by Lee Boschen
Leslie felt a strong tremor in her stomach. She sat up. “He said that?"
"Ow. Watch those sudden movements, will you? Actually, he said—"
"You'll have to do your own reminding. If it's important enough to you, I shouldn't have to ... besides, it's just after noon. There's plenty of time for ... that."
"You're a hard woman."
"One of us has to keep her head."
"I like the way you put that."
"Oh, Richard, I didn't mean—"
"I know.” Gently he urged her head back onto his shoulder. “Do you think they've given us all the options? Go to the police, or get another knock on the head?"
"I can't believe that's our only choice."
"You know what I want to do. Suck him into a trap and—"
"But how?” Her heart began to race. “Richard, Alex is clever. He'll sense a trap."
"What if we make him too angry to think about traps, only about revenge? From the little you've told me about him, he doesn't sound all that smart. He's had to use his money to buy his way out of his mistakes lots of times. The thing that makes him so dangerous is that he's so quick to kill. That killing rage is the same thing that makes him vulnerable. That's what we've got to work on."
"How?” Her fingers began to tighten on his.
"Rub his nose in us."
Leslie eased her head from under his and stared at him. “Rub his nose—you mean, deliberately taunt him with the fact that we, um..."
Richard nodded slowly. “Then, when he comes after us, if he does—"
"Oh, he will, all right, only not where or when we think."
"He will if we make him angry enough."
"Richard, how can you possibly know that? You've never seen the man, never talked with him."
"Don't you remember what you told me? I know he's ... what, a millionaire? I know he's very vain about his good looks. I know he has an explosive temper. I know he gets a kick out of killing—"
"I never told you he gets a kick out of killing."
"Yes, you did. You told me he does his killings himself. And then he calls you and tells you about them. Don't you see? With the kind of money he has he could hire it done. But he doesn't. No, he gets a kick out of planning an ‘accident’ to kill some poor guy, then walking away free as the air. He probably laughs about it. We've got to make him too angry to plan."
"By taunting him."
"Right to the edge, where he's blind with rage, lusting to kill us."
She looked at him with huge eyes, her grip on his hand so tight it hurt. “Richard, I'd rather stand in a lion's cage and poke at him with a sharp stick."
"Yeah, that's the whole idea. Come on, Leslie, I'm no hero. If I'd been squeezed by the same pressure you have, I'd probably feel just like you do. I'll give it to you straight—Alex doesn't seem near as bad to me as the guys who dumped me into the ditch in front of your house. He's a devil I can see, one I can fight."
Her will to be free of Alex faltered, and she tried to pull her hand away. She wanted to get up and run, to flee from the idea of confronting the man who'd haunted her for so long.
Richard wouldn't let go of her hand.
"Let me go."
"No."
"You—” She bit her lips as she strained against him. “Let me go, I don't want to be around you any more."
"No.” He stood and tugged her to her feet, still holding her hand, his gaze intense. “I've got to do something, Leslie. I can't go around with an empty head. I need to know who I am, where I fit into this world. I've got to work on that, and I can't with all these people looming up out of the mist to threaten my life. And your life. I need someone to help me fight back, someone I can trust. I need you, Leslie."
She looked down where their hands were together and saw that her knuckles were white from gripping his hand. ‘I don't want to be around you,’ she had protested, but her hand wouldn't let go of his. The irony was so great she almost cried out.
She sat down abruptly.
"Will you promise not do anything until we agree?"
He sat beside her, raising her chin with a finger until their eyes met. His expression was grave. “Do you understand that we mustn't wait too long?"
She nodded. Her eyes filled with tears. “Yes, but God, it's scary. After so long ... I want time to think."
He raised her hand to his cheek. “Okay.” He leaned back on the bench, and after a while their grasp on each others’ hands became less painful.
Finally, she spoke. “This is dumb."
"Now what?"
