Shivering, teeth still chattering, Alex slowly turned her hands over. One palm had been gouged by the clippers; a small flap of skin, encrusted with dirt and blood, lay gaping open. The other palm, now visibly swollen from the nettle rash, had been scraped by the rough patio concrete; it was dotted with pricked skin and tiny specks of dried blood. She felt like crying.
Capucci brushed against Justin as they walked up the steps side by side.
"Mrs. Carlson," Justin said, "I came as soon as I could."
So it was Mrs. Carlson again. "Good evening, Sergeant. Thanks for taking the time to come out," she responded coolly, unshed tears stinging the backs of her eyelids.
"What happened?"
Before she could reply, Capucci cleared her throat and said, "It seems someone came in through the slider in the bedroom and listened in on that extension while Mrs. Carlson was on another extension." She'd made it sound trivial—like a snot-nosed kid had eavesdropped on his big sister's phone conversation. "Nothing appears to be missing or otherwise disturbed."
A wave of queasiness spread through Alex's stomach. Her scraped hands shook uncontrollably. Her head ached from the fear and tension. Her back ached from the strain of standing stiffly against the slider, waiting for help to arrive — waiting for Justin.
She ached all over. Ached because she felt so alone. And because she was terrified. And because Justin still didn't believe her. And because her life was going to hell and she had no idea how to stop it.
"I can handle it from here," Justin said. "I'm sure Mrs. Carlson will fill me in."
Don't be so sure, Detective Holmes.
"Olinski, take a cruise through those hills above," Justin said. "Look for anything out of the ordinary."
"There're a couple houses up there, you want us to check with the residents — see if they noticed anyone prowling around?" Olinski asked.
"Yeah," Justin said, tossing his jacket on the couch.
After the two officers let themselves out, Justin took a chair opposite hers.
"Alex, did you hear him while he was in the house?"
"Oh, it's Alex again, is it?"
"So that's why you're treating me like a goddamn process server, because I didn't address you by your first name?"
She glared at him.
"Look, I'm sorry. Now will you please tell me what went on here?"
"Nothing went on here. I made it all up. I haven't called the police in three or four days and I missed the excitement.”
Justin stared at her. Finally he said, "Why are you doing this?"
"You know," she said, cocking her head to one side. "I'm crazy. We both know that. Right?"
"If you didn't see him.” Justin said, as if she hadn't spoken, "did you hear him while he was in the house?"
She turned her head away again and stared out the window.
He snapped the notebook shut and rose to his feet.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Anywhere but here. It's pretty damned obvious you don't want to talk to me."
Oh God, Alex cried inwardly. How she needed someone. Someone to care about what happened to her. Someone to tell her everything would be all right. From the moment she'd lifted the phone to call for help she'd known that someone was Justin. She wanted him to believe her. To help her. But he wanted to be anywhere but here with her.
She held her breath as he grabbed his jacket and strode to the stairs. He stopped, turned sharply. "Screw this,” he said, throwing down his jacket. "You're going to talk to me because I'm not leaving until you do."
She turned her back on him.
He crossed the room, pulled her to her feet, spun her around to face him, and, giving her a hard shake, said, "What happened here."
Startled, Alex gasped.
"What happened?" he asked, more calmly.
With her chin held high, she said quietly, "My ex called a few minutes ago. He thought I should know that the detective assigned to my case was slightly concerned about my sanity. If you . . . if you think I'm going to subject myself to your silent ridicule, Detective Holmes, then you're the one who's insane."
"Oh Jesus." Justin dropped his arms and began to pace the room. "I should have told you about that. Alex, that was before . . ."
"Before what? Are you saying that now you believe me?"
"I want to believe you."
"But you don't."
He stood there, looking miserable, helpless. Alex sighed, crossed the room. "Come with me."
Chapter 12
Justin stared into the drawer of the work table.
