“You can’t open her mail,” Travis argued with himself again. “Come on, she’s seeing somebody. Get over it.”
He remembered she had her own phone, went up to her bedroom, put the bag on the desk, and stood there, staring at her things. Everything was just as he remembered, her sleigh bed piled with white linen, the oriental rugs and generous armchair. Tom Feldman stared out from every photo in the room.
The windows were all locked, to his relief. She had tossed her jeans and stockings on the floor and left the bathroom door wide open. Fascinated, he stared at the nail polish, body wash, and dozens of other bottles she’d crammed on the shelves, and then picked up a box.
“She colors her hair,” he said in amazement. “I thought she was a real blonde.” So his dream girl wasn’t quite what she seemed.
He didn’t care. Finally he found her phone. His clothes were filthy and he couldn’t sit on her bed with its mountains of plush white pillows, so he settled on the floor. It took a while, but he worked through the city hospitals.
Nobody had ever heard of her.
The grandfather clock sounded downstairs. Time was slipping by. Was she walking home? He shook off a gruesome image of her body lying in the forest floor and decided to ride around looking for her. He could ride around all night.
He called another cab, but he couldn’t get Tom Feldman’s slanted grin out of his mind. When he reached the front hall, he put the letter on top of the rest of the mail and then pulled his hand back, unable to let go of the envelope. The strong handwriting seemed to jeer at him.
It had to be a love letter. She didn’t need to see it.
The post office lost mail all the time. Nobody would ever know.
Hot with jealousy, he ripped the envelope open, his fingers getting in the way in his rush to unfold the letter.
Dear Lexie,
Although this is the hardest letter I will ever have to write, it would be dishonest not to send it. I know we once made a commitment, but there comes a time in life when people have to move on. We’re thousands of miles apart now, and things have changed.
It’s best to get to the point. I’ve met someone else. Her name is Fiona, and we’ve been seeing each other for several months. She’s working with me on the SBB Amazon project, so we have a lot in common. We’re traveling now during the project break and sightseeing around Brazil. Our relationship is serious. This Christmas I’m flying to Scotland to meet her family, and we’re talking about moving in together.
I wish things could have worked out for us, but this is all for the best. I will always remember you and the times we had together with great fondness.
Tom
Dumped her, short and sweet. The guy with the slanted grin had somebody else. And that was why he sent a handwritten letter. He was blowing her off and didn’t want a conversation.
“She has to see this,” Travis blurted out. Fantasies of consoling her rose before him. He saw himself putting his arms around her, kissing her, winning her over, but his fantasies crumbled like mountains of sugar dust into nothing as the depth of his stupidity sank in. He’d ripped the stamp and the envelope and torn the letter. He would never be able to piece it together without the rips showing. She would know what he was, an animal who’d pried into the most private part of her life.
He read the letter again.
“Fiona,” he said. “The bastard’s been running around on her with Fiona. She has to see this. There has to be some way to fix it.”
Footsteps hurried up the porch. Somebody put a key in the lock. Alarmed, Travis stuffed the letter in his pocket just as a short, unpleasant looking man opened the door. The man had a bald head with a round, bulging forehead and resembled a Chihuahua.
“Who are you?” Travis said.
The stranger gave him a tight smile that said he was willing to be polite for about sixty seconds before he disemboweled him on the spot. He stepped inside and closed the door, bringing a gust of icy winter air with him. Now that he was in the hall, he looked formidable in a black wool coat and black suit and tie. The faint scent of his office still clung to his clothes.
“I could ask you the same thing,” the man snapped.
“Travis Maguire, Lexie’s friend,” Travis said, conscious of the mud on his clothes.
The man kept staring at him. “Dallas Banks, Burke’s business partner. He’s nowhere to be found, and I’m here to pick up some files. Unlike some people, I have a business to run.”
“That’s right. Lexie said something about that. I stopped by to see if she was here, so I’m leaving.”
“You have keys to their house?”
“Lexie’s keys, and I’ve just called a cab.”
“You said you stopped by to see if she was home.”
“Well, I came over to meet her,” Travis said, “and since she’s not here, I’m going to pick her up.”
Dallas stared at him. “You have mud all over your coat, and you’re wandering around their house, and they’re not here. What did you say your name is?”
Headlights flashed across the windows.
“It’s been a real pleasure. Cab’s here, gotta go.” Travis brushed past Dallas Banks on his way out the door. He could feel the man’s sharp eyes on his back.
Forty minutes later, he almost missed her along a dark stretch of Wisconsin Avenue behind the National Cathedral, a long, cold city mile from her house. His impatience had long turned to desperation when the cab’s headlights caught the back of her hair. She looked small and worn out with her head tucked against the wind and her breath coming out in icy clouds.
Her face lit up with joy and exhausted relief when she saw him. After she hurried to the curb and slid into the cab, they studied each other in intimate silence, the air brimming with unspoken words. The cab turned off Wisconsin Avenue and rattled over the narrow roads to her house. Lights glimmered in the darkness.
He put her keys in her hand. “I got your bag back.”
“How did you do that?” she said in amazement.