"Here I am, fat, dumb and happy—I know there's real danger here, but for the first time in years I'm beginning to feel alive."
He didn't respond for a moment, then she heard him snicker.
Her voice had an edge. “That's funny?"
"Fat.” Another soft snort. “I watched you walk to your car. Did you realize that you have the most delightful—"
"Richard!"
"Leslie, you're a very attractive woman. The way your—"
"Listen, mister, I have seen you absolutely stark, staring naked, so if you want to compare notes..."
"What? When was ... oh, yeah, off with the wet clothes. So, what did you think?"
Leslie blinked at his question. She hadn't expected to have to discuss this. Ten years was too long. She was out of practice talking like this with a man. Her cheeks burned. “Uh.” She gulped. “You don't have much hair on your chest. I always thought real men had lots of hair on their chest."
"A canard,” he said. “Perpetrated by the poor apes who have hair all over. Privately they think hair is a pain in the backside. But, other than
that...?"
"Uh, I thought—rather nice, actually."
"There. That's exactly what I was trying to say about your—"
"Stop! Richard, I'm thirty-three years old. I am not a virgin. I know how babies are made. I have a nine-year-old daughter, for heaven's sake, but talking like this with you I feel myself blushing like a schoolgirl."
He nodded. “Sure, it's because we're starting over. Leslie, our lives will never again be what they were. Personally, I think that's a good thing."
Leslie's rosy glow was dashed suddenly. “What will your wife think about that?"
Richard made a sudden restless movement. “Leslie, I told you, I'm not—by God, that settles it.” He stood, pulling her up, his look at her narrow-eyed as he ground out his next words. “We are going to learn my last name. Absolute top priority. Mind you, no one must know that we're looking until after we've found out who I am. It might be slow going, because of the need for secrecy, but there are bound to be ways.” He started to grin.
Wary again, she asked, “What?"
"Your mission is to think of some of those ways."
"Me?"
"Who better, with your sharp legal mind."
"Yeah, but—"
"That only leaves one other immediate problem."
Leslie's shoulders sagged. “Oh, my God, now what?"
"I'm hungry. Will you buy me lunch?"
After lunch, they walked around the square, looking in all the shop windows and discussing their contents as comfortably as if they'd been doing it for years. It was when they were looking in the window of the camera shop on the north side of the square that Leslie saw the first tiny fissure open into Richard's memory. Pointing to one of the cameras on display, he told Leslie, “We must sell a couple of thousand of those every year."
She looked at him, startled. We? Who is we? Sell? How does he know? She tried to ease information out of him. “Oh, really? Who buys a camera like that?"
"Lots of people. It's packed with features: auto focus, auto advance, auto exposure. When you add a decent zoom lens and built-in flash, you end up with a nice point-and-shoot camera. Best of all, it only costs about a hundred dollars. Very popular."
"Sounds good. Where should I go to buy a camera like that?” She held her breath as she waited for his answer.
He sm
iled. “Why, to any of our stores."
Yes, Richard, yes, but where? She prayed he would give her a name. “Here?"
"Oh, no, this isn't one of our stores. Since you work downtown you ought to go to the one in ... in—” His face showed the strain as he tried to remember, and the disappointment when he couldn't. “I almost had it."
"Richard, don't you realize what you said. You sell cameras."
He nodded absently, his mind still busy with the challenge of recalling the name of a store. “Yeah. So?"
She took him by the arms and shook him impatiently. “Come on, that's a clue to who you are."
He looked stunned as he realized what she meant. “My God, I didn't see it. I was trying to come up with a name ... I sell cameras."
"No,” she said. “We sell cameras. At any of our stores. Places like this.” She pointed to the camera store window.
