Chasing Venus

by Diana Dempsey

  He refrained from pointing out that she had been in danger in the library, too, danger of a different kind. Being recognized. Being arrested. Yet that hadn’t happened. And now here she was, with him again.

  Her eyes ran down his body, naked but for the towel. She cocked her chin at the .38. “I didn’t know you packed one of those.”

  “Crimewatch has made me a few enemies. It’s the same kind I used to carry when I was a cop.”

  “I could’ve used it last night.”

  “I wish you’d had it. Then this whole thing would be over.”

  “It’s far from over.” The pained look came back into her eyes. “I have no idea who he is, Reid, no idea. I think he’s a middle-aged man.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He’s not that fast. He’s got a gut.” She waved a hand when Reid started to speak. “That could describe a young man, too, I know. But I don’t think so. Something about the way he moves.” She stopped. The stillness returned, as if the memory alone were enough to paralyze her.

  “You don’t have to talk about this now. Now is the time for you to sleep, to wash up, to eat something. Let me see what we’ve got.” He began to rise.

  She clutched at his arm. “Don’t go.”

  “I’m just going to the kitchen. I’ll be right here. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you.” The reassurance tripped off his lips, sounded natural to his ears.

  She studied his face as if to analyze whether he spoke the truth, then fell back against the cushions. He went to the bedroom first and wrenched on his jeans, inserting the .38 in his waistband, then moved into the kitchen to forage for food. They were getting low on supplies. Peanut butter on crackers would have to do. He carried it back to the couch, where Annie lay with her eyes closed.

  He stood over her, wondering how something as simple as watching someone sleep could be so fascinating. Her chest rose and fell in an even rhythm; her mouth hung slightly open. Now, at rest, her brow was smooth and unfurrowed. Her black lashes were impossibly long; her skin as dewy as a baby’s. He was surprised anew at how petite she was, how little her hands and feet were. In sleep she looked sweet, vulnerable. But by now he knew that her small size belied her strength. There was a lot of will, a lot of fight in that diminutive frame.

  Somehow she’d make it through this. He didn’t know how, didn’t know when, but he could imagine a normal life for her. He could picture her as he’d seen her that night after Simpson and crew had discovered the dead frogs in her backyard—cross-legged on the sofa in her own home, marking manuscript pages with a red pen, tortoiseshell glasses sliding down her nose.

  He was taken aback by the sadness that washed over him at the image. Annie alone. Annie going on with her life. And somewhere far away, him going on with his. Alone, too, in a way he hadn’t been before he met her.

  She stirred, opened her eyes, didn’t seem fazed to find him staring. “Hi.” She forced her body upright and peered at the food in his hands.

  He handed it over, tried to shake the desolation that had overtaken him. “This should make you feel better.” He cleared his throat. “Let me get you some water. And a knife for the peanut butter.”

  Those domestic chores settled him a bit. He sat on the coffee table near the couch, this time watching her eat instead of sleep. This he found just as compelling. Finally he had to laugh. “You don’t look so tired anymore.”

  “I’m faking.”

  “Did you sleep at all last night?”

  Her eyes rose to his. “A little. Under a tree. When I was sure I’d lost him.”

  “You didn’t want to come back here?”

  “I didn’t want to risk it. This is where he found me. And you were gone.”

  Now he wanted to hear the whole story. She seemed to sense it. “He never got that close to me once we were outside. He ran after me for a long time but I dropped him. He just fell further and further back.” She gave a lopsided smile. “It made me very happy I’m a runner. That was one way I could outdo him.”

  Reid wasn’t reassured. Her first sentence lodged in his mind like a splinter. “You said he never got close to you once you were outside. Does that mean—”

  “He had me by the legs when I jumped out the window. I was dangling there. I had to kick him off.”

  Reid couldn’t keep his eyes from trailing down her body. She put down the plate of food, hiked the hem of her jeans. And there, in purple and black, were the bruises that told the tale. The handiwork of a maniac who’d murdered four people and for a terrible moment had Annie in his grasp.

