He was a little leaner than she expected, his ribs visible, but he was tanned and toned, and she knew from personal experience divorce was not an easy process. When he leaned in to nuzzle her throat and cup her left breast, his erection was hard and hot against her thigh.
“You feel so good,” he told her, his breath warm against her skin. “Soft and warm. Don’t ever apologize for how you look.”
Damn him, once again he’d dissected her accurately. It had been just a breath away for her to say something about her weight. “I’m not apologizing. I just know I could lose a few pounds.”
His blue eyes held hers. “I disagree. Don’t I seem enthusiastic to you?”
It was farcical to think Jon Palmer would ever say those words to her, but he just had, and, she discovered, he was telling the truth.
A small voice in her brain told her he was just getting laid, but another whisper registered the way he touched her, running his fingers over every curve, discovering her body slowly but surely, his mouth following the exploration of his hands until she was breathing unevenly and more than ready.
There was a viable urgency when he entered her though, a hunger she sensed not just from the movement of his body but from the grip of his hands and the cadence of his breathing. He wasn’t rushed, but it was close for both of them, and she was fairly sure through the haze of pleasure, those small frantic sounds were coming from her and she might be embarrassed later, but at the moment just didn’t care.
Best orgasm of her life, hands down.
He must have needed it too. She got the impression that maybe he didn’t sleep around either and it had taken some self-control to not push things along a little faster.
There were two things she thought about as they lay there in the dark, his respiration slowing, lashes lowering as he went almost instantly to sleep.
The first was he’d never kissed her once. Not on the mouth. Her breasts, yes, he’d enjoyed those, but she’d hoped he would—they were both culpable there. She wasn’t surprised either for some reason. Maybe she should have studied psychology. If they weren’t in love, then you couldn’t sugarcoat it and call it making love, so otherwise it was just sex.
He’d wanted sex. She’d wanted it too. They were even. No promises exchanged. Hot, uninhibited sex too, and maybe it was the fantasy that had made it so good. So there weren’t any soft, lingering kisses and romantic declarations. Get over it.
And the second thing was he was unmistakably exhausted. His slide into slumber was unnatural, like a switch being flipped as he stilled and was gone in an instant, his arm draped around her waist.
Alicia, on the other hand, was wide awake.
Jon’s comments about Black Lake bothered her.
A lot.
There was some decent moonlight coming in the window because she hadn’t taken the time to pull the drapes. In repose his features were peaceful, but Alicia could swear even in sleep Jon was tense and her slightest movement disturbed him.
A part of her wondered if he ever really slept.
The sound was so faint at first she didn’t notice it. A scratching noise on the side of the house, soft and almost inaudible, but then louder and the chill she felt wasn’t only due to the sweat cooling on her bare skin.
Something was outside.
* * * *
The scream only barely pierced his sleep, so Jon sat up in a welter of confusion, in an unfamiliar bed, an unfamiliar room, naked, and what the hell…
Alicia had scrambled to her knees, clutching the sheet to her chest, and she pointed with a shaking hand. “I…I could hear a strange sound and someone just looked in the window.”
That sounded ominously familiar. Jon threw back the covers and reached for his discarded pants. “Call the police. I’ll go check things out.”
“Yes, to the first, no, to the second.” She was ashen pale, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to describe it, but it wasn’t natural, Jon.”
The sick twist in the pit of his stomach was because he was afraid she was exactly right. He assured her, “I’m just going to check the doors and other windows.”
It’s me it wants.
“Promise me you won’t go out there.” She was sincere, and trembling.
It occurred to him he wasn’t used to anyone caring about his safety, at least not for years. An unpleasant revelation, that one.
“I promise. Now call.”
She nodded, the movement jerky, her cell phone already in her hand.
Jon went down the dark hallway, not familiar with the house, and found the switch, the illumination comforting. The kitchen was silent and tidy, porcelain antique cookie jar shaped like a cat giving him a start because until he flicked on the light he thought an animal was sitting there by the sink. The refrigerator hummed quietly in the background, the counters shining and clean—she seemed to be a decent housekeeper—but the room was icy cold.
No wonder. The window over the sink was open, the chill air coming through smelling like autumn leaves and chimney smoke. Jon seriously doubted Alicia had left it open on purpose, not when it was supposed to dip below freezing, but then again maybe she’d forgotten in the heat of the moment, so to speak. As a woman living alone he suspected she did a pretty thorough check before she went to bed, but maybe with a male sharing that bed, she didn’t worry about it as much.
Except the windows in the living room were open as well, and in the small laundry room, and the spare bedroom…
Shit. He closed everything up, freezing because he hadn’t put on his shirt and maybe he was a little shaken as well. That night at the cabin, he’d wondered if maybe he had been off in a fugue state, his imagination getting the better of him, but Alicia had seen a face in the window while he’d been asleep.
It was real.
Or at least it wasn’t just his hallucination alone.
When he walked back to the bedroom, Alicia had put on a pink robe and obviously run a comb through her hair, but she was still very pale. “The dispatcher said the sheriff would be here in a few minutes.”