Alex hung up the telephone — she had called Velda to cancel her class. She turned, watched Justin reach up, take a manila envelope off the shelf and, lifting the photo by the edges, slide it into the envelope. From a carton in the corner he took out a two-foot wood stretcher bar and dropped it into the track of the sliding door. "Do the same upstairs," he instructed Alex.
She picked up a ruler, crossed to the bed and worked the nettle out.
He turned. "What's that?"
"A present."
He went to her. "It's a nettle. Did you touch it?" She held out her hand, palm side up.
Justin took her hand, turned it over slowly. "Put it under cold water," he said quietly. "Might take the sting away.”
Alex went into the bathroom, ran water on her hand, blotted it dry on a towel then walked back into the bedroom to see Justin of the head of her bed. He was removing the pillowcase, carefully turning it inside out as he wriggled it off.
"Why didn't you show the picture to Capucci and Olinski?" he asked.
"I don't know.”
"Why did you show it to me?"
"I don't know that either. My first instinct was to shred it into tiny pieces and put a match to it." She turned to the dresser. "Do me a favor? When you're through with it, burn it."
"Alex, you should have left everything the way you found it. It's important that you don't tamper with evidence."
"I wasn't thinking." When he stared at her skeptically, she added, "Do you think I'd sabotage my own case? I'm having enough trouble trying to make you believe I'm telling the truth."
"I believe you."
"You do?"
"I don't think you'd knowingly handle a toxic plant. I found hairs on the pillowcase that are not yours."
She ran her hand along the smooth polished oak of the dresser top, then looked up into the mirror. The face showed a hardness that was not flattering. An image of the pretty, curly-haired Capucci sprang into her mind. Capucci's face was young and unlined. Her eyes, when she had looked at Justin, seemed to glow with such bright eagerness.
"What's her first name?"
"Whose?"
"Capucci.”
"Beverly." He moved behind her. His eyes met hers in the mirror. "Why?"
"I want another gun."
Justin shook his head dubiously.
"Damn it, Justin, he has a gun—my gun. And now the Meachams' shotgun."
"What? Why the hell didn't you tell me he'd taken another gun?"
"I'm telling you now."
"Why are you making it so damn difficult for me?"
"Do you think it's easy for me? I'm alone, unprotected. I need another gun."
"Oh, Jesus, no. Alex, you couldn't hang onto the guns you've had. What is it now—four? You want to give him an arsenal?"
"He won't get another one from me. It's legal to carry a gun in Nevada without a permit. And by God, if I have to carry one —"
"It's legal if it's not concealed. Oh shit, I can see it now." He barked out a laugh. "You packing a gun on your hip.”
"I'm losing my sanity and I'm scared to death, and you laugh." She whipped around suddenly, hair flying across her face as she confronted him “Well, go on—laugh.”
His hand lightly touched hers. She pulled away. "Don't," he whispered firmly, reaching out again and taking her hand. He lifted her tightly clenched fist and opened it. He studied the palm critically. She winced in pain as hi
s thumb lightly stroked the gouged skin. He put his lips to the cut, then raised his head to look into her face.
She stared at his mouth, her gaze following the soft curves of his lips, and she thought how sensuous they were. Don't let this happen, an inner voice whispered as he slowly lowered his face to hers. She watched his mouth come nearer and nearer—as though her eyes had the force of a magnetic field, pulling him in. Her mind and body suddenly felt at odds with each other. Don't let anything get started. She closed her eyes. His lips touched hers . . . so lightly, so feathery she wondered if they were really there at all.
Suddenly she longed to crush her lips to his. She wanted desperately to crawl out of this nightmare and lose herself to him. Just for a little while. A little while. What could it hurt?
His arms moved around her waist to her back. Sliding her arms around his neck, she slowly raised up on her toes, inching upward against him.
His mouth, though the pressure was somewhat firmer now, moved with such deliberate self-restraint that she sensed they were caught in slow-motion frames, with each frame better than the last. When her mouth instinctively sought a closer contact, he drew back slightly. His lips played and teased, pressing and withdrawing. Lingering, not parting. When the tip of his tongue moved over her lips, teasing the corners of her mouth, her breathing quickened. Her pulse accelerated.
