Free The Dark Gate by Pamela Palmer

“Hank!”
    â€œYou can’t wake them,” the woman called from the end of the aisle. Fortyish and carrying an extra fifty pounds, she knelt on the floor, fastening her sleeping daughter’s clothes.
    Jack went to her and squatted in front of her. “Is she okay?”
    â€œI think so. But I can’t wake her or my husband.” She looked up, her distraught gaze meeting his. “I’m a doctor. An anesthesiologist with Children’s Hospital. I put kids under all day long and I’ve never seen anything like this.”
    â€œCan you tell me what happened?”
    A host of conflicting emotions crossed her face. “We were eating lunch when the white man walked into the restaurant. He was so odd-looking. I mentioned him to my husband and daughter, but they couldn’t see him.” Her brows pulled together and an expression that was almost hurt entered her eyes. “Where I pointed, they saw only a normal-looking businessman. Then he began to sing and everything stopped. All the conversation stopped. It was like he hypnotized them. With a song.”
    She looked at him like a child whose most treasured belief had just been shattered. “How can that be?”
    â€œI don’t know. I wish to hell I knew.” The only one who might know something was the person who’d put the note in his newspaper. The person who’d sent him here. The person who’d set him up to be killed.
    Larsen.
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    Jack slammed the front door behind him, his face hard, his blue eyes blazing. Larsen’s heart gave an anxious lurch as she rose from the chair and watched him toss his sport coat on the back of the sofa without so much as a glance her way, making it pretty clear his anger was directed at her. He knew. But what?
    He went into the kitchen to talk to Sergeant O’Malley, telling her she and the other cops would no longer be needed.
    What happened? It was nearly six o’clock and she still didn’t know anything except that things had gotten ugly. Sending him into that without a warning had been a mistake. But how could she have warned him? And if the cops couldn’t catch the villain, who could?
    She stood rooted as Jack escorted the policewoman to the door, then closed and locked it. Slowly he turned and met her gaze, the hard mask melting beneath his fury, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
    A primal fear lodged in her chest as he started toward her, his stride slow and deliberate. Larsen took a step back.
    â€œYou set me up to be killed.”
    â€œI didn’t.” I didn’t mean to. She bumped into the table behind her. “What happened, Jack?”
    He closed the distance between them and grabbed her with both hands, his fingers digging painfully into the bare flesh of her upper arms. “What happened is you put that note in my paper this morning, sending me to Tony Jingles where I damned near died. ” Jack shook her roughly, making her teeth rattle. “How did you know, Larsen? How did you know he was going to be there?”
    The air caught in her lungs. “I didn’t,” she lied. “How could I possibly know something like that?”
    â€œYou couldn’t.” His lip curled nastily. “Not unless you worked for him.”
    Larsen gaped at him, fear congealing in her chest. “No. Jack…How can you even say that? He’s a rapist. A murderer.”
    â€œAnd you knew what he had planned.”
    Had he seen her put the note in the paper? No. He couldn’t have. He was guessing.
    She forced herself to look him in the eye. “You’re wrong. I’m not part of this.”
    He shook her again. “Quit lying to me. How does he do it, Larsen? How does he control them?” A bolt of pain flashed through his eyes. “My men…my partner …tried to kill me.”
    She caught her breath on a burst of understanding. Dear God. He was like her. He couldn’t be controlled.