The Wild Zone

by Joy Fielding

  “Did you see your mother?” Suzy was asking.

  “No. She died before I had the chance.”

  Suzy looked stricken. “Oh, Jeff. I’m so sorry.”

  “No big deal.”

  “Of course it’s a big deal. It must have felt as if she was abandoning you all over again.”

  Jeff felt his eyes well up with tears as he buried his face in Suzy’s soft, flower-scented hair. “It’s like you’re inside my head,” he whispered.

  “I hope so,” she said. “You’re inside mine.”

  The cabbie cleared his throat as he pulled up to the entrance of the Southern Comfort Motel. “Sorry to interrupt, but . . . how’s this place here? Looks like the nicest one around.”

  “Beats the Bayshore,” Jeff told him, fishing in his pocket for some cash.

  “Don’t know that one,” the cabbie said, pocketing the money without offering to make change.

  Jeff held tight to Suzy’s hand as they exited the cab. Was it his imagination or had she winced when he put his arm around her waist? Approximately ten minutes later, room key in hand, they proceeded along the red-and-beige-carpeted corridor to their room at the very end of the hall.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered as soon as they were inside.

  He didn’t have to be asked twice. In the next second, his lips were back on hers, and they were pulling at each other’s clothes as they fell toward the queen-size bed. He heard a voice say, “I love you,” followed quickly by another voice echoing the first, their voices mingling as their bodies merged.

  It wasn’t until afterward, lying curled up in each other’s arms, that he saw the deep welts on the side of her waist. “What’s this?” he asked, gently running his fingers along the angry red lines.

  “It’s nothing.” Suzy recoiled in pain in spite of the tenderness of his touch. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It does matter. What in God’s name did that monster do to you? Tell me,” Jeff insisted. “Please, Suzy. Tell me what he did.”

  She nodded, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “He heard me talking to you on the phone last night. He was so angry.” She brought her hand to her head, rubbed her forehead until it grew red. “He hit me with his belt. He kept hitting me.”

  “That fucking piece of shit.”

  “He said it was just a taste of what would happen if I ever spoke to you again.”

  “I swear I’ll break his fucking neck.”

  “I was up all night, planning my escape, but he stayed home this morning, so I couldn’t leave right away. Luckily he had an appointment this afternoon that he couldn’t miss. He ordered me not to move a muscle, said I couldn’t so much as go to the bathroom until he got back. He took all my cash and my car keys, like I told you, even my ID. But I had a few dollars hidden away, and as soon as he was gone, I grabbed it and took off. I went straight to the airport. To you.”

  “You did exactly the right thing.”

  “We have to leave Miami,” she said.

  “What?”

  “We’ll go someplace where he’ll never find us. New York, maybe. I’ve always wanted to see New York.”

  “Suzy . . . ,” Jeff began.

  “Or L.A., or maybe Chicago.”

  “Suzy . . .”

  “It doesn’t even have to be a big city. Maybe somewhere smaller, less obvious. It really doesn’t matter where we go, as long as we’re together, as long as we get out of Miami before he finds us.”

  “We can’t,” Jeff said simply.

  “Why not? Why can’t we?”

  “For starters, I don’t have any money.”

  “We don’t need money. You’ll find a job. Just as soon as we get settled. And I’ll get one, too. You’ll see. It’ll all work out.”

  “He’d hire detectives,” Jeff said. “And we can’t spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders, afraid of our own shadows. We can’t keep running away. Sooner or later, you know he’ll find us.”

  “You’re saying we’re trapped.” Suzy began to cry. “You’re saying it’s hopeless.”

  “It’s not hopeless. Not as long as we’re together. Not as long as you love me.”

  “I love you,” Suzy said.

  “Then everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  “But how can you say that? He’s going to find us. He’s going to kill us both.”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  “How can you stop it?”

  “Do you trust me?” Jeff asked.

  “Yes. Of course I do.”

  “Then trust me when I tell you that everything’s going to be okay. I won’t let him hurt you ever again.”

