The Exhibition (An Executive Decision Trilogy)

by Grace Marshall

  The flat metal daylight was quickly closing in and morphing to something darker and more ominous. She had a flashlight in her backpack, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d checked the batteries. She’d just have to make it back to the car before dark. But no matter how focused her efforts, the going seemed a lot slower on the return journey. The rain had turned cold, and she was tired and sore from the fall.

  She kept her head down against the wind that now blew the rain into her face like little pellets of ice. She was almost back to the road when she nearly ran into him, a man shrouded in camouflage, hood drawn tight against the weather, shadowing his face in the swiftly diminishing daylight.

  Stacie’s insides knotted, and she felt as though her heart would jump from her throat. It wasn’t possible. Surely it wasn’t possible he’d found out, and even if he had, he wouldn’t come for her, but he might send someone, and that would be much worse. Fear clawed up her spine. She looked around frantically. Her only means of escape was across the devastation. She let out a wounded animal yell and turned to run, but the man was on her before she’d managed even a few steps.

  With the rain hammering her face, she struggled blindly against his strength, jerking and shoving. But he grabbed her, pulling her to him in a hard embrace.

  ‘Stacie! Stacie, it’s me, Harris Walker.’ He pulled away from her just enough to look her up and down. ‘Jesus, woman, what did you do, roll in it?’

  In the overwhelming flood of relief that followed recognition, she would likely have lost her balance and fallen backward if Harris hadn’t grabbed her. Embarrassed by her display of panic, she tried to calm herself. The laugh she offered was high-pitched and thin.

  ‘You could say that.’ Not wanting him to ask hard questions, she went with the obvious. ‘Did you get any pictures?’ She nodded at the muddied desolation.

  ‘Not this time. Come on, let’s get out of here. This whole slope could go any minute. There are flash flood warnings for the area, but I’m guessing you didn’t listen to the weather report.’

  ‘No. I didn’t,’ she yelled to be heard above the raising wind.

  ‘We gotta go,’ he said. ‘This is as good as it’s likely to get.’

  That was the last they spoke until they slipped and slid their way back to the vehicles. ‘My car’s stuck. Can you pull me out?’ She nodded to the Lexus.

  ‘I’m serious, Stacie, we’re leaving. We can come back for the Lexus when the weather clears.’

  She panicked. ‘No! I can’t leave it. Not here.’

  ‘Goddamn it, Stacie, this is serious business,’ he said. ‘We need to get out of here.’

  ‘I know how serious this is, and I’m telling you I don’t want my car left here.’

  ‘It’s just a lease. It’s not even yours.’ He grabbed her arm and tried to guide her toward the Jeep, but she pulled away.

  ‘I don’t want my car found here, all right.’ There! She’d said it. More than she wanted him to know, but having her car discovered here was a complication she couldn’t afford.

  He shot her a look that felt both questioning and accusing, and then, without a word, threw back his hood and turned to assess the situation. At last he spoke. ‘All right, get in the car and start it.’

  She did as he said and rolled down her window for further instructions.

  ‘You’re not really stuck,’ he said, ‘you’ve just got no traction. Put it in gear, and when I say, gently give it gas, slow and steady.’

  ‘What are you gonna do?’ she asked.

  ‘Take my life into my hands,’ he called over his shoulder as he moved to the back of the car to push.

  His comment might have made her angry if she hadn’t agreed with him and if the whole situation hadn’t been over in less than 30 seconds with the car back in the center of the road.

  Once again, he came to her window. ‘I’ll follow you until we get to the main road, just to make sure you make it OK, then you follow me to my house. You’re wet and cold and it’s a long way back into your place. Are we clear?’

  She nodded.

  For a second, he held her gaze. ‘I mean it, Stacie. My house. We need to talk.’ Then he moved to the Jeep like he was going to a fire.

  By the time she had the Lexus on the move, he was following close behind. With the rain and the mist, that was now descending like a thick blanket, she could barely make out his headlights in the dusk. When they were back on the forest service road and almost to the highway, Harris’ Jeep passed her, and he took over the lead.

  His house really wasn’t very far. She had been there before, to attend the cookout Harris had held as an engagement party for Dee and Ellis, but the sight of the split-level log cabin set against the iron-grey mirror of the lake still took her breath away. Even in bad weather, it was beautiful.

  She barely managed to shut off the engine before Harris opened her door and half helped, half dragged her out. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Fine. I’m fine, just wet and muddy. That’s all.’

  For a second, he stood staring at her, then huffed out a tight breath. ‘You scared the hell out of me, you know?’ To her surprise, he didn’t seem particularly angry, but there was something else in his voice, something equally edgy. Before she could consider what that might be, he continued. ‘Come on, let’s get out of the weather and find you some dry clothes. How did you know about that place?’ he asked as he unlocked the door and ushered her into a screened-in porch.

  ‘I’ve known about it for a long time, before it was logged.’ That was all she dared say for fear of the emotions that the place stirred.

  ‘Listen, I know you said you wanted to watch me work, but that place … Stacie really, that place isn’t even safe. It’s like hell on earth.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied. ‘It’s not among the places you photographed.’

