Thomas considered him before asking, “This the only ink you have?”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s a bit crude, but not bad for its age.” He crossed to the glass display case and began to sketch. “My daughter, she can be a bit headstrong at times.”
    Noah blinked at the abrupt change of