  “You promise?” Suzy pleaded.

  “I promise,” Jeff said, kissing her eyes closed and rocking her gently in his arms until he felt her body starting to relax. After several minutes, the steady, rhythmic sound of her breathing told him she’d fallen asleep. Jeff waited a few more minutes until he was sure, then he climbed out of bed, resting Suzy’s head gently on the pillow as he removed his cell phone from the pocket of his pants and carried it into the bathroom. He closed the door, punched in Tom’s number. It was still busy. “Shit,” he muttered. “Call me. It’s important,” he instructed Tom’s voice mail. Then he called Kristin, exhaling a deep breath of relief when she answered the phone. “Good. I was afraid you might have left for work,” he said as soon as she said hello.

  “I was just walking out the door. Are you still in Buffalo?”

  “No, I’m here. In Miami.”

  “I don’t understand. Why aren’t you home? Where are you?”

  “Room 119 in the Southern Comfort Motel, up by the airport.”

  “What? Why, for God’s sake?”

  “I’m with Suzy.”

  Silence. Then, “What’s happening, Jeff?”

  Jeff quickly apprised her of the situation, that Suzy had been waiting for him when he’d arrived back in Miami, that Dave had beaten her again, this time with a belt, that he’d brought her to the motel to keep Dave from finding her, that she was so exhausted, she’d fallen asleep. He left out the part about him and Suzy making love, although he suspected Kristin had already drawn her own conclusions, that that was the question she’d really been asking.

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jeff lied, deciding there was no reason to tell Kristin more than she needed to know. If things didn’t work out the way he hoped, the less people involved, the better. “Have you seen Tom?”

  “Not for a couple of days. Why?”

  “I need to talk to him. His line’s busy, and he isn’t picking up his messages.”

  “He’ll turn up. What is it they say about bad pennies?”

  Jeff ran his hand through his hair in growing frustration. Bad pennies were exactly what he needed right now. “Is my brother there?”

  “I haven’t seen him all day.”

  “Shit. I need him to do something for me.”

  “You can probably reach him on his cell.”

  “You know the number?”

  “I have it somewhere.” Kristin located Will’s number, then dictated it to Jeff.

  “Okay, listen,” he said, committing the number to memory. “I might need to reach you later. Can you tell Joe that I’ll be calling and not to give me a hard time?”

  “Should I be concerned?” Kristin asked.

  “No,” Jeff answered. “There’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  KRISTIN HUNG UP the phone, then just stood there in her kitchen for several minutes, staring into space. She knew something was about to happen, although she wasn’t sure what. But she knew Jeff well enough to know when he was planning something and that whatever it was, it was going to happen sooner rather than later, maybe even tonight.

  She looked at the scrap of paper in her hand, silently reciting the number of Will’s cell. What did Jeff want with his brother, and where had Will been all day? He’d alread
y left the apartment by the time she woke up this morning.

  At first she thought Will might have left for good, that he was on a jet back to Buffalo, and wondered idly whether his plane might cross with Jeff’s in midair. But a quick check of the apartment revealed his suitcase and clothes were still there, so he was probably just out walking, trying to clear his head, figure things out. She felt guilty about what had happened last night, what had almost happened, she amended quickly, then just as quickly brushed such feelings aside. Guilt was a useless emotion, she reminded herself. It accomplished nothing and never did anyone any good. Besides, it was too late for guilt.

  It was time to move on.

  WILL WAS SITTING on a bench by the ocean, watching the waves rush to the shore, only to be dragged back out, then pushed forward again, over and over again. It’s true what they say about the ocean making you realize how small and insignificant you really are, he thought, and then laughed, drawing the anxious glance of the elderly, white-haired gentleman sitting on the other end of the bench.

  Will didn’t need the ocean to make him feel small. He already understood how insignificant he was.

  If Amy or Suzy hadn’t already convinced him of it, then certainly Kristin had proven it to him once and for all last night.

