by Renee Roszel
Anger and hurt flared inside her. Licking dry lips, she began what she knew would be difficult to say. “Please go away, Cotter.” The voice she heard coming from her own lips was so low, so determined, she didn’t recognize it.
He lay still, saying nothing, not moving. She pressed the damp cheek down to the quilt and inhaled a calming breath, wishing she could know what was going through his mind just then. It couldn’t be shame that was motivating him now. She had made love with him a second time without reciprocal love or hope. Negating her weakness, she repeated her demand, her voice growing stronger with conviction. “I said, please go.”
When he rolled away, she sat up, hugging herself, feeling weak and bereft. He sat up as well, drawing himself up beside her.
“Cotter…” she pleaded, turning to face him squarely. “A long time ago, my father told me never to use the word ‘hate.’ But I’m going to break that rule. You’ve lied to me from the moment we met. I hate you for that!”
He had picked up her shirt and held it out to her when she’d begun to speak. Now he was very still. She took the shirt from his outstretched hand and swept her underwear and slacks up as she moved away from him. Hurrying to the far corner to put on her clothes, she worked at keeping her voice calm, “You said once that I was too nice. Maybe not anymore. I’m not dumb, Cotter—I’m learning. I can even make up rules of my own. You want to hear one?” She jerked on her underwear, whispering hoarsely, “Don’t touch me anymore. That’s my only rule, the only one I need. You can find somebody else to play your games with.”
“But Raine—” He had followed her, and his fingers curled around her bare shoulder, but she jerked away, struggling into her shirt.
“Go away, please. I asked you not to touch me!”
“But you can’t—”
“Hey, down there! We’re back! Anybody care?” The familiar singsong voice, calling from far away, commanded their attention. Raine’s gasp was audible, and she hurried to finish dressing.
Cotter muttered something and Raine could hear the rustle of his clothes being pulled hurriedly on as he shouted back, “That five hours breezed right by!” He made no attempt to hide the irritation in his voice.
“We could go out and bring back a couple of pizzas. You two like anchovies?” Nordie’s voice was as light as Cotter’s had been grave.
Raine smoothed her hair back with trembling fingers and adjusted her glasses as she turned to look at Cotter. She was startled to see his dark eyes glittering as he called sardonically, “Don’t bother. I don’t think Professor Webber is hungry. Get your friends down here and open this door.”
The lights came on, and Raine dropped her gaze from Cotter’s face. With an urgent need to have the whole incident blotted from her brain, she pushed by him and busied herself by gathering the quilt into her arms, fumbling to get it folded.
Cotter took it from her and made quick work of folding it, placing it on top of the crate she’d been sitting on earlier. As he straightened, Nordie came to the door.
“Well, there’s what comes from having brains in the group. George just flicked something he called a breaker and presto! Lights.”
Cotter walked forward a pace. “You mean you didn’t try that yourself?”
She grinned. “I’m no electrical engineer.”
“Not this semester, anyway,” Cotter said simply. “Give George my thanks. But a prison with lights is still a prison.” His tone was matter-of-fact now, all irritation gone or well hidden. Most likely, Raine thought, she was already forgotten. He was speaking. “How do you intend to get that lock un—”
A noisy scraping and then a loud thud cut off his words, and the door opened. Nordie beamed at them, stepping back. “Voilà” She took a bow as though she were being wildly applauded. Holding up her hands, palms forward, she shook her head. “Thank you! Thank you! But it was nothing—nothing at all.”
In a surprise move, Cotter took Raine’s elbow in a grasp so firm she doubted that she could disengage him without throwing herself to the floor. He helped her step over the glass while speaking to Nordie, “For your sake, I hope you didn’t do that by yourself.”
She laughed, pulling Bill out from behind the door. “Of course not. My hero did it. I’ve always been partial to brawny, earthy-type men. That’s why I love you so much. You can’t get much earthier than a garbageman.” She threw her brother a kiss, then sobered until only the merest glint of devilment remained in her eyes. “I sure hope you two weren’t too inconvenienced being stuck in there like that. But at least it didn’t take as long as I thought it would to get you out. Carl sent the boys back. I met them on the road. Seems Carl told them he and Cam were tired and wanted to go on to bed.”
