Echo in the Night [Echo's Song] (Siren Publishing Allure) Read online

  “Fuck.” From the side table, she pulled out a hair tie and gathered her long black hair into a half-assed attempt of a bun and stumbled her way to the kitchen, flipping on the lights as she went. She wouldn’t be sleeping anymore tonight so she walked over and turned on the coffee pot. As she waited for the dark blend to brew and fill the air with its intoxicating aroma, she walked over to the French doors leading out to the balcony. Next to the exit, a small white table with a single drawer held her secret vice. She pulled a single cigarette from a pack of Camel Lights, picked up the pink disposable lighter, and stepped outside. The air was moist and chilled, typical for Seattle. She lit the cig and sucked in the first drag, allowing the burst of nicotine consume her. A guilty pleasure for sure, she’d only picked up smoking after the accident. It had helped her work through the stress, and although she had always loathed smokers, she now understood why they did it.

  She sucked in another drag and as she blew the smoke from her mouth, filling the air around her, she pictured Charlie. His gorgeous baby-blue eyes staring deep into her soul, the smile he saved only for her etched across his lips.

  She felt an ache in her heart, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Refusing to go there, she quickly pushed him from her mind. Charlie was long dead and she’d spent enough of her life mourning him. Why he’d snuck into her dreams was beyond her, but it would be the last time she would be caught off guard. She’d call Dr. Cho once she’d thought he was awake and have him up the dosage of her sleeping pills. She wouldn’t fall down that rabbit hole again, lost in the chaos of her mind.

  Echo took another drag before snuffing the cigarette out. She wasn’t the same woman that she once was, and though a part of her would always love Charlie, she had sent him free years ago.

  A subtle ache spread across the flat of her stomach and she brushed her hand along the thick scar that had been left behind. Beneath her nightshirt she could feel the raised flesh, and without looking, she knew that it was pink with irritation. The ghost pain she frequently suffered from it had been part of her need for sleeping pills. It kept her awake at night and though she had been to several doctors, none of them could explain why she still felt it. The wound had been a clean slice, stitched nicely, and healed quickly. There should have been no reason for her pain and it was suggested that it was more emotional than physical. That’s when she met Dr. Cho, her therapist and greatest ally. He never questioned her need for pills, never pushed her to discuss the things that made her cry. He simply nodded, said he understood, and wrote her a script. He was a prime candidate for being sued for malpractice or overdosing his patients, but Echo assumed all of his other patients were much like her and appreciated his discretion more than they could ever say.

  The sweet aroma of coffee wafted out through the doors and filled her nostrils, calling her back to the here and now. She shook off the memories, committed to calling Dr. Cho ASAP, and stepped back inside so that she could satisfy the craving for coffee that salivated in her mouth.

  Chapter Two

  Though she hated to admit it, Charlie’s appearance in her dream had rattled her. What should have been a normal, uneventful day had turned into a hell storm of disasters so by the time Echo had gotten home, her mood was quite soured.

  As she stepped into the foyer of her condo and slipped off her Sergio Rossi black peep-toe pumps, all she could think of was throwing back a damn beer. An ice-cold Mirror Pond, pulled fresh from the tap into a frosted pint. Her mouth watered with desire, but yet again she would suffer disappointment for the day. The only Oregon alcohol she had in the entire condo was a bottle of Eyrie Pinot Noir. She’d received it in a gift basket from one of her clients a few holidays back. Knowing that she had originally come from Oregon, they thought it would be a nice gift from her home state. She didn’t bother to tell them that she preferred to leave her roots in her past, where they belonged. At that moment, however, she craved nothing more than a taste of home. She shuddered. Why on Earth would she need it so much now? Sighing, Echo couldn’t help but wonder if her Charlie dream had opened up more than just her memories of him.

