Out for Blond

by V. J. Chambers

“Right,” he said. He turned to Brigit. “And what do you think of all of this? Do you really think that it could be possible that Gunner is innocent?”

  She turned to look at me.

  “No, no, don’t look at her,” he said, laughing again, “I want your opinion. As a professional associate.”

  Brigit cleared her throat. “How did you come to be part of Zion’s People? You don’t seem the religious fanatic yourself.”

  Oh, good girl! I was impressed. She came out swinging.

  He sat back in chair. “I like trying things.”

  And tendrils of cold shot down my back, wrapping around my spine. I heard in Braxton’s voice an echo of Ralph, who’d said those same words when talking about killing girls in his abandoned motel.

  “Things like religion?” I said.

  “Oh, it’s no secret I don’t share their, er, zeal,” he said. “They know that I am a member only because I share their disgust with the Clayton Society.”

  “You do hate them, then,” said Brigit. “You won’t deny that.”

  “Why should I?” he said. “It’s obvious that they’ve treated my brother rather badly, isn’t it? They took advantage of him and they’re undoubtedly using his money to pay your salary. And his money, as you know, is my family’s money. I care about my brother. I don’t like the way he’s being used. I won’t deny that. There’s no reason to do so.”

  I watched his eyes when he spoke. They seemed to get darker and colder, even though his tone was pleasant enough. He didn’t seem the least bit ruffled by us, that was for sure. He was the one in charge of the conversation, not us. I didn’t like it one bit. And I was becoming more and more wary of him.

  “Hating the Clayton Society doesn’t really give me a motive to murder Tess Carver, I’m afraid. Sorry, ladies, but I have no reason to hurt that poor woman.” But when he said poor woman, I could see that he didn’t care one bit about Tess Carver. And when he spoke about his brother, I got the sense he didn’t care much about him either. He seemed almost devoid of human emotion.

  “You knew about the rituals,” I said. “The symbols. Elsa told us you did.”

  “I knew about them,” he said. “Sure.”

  “So, while it might be a stretch, Mr. Braxton, it’s not impossible.” I wanted to deliver that line just as coldly as his gaze was penetrating me. But I forced myself to keep it light, just as he was. I shrugged and laughed a little.

  “It is impossible, actually,” he said. “You see, I was at a benefit the night of the murder, and then I was with my girlfriend, Violet Horne. We spent the entire night together, which you can verify with her and with the servants here.”

  I slowly exhaled a breath that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. An alibi, hmm? Perhaps airtight, from the sounds of it.

  Why was it that the fact he was volunteering it made me suspect him even more?

  * * *

  There was a knock on my door around ten o’clock that night. I was already in my pajamas, but I went and answered it anyway, because I was sure it was Crane. No one else really ever came by my apartment, especially not at night, not anymore. I used to bring guys back here when I hooked up, but I ended up deciding not to do that after all. Now, if I was going to have sex with a guy, I went to his place. I didn’t like it when men I’d slept with knew where I lived. Sometimes, they’d show up out of nowhere, and I didn’t like that. They shouldn’t intrude into the rest of my life.

  Well, except for Crane. Crane was all right. It made sense for Crane to wonder where I was, since I hadn’t made it out to The Remington that evening. Brigit and I had left Braxton’s house around five or six, and we’d talked in the office for a bit. By the time I got back to town, I was actually too tired. Tomorrow was going to be one of my weird mornings in which I wasn’t hungover. I had those so rarely.

  But when I opened the door, it wasn’t Crane at all.

  It was Miles Pike.

  “You’re at home,” he said by way of greeting, looking me up and down.

  I felt self-conscious in my pajamas. It was a matching set—a flowy shirt and pants with little bows printed all over it. I hadn’t bought them myself. My aunt had given them to me for Christmas. They were really comfortable. But they weren’t the kind of thing that I’d usually let Pike see me in. “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought you’d be at the bar,” he said.

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “Can I come in?”

  I stepped out of the way to let him in, pondering if I should excuse myself and put on clothes. But if I did that, he’d know I was embarrassed for him to see me in my pjs. And also, maybe he was only going to stay for a few minutes. Maybe it would be stupid to be dressed. “What’s this about?” I said.

  “I went to the bar first.” Pike jammed his hands into his pockets. “You’re always there.”

  I hunched up my shoulders, trying to make myself as small as possible. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to disappear into my pajamas, or just make it so they didn’t seem quite so conspicuous. “Well, I didn’t feel like going out tonight. Is there something I can do for you, Pike?”

  He snorted. “Oh, so it’s all business then, huh? Stern?”

  I wrapped my arms around my torso. Was he going to be angry again?

  He stepped closer to me, and his voice was hoarse. “You’re the one who said you loved me.”

  I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Why are you here?” I asked the floor.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He was sarcastic. “When someone shows up at your apartment late at night, someone who you used to be intimate with, what do you think he wants?”

  I snapped my gaze up to meet his then, surprised and confused. “We weren’t intimate in the strictest sense of the word.”

  His grey eyes searched mine, and his voice was a scratchy rumble. “Maybe I want to fix that.”

  I licked my lips.

