Glass Houses

by Stella Cameron

Aiden caught Cal’s grin and shook his head slightly.

  “Fair enough, then,” Dierdre said. “You got bags? Clothes?”

  “Well—”

  “Didn’t think so. Something about you. I put a couple of emergency kits in the cabin. We carry ’em in case—you know, in case of one of those disasters we’ve been going to have since World War II. There’s basic stuff in there and I’ve kept ’em updated. Here.” She darted back behind the counter and produced a bottle. “In case you’re too tired to sleep. A nip of brandy always helps. Now, off you go if you’ve had enough eats.”

  Olivia automatically took the brandy Dierdre thrust at her.

  Cal gave Aiden a battery-operated lantern, and the two waved them out as if they were children who had to get to school in the morning.

  Boswell loped along beside Olivia, showing his own signs of tiredness.

  “You don’t want to stop,” Olivia said. “They’re just being kind, I’m sure of it, but that doesn’t mean we have to do what they suggest.”

  “No.” And just in case Cal and Dierdre were contacting the authorities, he wanted a chance to check. “I’d like you to sleep for a couple of hours if possible. I’d also like to see if I can buy a blanket for the car from them. I’m going to get you inside, move the car, and make my way back to the diner.”

  She’d have liked to ask him not to leave her alone, but thought better of it.

  Aiden unlocked the cabin door and reached inside to switch on the light. “Home, sweet home,” he said automatically. Rustic could be pretty rustic once you left the beaten track in these forgotten places, but the place seemed cheerful enough. “Lock yourself in.”

  She did as she was told and went immediately to peer through faded chintz curtains at the single small window. Aiden’s tall, broad-shouldered shape was impossible to miss. He walked directly to the Rover and got in.

  What would she do if he decided to leave her here?

  He wouldn’t. She didn’t know what made her so sure, but she was sure. The Rover’s engine came to life and she heard it pass around to the back of the cabin. A door slammed and footsteps crunched on gravel, passing the cabin in the opposite direction. When she peered through the curtains again, she saw Aiden’s unmistakable silhouette heading for the diner.

  She shouldn’t feel so happy at the sight of him.

  At a doggy grunt, she looked over her shoulder. Boswell had leaped onto the cabin’s one bed. Only a double, it was piled high with a down comforter covered in red, white, and blue striped flannel. A heap of pillows, no two with matching cases, rested on top. Two businesslike heavy plastic boxes, white with blue hinged tops, also rested on the comforter. In blue marker to match the lids, someone had written “His” on one white box and “Hers” on the other. Olivia had to smile. She dragged “Hers” to the cabin’s one chair, an overstuffed, cracked vinyl recliner in a shade of faded purple.

  She had to look out the window again. This time she could see Cal and Dierdre standing near a booth, talking, but not the person to whom they talked. Olivia didn’t have to see. It would be Aiden. She didn’t like being parted from him, and that was absolutely ridiculous.

  Except that given her situation, she might be forgiven for not enjoying her own company too much.

  He was being a gentleman, of course, staying out of the way to give her privacy.

  An examination of Dierdre’s emergency box produced items of clothing, a toiletry kit, sealed packages of rations, a first-aid kit, sewing kit, flares, bottled water, a radio and batteries, an axe, a multipurpose knife, flashlight, and silver thermal blanket.

  The clothing and toiletries were all that interested Olivia, and she carried several items to the bathroom, together with the nightgown and clean underwear she kept at the bottom of her bag for moments just like this.

  The bathroom was a cubicle behind louvered doors where it was necessary to walk all the way inside before the doors could be closed again. Towels were heaped on a shelf over the toilet. Everything was clean and warm.

  Feeling horribly vulnerable, she undressed and showered as quickly as possible. Her skin wasn’t completely dry when she pulled on the panties and nightie. They stuck to her, but she didn’t care. Over the nightie she pulled on a huge green sweatshirt emblazoned with “Purdue University Wrestling,” and a pair of thick white socks that reached her knees.