  ‘No, it’s not. For a long time the land was posted and even when it wasn’t any more, I just couldn’t bring myself to go there.’

  ‘And I forced the issue,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  For a long moment, he stood with his lips pressed in a tight, thin line as though whatever was on his mind, he was choosing his words carefully. At last he spoke. ‘I don’t like those kinds of shoots, Stacie. I do them because I think they’re important, I think people need to know what’s happening to the world. But I don’t like them. They’re … hard.’ Before she could respond, he said, ‘Never mind that. You shouldn’t have gone out there alone. Even in good weather you should have at least let someone know where you were. That whole hillside could have come down on you and no one would have ever known.’ The way he emphasized the word ever with a hard slam of the screen door made her consider, for the first time, that he had really been worried about her.

  ‘I did tell someone,’ she said. ‘I told you.’

  ‘And if I hadn’t come, what would you have done, spent the night in the Lexus? Assuming it hadn’t gotten washed off the mountain.’

  ‘Something like that.’ Stacie still couldn’t get her mind around the fact Harris Walker had come to her rescue. ‘I’ve got pictures.’ She pulled the BlackBerry from her pocket and would have dropped it if Harris hadn’t caught it mid-flight and laid it on a low chest next to a forest green bench that sat against the wall.

  ‘You can show me when you’re warm and dry,’ he said. Then he pushed her hands away, unzipped her Columbia, and slid it off her shoulders. The act felt strangely intimate; and Stacie was surprised by the resulting tremors low in her belly. ‘You’re worn out,’ he said. The irritation rose in his voice. ‘What were you thinking?’ He slid her waterproof trousers down over her hips and eased her back onto the bench.

  She knew he wouldn’t like her answer even if she were willing to tell him, so she said nothing, only leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes as he moved to unlace her boots. ‘Well, at least you know how to dress for the great outdoors. Guess you’re not as much of a city girl as I thought.’

  �
��I wasn’t raised in the city. I’ve been on more than my share of camp-outs and hikes in the mountains, and in conditions way harsher than these, so don’t get snooty with me, Mr. Walker.’

  After he’d removed her boots and muddy socks, he eased the waterproofs off over her bare feet, exposing her legs from under her walking shorts. Then he turned his attention to her injured knee.

  ‘It’s just an abrasion,’ she said, trying to pull away from him. ‘It’s nothing, really. I’m all right.’

  But he held her calf in a firm grip, pulling a first aid kit from the drawer of a small chest. ‘I’ll be the judge of that. It’s bleeding still, and if it’s a puncture, what with all the tree limbs and debris up there – well, you don’t need it to get infected. Plus, it looks like you’ll be sporting one helluva bruise.’

  His hands were strong and competent. She recalled he was certified in first aid. Using a gauze pad and something from a bottle that stung like hell, Harris cleaned the wound.

  She flinched and sucked air between her teeth.

  ‘Hold still, you big baby,’ he said. His voice was soft, but she was pretty sure there was a smirk hidden in there somewhere.

  Before she could tell him to fuck off, he continued, ‘Why were you so anxious to get the Lexus off the mountain? I mean, granted it’s a nice car, but if you were concerned about that you wouldn’t have taken it up there in the first place.’ She felt his hard stare, as though he had temporarily forgotten about her wound. ‘Why were you up there to begin with, Stacie? That’s definitely not an artsy place.’

  ‘Because I thought it might be a site we could use for a photo shoot if you decide to exhibit with me,’ she lied. ‘You know, so I can see you work.’

  ‘Jesus, Stacie, first you nearly get us arrested at The Boiling Point and now you want us to risk life and limb in a mud slide. Is this your way of getting even with me for being rude? Because I have to say it’s a good one.’

  She twisted enough in her seat that she could reach her BlackBerry and, with a flick of her finger, she pulled up the picture of the dead rodent, and shoved the device into his hand. The response was exactly what she had hoped for. She could tell from the look on his face, from the catch in his breath, from the concentration knitting his brow that he was intrigued. And that’s exactly how she wanted him. What she didn’t want was him giving her the third degree.

  ‘These are gruesome,’ he said. She saw the line of his jaw tightening just beneath his closely trimmed beard. ‘Seriously, Stacie, this is not a nice place. You shouldn’t have been there.’

  ‘It’s too late now, isn’t it? I have been. So will you allow me to exhibit your work for the opening of New World Gallery West?’

  She hadn’t intended to be so blunt. She had a reputation for being a patient woman, but there was no denying he would think what she had seen today, what she had done, was done with him in mind, and it was best to use it that way.

  He looked at her over the top of her BlackBerry, cocked his head slightly to one side as though he had never seen anything like her before, and simply said, ‘Yes. I will. I would have done even without these.’ He nodded down to the BlackBerry.

  Just like that, after all her thwarted efforts, she had her main exhibitor, with no protest, no conditions, no argument. Just a yes. For a second, the overwhelming sense of relief bled into the exhaustion and the impact of what she had seen, and she closed her eyes and slumped back against the wall. ‘Thank you,’ she half whispered. ‘Thank you, Mr. Walker.’