With Cotter’s hand on her arm, Raine had trouble concentrating on the conversation. Why was he doing this to her? Was it part of his perverse sense of humor? Was he doing it because she’d asked him not to touch her again? Probably. She despised being manipulated and made a fool of. Her cheeks grew hot with anger. With an abrupt step forward she jerked away from him, using all her might. “I’m going to bed. Tomorrow’s a workday, and I don’t feel very well,” she muttered between clenched teeth.
“You don’t?” Nordie asked, sounding surprised.
“Oh, it’s been a long day, I guess.” She knew her face was tight, her voice strained. But Nordie could take it—she couldn’t always see Raine as a paragon. “Good night, Nordie, Bill.” When she rounded the door, she almost ran headlong into George. “Oh!” She dropped her hands to his shoulders. “I didn’t know you were there. Thanks for your help, George.”
His face reddened in his shy, embarrassed way. “It’s okay,” he mumbled, stepping out of her way.
Even feeling as desolate as she did, her heart went out to him. She knew how he felt. She’d been as painfully shy at his age, too. Patting his arm affectionately, she headed past him. Her trammeled heart pounded in rhythm with her feet as she retreated, in a near run, up the steps, toward the sanctity of her room.
Nordie, a perplexed expression knitting her fine brows, watched Raine go. She then turned to the young men. “You guys go on up to bed. Cotter and I have some family stuff to discuss. You know, stuff like who’s going to cook breakfast, and who’s the beneficiary of his estate…”
When they had gone, Nordie turned a jaundiced eye on her brother. She began to tap one foot. “Do you see that?” She cocked her head down toward the thumping high heel.
“Is that the sprained ankle?”
“Don’t try to change the subject,” she warned glumly. “No, it’s intense irritation. She looked angrier than ever. What did you do in there?”
He crossed his arms and stared at her. “You amaze me. Just what did you expect me to do once you got us trapped in there?”
Nordie threw up her hands in exaggerated distress. “I expected you to do what you usually do.”
He frowned at her. “I usually get wine.”
She matched his look and poked him in the ribs. “I didn’t mean that! Didn’t you take the golden opportunity in there in the dark to tell her how much you like her?”
“Are you still on that?” he hedged, looking away, searching the dusky corners of the basement for something—preferably an escape route. His sister’s probing was making him feel like a bum.
“Why shouldn’t I be? I planned this little prank to give you some time alone with her to—to plight your troth—without that handsome cop hanging around. What did you two do, argue politics? If you did, from the way she looked when she left, I’d wager you two would never have met at a political convention.”
“We didn’t talk much.” He sighed heavily. “And I told you once, I’m not ‘plighting’ anything to any woman. I have enough family to worry about with you and Carl.” He turned back to face her. “This trick of yours was a fine idea. She couldn’t abide me before; now she has a healthy hatred for me.” He lifted a fist threateningly to her chin. “And you know whose fault that is.”
“Oh
, really?” She pushed his hand away. “When Professor Webber looked at me just now, her eyes didn’t say she wished I were covered with honey in a cage full of hungry bears.” She slid him a sly glance. “Besides, I can no more make women hate you than I can make ’em love you. If you didn’t tell her you liked her, just what did you do to that sweet woman?”
He knew what he’d done. And he knew it hadn’t been a fair thing to do—especially twice. He didn’t know what it was about Raine that attracted him so deeply. But whatever it was, it could short-circuit his common sense. He leaned back against the cold brick wall. There was something undeniable about her; something vital, yet fragile, that made her lovable.
Nordie squinted up at Cotter’s face. “Why you—” her voice had become high-pitched and disbelieving “—Why you lecher! I can see guilt all over your face! You tried to take advantage of her down here. You rat! You weren’t supposed to do that; you were supposed to talk nice to her! Can’t you tell a lady when you see one? Are you nothing but an animal?” She accented her scolding words by punching his stomach.