  Leaving her purse and keys on the marble-topped table in the foyer, and carrying her heels cradled in her arms, Echo headed to her room. The soft plush of Berber carpet squished up between her toes as she made her way down the short hallway to the double doors that opened up to her master suite. Her condo was nothing if not pure luxury. Fine art hung on the walls, small white marble sculptures were scattered throughout, and clean-lined furniture had been meticulously placed for natural flow. It had been a gift to herself after building her studio from the ground up and finding overnight success in the design sector. She had gone from a literal unknown to the most sought-after interior designer in the Pacific Northwest in a matter of six months, simply because she took a job renovating a B-list celebrity’s nursery. The soap star had somehow landed a strong supporting role in one of the latest blockbusters, and when Entertainment Tonight had interviewed her, she did it via satellite from her daughter’s nursery. The actress’s success had trickled down to Echo and her studio went from a kitchen table full of samples, swatches, and paint chips to a five-thousand-square-foot building. For the most part, she loved it, but there definitely were days when she knew she was simply going through the motions. She often found herself feeling a sense of anxiousness, like she was waiting for something or someone.

  All in all, life was simple. She kept her tight group of friends small, she remained single on purpose, and when her desires flared up she had a half dozen men she could text that would give her what she needed and ask for nothing in return.

  Life was also empty and boring.

  In OCD-like order, Echo changed her clothes. She hung the black pencil skirt and cream-colored blouse on her to-be-dry-cleaned hangers and slipped into her favorite pale gray sweats and a plain black cami. She placed her pumps on their designated shelf, pulled a pair of cozy black slippers down, and slid her feet into them. After a quick trip to her bathroom where she removed her makeup, brushed her teeth, and released her hair from the tight bun that often caused her head to ache, she shuffled her way back down the hallway and into the kitchen. Hidden within the wine rack, she retrieved the elusive Eyrie and dug through her silverware drawer for the wine key. She’d considered installing one of those countertop wine openers when she was designing her dream kitchen, but she rarely had guests and rarely drank wine alone so it never happened.

  Once she retrieved her iPhone from the black hole of her purse and settled herself, wine in tow, into the plush cushions of her couch she opened her laptop and went online. There was a long list of e-mails that needed her attention, but on her way home she’d gotten the infamous 911 text from Paige. It was never a true emergency when Paige messaged her, but considering she was her longest and dearest friend, not to mention favorite partner in crime, Paige became priority number one anytime she got in touch.

  The woman was an amazing friend. She understood everything there was about Echo—her inability to actively maintain long-term relationships, her obsession with perfection in an imperfect world, and every ghost in her closet that Paige had watched her place there. She was the one person Echo did not have to pretend with.

  As she logged into her Skype account, she sent Paige a text telling her she was on, then poured her first glass of wine for the night. With any luck, before bed the bottle would be gone and she would sleep like a baby. The familiar ding from her laptop echoed around the otherwise silent room and she clicked the open tab. Before her, beautiful as ever, her best friend’s face filled the screen of her laptop.

  “What’s up, sugar?” Seeing her made Echo smile—it had been far too long, and in all truth, it was her fault. Paige would chat with her every night if Echo had asked, but even though she loved the woman to death, most of the time she wasn’t even sure why they were still friends. Paige was a stay-at-home mom who dabbled in real estate when she was bored, was happily married to her high school crush, and lived a c
omfortable life in their hometown of Redmond. In contrast, Echo was a lonely, bitter, pretentious bitch that most people intentionally steered clear of.

  “Someone put a bid on your house.” Wow. No hello, how are you, it’s good to see you. Nothing. She jumped right into business and it made Echo’s skin prick with goose bumps. Paige was never so direct. Never. She always hemmed and hawed around, doing her best to find the nicest, easiest way to break bad news.

  “Okay.” She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth in thought. “Just counter offer and call it good. I priced it high enough. There shouldn’t be an issue.”

  “Where’s your wine?”

  Echo lifted her glass so that it was in Paige’s full view and smiled, hoping to ease the obvious tension that was leaking through.

  “Good. Now take a big fucking gulp. Hell, drink it all and pour yourself another one. The offer was for the listing price.”