Troy? He couldn’t catch a break. He had zero desire to talk to Walda. What the hell was the man doing working the night shift anyway? He hated to ask his next question, but he did. “I don’t suppose you opened all the windows and just forgot about it?”
Her eyes reflected horror and her hand fisted in the material of her robe. “No, of course not. Oh God.”
“I’m sure when the sheriff gets here he’ll want you to check around and see if anything is missing, but to me, nothing looked disturbed.”
She sank down on the edge of the bed as if her knees were weak. “Someone was inside my house?”
“I don’t know. The front door was locked.” He would have gone and sat down next to her and at least put his arm around her shoulders in a reassurance he wasn’t positive he could give, but there was a knock on the door that resonated with authority. “Sounds like the police are here already. If you don’t mind answering the door, I’m going to put my shirt on.”
He wasn’t positive his participation was needed, but then again, he wasn’t going to hide either. When he walked out into the living room a few minutes later, Troy glanced up, stopped midsentence, and his appraisal was both cold and offensive. He said coolly, “Why am I not surprised you’re part of this. Ms. Hahn said you were asleep when the disturbance happened but you found open windows after the incident. Correct?”
“Correct.” Since Alicia was in her robe, he was disheveled, and it was pretty late, Jon was sure there was no mystery to the circumstances, he just disliked Troy knowing about it.
“Any idea who it could be?”
Jon responded reasonably, “I haven’t lived here in years and I didn’t see him. How could I possibly know who it might be? You are a much more logical choice for a calculated guess at who would be creeping around this neighborhood looking in windows.”
It was a lie. He had a theory, but proving it would be impossible.
Troy not
ed down his answer in an official way that made Jon’s jaw harden. The bad blood between them was just plain annoying.
The sheriff leaned against the counter. “I walked around and didn’t see anything. It has rained but there aren’t any footprints.”
Same thing at the cabin. No boat and no body after he shot out the window. Jon wasn’t about to announce he’d been visited before, but he sympathized with Alicia because it was easy in retrospect to wonder if you’d been dreaming or mistaken. “The open windows?”
“If someone broke in, there aren’t really any signs of it.” Troy shrugged. “That means not much I can do. If this all makes you nervous, maybe consider an alarm system. If there are any other reports in the neighborhood, we’ll be in touch.”
As he turned toward the door, Jon said, “Troy, hold on. How’s George? Alicia just told me tonight. I didn’t know.”
Troy turned back around, his face like a granite mask. “He’s okay, but seems to feel an urgent need to talk to you. I was supposed to contact you, but I have this entire county wanting my attention and a missing young woman.”
Another one. It was his first thought. That makes nineteen…
“I admit I put his request on the backburner for understandable reasons. What you do next is up to you, Palmer. He’s at the regional hospital. I was kind of hoping this was a lead, and it still might be, so we’ll continue to look around. Normally I wouldn’t wish you off on any woman, but maybe it’s just as well you were here.”
The screen slammed into place after his exit. After a long moment, Alicia said with a quaver in her voice, “This might be the most interesting evening of my life, both good and bad. What was that all about with Troy Walda?”
“We’ve never liked each other much.” Jon was still tired. “He’s usually at least cordial though. Who is missing?”
“A customer told me it’s a young mother from the south side of town. Franklin Street. I hope they find her.” She shivered.
The sleep issues since his arrival back in Black Lake hadn’t seemed to improve much, though it had been promising earlier. “Maybe I should go.”
“No way.” There was surprising steel in her voice, but it still trembled. “If you think you’re leaving me here alone, forget it. I agree we can talk over all this after a cup of coffee in the morning and we need to, but you’re staying.”
Chapter 9
Motive has always been a bone of contention for me.
The popular conception is, of course, that motive is what makes a person do something to achieve an end they desire.
That’s a very simplistic view of a complex process.
What I argue is that it is an impulse that denies logical explanation in many cases. For instance, murder.
Who wishes to kill someone who has done them no harm? When there is no financial gain? When it isn’t for protection of your own life or for revenge?
That desire exists, I promise you. Why? I am not sure how to define it. I can tell you frankly, between us, for the joy of it. Like nothing else.
I suppose, if everyone understood it, there would be no one left.
It was ironic to leave the hospital with Jon Palmer waiting for him by his fancy car as his exit ticket.
George had no choice but let the nurse wheel him out, but he didn’t have to like it.
It wasn’t Jon’s fault he looked healthy and whole and it wasn’t his fault George resented it, either. He could have called Troy to pick him up, but when Jon called he offered, so why not. They had a lot still to talk about.
The physician had told him to drop some of the weight, ease up on the alcohol, change his diet and at least consider exercise now and then. Right. Like he didn’t know all of those things, but he wondered if his cardiac event hadn’t been triggered by something else, anyway.
On closer inspection, George decided as Jon opened the door for him, maybe his friend didn’t look so great after all. He looked haggard, or as haggard as someone like him could look. When Jon slid into the driver’s seat, George said succinctly, “I want a cheeseburger. A big fat, greasy cheeseburger with fries on the side. And a cold beer. And don’t say a word about it. Just take me straight to the Brown Bottle, please. I’ll start my new diet tomorrow.”
