“Sorry, Mom,” the boy groaned, his voice weak.
Sal’s sandwich landed on the tile floor with a splat. She rose and sat on the bed with her son. The boy struggled to open his eyes. Sal couldn’t keep her tears from staining Buns’s hospital gown. When she found her own voice, she called out, “John?”
***
Misha stood outside the door, about to enter, when suddenly she felt dizzy. Blood red invaded her vision. She heard the voice of a woman, pleading for her life. Chills ran the length of her spine, and she shivered. She saw a broken bottle, covered in gore. A man with dark hair stood over the body. “You never loved me, Mother, did you?” Misha banished the vision. She would never get used to the depravity that existed in the world, but being a vessel, she knew it was not her place to judge, only to serve as a messenger.
* * *
“Miss Simms?”
Grace jumped, spilling her coffee on the counter.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. The door was unlocked; I thought it was okay to come in. I’m early.”
“No need to apologize. I was deep in thought, looking forward to this cup of coffee.” The run-off pooled in her hand as she reached for a sponge. “Give me a minute to clean up this mess. I’ll be right with you.”
Misha nodded and headed for the waiting room.
The last thing Grace needed was her client’s intuitive take on Jess. She needed to keep their relationship strictly about Misha’s problems, not her own. Maybe I should hire her to do a reading? Let her predict how this situation is going to play out. After all, she was right about the train wreck. Grace poured another cup of coffee. This time, her hand was steady. She focused on her client.
“Come on back, Misha. Let’s get started.”
“I’m glad to see you, Miss Simms. I will keep my impressions to myself. My father was right. Too much said can be no good.”
“No harm. And you were right about the train wreck. How did you know?”
“I see the pictures in my head,” she chuckled. “My father says I watch too many movies. My YaiYai—she would cross herself like I was the devil. But she knew. She has the eye too.”
“Would you like to talk about how you’re doing at the Olsens.”
“The dirty pig.” Misha’s nostrils flared, her lips curled. “His wife—she thinks it is me that makes him do those things.”
“What things?”
“He touches himself continually. I don’t have to always see him to know this.” She tapped the middle of her forehead. “Again, a curse.”
“Last time we met, you said his wife gave him an ultimatum. How did that work out?”
“Mrs. Olsen called her sister in Phoenix to see if I could live with her. Mr. Olsen knows if they anger my father, he will cut off doing business with them.”
“I’m sure your father feels you’re more important than a business connection.”
“Life has a way of working things out. I do not want to go to Phoenix. I signed up for classes at the university. If I cannot be in my country, I like it here.”
“What about getting a job? Living on your own?”
“My father would throw himself into the sea if I suggested such a thing. If I am not married, I would be considered a fallen woman. Guardianship is the only way for my father. He is what you call a traditional man.”
“Just a thought. Tell me about your classes.”
Misha spoke with conviction, telling Grace her intention of pursuing a degree in political science. However, Grace knew she refrained from saying what was really on her mind. A quick glanced at the clock, she felt her palms go clammy, her hair damp against her neck. The few sips of coffee churned acid in her stomach. Misha’s stare increased in intensity. She knows. It felt as though Misha was sending her a telepathic message. He wants you dead.
“Misha, what are you doing?”
“Telling you about my school.”
“Why the stare? Are you trying to burn a hole in my forehead?”
“You feel that?”
“We had an agreement. We talk about you, only you.”
“I can’t help myself. I would not be a good person if I didn’t warn you.”
“That’s a deal breaker, Misha. We focus on your problems and your experiences, not mine.”
“I told you, you have a gift.” She leaned forward. “You receive my message?”
“Loud and clear. But it has to stop. My job is to counsel you, not the other way around. That’s what I’m paid to do.”
“And what do I do when he comes? Nothing? Swallow my warning like sour milk? You do not understand the danger I see ahead for you, Miss Simms. He will kill you like the others. You will wish for a swift death like the last one. He disemboweled her like an animal. She begged to die.”
Tingles zipped up and down Grace’s spine, circling her scalp. Her fingertips throbbed. Her toes felt numb. “When will this happen?”
“Soon,” she said. “As soon as he can find a way back.”
* * *
When Grace arrived home from work, she found Paul sitting in the last hint of daylight. A beer bottle dangled from his hand.
He didn’t budge.
“Paul?” Grace tip-toed across the deck.
“What? Hi, sweetheart. Didn’t hear you come home.”
Grace retrieved the bottle from his hand. “It’s freezing out here. You okay?”
“I’m fine. How was your day?”
“I went to see, Buns. Sal and I worked things out.”
“Wow, I’m so happy for you, honey. How’s the boy? Any change?”
“Not much. His color looks better. Paul? I need to tell you something.”
“You look worried. What is it?”
“I never talk about my clients with anyone.”
“I’m good with the rules.” Paul’s concern peaked, “Anything you tell me—” He zipped his lips.
“I have a client who is psychic. She says someone wants me dead. It’s Jess. Jess wants me dead.”
“Oh, honey, how can that be?”
“She saw a train wreck. It happened. She said there were others, Paul. He’s been on a killing spree.”