  She rinsed out the delicate, rose-colored underwear and pale stockings she’d worn that day and hung them over the shower enclosure. This wasn’t any time to be coy about such things. Her horribly creased jacket, rumpled sweater, and the skirt Mama Zanetto had mended, Olivia hung on a hanger. She hoped they’d improve before she had to put them on again.

  A tap at the outer door caught her combing her wet hair. She finished the job quickly and went to let Aiden in.

  “You didn’t look through the window,” he said, bringing a burst of cold air into the cabin with him. “You just opened the door. I could have been anyone. Never, never do that again. Ask for a name first.”

  “Sorry. I will.” He was right, of course.

  Geez, he thought, she couldn’t be expected to get all of this in one gulp. “It’s okay, you weren’t to know. You’re not used to this type of thing.”

  “You were gone a long time.” Did that sound like something a possessive wife would say?

  If it did, Aiden didn’t react that way. “Those two are something. They’ve been here forever. They just want to talk, and I didn’t want to shut them up in case they said something interesting. They’re okay, by the way. Let me look at the photographs.”

  In her too-large socks, Olivia scuffed across pink-and-blue carpet tiles and rummaged in her bag.

  “Did you hear the other car arrive?” Aiden said.

  “No,” she told him. “I was probably in the shower.”

  Aiden glanced at her. “I’ve got to do that. A car pulled up to the diner when I was walking back. I hope it’s someone else who wants a cabin. I don’t think there’s a lot of money made around here.”

  Looking directly at him disturbed her. She shifted her attention back to her bag and located photos and negatives. She left the negatives where they were and took the pictures to a table with a laminated top over which a naked bulb hung. “I wish I had some idea what we’re looking for,” she said, and spread out the photos.

  “You smell nice,” he said.

  Olivia said, “Thanks,” but he was already absorbed in her shots from the Notting Hill project.

  “Wow,” he said. “Could they use many more colors and patterns in one space?”

  “Dierdre could give it a try,” Olivia said, and giggled when Aiden ran his gaze over the cabin and grinned.

  “Is this kind of thing expensive?” He tapped one picture.

  “Really, really expensive,” Olivia told him.

  Aiden pored over the shot. “Some library. I like it.”

  “That’s my favorite room,” she said.

  Their eyes met briefly.

  “This must be the art gallery.” A series of photos confronted Aiden, some showing a single painting or sculpture, some taking in an entire wall of pieces and displaying them to smaller, less detailed advantage. “Why would one couple need this much stuff?”

  “Some people never have enough.”

  “I see what you mean about what they like. I guess I don’t know cubism from futurism. Every painting here looks abstract to me.” He turned photographs this way and that. “So does the sculpture. Wisest plan is to get somewhere safe and spend a lot of time with these.”

  “Absolutely. I need time to study each frame. Although there may be nothing to find in them. I’ve always thought that.”

  He agreed. “Still, there are other people who don’t think so, and they’re willing to do just about anything to get their hands on them.”

  “I’d have said anything,” Olivia commented.

  “And I guess you’d be accurate,” he told her. What he’d like most of all would be to gather her u
p and dive under the covers with her. They’d probably fall instantly asleep, but at least he’d get to hold her.

  “I’m grateful to Cal and Dierdre,” Olivia said. “I don’t think I’ve met people like them before. There are toiletries and some clean things in the boxes. You’ll probably want the one labeled ‘His.’ ”

  “I guess I will.” He opened the top and started pulling out contents. “Cal and Dierdre are hanging around over there. I figure they always do when they’ve got guests. Is that the other car now?”

  Olivia returned to the window, made a peephole between the two curtains, and surveyed the grounds. “Yes, it’s parking down at the other end. Good. I don’t want to be near anyone else.”

  Aiden considered all the possible meanings of that comment, but didn’t say anything.

  “It’s a big car,” Olivia noted.

  “Uh-huh,” he said, finding toothpaste, then a brush and comb. “Big black Caddy. Looks like a pimpmobile, or a mafia job.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He ought to feel guilty at the sight of her startled expression. He took his armload to the bathroom and inclined his head to study her. “Mmm. Nice outfit. Especially the sweatshirt and socks. You might not want to stand with the light behind you. Get some sleep.”

