Body of Evidence

by Stella Cameron

  Men and women were different.

  Well, glory hallelujah, you are one enlightened fella.

  A man wanted a woman. Pure and simple. Or impure and simple.

  Sometimes, like now, sex wasn’t all of it. He would admit that sex with Emma sounded like winning the Triple Crown, but the thought of holding her in the aftermath and feeling whole, as if he’d come home in the most real sense, opened up longings he hadn’t expected to feel again.

  You’ve been listening to too many silly love songs.

  Finn revolved again, threw himself onto his back, tossed the damp pillows off the bed, and let his arms and feet trail from the mattress. This bed hadn’t been long enough for him since he’d been about fifteen.

  Through the crack in his door, a long, slim triangle of light reflected on the ceiling. The landing lights were out, so what he was seeing came from Emma’s room.

  He crossed his arms. Life could get pretty stupid. Here he was, driving himself nuts thinking about her, wanting to be close to her, and there she was, wide-awake a few yards away. Whether she was thinking about him was up for grabs, but he would put a dollar or two on him flitting into her mind now and then.

  They could talk until she fell asleep. What was the harm in that? There was a lot going on. She’d already said she was divorcing Orville. He could be forgiven for smiling at the thought.

  She’d come here because she needed to talk to someone, to show those photographs, and she didn’t know who else to go to.

  Finn put his feet on the floor, stood up and walked determinedly onto the landing. He made plenty of noise with every step.

  “You still awake, Emma?” He didn’t lower his voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Want company.” Shee-it. He let his head hang back. He could win prizes for saying the wrong thing. “I mean, do you want to talk? My room’s too hot. It’s cooler here on the landing.”

  “Oh, come on in here, Finn. It’s ridiculous, you standin’ out there and the two of us yellin’ back and forth.”

  She made him smile like he didn’t remember smilin’ for too long. She had an odd mix of pragmatism and off-the-wall cockeyed optimism that he couldn’t resist. “You’re right,” he said. “Ridiculous.”

  The bedside light was on, but not the others. Emma sat up in bed. The sheet and chenille bedspread were pulled up under her arms, and the neck of his T-shirt sagged off one shoulder

  Nice shoulder.

  Round, smooth, lightly tanned…soft.

  He stood just inside the door. “The sooner you do what you have to with Orville, the better. I can see the whole thing eatin’ you up. You could set things in motion tomorrow.”

  “I’m thinkin’ about it,” she said. He doubted if her almost painfully blue eyes could open any wider. Orville Lachance needed psychoanalysis.

  Emma had fine bones. Although he knew she had full breasts, she was otherwise slender. Could be that Orville had gotten a taste for more substantial women. Damn the man. Or bless him.

  “I can wait while you think,” he said. “Or talk about somethin’ else.”

  She separated a honey-blond curl and wound it around her a finger. “Sit by me.”

  He sat on the mattress, half facing her.

  “If it wasn’t for the party, I’d do it right away.”

  “Why consider him?”

  Emma squinted. “I’m not anymore. But Holly Chandall is so excited to have the caterin’ job. It’ll probably get her more. She hired Annie on the strength of it, and I can’t ruin it for either of them. Holly’s already got her crew ready and Orville’s stinkin’ ice sculpture ordered. Friend of Annie’s is doin’ that. No, I’ve got to hang on just that long.”

  He considered what she said. “I guess I can see that.” But he didn’t have to like it. And he surely didn’t like the haunted look on her face. “You’re bound to be shaken up. Those are things you don’t expect to see in livin’ color. Did it take you a while to decide you wanted a divorce?”

  “In a way. It’s only been weeks since it all came together.”

  “What made you decide?” He shouldn’t push but couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  She appeared about to talk, but stopped. Emma shook her head. “I expect you’ll move on once you’ve got a plan,” she said, surprising him.

  “I haven’t decided. I told you, I’m checkin’ things out to see if I can settle here.”