Jon lifted a brow. “Whatever you say.”
He drove like he did everything else, with competence and confidence, maybe a little too fast, but George didn’t mind. He really was hungry. Fifteen minutes later he was at one of the chipped tables in the far corner of the tavern, tipping back the first icy swallow. It tasted like heaven.
“Three days without a beer,” he said, as he set down the bottle with a satisfying click. “It was the worst part of the whole thing.”
Across from him, Jon remarked dryly, “That and the almost dying, I imagine. You drink too much, by the way.”
“So do you. You don’t look too hot yourself. Ever think about getting some sleep?” George gazed at him in critical assessment. “Or are you too busy fucking? Alicia Hahn, eh? She’s a hot handful, I’d bet, especially with that Marilyn Monroe body. Nice girls are usually the wild ones in bed.”
He spoke as if he had some authority on the subject. He really didn’t. He wasn’t a virgin, but his options had always been limited.
George actually liked Alicia quite a bit. Not just a nice girl, but pretty too, and if you were a breast man, well then, she was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. He didn’t picture her with someone like Jon, though. She was an apple pie, small-town kind of woman, and he was a caviar, big city sort of man. Or at least that was the image. Jon was very hard to read, even for someone who was supposed to have some skill in that area and had known him most of his life.
“For a college professor, your vocabulary could use some work. You can’t be more sophisticated than ‘fucking’? Nice of Troy to share information on my personal life. That was unprofessional in my opinion.” Jon’s expression had tightened in annoyance. “I’m pretty sure she isn’t interested in having the whole town know I spent the night. I didn’t appreciate some of his comments, either, when he answered the call. He was pretty nice the other day. What’s up with him?”
Patsy Cline announced she was crazy from the jukebox, but then again, maybe they all were. The air smelled like frying meat and his stomach rumbled. George took another long drink before he said, “Troy told me you were at Alicia’s, but I doubt he’d spread it around. I know you aren’t friends or anything, but please admit he isn’t a bad guy. His dad was my uncle so I always tried to think well of him, but you and I both know the asshole beat the shit out of my aunt when he was drunk and that was pretty much all the time. Troy has conquered his own drinking problem and I know he’s never laid a finger in anger on Amy even in his downward spiral. He does a good job as sheriff, too. It suits him.”
“I’m glad if they’re happy together.”
Jon probably meant it. If he’d wanted to marry Amy, he certainly could have. George knew that on a psychological level and that it was what got to Troy. He was perceptive enough to realize it, and it rankled deep. It would for any man, or woman for that matter, knowing they had come in second. She loved Troy, or George had always thought so, but it was no secret she’d been head over heels in love with Jon once upon a time.
And happy? George didn’t think it applied. “This is what’s up. They’ve been trying to have a baby for years now. No luck. I’ve watched their marriage slowly disintegrating. You’re divorced, so I’m sure you know it isn’t a fun process. I’m just telling you this so you understand why Troy is extra unhappy to have you single and back in town. Cut him some slack.”
“He can just get over it.” Jon looked distant all at once, as if he was carefully separating himself from the conversation. “I’m not interested in his wife. We both know that’s not why I’m here. Let’s forget your cousin.”
The arrival of his food was untimely, but it smelled like heaven after three days of a hospital diet that included a lot of broth and fruit juices
. George would be grateful to never see another bowl of gelatin in his entire life. He picked up the slippery mess of bun, cheese, and charred meat. “Tell me why, then.”
Jon had naturally ordered the healthiest thing on the limited menu, a turkey deli sandwich on rye, and he didn’t seem all that interested in eating it. He said in a voice just as neutral as the expression on his face, “Science has proven that energy lingers. It is irrefutable. It changes, but it’s here to stay.”
What does that mean? Good God, are we really going move in oblique circles again?
“Your point is what?”
“I’m uncertain what to do. The cycle seems unbreakable. I always thought it was possible, but I’m just no longer sure.”
Jon was smarter than he was. George had accepted that a long, long time ago. It didn’t mean he was stupid by any means, just that Jon Palmer was extremely intelligent. In his experience, and he wasn’t a clinician but he’d read all the journals and thought about going that direction at one time, the very gifted often had problems that the rest of society couldn’t comprehend. He was just as happy being mediocre when that slant came into it.
With reluctance, because he was afraid of the answer, he asked, “Why? What cycle? What happened?”
“Someone paid us a little visit. Alicia saw him looking in the window. I was asleep, but he’s come to see me already once since I got back here. Her description was not what I wanted to hear. You know who he looks like? Larimer. Now a woman’s missing.”
Suddenly the cheeseburger, that was probably another nail in his coffin anyway, didn’t taste so good. George set it back down on his plate next to a mound of French fries that seemed to defy gravity they were piled so high. “Uhm, I hate to point out the obvious, but it can’t be him. He’s dead.”
“I know,” Jon said woodenly. “I killed him, remember?”
He remembered. It was the dark unbreakable bond between them, the black moment that had them sitting in this booth all those years later. No longer really friends, but blood brothers in the truest sense, which seemed to be a stronger tie.
A Cold, Fine Evil Page 7