  What a useless fuckup he’d turned out to be, he thought, feeling the vibration of his cell phone in his shirt pocket. Probably his mother, he thought. One more woman to make him feel like less of a man. He extricated the phone and checked his caller ID. “Hello?” he asked when he failed to recognize the number.

  “Will, hi. It’s Jeff.”

  Will said nothing. Had Kristin already told his brother about last night?

  “Will? Are you there?”

  “I’m here. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the Southern Comfort Motel.”

  “In Buffalo?”

  “No. Here. In Miami. Up by the airport. Room 119.”

  “What the hell are you doing there? I thought you went to see your mom.”

  “I’m back,” Jeff said, not bothering to elaborate. “Listen, I’ve been trying to reach Tom, but I’m not having any luck, and I can’t wait any longer. So I need you to do something for me.”

  “What’s that?” Will was in no mood to do his brother any favors. Jeff had lied to him, stolen his girl—hell, he was probably with her right now. He has some nerve, Will thought, asking me to do anything.

  “I need you to go back to the apartment,” he heard Jeff say.

  “I’m kind of busy.”

  “I need you to find Tom’s gun,” Jeff continued as if Will hadn’t spoken.

  “What?”

  “Then I need you to bring it here.”

  “What?” Will asked again.

  “And I need you not to ask any questions.”

  TOM HAD JUST finished emptying four bullets into the plush pillows of the living room sofa when he heard a timid knock on the front door. “Who is it?” he shouted, bringing his gun into the air and pointing it at the door. If it was another process server, the poor guy was about to get it right between the eyes.

  “It’s Cinnamon?” a voice called back, as if she wasn’t sure. “The agency sent me over?”

  “Oh, my little Cinnamon bun,” Tom said with a smile, tucking the gun into his belt buckle and tripping over the phone on the floor, then stopping to replace the receiver he hadn’t realized was off the hook. “You’re late,” he said, opening the door and ushering the pretty young Asian woman inside, quickly assessing her long black hair and dark green eyes. She was short, not much over five feet, even in three-inch heels, and her implants were so large she looked in danger of toppling over.

  “Sorry. It took me longer to find the place than I thought.” Cinnamon surveyed the mess that was the living room, now coated with feathers and stray pieces of upholstery. “Wow,” she said, eyes widening. “What happened in here?” She sniffed suspiciously at the air, the smell of gunpowder wafting by on particles of dust.

  Tom closed the front door, returning the room to darkness. The phone started ringing. “Can you excuse me for half a minute?” Tom asked with exaggerated politeness, kicking at the debris-covered floor until he relocated the phone, then almost falling over as he bent to scoop it up.

  “Who the hell have you been talking to for the last hour?” Jeff demanded before Tom could say hello. “I almost gave up—”

  “Jeff, how are you, buddy?” Tom interrupted. He was in no mood to be lectured to.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “No more than usual.” Well, maybe a little more than usual, Tom thought, wondering why Jeff sounded so angry.

  “Good. We have plans. I need you to—”

  “Uh, this isn’t exactly a good time.” Tom decided it was just like Jeff to expect him to snap to attention at the sound of his voice. Jeff might be too busy to talk when you needed him, but it was another story altogether when he needed you. Then you were expected to just drop everything and follow him wherever the hell he chose to go.

  To hell and back, Tom thought bitterly, thinking of Afghanistan.

  “Is that a gun?” Cinnamon asked, her voice cracking.

  “What?” Even in the dark, Tom could see the terror on Cinnamon’s face as she backed toward the door. “This?” He began waving it back and forth. “It’s just a toy. I swear. Hey, wait a minute. Don’t go.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Jeff demanded.

  “Wait a second. Shit!” he exclaimed as Cinnamon fled the house. “Crap, man. She was hot,” he whined into the phone. “You scared her away.”

  “Tom, listen to me,” Jeff told him. “This is important. I need you to focus.”

  Tom plopped down on the sofa, scratched at his scalp with the barrel of his gun. “Sure. Go ahead. Looks like I’m all yours.”