  Reid understood the desire to kill. He’d felt it in his own soul. But this, this he couldn’t grasp. Where did this man’s rage come from? What had Annie, or any of those other writers, ever done to him?

  Annie spoke again, and what she said startled him. “Do you ever pray?”

  The question took him back. “I used to when I was a kid. Irish Catholic family, mass every Sunday, the whole thing. But now? Not really.” He shrugged. “Though I’ll tell you I’ve had my moments.”

  She nodded as if she understood.

  “In the alley …” His voice trailed off. Oh, he’d prayed there. God hadn’t listened but Reid couldn’t blame him. No doubt He had more sympathy for people who didn’t summon his name only in emergencies.

  “I never really prayed. As you might imagine, my parents aren’t big on organized religion.” She gave a rueful laugh. “But yesterday when I was running, you’d have thought I’d prayed all my life. I said one prayer after the next, like an old pro.”

  “You sound embarrassed. You shouldn’t be.”

  “It makes me feel like a hypocrite.”

  “No.” He rose from the coffee table, squeezed beside her on the couch. “You were afraid you were going to die. It’s only natural at a moment like that.”

  “When he was trying to break down the bathroom door …” She shuddered and closed her eyes as if that would banish the image. Reid knew she would soon learn, if she hadn’t already, that that trick didn’t work. “For a long time I couldn’t get the window open. Part of it was painted shut. My life flashed before my eyes. I didn’t think that happened but it did.”

  “You saved yourself. You should be incredibly proud. You’re the only writer who got away from that scumbag.”

  “Barely.”

  “The point is, when you had to get the job done, you did.” He paused, then, “Apart from how damn relieved I am, I am also tremendously proud of you.”

  “Really?” The eyes she turned on him glowed with gratitude. Then she looked away. “I was married to Philip for years and he never once said that to me.”

  Your ex is a jerk, Reid wanted to say. Forget him. Though he would be a hypocrite to mouth those words given how large Donna loomed in his memory. Instead he whispered into her hair. “I can tell you that lots of people with experience, with training, don’t function the way you did. I could tell you stories that would blow your mind.”

  “I hope you do someday.”

  There it was again, a vision of the future. This time with Annie in it. A different picture entirely.

  She rose from the couch, brushed cracker crumbs from her jeans. “I’m really not all that brave, Reid. Even after I read your posting, I was afraid to come back here. Until I saw your truck. Really, until I saw you.” She frowned. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be hiding the truck?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, it’s a deterrent. He waited for the truck to leave before he made his move.”

  “He was watching us.”

  “Yes.”

  “He could be watching us now.”

  “Yes. But I’m ready.”

  Annie let her eyes drift to the gun in his waistband. “I want to learn how to use that thing. But right now I’m desperate to take a shower.” She didn’t move toward the bathroom, though. She stood still and glanced toward it, then back at him. “Will you, you know, keep an eye out while I’m in there?”

  “I can’t promis
e you I won’t get distracted.”

  Her eyes flared with panic before she caught the innuendo. She shook her head. “You are such a guy to be able to think about sex at a time like this.”

  He rose and towered over her. Her eyes—those delicious green eyes—never wavered from his. “Maybe I’ll get real lucky and won’t have to just think about it.”

  She held his stare for a long enough beat to give him hope. Then she turned and moved toward the bathroom.

  Mission accomplished. Now she was distracted enough to forget at least some of her fear.

  He cleaned up from her paltry meal, called out once to reassure her he was nearby. He heard the shower’s water pound.

  She had left the bathroom door, battered as it was, partly open. He slid inside the room and watched her. Through the opaque glass he could make out only the vaguest outline of her body, but that was enough to tantalize. “I’m here,” he said, so she wouldn’t be frightened if she happened to look over.

  “Okay.” She was shampooing her hair. A rosemary scent filled the air.