“I followed her until she dropped it.”
“I can’t believe you did that for me,” she murmured.
“Everything’s gone, the camera, the phone.”
The cab pulled up to her door. Dallas Banks had taken off. Once they stood inside the foyer, she locked the door and turned around.
“You followed her,” she said, searching his face. “You were worried about me.”
He nodded. Unable to stand it any longer, he put his arms around her and pulled her close. His pulse raced when he felt the heat generated between their bodies. Forever. He could stand there forever with her, breathing in the scent of her skin, looking at her eyelashes and soft mouth. It would be so easy to kiss her now.
She leaned back in his arms. “Travis, you’re such a wonderful friend. I feel so safe with you, exactly like we’re brother and sister.”
Dumbfounded, he stared at her.
“Your clothes are all wet,” she went on, fussing over his shirt.
His heart kept crashing. “I got caught in the storm.”
She took his hand and led him to the stairs. “Go take a shower. You can wear some of Burke’s clothes and I’ll put yours in the washer. When you come down I have a lot to tell you.”
“I have a lot to tell you, too. She attacked a woman on Porter Street.”
She stared at him. “She tried to attack me, too.”
He closed the door to the guest bathroom. It was a sophisticated room with black marble counters, dark green towels, exotic soaps, and photos of a rowing crew slicing through the Potomac River. Her brother must have taken the photos. He didn’t see anything that looked like it belonged to Lexie. He hated to be away from her now, even to take a shower.
Her footsteps trailed down the hall until her bedroom door closed. After he peeled off his wet shirt and jeans, he cracked the bathroom door and left the clothes on the hall floor where she said she’d pick them up. For a moment he followed the shadow of her feet under the door
and then stepped in the shower. Clouds of steam filled the bathroom. Luxuriating in the heat, lulled by the water, he wished they were lovers showering together.
Eventually he grabbed a towel and pulled on her brother’s sweats. Miraculously, everything fit. The letter! He’d left the letter in his jeans. Mortified, he flung the door back. His wet clothes were gone and she was moving around downstairs.
“Lexie!” he shouted, tearing down the stairs.
“In here,” she called in a muffled voice off the kitchen. “In the laundry room.”
When he rushed in, she had his clothes in her hands.
“I’m putting these in the washer as soon as I check the pockets,” she said, standing there in a honey-gold sweater, black jeans, and bare feet. The sight of her took his breath away. He wondered if she was wearing lipstick because he was there.
“I’ll put my clothes in,” he told her.
“I can do it for you.”
“No, no, no, you don’t have to do that.” He moved to take his jeans and for an alarming moment they stood face to face, gripping the legs.
“You know,” he said, “I could use something to drink. What do you have?”
She smiled, let go of the jeans, and left the laundry room. The moment she disappeared, he tore through the pockets and jammed the mangled letter in the pocket of Burke’s sweat pants, swearing at himself under his breath.
“Water,” she called. “Diet Pepsi, beer, wine, cranberry juice.”
“Whatever you’re having,” he called back. “Hey, I’m a klutz. I’m too dumb to figure out how to turn this on.”
She came back and laughed when he clowned around and stuck his thumb in his mouth like a baby. He felt sky high. Best friends. It was a start. Damn it, she was gorgeous, and she was safe, and here they were together with the whole wide wicked world locked out. He followed her into the kitchen and saw a fire through the door that she’d built in the den. For us.
The kitchen light shone on her bare feet with nails painted the color of caramel. “How about coffee?” she asked him. “I’m frozen to the bone.”
He leaned on the counter. “Sounds good to me.”
“I like Starbucks and Green Mountain.”
“I’m a Dunkin’ Donuts kind of guy. When all this is over, I’ll take you to my favorite Dunkin’ Donuts.”
She gave him a sidelong smile and moved to the den where she sat on the stone hearth and crossed her legs. “You first,” she said.
“I never told you, but I stole something from the black triangle,” he began. Then he retraced the night, how he’d gone too far in the woods to look for her, tracked the giant to Porter Street, saw the brutal attack, ran for his life, and was tackled by the triangle’s pilot. He left out the final chase up 34th Street and the scream in the dark. It bothered him when her expression didn’t change. In spite of everything they’d witnessed together, maybe she didn’t believe him.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the tracker?” she finally said.
“I wasn’t sure if it was safe.”
“I’m an adult, you know.” She still had an odd look on her face. “And you know what else, that tracker would have been solid proof about the UFO. Maybe we could’ve used it to find Burke. Why didn’t you keep it?”
“Because the pilot needs it to capture his cargo.” If the pilot was still alive.
She looked down. “So this alien, the pilot, you told him that he can’t keep Burke a prisoner.”
“It wasn’t like that. Burke injured himself. He can’t leave Burke in the woods because Burke can’t walk.”
She looked angry. “Well, if he would leave Burke outside, we could find him.”
“From what I understood, he’s repairing his ship, and then he’ll let him go.”
“That doesn’t make sense. He should let him go now so we can find him.”