  “Ivy…” He lurched toward me, his movements jerky and awkward. Somehow, he got his arms around me, pulled me against him. His body was hot beneath his clothes.

  I could feel him searing through the fabric. I could smell a hint of sweat mixed with the scent of the soap he used. And, almost right away, I felt turned on.

  It wasn’t the kind of turned on that sometimes gripped me and forced me to act. That desire for sex was compulsive. This felt natural and organic. Right.

  I melted into his arms, sighing. I smiled up at him. “Miles,” I murmured.

  And it seemed that the minute I relaxed, he tensed up. His jaw twitched.

  I tried to soothe him. I reached up and stroked his face.

  He seized my wrist. “Don’t—”

  “Sorry.” I pulled back. I should have remembered that he didn’t much like being touched.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “No, I shouldn’t…”

  “Sorry.” I tried to move out of his grasp entirely.

  He held onto me. “It was a reflex,” he whispered. “You can…”

  We gazed into each other’s eyes, both of us searching the other.

  “Miles, this has never worked before,” I said.

  “It’ll be different this time,” he said. “I want this.”

  “Why?” I said. “What changed?”

  He grabbed my hand again, guided it down his body to his groin. It was an aggressive sort of move, almost an anti-Pike move. I’d never experienced anything like that with him.

  But I felt him there, hard and huge and ready and—

  I shuddered.

  He kissed me.

  I opened my mouth to him, and we were joined there, hot and wet and sweet. I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to his body.

  He pulled back, gasping.

  I looked at him. “What?”

  There was terror in his eyes.

  “It’s okay,” I said softly. “It’s only me.”

  He shut his eyes, and for several seconds, I could only hear him breathing.

  “You need to stop thinking,” I murmu
red. “You need to be distracted.” I touched his cock again, through his clothes, felt it throb against my hand.

  He let out a strangled sound.

  I stroked him. “Think about this. Don’t think about anything else.”

  He groaned. “Ivy, hold on a second.”

  I didn’t hold on. I kept at it. I increased my speed, rubbing at him.

  He gasped. “Stop it. I mean it.” And now he was scrabbling for my hand, trying to stop me.

  I didn’t let him. “Isn’t this what you came here for?”

  “No, Ivy, I came here—Fuck.”

  Oops. Wetness was seeping through his pants onto my hand. I winced. “Oh. Sorry.”

  Now, he pushed my hand away, and he flung himself away from me. He flailed, as if he wanted to get away, but couldn’t quite figure out how to do it.

  “Miles.” I caught him by the shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Shut up.” He was destroyed. I could hear it in his voice.

  Miles was a virgin, and I knew that. I should have realized that he wouldn’t be prepared for an assault like that. I should have known that on some level, Miles was still a teenage kid about sex, and this would have been his first time, but now it was all ruined and somewhat comic. How embarrassing for him.

  I wanted to laugh. I wanted to hug him. I didn’t do either.

  He’d managed to make it back to the door of my apartment. He started to open it up.

  “Wait.” I hurried forward and wedged myself between him and the door. “Don’t go.”

  “I need to.” He wasn’t looking at me, but his face was bright red.

  “I have a pair of sweat pants that would fit you if you’re uncomfortable.”

  “I’m leaving, Ivy. Besides, who did those sweat pants belong to? Some guy you’ve already had successful intercourse with?”

  “Come on, don’t be like that.” I touched his cheek, guiding his face up to look at me. “This is crazy, Miles. It’s huge. We’ve never managed to go this far, and it’s good. This is a triumph, and I want you to stay. I want you to be with me. I want—”

  He sagged against the door.

  “Stay,” I said.

  He shook his head. “This isn’t… I’m taking testosterone supplements.”

  “What?” I was genuinely confused. “Why?”

  “Because there’s obviously something wrong with me,” he said. “What kind of man just isn’t interested in sex?”

  I didn’t answer. I was thinking about the way that Miles had gotten angry with Crane and the shortness of breath that time in his office. Were those all side effects? “Is it…?”

  “Working?” he finished. “Well, I don’t really know. It makes me feel out of control, frankly. Like I’m not myself. But the, um, erections, those happen a lot.”

  “And they didn’t before?” I realized I didn’t know a lot about Miles’s lack of a sex life. I hadn’t questioned him about it. He never really seemed comfortable enough to talk about it. “I mean, do you masturbate?”

  He looked at me in horror. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Well, I guess I’m wondering if it is a physical thing or not? If you couldn’t even, you know, function sexually before the testosterone—”

  “I could,” he said. “I just never wanted to. Look, it’s not like I’m getting these on the black market or something. I went to a doctor. I’m not doing anything that’s dangerous for my health.”

  “Right,” I said.

  He put his hand on the doorknob. “I’m leaving.”

  “Miles, wait.”

