We Will Always Have the Closet

by Natalina Reis

  “Will you, Petra?” Sam asked, staring intently at her. Still lobster-red, she looked up at him and smiled coyly while violently shaking her head. He didn’t believe her. Not completely, anyway. He just knew she was planning to use this weird relationship of hers to dig up something on the investigation, and he hated that. Suddenly, it became a major emergency for him to get rid of the man sitting next to her. “You look a little tired. Maybe you should rest for a while,” he suggested.

  You couldn’t fault Liam for his courtesy. He immediately jumped up from the sofa, getting ready to leave. “Yes, of course, you must rest, Petra,” he said. “I have overstayed my welcome.”

  Petra was about to protest, but Sam beat her to it. “Yes, thank you so much for coming,” he declared, standing up and offering his hand for a shake. “Very nice to meet you.”

  Liam shook his hand and turned to wrap Petra in a tight embrace. “Love you, girly,” he said, loud enough for Sam to hear. “I’ll come again later this week, if that’s okay.”

  They followed him out and Sam put an arm possessively over Petra’s shoulders while they waved at him. They watched him as he drove away in his sleek red car. With his arm still around her shoulders, Sam asked, “So, are you still in love with him?”

  Petra almost jumped out of his hold. “What?” she exclaimed in surprise. “I have never been in love with him. Never, ever.” She looked so sexy when she was mad, he felt the now-familiar stirrings, but just as he was about to hold her, she turned around and stomped away into the house. “I can’t believe you.”

  The evening was approaching fast and the light of the sleepy sun was diminishing by the minute. In the horizon, the sky was a canvas streaked with oranges and reds, mimicking what he was feeling inside at that moment. Conflicted and frustrated, Sam stood there for a few minutes waiting to cool down before following her inside. He didn’t want to fight with her, and yes, he was being slightly unreasonable. They were not a couple and he had absolutely no claim on her affections. She was free to love and date whomever she wanted and he had no authority or rights over that. Then why was it so hard to swallow that she may be contemplating a relationship of sorts with this other man? Why was it eating him inside that someone other than himself had imagined her without clothes, resplendent in her nakedness? He had no reason to believe that Liam had actually ever seen her in the nude, and she was a grown woman. Other men had seen her naked before—he knew that. But he had this irrational desire to be the first, to be the only one.

  Shaking all these thoughts away, he walked inside and prepared to face whatever awaited him. To his surprise—and a little dismay—Petra was lying on the couch, half covered with a throw and reading a book as if nothing had happened. “Are we going to talk about it?” he asked, riled up by her nonchalant attitude.

  Her liquid chestnut eyes were more than a little hostile when she raised them to his. “Talk about what exactly?” she asked. “About the non-existent relationship I had with Liam? Or how knowing him may help us in our investigation?”

  Sam snapped. “Our investigation?” he yelled out. “Since when did you become my partner in crime? This is an official investigation that requires no amateurs sticking their noses in it.” He regretted having said it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Her face fell in disappointment and shock.

  “You know I can help you,” she protested in a shaken voice. “I know these people well.”

  “You mean, you slept with a few of them?” What was wrong with him? How could he say that? He bit his tongue to punish himself.

  “How dare you?” She jumped off the couch, throwing the blanket on the floor and the book across the room in his direction. “You have no right to talk to me like that. Get out! Get out!” She was almost hysterical, her hand pointing toward the front door.

  “Fine, that’s fine with me,” he declared, not feeling fine at all. “I’m gone. Wouldn’t want to cramp your style.” He grabbed his coat and his car keys and left, slamming the door behind him. He was out of control. Why had he said those horribly unfair things? Maybe it was a good thing to put some distance between them right now and have a chance to cool down and think things over. Around her he always felt partially out of control, a feeling he was not accustomed to. He had spent a lifetime teaching himself how to have his actions and emotions carefully in check at all times—all it took was a little willow of a girl with a temper to undo him completely. Leaving her like this seemed so final, it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Shit,” he exclaimed halfway down the road, hitting the steering wheel with his hand.