  Emma looked straight at him. “I’m a fool. I’m infatuated with you, Finn. That’s all it is. You’ve shown me kindness. You’ve been attentive. You look at me as if you think I matter, and I’ve fallen for the whole package. You don’t know how long it is since a man took real notice of me. I don’t have to have a man in my life. No, sir, I need to stand on my own two feet, but I’m glad we met again.” Her attempt at a smile wasn’t so hot.

  No woman had ever told him she was infatuated with him, and Emma wouldn’t have said it if she was herself.

  “Emma, it’s not the way you think—”

  “Drawn together by sex—lust? It is the way I think it is. How can it be anything else?”

  “Hush,” he said. “Listen to me.”

  “Please go. While I’ve got any pride left at all. And will you do something for me?”

  “Anythin’.” Finn Duhon, the man who had an answer for everything. Not tonight.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust Billy, but they aren’t used to deal-in’ with murder around here. Will you still do whatever you can to help figure out what’s goin’ on in this town—because somethin’ truly is goin’ on.”

  “You know I will.”

  “One other thing.” She hunched her shoulders, and the T-shirt neck fell lower. He saw the soft rise of her breast.

  “Just ask, Emma.”

  “Try to forget I came here tonight—and most of the things I’ve said to you. I’ll be thinkin’ straight again by mornin’. And I’ll be out of your hair.”

  16

  The bed creaked.

  It didn’t just creak, it gave that kind of eeka-oog noise, all tinny and in your face, getting louder the more you tried to stop it from happening. This bed moaned when you turned even an inch and howled if you had the nerve to keep on rolling over.

  Emma shot to the floor, and stood with her toes together and her hands to her fiery cheeks. The sounds of Finn tossing had ceased at last, and she wanted out of here while she had a shred of pride left.

  His T-shirt would have to be washed before she returned it, so she might as well leave it on. She jumped into her jeans, hopped from foot to foot to haul them up and close the zip. Shoes, shoes, what had she done with her shoes?

  In the bathroom.

  Emma went in there on the clammy tile floor without turning on a lamp, since it would glow through the fanlight over the door and Finn would see it. She couldn’t see the shoes, so she would have to find them in the dark. She held still and narrowed her eyes, looking for a spot where shadows collected the way they did on something solid.

  Down to her hands and knees she went and carefully covered the floor, sweeping her hands in arcs, patting here and patting there.

  Light flooded the room.

  Emma sat back on her heels, pushed her hair out of her face with the back of a forearm and sighed. She hunched her shoulders. No way would she look at him. “I was finding my shoes.”

  “That would explain it. Are you sure you lost them in here?”

  “No.” And now that there was light, she could see they were not in the bathroom.

  “Up you come.” He caught her by the elbows and lifted her to her feet. Then he shocked her to breathless silence by brushing his lips up the side of her neck and whispering in her ear, “You and I are going to spend some time together, cher. You’re going to tell me what’s on your mind, and I’ll do my best to let you inside my messy head.”

  Emma closed her eyes. “Okay?” he asked.

  She couldn’t be swept away by a pair of strong arms, a hard body at her back and fi
rm lips on her neck. “Um…okay,” she said, though she didn’t intend to tell him more of the personal and humiliating details of her marriage.

  “Good. Your bed or mine?”

  “Finn!”

  “Shall we sit on your bed or mine? Yours creaks.”

  “I noticed.”

  “But it’s more comfortable than mine, and I’ve taken everything off mine now, anyway.”

  She broke from him, returned to the bedroom and got back into bed without removing the jeans. Once more she made sure the covers were tucked up to her armpits—and she switched on the bedside lamp. “Sit down, please,” she said.

  Finn wasn’t wearing his jeans. Emma stared at his rumpled white shorts for too long, then looked away. He sat beside her, apparently perfectly comfortable with what he wasn’t wearing.

  And he sat facing the wall with his hands hanging between his knees and the lines of his face resigned. “Your shoes are sticking out of your tote bag,” he said.

  “Thanks.” For the first time Emma saw the full extent of his scars up close. “That makes me mad,” she said quietly.

