Exit Wounds

by V. K. Powell

  It felt like hours before she was aware of her body, stiff and exhausted on the cold tile floor. She rolled over on her back, every muscle objecting to the movement. She ached like she’d been beaten. She ran a soothing hand down her middle.

  Tendrils of arousal trailed her touch. She closed her eyes and thought of Abby. Abby’s hand caressed her now, gentle and encouraging. She relaxed, opened her legs, and gave in as delicate fingers soothed bruised flesh. Whispers of breath stirred and teased fine hairs across her clit. She bucked, desperate for a firmer hand.

  “Relax, hon. Stay with me.” She imagined Abby’s soft voice, the tip of her tongue rimming her ear. The urgency disappeared. Abby was here. No need to rush.

  Loane was wet, ready, and so willing to let her do whatever she wanted. Abby’s finger slid inside her and her mouth claimed her swollen clit. “Yes.” She wanted to look at Abby—to see her eyes staring up at her, her hand buried inside her—but knew she shouldn’t. Instead she surrendered to the subtle rhythm, the goose bumps on the surface of her skin, and the gently building pleasure underneath.

  “I want to make you come hard and fast.”

  “I’ll come any way you want.” She rocked back and forth as the pace increased. The pressure in her crotch built, filling her body with a fire demanding escape. Her heart was full of Abby—her delicate touch, her whispered words, and her desire to please and satisfy. “Oh God, yes…” With a long, deep thrust and one final tug on her clit, she came over and over and over.

  All that had been confined and denied in her released in one continuous flood. The tightness in her chest evaporated. The tension that had bound her body disappeared. “I love you, Abby.” She opened her eyes, searching for Abby’s warmth, her smile. She found only cold tile, an empty room, and her own hands cleaving like a lover’s between her legs. “Oh, Abby.”

  The tears came again, and again she didn’t hold them back.

  *

  Distantly, Loane heard a phone ringing and reached to answer it. Her hand brushed across the tile floor and stopped at the edge of the bathtub. She didn’t want to open her eyes. She remembered where she was and how she’d ended up here. Abby. After she finally climaxed, she’d been too exhausted to move and had passed out on the bathroom floor. She’d slept soundly despite the hard surface. She pulled herself up slowly, stretching the kinks out of her back and hips. Then she made the mistake of looking in the mirror.

  She flinched at the image staring back at her. Her short hair was plastered to her head like a ball cap, eyes red and swollen, and checkered tile indentions marked the side of her face. She followed the scored pattern from her cheek down her naked side, to her leg and onto her foot. Her left breast sported an obvious black-and-blue handprint, and her nipple showed traces of dried blood. She reached for her robe and pain shot from her breast to her crotch, almost bending her double. “Jeez.”

  Clinging to the sink, she tried to blot the previous night’s events from her mind—running away from Abby in the bar, carelessly bringing a stranger to her home, almost having sex with her, the desperation of her own need, and finally making love with a ghost. For a brief moment last night she’d been with Abby again, at least in her mind. She shook her head at the reflection in the mirror. “You’re pathetic.”

  Her cell phone rang again and she followed the sound to the pile of discarded clothes in the living room. “Yeah.”

  “Loane, where have you been? I’ve called half a dozen times since yesterday.”

  “Eve?”

  “Of course it’s Eve. You told me not to call unless it was urgent. This qualifies. We’ll be right over.”

  “We?”

  “Thom is coming with me. Be there in fifteen minutes.”

  If Eve needed her partner’s emotional support, something had gone seriously wrong. “Can’t you tell me over the phone?”

  “No, and this can’t wait.” Eve’s tone was all business, and she knew better than to question any further.

  She showered, made coffee and, while waiting for her friends, tried Vi’s cell again. This time when she got her voice mail, she left a message asking her to call as soon as possible. She checked her own voice mail next and got the six messages Eve had left, all the same: call me, it’s important. No message from Abby. Surprise. With each second that passed, her anxiety grew. When the elevator bell finally announced their arrival, Loane had worked up quite an imaginative story in her mind.