  That night Sam tossed and turned in his lonely bed until, giving up any pretense at sleeping, he got up and sat in the living room in front of the TV. He eventually realized the television set wasn’t turned on and that he had been staring at a blank screen for the past hour or so. “Damn you, Petra,” he exclaimed, punching the cushion beside him. Whether he liked it or not, she had insinuated herself under his skin and he now found it very hard to imagine a day without her.

  He wondered if she felt as bad as he did. Was she as restless as he was? Had she been able to sleep that night? Had she eaten anything since he left? God, he missed her.

  As soon as it was light outside Sam was on the road, driving faster than he should in the direction of Petra’s house. Around a hairpin turn, Sam almost crashed head on with Petra’s Yaris driving toward him at great speed. They managed to park the cars on the side of the road and got out. “What the hell, Petra?” Sam yelled across the way, taking a few quick steps toward her.

  Petra was running at him, her raven hair now loose and flying behind her, her injured arm hanging carelessly along her body. Their bodies almost collided like their cars had nearly done a minute earlier. Sam’s hands went around her small figure and lifted her up so her feet were dangling in the air while her face burrowed in the crook of his neck. “I don’t want to fight,” she mumbled into his neck. “I’m sorry.”

  Sam was not sure why she was apologizing. After all, he was the one who had said all the wrong things out of jealousy. His arms tightened around her and she whimpered a bit as her healing arm got crushed between their bodies. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have never said those things. I was just…” his voice trailed in the silence of the road.

  “Jealous?” Petra offered with a hiccup. Was she crying?

  With a finger on her chin, he lifted her face up enough to look at her. The sky suddenly darkened as water laden clouds gathered above. “Are you crying?” he asked.

  “Just a little,” she said with a smile. “I hate fighting, and…I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t want you to go. Please, don’t go. Not like this.” Her voice was a little shaky, words broken here and there by tiny sobs.

  Sam pulled her against him again. “Oh God, please don’t cry,” he pleaded. “I don’t know how to deal with that. Hit me over the head or something. God knows I deserve it, but don’t cry.” He held her a while longer and her sobs did subside until the only sound he could hear coming from her was her quick breathing. His breath was coming out ragged as desire had yet again taken over. “You drive me crazy, Petra,” he confessed, his body reacting to her warmth. “We better go back now or I may just do something ungentlemanly-like.”

  Petra laughed into his neck and he gently let her down to the ground. “What makes you think I don’t want you to?” she asked.

  His lips found their way to hers in the impending darkness of an approaching rain storm, and for the next few minutes, they explored each other’s mouths in a passionate kiss. His body was screaming for hers, but there was no way he was going to take her like this, in the middle of a road, heavy drops of rain starting to fall on them. Drawing on his training, he managed to get himself under control. “Let’s go home before we get soaked,” he said. “I’m going to cook you the best macaroni and cheese you have ever eaten, and then you’re going to rest while I take a very cold shower.”

  Petra laughed again and walked away to her car
, leaving him with the distinct feeling she had no idea how serious he was.

  Chapter Five

  BOATS, ISLANDS, AND CLOSETS

  Sam

  This was the fifth door he’d knocked on and nobody answered. This investigation on Jonas Linden was taking its toll. On one hand, he was so sure the man was guilty he couldn’t wait to find something even mildly incriminating to put him in jail. On the other hand, because Petra seemed to be banking on Jonas’ innocence, he was afraid that she would indeed be devastated should he be found guilty in the end. Sam did not want that. He wanted her to be happy, he wanted to make sure her smile never faded and that her heart never broke. However, this was what he had been hired to do and he must push on whether he liked it or not.