  THIRTY

  WILL WAS REMEMBERING THE first time he saw Kristin.

  It had been almost three weeks since he’d arrived on his brother’s doorstep, suitcase in hand, fear filling his heart, wondering how Jeff would react when he saw him. Would he be happy to see him or angry he’d come? Would he take one look at him and send him away? Would he even recognize him after all these years?

  And then the door had opened, and there she stood, this blond Amazon in a short black skirt and leopard-print blouse, and she’d smiled this magnificent smile and shaken her long hair from one shoulder to the other, her luminous green eyes moving steadily across his face, casually sizing him up, her smile getting bigger as she took his hand and ushered him inside. “You’re Will, aren’t you?” she’d said, and his fear had instantly disappeared.

  And now here he stood, outside that same door, his heart pulsing with that same fear, as he listened for sounds of her moving around inside. If I had one wish, he was thinking as he pushed open the door and stepped inside, it would be that she’s already left for work. He couldn’t face her. Not yet. Not after last night’s debacle.

  “Kristin,” he called tentatively, then louder, his confidence building. “Kristin. Are you here?” He checked his watch. Six thirty-five. She was long gone, he realized, sighing audibly as he walked through the living area toward the bedroom. “Kristin?” he called again for good measure. “You here?”

  The bedroom was empty, the bed neatly made, any sign of him eliminated. As if last night never happened, Will thought. As if he didn’t exist.

  He caught a whiff of Kristin’s shampoo, and he spun around, half expecting to see her in the doorway, her hair wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her pink silk robe slipping open, affording him a tantalizing glimpse of what lay beneath. He recalled the feel of her in his arms, the welcoming softness of her skin. No. No. I can’t, he heard her say. I’m sorry. I just can’t.

  “Okay, enough of this,” Will said out loud, banishing such thoughts from his brain as he walked toward the nightstand by the side of the bed.

  The gun was hidden at the back of the nightstand’s top drawer, exactly where Jeff had said it would be. Will was
trembling as his hand closed around the barrel, trembling even more when he lifted the small weapon into the air and turned it over in his palm. He’d never been this close to an actual gun before, other than in the movies or on TV, never touched one, certainly never held one in his hand. His mother had been adamant about not allowing even toy guns in the house.

  “Ah, but boys will be boys,” Will muttered now, transferring the gun from his right hand to his left and then back again. Its weight surprised him. As did the unexpected feeling of power he felt surging through his body. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror over the dresser and blushed at the look of excitement he recognized on his face. What the hell does Jeff want with a gun? he wondered, although he already knew the answer.

  Jeff was going to use the gun to kill Dave.

  And he expected Will to be his accomplice.

  No, not his accomplice, Will thought, amending his choice of words. As far as Jeff was concerned, his little brother was no more than a delivery boy. Right, that’s all I’m good for, he thought. A gofer. An errand boy. One who aids and abets without ever actually having to do any of the dirty work.

  A thinker, not a doer.

  Will’s fingers curled around the handle of the gun, his index finger stretching for the trigger. No wonder Kristin had turned him down. No wonder Suzy had chosen his brother over him. No wonder Amy had looked elsewhere. “You’re sensitive,” his mother had once told him. “That’s a good thing. Women respect that.”

  Will laughed. Women might respect a sensitive man, he decided, but they slept with his brother.

  And now his brother was planning to kill Suzy’s husband.

  Could he let that happen? Could he play any part in it at all?

  Will knew that Jeff was a decorated, highly trained soldier who wouldn’t be squeamish about firing a gun. Who knew how many men he’d killed in Afghanistan? And Dave Bigelow was a bastard who probably deserved to die. The world would likely be a better place without him.

  And yet, he was still a human being. A respected physician whose talent had undoubtedly helped save many lives. Who was Jeff to decide Dave Bigelow had forfeited his right to live? Was this really his decision to make? Jeff might be angry; he might be misguided; hell, he might even be in love. But was he a murderer? Would he actually be able to kill a man in cold blood?