“Ouch! Cut it out, Nordie.” He held out his hand to ward off further attack.
“And you try to say it’s my fault? After all, I set this thing up! I wanted to be Cupid and I turned out to be a—an accessory! I can’t believe it! My own brother!” Ignoring his grunt of pain, she jabbed a finger toward the stairs. “Get out of here. I never want to see you again.”
He looked at her seriously now. “Are you quite through, Your Majesty?”
She swiveled her head slowly around. “Are you still here, you worm?”
“Okay, okay.” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “I admit I’m all manner of crawling lowlife—probably worse. But I haven’t gotten off unscathed. Between the two of you, I’m getting my share of bruises.”
“Aw! What a bummer for you.” She lifted her lips in a satisfied smile. “Therein lies the message.”
He reached up to rub his throbbing temples. “Look, I’m already in pain. What do you expect me to do? Throw myself off a cliff?”
“Why don’t you?” She lifted a shoulder in a dismissing shrug. “Professor Webber will be gone in a few days anyway—probably be engaged to Ike by then. I suppose that’s for the best.” She sighed theatrically. “Meanwhile, why don’t you give Anona a call. She doesn’t have the sense to hate you.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but spun away and stomped up the steps.
Cotter said nothing. Maybe Anona had the sense to now. He hadn’t said anything specific to her tonight. But she knew he wasn’t going to call her anymore. He’d seen it in her eyes after he’d kissed her good-bye. Anona knew the rules.
He turned away from the empty stairs as his sister’s steps echoed a staccato retreat through the kitchen. His eyes were drawn back into the wine cellar; his brooding gaze fell on the folded quilt. The memory of Raine’s yielding body blazed to life again, and his mouth tightened. He didn’t need complications in his life. Things were exactly the way he wanted them to be, or they would be soon.
Raine was leaving in a few days, and with her gone, Nordie’s fickle anger would abate. All he had to do was wait both women out. It was that simple. Feeling drained, he leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and closed his eyes. If it was so simple, then why did he feel so damned bad?
Chapter Eleven
Raine flinched when the stable door creaked open, fearing it might be Cotter. Fumbling with the cola bottle she had been cataloguing, she allowed it to tumble off the table and onto the hay-strewn ground. She leaned against the table for strength. She had managed to avoid seeing him at breakfast by skipping the meal. She hoped that had made her position clear enough. Surely he wouldn’t have the audacity to come out here where he knew she would be, not after last night. She hoped he’d have the decency, at least, to go to his office in town these last few days.
“Morning, everybody. Sorry I’m late.”
Raine breathed a sigh of relief and turned around. Her smile was more a show of teeth than an emotional reaction to Ike. But she had to admit, she much preferred seeing Ike Noonan than Cotter Hunt. “Hi. You oversleep?” She managed the question in a normal tone of voice.
He nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. I forgot to set the alarm. Did I miss anything?”
Nordie chimed in, “Did you ever! Last night Professor Webber and my—” her eyes darted fleetingly, almost apologetically, to Raine and back again to Ike “—my brother got trapped in the wine cellar. Nobody was here to help me get them out. At least, everybody else was gone. And I couldn’t find you.” She paused.
Ike’s expression closed. “Really? When?”
“Oh, I guess it was about twenty minutes or so after everybody left.”
Ike rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he considered that. “I was in my room. Guess I was in the shower. Went right to bed. Never heard a thing.”
Nordie smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand, declaring loudly, “Of course! In the shower. I should have guessed that. And if you went right off to bed, you probably didn’t even know the electricity went off.”
“It did?” Ike appeared totally surprised. Letting out a hearty laugh, he quipped, “And I’m supposed to be a detective?”
Nordie giggled. “It was off for about an hour. I wish you’d have seen me trying to get out through our gate without electricity. Manual operation of that electronic thing is the pits.”