  This morning, he was trying to find some information on the comings and goings of Jonas’ yacht in Port Townsend. He had been going from one yacht to another, knocking on doors, hoping that somebody had some information he could use, but luck was not shining on him. Nobody seemed to be home, even though he knew some of those vessels were from passing visitors who wouldn’t stay away for long. He sighed and decided to take a break. A cup of coffee at the marina’s coffee shop sounded great at the moment.

  He had left Petra sleeping in her bed, looking like an angel in disguise. It took all his strength and willpower not to crawl in bed with her, mold his body around hers, and make her his. Even now, the very thought of her lying there made his heart beat faster.

  A young woman in an apron came to take his order. “Have you worked here long?” he asked her on a whim.

  The girl looked at him hesitantly at first, as if making sure he wasn’t flirting with her. “For over a year,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “A friend of mine keeps a yacht here,” he lied. “He’s been complaining about strange goings-on in the marina late at night and early morning. He sleeps on the boat and apparently he keeps hearing people coming and going at odd hours of the night. Do you know anything about that?”

  The server wiped the small table with a rag and handed Sam a menu. “Yeah, I heard about that too,” she said. “Anthony Jenkins was just complaining about that to me yesterday.”

  Sam’s ears perked up. Could he have actually hit the jackpot? “Where does this Mr. Jenkins live?” he asked her, pretending to look at the menu. “I would love to talk to him about it. My friend is very annoyed.”

  “He’s no mister,” she protested with a chuckle. “He’s a ship-hand, young and broke. His boss lets him sleep in the boat on Pier 11, the Marie Helene. So what are you ordering?”

  The Marie Helene was not a yacht, but a graceful sloop, moored just a few slots away from Jonas’ vessel. Sam stepped aboard and called for the young man who may be the witness he needed to nail the art crooks. It didn’t take long for a sleepy-eyed youngster with disheveled red hair to appear from below deck. “What do you want?” he asked in a slurred voice. Young Anthony’s breath reeked of stale alcohol and he held onto the sides of the door for dear life. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I wanted to ask you a few questions about the commotion that’s been going on at the pier late at night,” Sam said, leaning against the side of the rolling sloop.

  “That?” the boy exclaimed, weaving forward and almost losing his balance as the boat rolled a little harder. “Those damn idiots have been keeping me up night after night for the past few weeks.”

  “What are they doing here so late? Partying?” Sam asked. “Did you hear what they were saying by any chance?”

  “I couldn’t understand half of it,” the boy confessed, sitting down on one of the benches. “But they were going on and on about some art pieces.”

  Sam couldn’t help it. He felt the excitement of a breakthrough go through him like electricity. “Think carefully,” he said to the boy, “Any details you may remember…any at all?”

  The boy brought his hand to his head, as if it was painful to think. “Now that you mention it, there was something else,” he said, squinting against the sunshine. He must have been up again late last night. “There was a woman with them one time.”

  “A woman? Are you sure?” He had never come across a woman in his investigation. For a moment his heart stopped, thinking that the woman might have been Petra. But then, just as suddenly, the idea was dismissed; he knew it in his heart that Petra was not involved in these dealings. “What did she look like?”

  “She was gorgeous,” the boy exclaimed with gusto. “That’s how I remember. Blonde long hair, tall, curvy…I remember thinking, how can she walk on this pier with those heels?”

  “What did she do?” Sam asked, leaning closer. The boy’s voice had a tendency to fade toward the end of his sentences.

  “She kept giving orders,” Jenkins said. “Take this first, watch it, don’t drop that…that kind of thing.”

  “Do you remember anything else?” Sam wasn’t holding his breath, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

  “There was a guy, very well dressed, not like the other guys at all,” he shared. “I remember thinking how lucky he was to have landed a chick like that. They were all over each other. They drove off in a sweet ride—a BMW sports car.”

  What a lucky break. A sports car was so much easier to track than an unknown individual. “Think carefully, what color was it?” he asked.