  “What does?”

  “That mess on your back. Was it an accident?”

  He looked at her over his shoulder and smiled slightly. “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Whoever did that was really trying to hurt you.”

  His squint, the way his throat moved as he swallowed, unnerved Emma.

  “The man who did that was trying to decapitate me,” he said.

  She couldn’t catch her breath. The purplish red insult to his flesh made a jagged path. “He was an enemy, wasn’t he? Where is he now?”

  Finn rubbed his face hard. “He’s dead. Drop it, please.”

  Crawling from between the covers, Emma put down her pillows and plumped them up. “Lie down,” she said. “On your face.”

  “No.”

  “Please. You’re never relaxed. That’s bad for you. Do as I ask. Come on.”

  He shook his head, and Emma left the bed. She slid to the floor beside him and pushed his unyielding torso until he gave in and flopped sideways like a felled tree.

  “You’re being difficult,” she told him, and managed to haul his legs, one by one, onto the mattress, although she wouldn’t have been able to move any part of him if he didn’t want it moved. She pulled his shoulder toward her. “On your stomach. Do as you’re told for once.”

  So docile she expected him to bolt at any second, he arranged himself, prone, with his arms at his sides.

  How many times has your mother told you to be careful what you wish for? Oh, lordy, lordy, he was one beautiful man. “Rest there. Keep your eyes closed.”

  When she found a tube of aloe in her purse, Emma gave silent thanks. She unscrewed the cap and squirted the pale green gel liberally over his back.

  “Whoo!” He jumped and tried to turn his head.

  “Aloe,” she said. “Really good for softening up scars and relaxing them.” Emma had no idea if aloe was good for anything but sunburn. “This should have been massaged regularly since it happened. You’ve got scar tissue all webbed and knotted up underneath here. I can feel it.”

  “So can I. Ah, ah! That stuff’s cold.”

  “Tomorrow I’m goin’ to get cocoa butter. That’s the best.”

  His face rested straight down in the pillow, and she had to put her head next to his to hear what he said. “What was that, Finn?”

  “Glad you’re going to take over my massage routine,” he mumbled. “Supposed to be done several times a day.”

  Emma had to smile. For all the trouble she was in, and he knew about it as well as she did, she could shut some of it out when she was with him.

  A twist in the region of her gut reminded her that tomorrow she would set the ball rolling and have her lawyer start drawing up the divorce papers.

  “That feels great.” Finn almost moaned. “You’ve got fabulous fingers.”

  “Strong fingers from playing the piano. Keep your eyes shut and concentrate on relaxing your muscles.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ll do that, ma’am. I’d like to hear you play.”

  “That could happen.” She grinned, thinking of how he would react if he saw her playing at Buzz’s Tavern—not that she ever would. Emma worked at the tight knots under the scar. She pulled at the stiff tissue along the tops of his shoulders, shook it gently, let it go, only to repeat the process.

  “Have you ever had hot stones—a hot stone massage?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “It feels wonderful when you’re all knotted up. I could do that for you.”

  “Mmm. Okay.”

  By the time she started thinking of getting him on his back, half the gel was gone. First, using her whole hands to grasp the heavy muscle, she kneaded his sides where the skin was smooth, never breaking contact with his body, always finishing each manoeuver with a series of long sweeps over the scars. She felt his body relaxing under her fingers.

  He was tanned and toned, but she doubted he knew how to loosen up. Could be she had a mission there. “You feel softer,” she said.

  “Who thinks so?”

  “I do. I can feel it.”

  “Ooh, not from my perspective. You’ve got your work cut out for you if that’s what you’re tryin’ to accomplish.”

  He had a narrow waist for such a tall man. Gripping him there with her fingertips, she drove her thumbs along his spine, eventually dipping under his shorts to follow the vertebrae. The patch of coarse hair she encountered gave her pause, but she reminded herself she was no simpering virgin and kept on going.

  “Um, Emma?”

  “Now don’t you go gettin’ scared. This is therapy, and your honor is in no danger from me.”