  Without pause, Echo swallowed the contents of the glass and refilled it.

  “That’s not possible, Paige,” she countered. “I sent out an appraiser, doubled his valued price, and added an extra million on for good measure. Who made the offer?”

  From the other side of the screen, Echo could see her rummage through a pile of papers on her desk. She was by far the most disorganized woman on earth.

  “Ah! Here.” She waved the paper so that Echo could see it. “His name is Henry. Henry Knight. Echo—he offered cash.”

  “Holy shit! Who has that kind of cash?”

  Paige continued to rummage through her papers and produced another sheet that had her scribbled writing all over it.

  “His rep says he’s some kind of author. Apparently he likes how secluded it is and needs a place where he can escape to finish his next novel.”

  “Oh my God, seriously? Wow. Writers are so weird. How fucking hard can it be to write a damn book?”

  Paige’s normally lighthearted demeanor was absent. She’d expected some smart-ass snarky comment that would cause a cackling fest, but instead all she got was a sour-faced Paige, all business, no pleasure.

  “He wants an answer by Friday.”

  Echo pulled in a long, slow gulp of the raspberry wine and watched as Paige sat, impatiently awaiting her response.

  “No.”

  “What? Why? You’ve never even seen the damn place! Why do you hold onto it?”

  “You know why, Paige,” she snapped. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You can’t even be nice and say hi? No, you just jump right into the shit storm and then you’re pissed that I won’t sell the house? What the hell?”

  Tears welled in Paige’s eyes and as Echo registered the pain on her friend’s face, her heart ached. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d raised her voice at her or the last time Paige had cried. Well, that wasn’t true. Paige had easily shed an equal amount of tears for Echo when Charlie had died.

  “I need the commission,” she admitted. “Mark lost his job. I’ve been working full-time to pay the bills and it’s not enough. We’re at risk of losing the house and we owe more than it’s worth so we can’t sell it.”

  As Paige filled her in on the woes of what had become the normal everyday life for most Americans, Echo could feel pain beat in her chest. How long had it been since she had spoken to her friend? She knew it had been a while, but apparently more time had passed than Echo had realized. She listened, nodded when needed, and let Paige dump all of her sorrow on her.

  “Mark begged me to ask you for money, but I just—it’s not your fault or your responsibility to bail us out. That’s why I haven’t called. I couldn’t bring myself to face you without having a breakdown.” She motioned at her mascara-streaked cheeks and laughed. “Obviously I know myself better than he does.”

  “I’m so sorry, Paige. I wish you had listened to Mark just this once. You know I would give you everything I have if you needed it.”

  “So, does that mean you’ll sell?”

  “No.” She lifted her hand in protest to prevent an onslaught of questions. “But I will give you whatever you need. Just tell me how much and I’ll wire it to your bank tomorrow morning.”

  More tears.

  Echo swallowed down her second glass of Eyrie and refilled it. Life should not be so painful.

  After even more tears, Mark taking over the conversation long enough to give comfort to his wife while he passed on the needed amount and their bank account number, Paige finally calmed down and allowed that hint of herself to shine through the puffy eyes and snotty nose.

  “Why do you keep the house?”

  It was a gift from Charlie. Period.

  “It’s all I have left of him and I–I just can’t get rid of it yet.”

  Paige leaned back in her chair, her dark green eyes staring deep into Echo’s soul through the screen.

  “Then take it off the market. Come see it. Take a much-needed vacation and confront your demons.”

  Another glass of Eyrie emptied and refilled. The slight fog in the back of her mind spread out as the alcohol began to blend with the sleeping pill in her stomach, the little voice in her head whispering that Paige was right. She needed a vacation.

  “I can’t. I have a new client and she’s beyond high maintenance. Just tell Mr. Knight that I’m considering having it reappraised and adjusting the price since the market is starting to turn.”

  “You tell him.”