"Yeah.” His face lit up. “Yeah, I work for some kind of chain that sells cameras,” he said. “Hell, we'll be in the phone book.” He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her breathless. “You angel, you may have found the key.” He kissed her fiercely, then drew back and looked at her, an intense, wide-eyed look she noticed even through her pleasant daze. Then he took her by the hand and they went running to a public phone booth. He clawed his way through the yellow pages until he came to, “Ah, here we are, ‘Cameras.’ Aargh. ‘See Photographic Equipment.'” Another flurry of pages, then, “Oh, yes, look here. Jesus, the mother lode."
He started running his finger down the listing, his lips moving as he murmured each name aloud. Finally he came to the end. “Hell, I don't know any of these names.” Musing aloud, he stared off into the distance. “Or maybe I just didn't recognize it when I saw it. Damn, I should have known it wouldn't be this easy.” His face gloomy, he leaned against the side of the phone booth.
"You're sure? Would it pay to run through them again?"
He shook his head. “Maybe later,” he said. Looking down at the pages, he snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute. What if I'm a photographer, and sell cameras as a sideline? Or work for a photo studio that has a sales branch?” He started leafing through the pages of the directory. “Good God, Leslie, there are hundreds of them in here."
"Then we'll just have to call each one,” she said, “and ask for the man named Richard."
"And if Richard isn't there...” His eyes grew bright, “Yeah, any place where Richard didn't come in today is a possible, and we'll go visit them to see if they know me.” Nodding slowly, he leafed through the pages. “It'll take a while, but it sure beats sitting on our hands.” He grinned at her. “Let's go home, lady, and start making phone calls."
On the way home they were silent. When she pulled into her drive, he began to talk, his words soft, almost as if he were talking to himself.
"When I first saw you, I remember thinking that you had big feet, but then I realized that you were a big woman, and that you'd look funny with little feet. Your feet fit you. Then I thought your mouth was big. Until I had time to realize that the woman named Leslie Carson would look strange with a little mouth. Your mouth is just right for you."
Leslie had a strange, quivery feeling in her stomach, and she put her hands in her lap to hide the little trembling. “Where are you going with this, Richard?"
"Are you like that all over, Leslie?"
The glowing tingle rushed through her like molten fire in her veins.
"Uh..."
"Everything just right?"
"Well, I..."
He moved close to her, so close she could smell the masculine scent of his skin. Her breathing grew rapid, and she felt the most incredible yearning to be one with him. He lifted her hair away from her face, curling it carefully behind her ear. His eyes were glowing, his gaze intense, and in an instant she knew. He's going to kiss me. There was no time for panic or rejection, there was only his mouth on hers.
Her eyes drifted closed and she had time to notice that his lips were firm and warm. I knew they'd be like that. Then his tongue coaxed her lips apart and began to move in a sensual pas de deux with her tongue. She felt his hands moving, pressing her against him. Desire suppressed for years rose like a fever in her, raging hot and breathless. This was nothing like she had thought it would be—something sweet and gentle. This was shocking in its power, primitive, and utterly compelling. She put her arm around his neck, her other arm around his chest, clutching him to her, wanting to be closer, yes, to be inside his skin, to meld with him. She heard a small moan and realized that she had made it herself, deep in her throat.
Shaken by the intensity of her response she tore her mouth from his, gasping for breath and trembling in his arms.
"Richard,” she gasped, “Richard.” That was just a kiss, she thought. Just a kiss.
"My God, Leslie,” he said at last.
She could hear his breathing slowing, and he said, “I, um ... I think I needed being kissed worse than I knew."
Her laugh made soft puffs of breath against his throat. She leaned back in his arms. “You do that very well."
"You didn't exactly seem to be a prude yourself."
A prude. Her face colored as she recalled the fever. “I think I was hungry."
"Yes. Me too, starving.” He took a deep breath. “That sure proves one thing. I'm not married."
Leslie cooled suddenly, moving out of his arms. “Oh? And what makes you think that?"
"Did I act like a man who's been getting kissed regularly?"
She felt her face warm.
He grinned. “If you could see the look your face.” He opened the car door. “Come on, let's get inside and start making phone calls."