Paul couldn’t hide his surprise. He let go of Grace and paced the deck. “Does she know where he is?”
“No, she said when he finds a way back, he’s coming for me.”
Paul pounded his palms on the railing. “I won’t let that happen.”
“You’re not going to stop him.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because he called, again.”
Paul’s face turned ashen. “When?”
“This afternoon.”
Paul slipped his arm around Grace and pulled her close. “I’ll protect you, Grace. I swear to you on my life.”
“I can’t lose you, Paul. I can’t.”
“We’ll find him.” He squeezed her tight, burying his face in her hair. He breathed in her sweet scent. “I promise.”
He took her hand and led her into the house where he scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom. The landing was effortless as he placed her in the center of the bed and eased his weight on top of her, his kisses loving and tender. Her gaze turned to fire as she raised his sweatshirt over his head. He in turn, released her from her sweater, unfastened her buttons, and unhooked the front clasp of her bra. He kneaded her firm breasts as he planted kisses along her neck and her clavicle. “Je te veux, mon amour,” he whispered in her ear. “I want you so bad,” he moaned.
She raised her pelvis in response, wrapped one leg around his waist and drew him into her heat. Their kisses became urgent. “Make love to me, Paul,” she said between ragged breaths.
“Avec plasir,” he replied, tearing at the rest of her clothes. Once they were free of all restrictions, he pulled back the covers and invited her to join him. She rested her head on the pillow while he stoked her fire, kissing his way down the length of her body. When he reached the soles of her feet, he reversed direction, nibb
ling her ankles, teasing around her calves, and tantalizing behind her knees. She moaned as his fingers explored the dampness between her legs. His lips worked their way up to the inside of her thighs until he found nirvana. He lingered, prompting her to relax. His tongue circled and probed, gently at first, then with determination. She cried out as he took her to the brink of euphoria and urged her to let go. Ripples of pleasure rocked her senses. She felt as though she were floating in crystal blue waters. Lacey whitecaps lapped at her body; the sun’s rays burned her skin. She tingled all over. When her seas calmed, she opened her eyes and welcomed the sight of him, the man she loved.
“Hold me.” She reversed positions, cloaking herself in his warmth. Spooning against him, she felt his erection press against the small of her back, and he groaned. She rolled over on her belly, taking him with her. She parted her legs, allowing him entry. Soon they were on their knees, moving to a hedonistic tune only lovers can hear, their rhythm perfectly in sync. His arms snaked around her, touching and squeezing her velvety flesh. He cupped her breasts, working her nipples into hard peaks while he rotated his hips, thrusting deep inside her tight passage. She responded to his every move, meeting each thrust in kind. When their passion reached a hot, frenzied crescendo, she tilted her pelvis and pounded herself against him, sending him over the edge.
“My God, woman,” he cried, collapsing on the bed beside her. She cuddled close, feeling their hearts gallop together as one. “I love you,” he said, kissing her brow.
She smiled up at him. He always knew what to say.
* * *
Paul propped himself up on one elbow, the sound of Grace’s gritty alto coming from the shower tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I love that song!” he called to her, knowing she couldn’t hear a word he said. He reached for his phone and dialed Skip.
“Hey, buddy, any news?”
“The dead girl was a nurse. I have Raphael connecting the dots. We’ll get ’im. Don’t worry.”
“Keep me posted.”
“You got it. I should hear back from Raphael by morning.”
Paul tossed his phone on the nightstand and hopped out of bed. He tapped on the door. “Grace? Honey, can I come in?” He felt sure her garbled reply was an invitation and opened the door.
Plumes of steam circled the air.
“Hi,” he said, stepping into the hot spray.
“Hi, yourself,” she said, handing him a bottle of body wash.
He squirted soap on his hands and began lathering her back, starting with her shoulders, and then her middle, down the curve of her spine to the two dimples above her butt crack.
“Hmmm,” she cooed. “That’s nice.” His hands followed the roundness of each cheek. One hand traveled around the front to her breasts. One hand slipped between her legs. His touch remained gentle as if he were washing fine china.
“I won’t break.”
“Didn’t know you liked it rough.”
“Neither did I. Seems I can’t get enough of you.”
He spun her around and pressed her against the cool tile. His eyes blazed as he devoured her lips. He squeezed her fleshy mounds as he pulled her against him.
Her hands groped his body. Her tongue danced inside his mouth. Hot water washed away all reservations of what would come next as he pinned her against the wall and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He entered her quickly and smoothly, centered her balance, and began pumping his hips. Her legs tightened around his waist as she gripped his shoulders and pulled herself higher until his lips suckled her breasts. She felt suspended in air by an invisible force. Light as a feather, she moved up and down, enveloping every inch of him. With every thrust, she arched her back, holding onto him, keeping him captive inside of her. She loved him with every fiber of her being. She didn’t want to let him go, but her body betrayed her, and soon, the spasms became too strong for either one to hold on. A delicious current overpowered their senses and swept them both away.
They clung to each other until the water temperature brought them back to earth. Grace’s nipples hardened. Tiny bumps formed on her skin. She grabbed the soap and scrubbed Paul quickly, giggling and shivering. The approaching equinox stole light from the room. Before the water turned cold, they were both clean and robed in plush terry.