  He eyed the dirty clothes she’d abandoned on the linoleum floor and scooped them up. “I’m putting your clothes in the washer.”

  “I won’t have anything to wear.”

  That was the whole idea.

  The water had stopped running by the time he returned. He handed her a fresh towel and continued his perusal of her body as she rubbed herself dry. When she was done she twisted the towel around herself and combed her fingers through her hair, whose blond spikiness aroused him. Not that he needed any encouragement. He levered himself off the door jamb, pulled her body into his arms, and lowered his lips to her neck.

  She pushed him away. “Wait a minute. Isn't it Monday? Aren’t they expecting you at work today?”

  “I can get away without being there for one day.” He went for her throat this time, forcing her head backward. She stilled briefly, then spoke again.

  “No, I mean it.” She straightened. “Won’t it be suspicious to Simpson if you don’t show up at work? Since the rental car was found near the studio over the weekend and they know I was in LA?”

  A lot had happened since then she didn’t know about. There was no fighting it. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she heard the entire story.

  So he led her back to the couch and told it. He told her about the Brandy alibi he’d concocted when Simpson showed up at his home. About the frantic call from Sheila relaying what Rajiv had seen at the cabin. About how Reid had evaded his tail.

  She was frowning when he finished. “So now Simpson knows for sure that you’re hiding something. He’s got to know you’re hiding me.”

  There was no disputing that assessment. She went on, with the same frown on her face but now a serious question in her eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this, Reid? You are in way deep. You’ve lied for me, you’ve evaded surveillance, you’re probably at risk of criminal charges. Who knows what could happen to Crimewatch after all this. You’re putting a huge amount on the line.” She paused, then, “For me.”

  Her unspoken why hung in the air. He hadn’t answered that question in days now. He’d been on a sort of automatic pilot, still helping her because he’d started helping her, because he’d gotten drawn in by the day-to-day, because of his “save the victim” mentality and his growing certainty that she was a victim.

  But she was no longer a cause for him. She was a woman. And not just any woman now. Annie.

  Reid's lips came close to forming words he hadn't spoken for years. Words he'd never spoken to a woman other than Donna. Yet, as Annie watched him, in the end those were words he couldn't bring himself to speak. All he could do was mouth a reassurance she'd heard before. “Annie, you’re in the right here. I am, too. We’re going to prove that. Soon. And when we do, we’ll be in the clear. No one will be able to accuse either one of us of anything.”

  He led her to bed then. She didn’t protest, whether out of exhaustion or desire or some deep need for comfort after what she’d suffered. He unwrapped the towel from her body as if he were unveiling a precious thing, and in fact he was.

  This time, when he made love to her, it was a slow fire, a gentle fire, the kind that took longer to build and also longer to extinguish. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so tender; part of him wondered if he ever had.

  Traitorous thought, but lost in Annie he didn’t care. He just didn’t care.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Annie awoke alone and naked in bed, late afternoon sunshine painting a golden stripe on the shambled bedclothes. It took her a few moments to remember where she was, and why. When memory returned, in all its wretched clarity, she jolted upright and shouted Reid’s name. He appeared in seconds, the .38 in his jeans’ waistband, and pulled her into his arms.

  “What time is it?” she asked when she recovered. Her head nuzzled against his chest.

  “A little after five.”

  “How long did I sleep?”

  “About six hours.”

  She pulled back, took stock of how she felt. Still tired. Very hungry. More than a little achy from her getaway the night before. Deeply comforted by the bulwark of Reid mere inches away, and the recollection of their lovemaking. She looked into his eyes, their ocean-blue depths calm and reassuring. “What do we do now?”

  She recognized the irony of her question. It was she, after all, who had dragged him into this morass. It was because of her that his work, his reputation, his life were all in jeopardy. Yet for the last six hours he had let her succumb to slumber while he forced himself, she knew, to do the heavy lifting of plotting their next move.

  “I’ve had a few thoughts about what to do next,” he said, and was about to expound on them when she lay a quieting finger on his lips.