“I’m sorry.” Ike walked over to the hook that held his smock. “But since Raine is standing here, I gather everything came out all right.”
Nordie folded her rubber-gloved hands and looked over at Raine. “Well—” she smiled weakly and shrugged “—everybody escaped, if that’s what you mean.”
Ike pulled his smock on and began buttoning it. “Good.” He ambled over to Raine. “You got anything for me yet?”
She shook her head, handing him a pair of gloves. “No. I was just about to get started on our special bags.” She picked up the wire cutters and broke the identifying seal. “Your timing was perfect.” He grinned and winked.
An hour passed. Raine and Ike had just opened the second bag in the suspect group when Raine pulled out a crumpled sheet of pink paper. She repeated the code for writing paper as she carefully smoothed it out. “It’s a letter—at least part of one. It’s been burned.” She scanned the contents, taking care not to break off any of the blackened edges where writing could still be made out. “Want to take a look at it?”
His back was toward her. She heard him wad a charge-card receipt he had been carefully examining. “Sure. If nothing else, it’ll be a break in the monotony.” He tossed the crumpled receipt in the catalogued trash. “May be from a lover.”
She scanned the flowing script. “It does look like a woman’s handwriting. But if it’s a love letter, it’s pretty tame. Something about grapes—” as she skimmed the words, she held the paper out to him “—and some friend that went fishing.”
His fingers froze an inch from the fragile page, and his eyes grew wide. For a long moment, he stared down at it.
“What is it?” She looked from his face back to the letter and frowned in confusion. Certainly there was nothing in the partial note that looked incriminating.
“Give me that,” he murmured. Snatching the sheet from her, he pored over it closely. His fingers began to tremble as he read aloud. “Cousin…grapes we’ve sown will make good wine. Our friend’s gone fishing. Paulie—” Ike’s voice caught oddly. Swallowing, he began again. “Paulie’s gone to the…country.”
Raine looked up at his face. He had gone pale. In a whisper, she asked, “How do you know it’s ‘country’? All it says is ‘Paulie’s gone to the co.’ It could be company or—”
He looked up from the paper, crumpling it in his fist. Raine grimaced at his unprofessional treatment of what appeared to be important evidence. She was about to caution him about it when he said in a low voice, “It’s ‘country.’”
He stared at nothing in particular and was so sil
ent for so long, Raine finally had to touch his arm to get his attention.
“Ike? What’s wrong?”
He jerked his head around to meet her concerned look. His lips turned up in a woeful smile, and his eyes were vacant. “Nothing,” he mumbled shortly, clutching the letter like a hand grenade about to explode. “I’ve got my evidence.” He looked at her face for only an instant, and his features hardened. “It’s just not…what I expected. Thought it’d be a phone number, an airline charge, something on a credit card, but not—” Licking his lips, he seemed to have an idea. “Look. Where’s a paper? I need to see a newspaper.”
Glancing around, Raine nodded. “We’ve catalogued several of this morning’s.” Before she could go on, Ike was already thumbing through a rumpled copy. He dropped to his knees, spreading the sections out on the dirt floor. Raine sat beside him. “What is it, Ike? May I help?”
He shook his head as he scanned page after page. Raine looked around, realizing her students had stopped what they were doing and stood staring. She didn’t blame them. Ike was acting strangely. When she had turned back, Ike was crouched over a small article, his finger moving slowly as he read.
She squinted to see what had attracted his attention. The headline said: “Hit Man’s Body Discovered.” The story originated in San Clemente, California. She had only a moment to see that it had something to do with the recent murder of Joseph DeMosso, the alleged head of one of the largest crime families operating out of Los Angeles. The body, the story went on to say, had been identified as that of Rocky Velasquez, an alleged hit man. It had been discovered by swimmers after it had washed up on a local beach.
Ike slammed the paper down and jumped to his feet, cursing under his breath. “Why—why Doria?”
Raine scrambled up after him, asking fearfully, “What is it, Ike? Who is Doria?”