CHAPTER 12
SIMONE RIPKA
D ecember skies dumped fresh snow on the distant mountains of Bariloche. Jess never claimed to be a ski bum, but he did love perusing the lodges for snow bunnies. Up in his rustic surroundings, he ran a finger along the faint pink scar that traveled the length of his new hairline. He thought the widow’s peak made him look mysterious like a cross between Christopher Lee and Gerard Butler in Dracula.
“I vant to drink your bla--ad.”
He turned from side to side, studying his profile. His new aristocratic nose went well with his silicone enhanced lips and perfectly shaped veneers.
He flipped open the compartment on the small, white case marked with an R and dipped his fingertip into the solution to withdraw a blue, filmy disc. He lowered his right bottom lid and inserted yet another part of his new identity. After a few blinks, he repeated the process on his left eye. Once the lenses were seated, he brushed his jet black hair into a ponytail, donned a pale-silver silk shirt and charcoal slacks.
He closed his suitcase and slipped into a heather-grey, suede, sports jacket. His passport secured in his breast pocket, he checked the room for any stray items he may have missed. Satisfied that he had all of his belongings, he closed the door behind him.
Day transitioned into twilight. By the time he reached his destination, the moon had cast a shadow across the frosty lawn of Simone Ripka’s stylish bungalow. He rang the bell.
“Ready?”
Simone unlatched the storm door and invited Jess inside. “Mr. Sheppard, you’re prompt. I like that.” She shrugged into a short, red-leather jacket and fixed a matching cap to her blond boy-cut. She lit a cigarette, placed it in the ashtray, and wiggled into a pair of black, thigh-high boots.
Jess followed her movements with interest. This artsy dyke was his ticket to freedom. He needed to be kind. For now.
“You look stunning, Simone. The women in America will be clamoring for your attention.”
“If they have what it takes, they can have more than my attention.”
“And what does it take to win the heart of a vixen like yourself?”
“Big tits. A voluptuous ass.” She picked up her cigarette. Crimson lips drew a slow drag and exhaled. “Don’t look so wounded, Mr. Sheppard. You knew I was a T-and-A girl when we met at the lodge.”
Jess assessed her model physique, shaking his head. “You’re hot enough for me to consider getting a sex change, my dear.”
“And spoil the fun?” She cocked her head to one side. He didn’t argue. “Let’s go. I hear the driver.”
Jess grabbed his suitcase and held the door for Simone. Anticipation bubbled inside of him. He wanted to shout out with glee. Instead, he sat quietly in the back of the limousine while Simone chatted on her cell phone. He spied a woman crossing the street that resembled Grace. The corner of his mouth twitched into a half smile. You’re in for a big surprise, Grace, you and loverboy.
Jess and Simone boarded the non-stop LAN flight to SFO out of Bariloche at 11:53 p.m. Jess snoozed in business class comfort while Simone watched a movie and read the fashion magazine she had purchased in the gift shop. She dozed the last two hours of the flight unaware of the struggle Jess was having keeping his hand from sliding up her skirt.
Upon their arrival, the San Francisco airport was packed with foreign exchange students returning from holiday. Security seemed more preoccupied with herding the students through customs than they were with a Vampire-looking character traveling with the blond bombshell. Once they were through customs, Jess felt like celebrating. “Let’s find a seat at the bar.” He led her through a cluster of businessmen drinking their breakfast. “Over here,” he said, climbing onto one of t
he two empty stools.
“What’ll you have?” The bartender placed two cocktail napkins on the bar and waited for Jess and Simone to decide.
“I’ll have a draft. Simone?”
“Vodka, straight up with a twist.” Simone’s eyes scoured the bar searching for perspective participants to quench her T-and-A fetish. Jess followed suit. He knew if she found a willing prospect, he would benefit as well. Kinky ran in her blood. It was one reason they bonded quickly.
“Three o’clock,” she said, licking the rim of her glass.
“Nice. Love redheads. Is your gaydar picking up a strong signal?”
“She gave me a nod when we first walked in.” Simone glanced over her shoulder. “She’s been staring ever since.”
“Shall I send her a drink?”
“Let her know we come as a set?” Her laugh started deep in her throat. “I’m assuming you want to join in on the action.”
“I wouldn’t mind watching.”
“You Hollywood types are all the same.”
“Helps keep my writing fresh.” He nudged her shoulder and winked. The redhead didn’t wait for an invitation. She approached and slipped in between them.
“Someone say Hollywood?” She pressed her full bosom against Simone’s shoulder before reaching for Jess’s hand.
“Sheppard, a.k.a. big bad wolf, and you must be Little Red Riding Hood.”
“Jenny Pincher, actress.” She turned to Simone. “And you are?”
“Simone.”
“Love your jacket. Looks European.”
“I purchased it in Bariloche. Would you like to try it on?”
“Bari-what?”
“San Carlos de Bariloche, Argentina. Here,” she said, handing her the jacket. “Be my guest.” Simone helped Jenny shimmy out of her pea coat and into the red leather. “Perfect.”
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