  Without warning, he reached behind him to grasp one of her wrists. He turned to his side. “Lie with me.”

  She averted her face.

  Finn noted she didn’t try to wrest her arm from his grip. A woman didn’t do what she’d been doing to a man if she didn’t want to get closer to him.

  “You may not be playin’ with fire,” she told him. “But I am.”

  “I won’t push you into anything.”

  “I want to get under the covers,” Emma said. “Move over.”

  He did as she asked, and she took off her jeans again before climbing into the bed, intensely aware that he looked her legs over. There was no mystery about any of this. They were attracted to each other, and she didn’t fool herself that she was more than a woman who turned him on, but she wasn’t looking for more than a warm, hard body to help her through the worst time of her life, either.

  Emma turned off the light and wriggled way down under the covers until only her eyes cleared the sheets.

  “Good job it’s a warm night,” Finn said. “I’d definitely be on the wrong side of the bundlin’ board if it was cold.”

  She laughed. “As long as you stay on your side of the bed, you can get under the covers, too. Only you won’t want to, because it’s too warm, right?”

  His response was to bounce enough that she rolled toward the middle, directly into him.

  “Hi,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and clamping her face to his chest. “I’ll sleep better holding you.” You, Duhon, are a liar, but who needs sleep?

  “We’re going to empty our minds, remember?” Emma said. She would rather not do that, but promises, or excuses, needed to be kept. Besides, she wanted to see if he would tell her anything more about himself. She struggled to sit up and propped both of their pillows against the headboard. Emma patted his and said, “Sit up and let go of everything in that head of yours.”

  That would be a really bad idea, Finn thought, but he did sit up, reluctantly, and worked on slowing his galloping pulse. “You start,” he said.

  “I already told my story—and had illustrations to go along with it. I’ll admit the last few years haven’t been easy. I’m not takin’ the steps I’m takin’ lightly, but I have to be sensible.”

  He wondered
if the last few years had been more than “not easy.” Had they been like living in a satin cell with a mentally, even physically, abusive jailor?

  “How about you, Finn? You had a terrible experience, and you don’t want to talk about it, so you don’t have to. But I’d like to know how it’s affected you. You don’t sleep so well, do you?”

  “I don’t,” he told her. “They told me I have post-traumatic stress syndrome, but I think just livin’ is enough to give you that. I’m copin’ fine, thank you.”

  “You came back to Pointe Judah because you might want to settle down here. You’ve already got business feelers out.” She tried to break off a thread from the sheet but only managed to unravel several inches of hem. She would have to fix that. “You haven’t made up your mind if you really want to put down roots yet, though. I can tell.”

  “You might be wrong about that, but there’s another reason I came home.” He sounded as if he had dragged the words out. Finn turned his face toward her. “I intended to keep it to myself, but then I met you, and you’ve got a way of making me want to spill everything. Why not this, too?”

  “We met when I needed someone strong,” she said. “I don’t know what your excuse is.”

  Finn struggled with wanting to comfort her and just plain wanting her. Parts of a man’s body could be damned single-minded.

  “I’ve got to find out what really happened to my dad,” Finn said quickly. “It was classified as suicide, and his ashes were scattered over the bayou before I had a hope of getting home. Thing is, my dad wouldn’t have taken that way out.”

  Emma felt sad, and sorry. She guessed it would be hard to accept that a parent thought they had nothing to live for and took their own life. Like you weren’t worth anything. “You want to prove he didn’t kill himself?” So many people had set out to do the same thing, and they usually failed.

  “If Denise hadn’t been murdered, I would have taken the case up with Billy by now. I know how busy he is, but I can’t wait any longer. It’s only about a year, but trails get old. And cold. I want to see the records. Then there will be other folks I need to talk to and things to follow up.”

  “I’ll help you,” Emma said.

  Finn looked at her in the slight silvery wash through the window, his expression speculative. He slid the back of a forefinger along her jaw. “Now how did I know you were going to offer? You’ve got your own shit—you’ve got your own problems.”