The red mark on her throat from the attack inside the triangle had faded, but he could still see it. When he reached out to gently touch the scar, she moved back, as though she didn’t want him to touch her.
“Your story,” he said.
She took a deep breath. “I was taking photos of her in the Metro when she saw me and came at me. She got my bag when the train doors were closing. I’ll never forget her hands. I’ll have to start over. At least I downloaded some of the photos here.”
It was growing too hot by the fire, so they moved to the couch. Soft shadows danced over Lexie’s face. She’d left out the gun and the lie about the reporter, but he couldn’t confront her, any more than he could tell her about the alien’s final scream.
“I got a few photos of her with my cell phone on the train,” he told her. “But then I lost the phone when I was running. I saw claws under her coat. You know what the claws reminded me of? A dinosaur’s feet.”
She stared at him. “Claws. We have to get more pictures. It’s the only way.”
“We can’t, Lexie. We have to wait for the alien to repair his ship.”
The same odd look she’d worn before crossed her face. “Burke has another camera. Come upstairs with me. Let’s go on the roof.”
He wanted to say yes, but he had to hang into reality. “No, I’m not going on the roof. What I saw tonight was horrible. It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen in my life. She flew again and hid in the trees and I saw her rip a woman’s head off her shoulders. It was worse than the first time with the mugger. The woman tonight was just walking her dog, and she stopped to have a smoke, and she died. I don’t want that to be you, or me, either. That creature is beyond us, Lexie. She’s out of our league. Somebody else has to catch her. We can’t take her on.”
She twisted her hands together. “I don’t want to take her on. I just want some shots that show what she is. I have to find Burke. Don’t you understand? He’s out there right now. This reporter is interested in my story, but he’s not going to believe me unless I have photos.”
“So you talked to him today?”
She shook her head. “No, it didn’t work out. We’re going to talk this week.”
So she wasn’t lying after all. They were sitting so close now their knees touched. When she didn’t take her knee away, he felt the heat skyrocket in his blood. Flames flickered over the coals and glittered on the ring her boyfriend had given her. He was trying to decide what to do about her provocative knee when she smiled at him.
Emboldened, he put his coffee down and kissed her, crossing the best friend line forever. To his delight, she kissed him back. He slid his arms around her and kissed her again. She had a mouth like a ripe plum, made to be tasted. He felt lost in her fragrant hair, intoxicated by her femininity, hardly able to believe what was happening. Everything that he had ever wanted was in his arms at last.
Mine, his heart said.
Her kisses tasted of sugared coffee. She fit in his arms as though she belonged there, her exquisite breasts pressing against him like a Christmas package waiting to be unwrapped. When the tiny pearl buttons on her sweater slipped out of their buttonholes under the persistent prying of his fingers, he hurried to get them undone. Underneath, her lace bra peeped out, the same soft gold color as the sweater. Once his fingers freed the final buttons, the sweater fell open.
He could see her beautiful body now, held captive by gold lace. When she changed clothes before she came down, why did she put on lingerie like that if she didn’t want him? But he wanted more. He wanted to see her bare skin in the firelight. He slid his hand over the curve of her waist and up the smooth skin on her back, feeling for her bra clasp.
She pulled away. “I can’t,” she murmured.
He caressed her hands, folding them inside his own. “You can’t what?”
“I have a boyfriend,” she told him.
“You have a boyfriend,” he repeated stupidly, as though he didn’t know.
“Yes, I’m involved with someone.”
“Maybe it’s time to move on,” he told her, remembering Tom Feldman’s lines from the letter. He felt l
ike she was about to throw him out of an airplane at 30,000 feet, but as long as he could still touch her and feel their fingers intertwined, there was a chance she would change her mind.
“He’s coming here in December,” she said, lowering her eyes.
No, he isn’t, Travis almost said. He threw you over for Fiona, he’s running all over Brazil with her, and they’re about to move in together. He just sent you a one-page letter from a hotel, saying he’ll always remember you with great fondness. Great fondness is what you feel for a poodle.
He was horrified to see the striped edge of the airmail envelope sticking out of his sweatpants and slid his hand in the pocket to hide it again.
With both her hands free now, it seemed to break the spell.
“We made a commitment,” she said, fastening her sweater.
“When do you see this guy, once a year?”
She still wouldn’t look him in the eye. “He leaves Brazil next summer. We’ve known each other forever. We’ll get through it.”
“Maybe it’s time to see someone else,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her earrings glinted against her skin.
“We shouldn’t have done this,” she said. “It was a mistake.”
“It wasn’t a mistake for me,” he said, angry now. “And a minute ago you didn’t act like it was a mistake for you, either.”
The dryer chime rang. He headed to the laundry room and changed into his own clothes. When he returned to the den, she was standing by the fire, twisting her ring. He called a cab, put the phone down, and saw her turn around.
“So our friendship is over,” he said.
She lowered her eyes. “Not for me. I’ll always think of you as a friend.”
Crushed, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me you were taking the gun in the woods?”
“I went to look for Burke,” she said. “You would’ve tried to stop me.”
“I found out the firing pin’s missing.”
Lost Cargo Page 13