One moment his kiss was playful and delicate, the next it was deep and passionate; his tongue caressing, his mouth sucking, his teeth nibbling. He was in complete control, initiating all the moves. Each time she tried unconsciously to take control, he drew back, causing her to moan inwardly and pause until his lips again took over.
Her fingers wove almost frantically into his hair. His hands, gently working their way under her sweater, were cool in contrast to her burning skin. She pressed forward to meet him as one of his hands glided down until it rested on the small, of her back. Pulling her to him, he moved his body against hers. She felt his erection press maddeningly on her pubis. His other hand caressed a breast under the bra, the thumb stroking back and forth across the nipple.
Hesitantly, he pulled his mouth away. She felt a great void, a lack of warmth in her burning, swollen lips. Her eyelids fluttered open to see vibrant eyes gazing into hers. His bright blue irises now seemed darker, nearly black, the pupils fully dilated.
With an urgency that had not been there before, his mouth came down on hers again. Never in her life had she wanted anything so much. No, I don't want this to happen, she thought, struggling for control. Yes you do. Oh, yes you do. He'll help you forget. For the moment he'll help you forget all the bad things.
Her hand moved across his chest, touching the smooth leather of his gun harness, down his flat stomach to rest on his full erection. Slowly she stroked up and down the length of him, tingling at the thought of him inside her.
He moaned, squeezed her tighter to him. And then the doorbell rang.
Alex stiffened. Pulled her mouth from his.
"Sonofabitch," Justin said, letting his forehead drop to her shoulder.
Her hands fell to her sides. He lifted her sweater and bra, put his mouth over a nipple and sucked lightly. Then he stepped back holding her at arm's length.
"It's no secret you're unlucky," he said, his voice husky, "but I never dreamed it'd rub off on me." He touched her lips.
Alex was moving away, heading for the door when he pulled her back and, stepping behind her, lifted her sweater and hooked her bra. He leaned down to kiss her when the doorbell chimed again.
Pulling back, suddenly ill at ease, she moved around him and left the room.
"Joe?" Alex said when she saw her ex-husband. "You said tomorrow."
"I didn't like the way you sounded on the phone. I know you well enough to know when something's wrong." He stepped inside and embraced her.
"Joe, I'm fine. Really," she said. But he seemed not to have heard. He stared past her, surprise, confusion, and that certain look registering on his face.
Alex turned to look at Justin standing on the bottom step of the stairway. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, the pillowcase and envelope in his hand. How handsome he is, she thought. Maybe too handsome. It occurred to her that Joe's interruption may have been more timely than she realized. A few minutes more and she would have given herself to a man—a stranger practically—because she was overwrought and vulnerable. Well Joe was here now. She wouldn't be alone after all.
"You've met Sergeant Holmes," she said, pulling her mind back to the present.
Glancing at Alex, Justin mouthed the word touché as he stepped down and extended his hand. "Good to see you again, Mr. Carlson."
"Has there been more trouble?" Joe directed the question to Justin as he gave his hand a brief shake. Justin looked at Alex.
"No," Alex said quickly. "We were just going over some things"
The three of them stood in awkward silence. "I'll be leaving now, Mrs. Carlson." Justin nodded his head at Joe. "Mr. Carlson.”
Before Joe could respond, Justin had crossed the foyer, opened the door, and was gone.
"See you," Joe said to the closed door. "Nice-looking guy. He must be working overtime on your case," he said, his tone heavy with cynicism. "Police work can be exciting. Did you happen to notice he had a hard-on?"
"Don't start, Joe. We're not married anymore."
"How true."
"You intended all along to come over tonight. God, I can't believe you. If you're not going to be civil, then I don't want you here."
They stared at each other.