  But he was through the doorway and outside before I could stop him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  So much for not being hungover the next day. After Miles left, I tried to go to sleep, but it just wasn’t happening. It wasn’t even midnight yet, so I got dressed and went out to the bar. I was frustrated, I was confused, and I was horny. I ended up flirting heavily with some college coed. After we closed down The Remington, I followed him to Station Place, another bar (not to be confused with the Fire Station shelter). We closed that place too. Around three in the morning, we stumbled back to his place, a very messy apartment that he shared with two other guys, one of whom was there and still awake. He was drinking margaritas and offered us some. We kept drinking, and fell into bed around four. Then we had energetic sex for a very, very long time. He had the kind of whiskey dick where he could get a hard-on but couldn’t come. Eventually, we gave up. I felt like I had barely drifted off to sleep when his alarm was going off.

  Nine in the morning. He had a class.

  The sun was pouring in through the windows. I smelled disgusting, and my head was pounding.

  I crawled back to my place, downed a few bottles of water, and crawled back into bed.

  I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing.

  “Hello?”

  “Where the hell are you?” It was Brigit.

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s after one,” she said. “You’re usually here by now, and we’re supposed to go meet with Braxton’s girlfriend to confirm his alibi.”

  “Oh, right.” My tongue felt thick and furry.

  “Wait,” she said. “Did I wake you up? Are you still in bed?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m up.”

  “You know, Ivy, I don’t want to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong or anything, but did you ever think that maybe you have some issues with drinking?”

  I sat up straight on my bed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Just you drink a lot. That’s why you got fired from the police department, isn’t it? Drinking?”

  “No, it’s not,” I said. “Who said I got fired?” She obviously hadn’t looked into it, or she’d know the truth.

  “You said that.”

  “Oh,” I said. Right. I rubbed my temples. “I’ll be in right away, okay? I won’t miss the appointment with Braxton’s girlfriend.”

  “Good,” she said.

  I started to hang up.

  “Ivy?” said Brigit.

  “Yeah?” I said.

  “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Brigit laughed a little. “What am I saying? Of course you wouldn’t. You didn’t tell me about that crap with the O’Shaunessys. You left me completely in the dark.”

  “That was for your own safety. I was looking out for you.”

  “Who’s looking out for you, Ivy? Because, let me tell you, you’re doing a pretty shitty job at looking out for yourself.”

  * * *

  Violet Horne toyed with her necklace. It had a long chain and a purple stone for a pendant. She was one of those women who looks fragile and small, like a porcelain doll. She had dark hair and fine features. The kind of woman who should only be shown in soft lenses, surrounded by flowers and music, like an infomercial. She was hesitant with her answers as well, soft and timid.

  “I’m not sure if I remember exactly that day,” she said. “But it’s likely that Braxton and I were together. We’re together most of the time. And if he says we were together, well, then, I’m sure we were.”

  That was less than convincing.

  “I’m not sure if you understand, Ms. Horne,” I said. “This is a murder investigation, and we’re confirming an alibi for your boyfriend. We need you to be sure.”

  She dropped the necklace and began turning one of her rings around and around on her finger. “Well, I’m sorry. I’d like to be sure, but it’s just so random. You come in here asking me if I know what happened on that date, and honestly, I’ve never attached any significance to that day. But I spend a lot of time with Braxton. He’s my boyfriend.”

  “Well, there must be some way to jog your memory,” I said.

  She shook her head. “This is very upsetting. I don’t know if I want to keep doing this.” She turned to Brigit, imploring. “You aren’t the police, right? You can’t force me to talk to y
ou.”

  Brigit leaned forward and patted Violet’s hand. “Ms. Horne, we’re not trying to upset you. We just want to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”

  “Well, I don’t think I can answer them.” There was a look of wild fear in her eyes, and that was when I noticed a slight hint of discoloration on her arm. A purplish bruise, just under her sleeve.

  Brigit’s gaze snapped up to meet mine. She’d seen it too.

  Violet took her arm away from Brigit, rearranged her clothes, and seemed even more nervous. “I just want to be sure that I’m doing this right, and I don’t know if I am.”

  “Would Braxton be angry if you didn’t give the proper answer?” I asked.

  “Braxton?” She let out an unsteady, tinkling laugh. “Oh, no. He’s not that kind of man. He’s very easy going. He doesn’t get angry. It’s me. I’m terribly idiotic about certain things. I’d drive anyone up a wall.”

  Oh, wow. That was classic abused-woman-psyche shit. Blaming herself for the abuse. That is, of course, if that bruise on her arm had actually come from Braxton. And if it had, basically everything she said was suspect. She’d lie for him if he asked her to, because she was terrified of him.

  “We just want the truth,” I said. “Were you really with Braxton that night?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course.”

  “But you can’t be sure of that?” I asked.

  Violet turned to Brigit again. “Why is she pestering me like that? I don’t know. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “She just wants to understand,” said Brigit.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to pester.”

  “Well, that’s what you’re doing,” said Violet. “You know, I don’t think I’ll talk to you anymore.” She got up from her seat, but she didn’t start walking. It was almost as if she was waiting for permission from one of us.

  “Violet,” I said, “did Braxton ask you to lie for him?”

  “No!” Violet shook her head violently. “No, he would never—I would never—” She picked up her necklace again and sawed the pendant back and forth on the chain. “I’m leaving.” But she didn’t move.

  “You can tell us if he did,” I said. “We can make sure that he can’t hurt you. We can help you.”