  “When is the last time I told you how grateful I am?”

  He looked away as if he were casting his mind back, a smile creasing his lips. “Oh, a day or two.”

  “That’s way too long. I should be thanking you on an hourly basis.”

  She’d done quite the opposite, she realized, mentally replaying the events of the prior day, when she’d awakened in this very bed with Reid beside her only to berate him for failing to give her something he in no way owed.

  “I want to apologize for how I acted yesterday,” she told him. “For getting so mad at you when you said you didn’t want to get serious.”

  He shook his head as if to forestall her but she pushed on.

  “The fact is that you were never anything but upfront about that. If I didn’t like what I was hearing, I should have held myself back. I shouldn’t have jumped into bed with you. I especially shouldn’t have used sleeping with you to try to make you feel some sort of obligation.”

  “Annie …” He sighed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was me who pursued you, from the beginning, and given where I am I had no business doing that.”

  That wasn’t what she’d hoped to hear, but she forced herself to listen.

  He rose and walked across the small bedroom. Annie was assailed with melancholy, imagining the inevitable day when the distance between them was much greater than the few yards that separated them now. He propped his elbow on a bureau bearing a wide assortment of Banerjee family photos. Sheila figured prominently, Annie saw, and she wondered, not for the first time, if she and Sheila Banerjee were two in a line of women who’d tried to slay Reid’s demons, and failed. It seemed an object lesson.

  “I’m really torn because I feel so close to you, Annie. Closer than I’ve felt to any woman since Donna.”

  If only there weren’t a caveat coming.

  “But I’m worried I can’t give you what you deserve. I feel terrible because I started something I may not be able to finish. As much as I want to.”

  A part of her had expected to hear exactly this, even though, hours before, she had been sure that he was close to telling her he loved her. Maybe he had been. But close wasn’t good enough. Not for the Annie she wanted
to be, the Annie she used to be, before she squandered the best part of herself to marry a man who didn’t give her his whole heart. Reid might have a laudable reason for holding himself back, but that was a compromise Annie would not make again.

  “I understand better than I used to,” she heard herself say. “You have to do what you have to do.”

  He seemed surprised she was letting him off the hook. He came back to the bed to sit beside her. “I want to be with you, Annie. That’s really come home to me the last few days when I haven’t known where you were.” He stopped.

  When I was afraid the killer got you. The words Reid wouldn’t say reverberated in Annie’s head.

  “I want to be with you, too.” It was an admission she was startled to hear herself speak. “But I can’t if you’re, as you say, torn. I don’t want a man who’s torn about being with me, Reid.”

  He nodded, said nothing more.

  Sadness came and perched beside Annie, and she knew it would be her companion for some time. There was nothing for it then but to plunge ahead with what she had to do to make her life worth saving.

  “All right. What’s our first order of business? I’m starving so I hope it’s dinner.”

  That lightened the mood.

  He chuckled. “I’m thinking the same thing. And since the cupboards are almost bare, I say we grab good old-fashioned fast food. It’s a risk driving around in the truck but we’ve got to eat. And if we’re both wearing sunglasses and baseball caps, I bet we can go through the drive-thru lane and not be recognized.” He headed out of the room. “Let me get your clothes. They’re washed.”

  Ten minutes later they were in Reid’s pickup headed for the nearest burger joint, fifteen miles of two-lane country road away. “I don’t think we should get into a bunch of personal stuff again,” he said, “but there is something I have to ask.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What’s with the diamond ring back at the cabin?”

  She’d forgotten all about it. “So the killer didn’t take it.”

  “That’s not what he was after.”

  Only too true. “Let me tell you about Kevin Zeering,” Annie began, and described the behavior of the lovesick writing student whom Reid had glimpsed on TV at the rally her mom and stepdad had organized. “He’s not the killer, though,” she concluded. “For a while I thought he might be but he’s not the man who came after me yesterday. I’m positive about that.”