  “Paige, come on! I’m not going to sell it. Not right now anyway. Maybe later. And I’m not coming down to see it. I don’t need to.”

  With the swift movements of pure frustration, Paige lifted her wavy brown hair from her shoulders, wrapped it into a makeshift bun, and stuck a ballpoint pen through to hold it secure. Her expression had turned cold and when she spoke her voice was just as icy.

  “I’m not going to hold your hand through this anymore. You loved Charlie and then he died. It fucking sucks, I get it. What I don’t get is what it has done to you. You keep yourself locked away from living a real life, hold your dearest friends at arm’s length to keep us from getting too close, swear up and down that you’re over it, yet in the same breath, you refuse to move on!”

  “I have a real life!” she defended.

  “Really? How? You stumbled into your job, make obscene amounts of money, never really have to work for anything, you created this bubble of perfection that you reside in—hell, when was the last time you went out?”

  “I don’t have time to go out.”

  “Exactly. Hell, when was the last time you had a good lay? And your damn once-a-year booty calls don’t count!”

  The voice of reason whispered in her mind again, a little louder this time. Paige was right. She had shut herself off, but it was easier that way. Living, really living, was too hard. She’d given over her all to Charlie, to the promise of an everlasting future together, and it was ripped from her hands. She couldn’t go through it again. She wouldn’t.

  “Look, I–I just can’t okay. If you won’t help me with the buyer, fine. E-mail me his damn info and I’ll take care of it, but don’t push. If you want, I’ll fly you and Mark up here for the weekend and we can act like tourists and see the sites. I’ll pay for everything. Hell, I’ll even throw Mark’s parents some cash so they’ll take the kids. Anything, but please don’t make me feel any more guilty than I already do. I struggle every day to maintain control, Paige, and there are times when I can feel it slipping away. I cannot step foot in that house. It will end me.”

  Honesty was a bitch.

  “Okay.” Paige’s motherly tone had taken over. “I won’t push too hard, but I won’t deal with the buyer. You need to figure that one out for yourself. If you’re not ready to come here and see the house, fine. I do think you need a vacation though. I love you to death, but you look like hell.”

  Yeah, she knew she did. Hidden beneath layers of concealer and foundation, Echo had become a pro at masking the dark bags under her eyes.

  “Let me check my schedule. Really check my sc
hedule. I do have some meetings that I can’t miss. My new client is the reincarnation of the Wicked Witch and I can’t feed Jules to her, it wouldn’t be right. Once I have her under control, we’ll plan an escape. Take a holiday someplace nice.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, I promise. Now, I need some sleep and so do you. I’ll text you tomorrow once I’ve been to the bank. In the meantime, go be with Mark. He looks like he could use a little good-night lovin’.”

  “I love you, you know.”

  “I love you. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Chapter Three

  To say she needed a vacation was an understatement. It had been two weeks since Echo had spoken to Paige and during those two weeks, her house of cards had begun to crumble.

  Work had become a nightmare. If it could go wrong it did. Supplies were on back order, clients were furious, the Wicked Witch had pulled out of her contract, and Jules had come down with the flu. To add insult to injury, Echo’s laptop caught a virus, that corrupted all of her files and contact information, leaving her to blindly conduct business.

  Her personal life had not been any better. Charlie haunted her dreams every night, Dr. Cho was nowhere to be found, and with only two sleeping pills left, panic seized her. She’d tried to dismiss the buyer, but he was adamant about the deal, doubling his offer and refusing to take no for an answer. It bordered on harassment and the only advice she could get was to either sell the damn place or pull it from the market.

  Physically she looked like death warmed over. There was not enough makeup in the world to conceal the dark purple bags under her eyes and in addition to the constant ache of the scar on her stomach, she’d developed a sharp pain at the base of her skull. An annoying discomfort in the beginning, it had quickly escalated and it felt like she had an ice pick stuck in her head. There was no relief. No pill to take the pain away, no amount of wine to help her sleep through it. All she could do was suffer, and each night, she cried herself to sleep.