  The doors shut behind him, and Olivia looked down to see her legs clearly outlined through her thin silk nightie.

  Fifteen

  Olivia listened to the shower—and to the surprising sound of Aiden Flynn humming the tenor part of the “Hallelujah” chorus. Really, people never failed to surprise one.

  The sound of a phone ringing shocked her more. There wasn’t one in the room, but she knew Aiden had a cell phone with him. This could be very important, was bound to be important for someone to call here.

  The sound came from the dreadful jacket, from an inside pocket. Gingerly, Olivia took out the instrument and turned it on. “Yes?” she said softly.

  “Olivia?”

  How many more periods of horrible tension could she tolerate? “Hello, Vanni. Aiden’s in the shower.”

  “Oh, is he?”

  The very familiar heated sensation flash-fired her body. “Yes. We’ve stopped for a couple of hours, then we’ll be off again. Shall I get him?”

  “No, just give him a message and tell him I’ll be in touch again soon. I’ve got to pick my times. Calls from his end aren’t an option. But you know that. Ryan Hill—in the flesh—showed up at the precinct late this afternoon—yesterday afternoon now.

  “Evidently the guy’s got quite the stash of evidence against Aiden and you. If the chief had his way, there’d be an APB out for the pair of you now. Ryan talked him out of it. Said he wanted to avoid getting you killed by some hick with zero experience and itchy fingers. Wants to make sure you’re brought in alive and with whatever evidence you’ve got with you intact.

  “That’s his story, you understand. What he really wants is to get to you himself and make sure anything you’ve got on him never makes it into official hands. He’s been given the all-clear to pursue you himself. In the absence of material evidence, it’s still unofficial. Says he’ll ask for all the backup he needs, when he needs it.”

  Olivia paced and worried. “I wish we knew what he thinks I’ve got. Evidence against him, I mean. We looked briefly at the photographs and couldn’t see anything. There hasn’t been a chance to really study them.”

  “Just don’t flash ’em around,” Vanni said. “Keep ’em safe.” He was quiet for a few moments. “Look, Aiden will try to say he doesn’t need me, but if things get too rough, I’ll find a way to be with you. And I’m ready to wire money. Tell him that, will you? And remind him I’ll be calling back when I can. He’s gotta make sure he doesn’t risk an incoming call reaching me at a bad time. I’m trying to figure out how Ryan knows for sure that you met up with Aiden. He could have found out what plane you took from London and decided that since Aiden’s gone and there’s no sign of you—well, I guess that’s what happened.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the car running okay?”

  “Beautifully. Aiden was ticked off when he realized Boswell was in the warehouse.”

  “Mad, huh?” Vanni said. “He would be, but Boss can be useful. Where are you now?”

  “Ohio. Look, Vanni, I want to be off the phone when Aiden comes back. I’ll give him all this gently if I can—the stuff about Ryan. When you talk to him tomorrow, he’ll have had time to think it through.” She swallowed before saying, “Do you think Ryan intends to—well, kill us?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s what I thought. Thank you for your honesty. Please give my regards to your family. Good-bye, Vanni.”

  “Er, yeah, so long.”

  She turned off the phone and staffed it back in Aiden’s coat. He continued to hum over the sound of the water. Any moment now it would turn cold and he’d get out.

  There were some things a decent person didn’t do, and one of them was drag someone else into their trouble.

  “Okay, okay,” she said aloud because the sound of her voice seemed a normal thing in the middle of a great deal that was bizarre. “You are not a brave woman. You’re not a coward, but you aren’t about to join any bomb squads, either. But you have to release this man from your problems. Otherwise he may lose his career, and even his life.”

  But how could she do that? She sought about in her mind, desperately chasing avenues that led nowhere. There was only one way. Leave him, get away before he could know she’d gone. Heaven knew what she’d do once she walked out that door, but there was no alternative she could live with.