Alex Wright watched them stroll around the square, hand in hand, like lovers. Later, when he drove past her house and saw them kissing in her car, he nearly choked on his rage. He almost stopped and killed the two of them right then and there. Afterward, cooling, he was glad he hadn't.
"I finally caught you, whore,” he said, his voice crooning. “All this time you've been careful, making it appear you were living like a nun, and I could never catch you. But I've got you now."
He savored the thought of her death. Maybe, after all those years of spot checks, to have it end so suddenly might be a mistake. No use hurrying to end it after this long. He'd just take his time, make sure they know what's coming, enjoy watching them squirm.
He grinned. What the hell, a man could have worse hobbies.
In fact, maybe he shouldn't end the game at all. He considered that thought as he drove back to Indianapolis. Maybe he should only kill the stranger, leave the whoring bitch alive for a while, dangling. Or steal her brat, the one she'd tried to pawn off on him. His face creased in a smile. That would really keep the fun going for a while.
No, he decided finally. It was time to end it. It was time for the three of them to go: the stranger, the whore Leslie, and Coleen, the whore's spawn. Time for someone new. Yes, her mother, June Carson, and her husband the colonel. Keep it in the family. He laughed aloud in delight. Oh, yes, it would be great fun stalking them, and there was always the added spice of knowing that he would be the prime suspect. A whole new game. But first, end this one.
Tonight.
Chapter Seven
Richard took the first shift, calling one photographer one after another as Leslie read him numbers from the Yellow Pages. And at first it was exciting, each call offering hope...
"May I talk to Richard, please?"
Only to snatch that hope away.
"What Richard?"
"There's no one named Richard works there?"
"Nope. You must have the wrong number."
"Sorry,” Richard mumbled.
Then it was Leslie's turn to dial. Finally, after a couple of hours, it became work. But, doggedly, they kept at it, trading off until at last they had to take a break to rekindle their enthusiasm. And then, back at it again.
Finally completing the list of photographers, they started on Photo Finishing—R
etail. Leslie slid the three-by-five card down one name in the list and tapped in the number. “May I speak to Richard, please,” she asked the man who answered.
"Which one?"
Leslie's eyebrows rose. Usually there weren't any Richards. She felt a stirring of hope. She turned to face Richard, turning the phone away from her ear so he could hear, and motioning him to listen. “Which one? How many are there?"
"Two, Richard Ayres and Richard Lees. Which one do you want?"
"They're both there?"
The skin around Richard's eyes tightened as he waited to hear.
"Yes. Which one—"
"Never mind. Neither of them is the one I want to talk to. Thanks."
She put the receiver back in its cradle. “Sorry to get your hope built up for nothing,” she said, “but for a minute there..."
Shrugging, the man in the Camera Store hung up his phone. What was that all about, he wondered. She wants to talk to a Richard who isn't here? Suddenly he realized who she'd been after—she wanted to talk to that Richard. Then he shook his head. Nah, she wouldn't be calling him here. Downtown, maybe. Not here.
* * * *
"Seven o'clock,” Leslie said, “I quit.” She sat down on the couch, leaning back, her legs outstretched.
Richard stuck the three-by-five card in the phone book to mark their place and closed the bulky directory. “Okay. Now what?"
"Was that talk of dinner out just an idle question?"
He looked downcast. “That was when I thought I could go home and get money to buy your dinner."
"Are you too proud to let me buy?"
He thrust out his jaw, his male pride obviously offended. Then his shoulders sagged. “Hell. I guess not. It sure doesn't look like it anyway. You've already made breakfast, bought coffee, paid for lunch, now—"
Leslie looked at him in exasperation. “Come on, Richard, think of it as running a tab. When we find out who you are, then you can pay for a while, at least till we get even in your mind."
"We'll never get even in my mind."
She cocked her head and eyed him carefully. “I don't want you thinking that."
"How do I stop? I owe you big, lady."