  Laying the device aside, he continued ministering to her knee. ‘You’re welcome, Ms. Emerson. Look through the images on my website. Tell me which ones you want, and they’re yours to use. After I’ve done an Armageddon Shoot, I don’t like to revisit the photos. Once is way more than enough.’ Then he offered her a quirk of a smile and a quick sideways glance from under hair that was still damp and curled slightly from the rain, hair that could have used a trim, but Stacie decided he looked better for the lack of it. ‘Are police raids and mud slides going to be a regular part of our business association? Because if so, I’d like to plan accordingly.’

  ‘I’m not making any promises,’ she replied.

  His face darkened. He continued to work on her knee, gently bandaging it with what she was certain was way more care than it demanded – not that she minded. His touch was comforting.

  ‘Stacie, about last night …’

  She reached down and touched his hand. ‘Harris, it’s all right. It was one of those things. Nothing went according to plan for any of us. Let’s just forget it and start with a clean slate, OK?’

  He glanced up at her, his expression unreadable. For a second, he said nothing, then he nodded slowly. ‘You’re right, of course. Start with a clean slate.’

  Then he went back to binding her knee like a man on a mission.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harris woke with a hard-on. Hell, he’d gone to sleep with a hard-on – when he’d finally managed to get to sleep. He hadn’t taken care of it because he was a neurotic bastard, he supposed. What the hell? Was he afraid Stacie would hear him jerking off? After all, she was the cause of his uncomfortable state, and he didn’t want her to know that, did he? They were going to let bygones be bygones and start again with a clean slate, he reminded himself. A clean slate didn’t involve having sex with the woman he’d soon be working with. It didn’t! And it irritated the hell out of him that though his brain completely understood all the reasons why sex with Stacie Emerson was a bad idea, his body didn’t care, and especially not when the woman was asleep in the next room.

  The house was quiet. In fact, everything was quiet. The storm had passed, as had been predicted. For a second, he held his breath and listened, straining to hear any evidence that would suggest his guest might also be awake at this hour. But then he figured even if she were, she’d be trying to keep from waking him.

  He had found a pair of Dee’s sweats and a T-shirt that she left for the overnighters the Three Musketeers had from time to time, and once Stacie was out of a hot bath and dressed, he had fed her his mother’s tomato soup. She always brought it over from the valley, made fresh from her home-grown tomatoes and ready for his freezer. All he had to do was nuke it in the microwave. He’d rummaged in the cupboard for some saltine crackers that weren’t past their sell-by date, and the two had eaten at the breakfast bar. Even with all Stacie’s contagious enthusiasm for the upcoming exhibition, he could tell she was exhausted and that her experience of the clear-cut had shaken her deeply. He had no doubt it would have shaken anyone, but he couldn’t imagine how it must feel for someone who had fond memories of the place before it became another Jamison statistic. Among the green folks in the Northwest, of which there were many, the place had become known as Jamison Hill. He had bought the timber rights and, in a move that was only just barely legal, sold them to a company that had been notorious for particularly ruthless clear-cutting. Before anyone knew what was happening, the place had been turned into a wasteland.

  It made Harris extremely nervous being around anything that had Terrance Jamison’s stamp on it, and Stacie’s refusal to leave the Lexus on the mountain made him even more so. He made a mental note to get Cal over at Wilderness Vanguard to do a little more research on the clear-cut just in case there was something he didn’t know, something he’d missed.

  As much as the exhibition intrigued Harris, he had a shitload of questions that had nothing to do with art or photography. Stacie had done her best to hide it from him, but either she wasn’t a very good liar, which he figured was probably the case, or he was pretty intuitive, which was also pretty much the case. There were things she wasn’t telling him. Why the hell had she gone to that awful place on her own? She wasn’t stupid. Why would anyone with memories of what the place had been like before want to see it like it was now? Why had she really been so hell-bent on getting her car off the mountain? And why had she reacted like she did when she first saw him? Clearly she was expecting someone else,
and whoever it was, she wasn’t glad to see them. In fact, it was safe to say she had been flat-out terrified. That certainly wasn’t like the Stacie Emerson he knew. If her behavior had anything to do with Jamison, he could completely understand why she was frightened.

  Harris tossed between the covers, shoving at the pillow. Thinking about the clear-cut and the danger in which Stacie had put herself definitely took the edge off his arousal. It chilled him to think what could have happened. And that was only what he knew nature could have thrown at her. Add to that whatever Stacie was afraid of, and he shuddered to think. The room felt stuffy and close. Because he seldom spent time inside when he could be out, he kept as many of the windows and doors open as he could when he was home. He’d only closed his bedroom window to keep the deluge from blowing in.

  He shoved back the blankets and crawled out of bed, nearly tripping over his discarded jeans. He bit back a curse, then moved to open the window and let some real air in. The sky was clear and the stars now reflected off the obsidian surface of the water. The sliver of the waxing moon looked as though it were floating suspended there. He threw open the window, and, for a second, he stood just breathing in the cool, rain-washed air. He was about to grab the camera he kept handy to take a few night shots, then the hard-on was back with a vengeance.