  He’d think her such an idiot.

  She could handle that, but not the prospect of causing the destruction of another human being.

  Scrambling, she dragged a pair of green sweatpants from “Hers” and pulled them on over the socks. She stuffed her nightie down inside and grabbed for a hooded, zip-fronted sweatshirt to wear on top of everything. Her shoes didn’t want to fit over the socks, but she forced them on and slung her bag over her shoulder. Taking the entire camera case would be too much, but she managed to stuff her Nikon into a space in the bag.

  The shower continued. Aiden had moved on to “Rocky Mountain High” and kept muddling the words.

  Olivia planted a kiss on Boswell’s long nose and whispered, “Be quiet and good,” in his ear. Several pillows shoved under the comforter made her feel juvenile, but when she looked at the effect, she decided that if she was lucky, Aiden would think she was sleeping and it would hold up for long enough.

  She slipped outside to a full-throated rendition of “The Irish Blessing.” By now the water must be icy, but evidently the man was made of sturdier stuff than she was. Very gently, she closed the door. There were probably about five miles between her and the motorway, but walking had never intimidated her. Avoiding the open spaces in the parking lot, she sped toward the wide driveway, passing the large black car on her way. A light shone at the window of a cabin, and she could hear people arguing inside.

  What a shame to quarrel when they must need rest.

  Hitchhiking was so dangerous. Women got carted away and raped all the time, and murdered, or left to die in deserted places, like the bottom of the Thames.

  Perhaps a police car would come along, and…

  She was mentally challenged, that was the problem. The last thing she dared risk was attracting the attention of the police.

  Olivia began to sweat. Bushes beside the road were losing their leaves and becoming scrubby, but in the gloom they seemed thick and gnarled, their branches like reaching, beckoning fingers. The wind had picked up, and it whined in the rustling limbs of taller trees.

  In the not-too-far distance, she heard the drone of passing vehicles. The motorway wasn’t far at all. If someone stopped, she’d take a good look at them before getting in and ask them a few pleasant but sensible questions. She was a good judge of character, and she’d trust in that.

  Soon the sky
would begin to lighten, but for now it remained pressed down and ominous upon the land.

  If—no, when—Aiden figured out what she’d done, he’d come after her.

  She shouldn’t have done this. Talking things through and making him understand she must find her own way would have been the thing.

  She broke into a run, stumbling over rocks at almost every step.

  Insects set up a clickety-clack and hiss in the grass on either side of her. Please don’t let a snake come near me.

  A sensation that the air had been ripped apart stopped her. A swishing noise started, like a large bird flying low. Olivia threw her hands over her head.

  Instantly, her sleeve was grabbed and her arm jerked to her side. When she dared to look, she saw the glint of silvery fangs and the glitter of eyes before she was knocked to the ground. She tripped and hit, knees first, knocking the wind from her lungs. Her head landed on her outstretched arm and her bag made a whumping sound.

  A voice whispered harshly, but with the buzzing in her head, she couldn’t make out a word. Everything shook.

  Standing over her, his lips wrinkled back from metal teeth that looked terrifying in the darkness, was Boswell. All sign of soft, doggy friendship had vanished. He growled insistently, and she knew better than to move, or even say a word.

  “Okay, Boss.” This time there was no mistaking Aiden’s voice. “Good boy. Release.”

  Boswell stood aside at once, only to be replaced by his boss. Olivia wasn’t sure which of them was the more frightening. Aiden settled a toe on her upper arm. She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. She didn’t want to. Olivia wanted to disappear. The next best thing was to close her eyes.

  “Don’t you pass out on me now, you little fool. What in God’s name got into you? Where did you think you were going?”

  She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and didn’t answer him. She’d play too shocked to react.

  “Okay.” He caught hold of her beneath the arms, hauled her up like so much rubbish, and tossed her over his shoulder. “You badly hurt anywhere?”

  She gave a short shake of her head.

  “Good. I’m going to be moving fast because I don’t want anyone to see this. Open your mouth, and I’ll shut it so you won’t make the same mistake again.”