Joe looked away first. His laugh was dry. "I can be extremely insufferable, can't I?" He reached out and smoothed a stray hair from her face. "I don't know how you put up with me all those years. I'm sorry. Alex, I'm sorry."
She looked at him, checking to see if he was sincere. The muscles in his face had relaxed. He smiled.
She returned his smile. "Come on upstairs. I could use a drink, how about you?"
"Sounds like a winner."
"I have champagne. Would you like to help me drink it?"
"What are you celebrating?"
"Nothing special.”
Joe popped the cork. Alex got down the glasses. "Alex, you never age. You're just as beautiful as ever. Single life must agree with you."
His double-edged compliment made her conscious of her appearance. She'd caught a glimpse of herself in the foyer mirror. Her hair mussed from Justin's hand. Her mouth—still tingling—devoid of lipstick. On the front of her sweater, where her breasts peaked, were clusters of fuzzballs.
Ah, there was nothing like lust to put a glow in the cheek. A sparkle in the eye.
"How's Todd taking his breakup with Tracey?" she asked, though she knew the answer.
"I think it was over the first day he walked on campus and got an eyeful of all those gorgeous, independent women."
"Well, I'm glad . .. I think. So is he taking time from his ardent pursuits to keep up with his studies?"
"Oh, he's going to do just fine. It was tough at first. All those awesome chicks sort of clouded his brain for a couple of weeks. But when I reminded him that he had plenty of time to satisfy each and every love-starved coed, he finally got down to business. If he'd taken after me in the looks department instead of his mother, he wouldn't have this problem."
She ignored Joe's self-critical put-down and said, "As long as he remembers his major is government and not girls.”
"Don't worry about him; his head may turn a little too readily, but it's on straight."
"Where are you staying?"
"At the Nugget."
"Would you mind spending the night here . . . in Todd's room? I'd rather not be alone tonight."
She expected another of his sarcastic remarks, but all he did was nod with a certain measure of understanding.
Alex held out her hand. "Here, give me your jacket, I'll hang it up downstairs."
With Joe's suit jacket over her arm, she stopped at the couch, pi
cked up the one Justin had left behind, and carried both down to the foyer. As she stood at the closet, about to hang up Justin's down jacket, she was overcome by his scent. She found herself hugging the soft feathery jacket to her chest as she pressed her face to the cool lining. That woodsy soap and Justin's own distinctive scent filled her nose and lungs, making her light-headed. With her eyes closed, she breathed deeply and relived that first contact of their lips and the kisses that followed. Stop it. You were a fool to let it go that far. What would have come of it? Pain. Anguish. That's what.
"Alex, where'd you go?" Joe called from the living
“I'll be right up," she responded after a guilty start.
Justin sat in the overstuffed rocker across from Thelma Klump. She was courteous and gracious, as before, but this time he sensed an impatience, a nervousness. A spasmodic tic below her left eye had begun moments after she'd let him in the house. Klump rubbed at her eye.
"Why, Sergeant, I would have called you immediately if I'd noticed anything out of the ordinary We women must stick together. There's so much crime these days. Drugs. It's the drugs. Why, one can't pick up a newspaper without —"
"You saw no one enter or leave Alex Carlson's house just before dusk today?"
"I saw Mrs. Carlson go out around two. I didn't see her return. I don't stay outdoors once the sun goes down." She pressed a twisted, gnarled finger to the tic. "That poor woman. So much trouble in such a short time."
The kettle began to whistle.
"Ah, the water is ready. I'll just get our tea." She stood, smoothing down the skirt of her pink dress.
Justin watched Klump disappear into the kitchen. He shifted in the chair, lifted the lacy doily from behind his head, and, without taking his eyes off the door Klump had gone through, quickly folded the square cloth and stuffed it into the front pocket of his pants. Justin thought he heard a door close softly somewhere in another part of the house, the metallic click of a latch bolt. In the kitchen he heard porcelain clinking together. Then the sound of glass breaking. A string of hushed curses followed.
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