  “White, well off-white, I guess,” Anthony said with authority. “The chick was driving it.”

  Sam thanked the boy with a small donation and headed to town. He was pretty sure that Linden did not own a BMW. The man drove a Ferrari and had a chauffeured limo for business trips. So the car must be this mysterious woman’s. Who was she? God knew there were a lot of females in Linden’s life, but he was not known for taking them with him on business. He needed to find out who this woman was. She could be an invaluable witness to Jonas’ wrongdoings.

  His mind was working a thousand miles an hour while he drove back to Petra’s house, working through different scenarios and possibilities. By the time he got there, his head hurt and he was in desperate need for a hot cup of anything caffeinated. Petra was in the kitchen, her reader in hand, totally immersed in her book. At that moment, Sam forgot all that had been going on for the past couple hours. All he could see and think about right now was how much he wanted to kiss those lips. “Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” he said from the door. “I could be a serial killer coming to ravish you, and you would never know.”

  Petra looked up at him and frowned. “Please, serial killers normally don’t carry a key to the house.”

  He closed the space between them and swept her off the stool into his arms. “I have been craving those lips all day long,” he whispered over her mouth.

  “Well then, I wouldn’t want you to feel deprived.” She chuckled, softly brushing her lips against his. The touch sent shivers down their spines as Sam deepened the kiss before coming up for air. She moaned and his legs turned into putty underneath him.

  Sam laughed. “There’s a lot more where that came from,” he announced with a grin. “First, I need a snack. I am famished.”

  They sat companionably at the kitchen counter while Petra offered him what was left of her lunch. “I brought it back from town, and I was so hungry I kind of went overboard with my order,” she explained when he stared incredulously at the giant sandwich and side salad that comprised her so-called leftovers.

  “How was your day?” Sam asked, munching on a piece of cucumber. “Anything exciting?”

  “Absolutely,” Petra said, sipping on a cup of tea. “I saved the world’s panda population, had a meeting with the Dalai Lama, and still had time to bake bread for half of Seattle’s homeless.”

  Sam gave her a sly smile and reached out to hold her hand. “Seriously, woman,” he said. “How was it?” Ever since the accident, Sam was in a constant state of vigilance and required detailed information of her daily doings. He was still suspicious—even though Petra had more than denied that assumption—that she had been somehow pushed down that st
aircase.

  “I met with Alina for lunch again,” she said, settling back into the stool. “We had a nice chat and then she drove me to work in that fancy car of hers. Man, she still drives like a madwoman, but that car is to die for.”

  While taking a huge bite of the sandwich, Sam tried to speak, succeeding only in spitting out some of the food. Petra laughed and offered him a napkin. “What kind of car does she drive?” he asked.

  “A BMW,” Petra said, staring down at her tea mug. “Sporty and fast.”

  Sam stopped, the sandwich almost to his lips. “A BMW? What color?”

  Petra thought for a moment, her lips hovering over the steamy cup. “I think they call it putty, an off-white shade.”

  Time had frozen for Sam. Was Alina the woman Anthony Perkins had told him about? “Was Alina ever close to your ex?” he asked casually.

  “Not really,” she replied. “She knew him and we went out together a few times, but she told me he started making advances and that’s why she stopped hanging out with me. They argued a lot, I remember. Why?”

  How could he tell Petra that the woman she thought was her friend was in fact a person of interest in his investigation, not to mention that she was seen not that long ago smooching with Linden? “It could be nothing, Petra,” he started cautiously. “Let me find out more.”

  Petra lifted her eyes to him, suddenly intrigued. “No, no,” she said. “You can’t ask something like that and not follow up. Tell me.” It was an order, Sam realized, half amused.

  Sam had no choice but to share the information he had gathered that day at the marina. As he spoke, he noticed Petra’s face turn first ashen, then bright red. “There is a very strong possibility Jonas and Alina are in cahoots,” he concluded.

  ***