  “Is it Tyler? Has something happened to him? Are you and Thom okay? Is someone hurt…dead? Tell me!”

  “Sit down.” Eve guided her to the sofa facing the view of a city shrouded in fog as dense as the confusion in her mind.

  Thom went straight into the kitchen, returned with a glass half-full of amber liquid, and handed it to her. “Drink this.”

  “You’re scaring me now. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Drink, for medicinal purposes,” Thom said. She sat down beside her and waited. In times of emotional need, Thom was the person Loane wanted at her side. The fact that she was here both frightened and comforted her.

  Loane took a big gulp of the Jameson whiskey and felt the warming sensation slide down her throat and into her limbs. She finished the drink and stared at Eve.

  “This might be a shock, so prepare yourself. Interesting look, by the way.”

  Loane raked her hands through her short hair, wishing it were long again so she’d have something to hang on to. “I’m ready.”

  “Abby is alive.”

  For a second the world seemed surreal. She let the information sink in and confirm what she’d seen and momentarily questioned last night. How was it possible that Eve and Thom knew Abby was alive when she’d just found out? “I know.”

  “She came to see me yesterday and—what?”

  “I saw her at the Sky Bar last night.”

  Eve flopped into a chair. “Well, give me a Jameson. So much for my big news. Did you talk to her?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Eve said. “She wants to talk to you, pretty badly.”

  Her skin flushed and her insides quivered with a mixture of joy and irritation. One second she felt elated, the next she was totally pissed off. She should be ecstatic; it was what she’d prayed for, but it didn’t seem real. Her heart was coming together again but the pieces were jagged and sharp.

  “I…couldn’t believe it. I’ve felt all along that she was alive, but seeing her standing in front of me was a jolt. And knowing that she’s here and hasn’t called…I couldn’t handle it.”

  She thought about her erratic behavior last night and the despair she’d felt. She had actually seen Abby at the club. It wasn’t an illusion, as she’d tried to convince herself later. She definitely hadn’t made love to her, but Abby was undeniably back. It was inevitable that they’d have to talk sooner or later; too much remained unresolved. “Do you know where she is?”

  Eve shook her head. “She left a number. It’s different from the one we’ve been calling.” Eve offered her a business card, but it hung in the air between them like something radioactive. She eventually placed it on the coffee table. “I didn’t ask her any questions. I’m not the one who needs an explanation.”

  “Is she…” Loane wasn’t sure what to ask. Alive pretty much covered her greatest concern. Anything else was a bonus. “How did she seem to you, Eve?”

  “Perfectly fine and more gorgeous than I remember.”

  Thom glared at Eve and then rolled her eyes. “Miss Tact and Diplomacy.”

  “What? Well, she did.” Eve didn’t see the problem.

  Loane entwined her fingers to stop them shaking. Emotion bubbled up, and she wanted to scream and release the pressure threatening to drive her mad. “Anything else?”

  “She said you could be in danger and she needed to warn you.”

  “Danger?” Her life had been nothing but a series of potholes since Abby left, and she’d handled them like an amateur. Facing danger with her would seem like child’s play.


  Thom placed her hand lightly on Loane’s shoulder. “Do you want to see her again?”

  “Of course she does,” Eve said. “That’s what she’s been waiting for. That’s why she changed her whole life and ended up looking like a street punk. She has to see her and put this thing to rest.”

  “Eve.” It was the tone Thom used when Eve blundered across the line of acceptable behavior and trampled on someone’s feelings. She turned back to Loane. “You absolutely do not have to see her if you’re not ready. Take your time. Think about what’s happened between you and what you want.”

  Thom’s words would’ve probably made perfect sense if she’d been thinking logically, but the news about Abby had bypassed her brain and gone straight to her heart. The emotional void that had been her constant companion was now full but throbbing with uncertainty and too much hope.

  She needed to sort out her feelings before she tried to make any decisions about what to do. But she didn’t want to think. She wanted to be with Abby, to forget everything else, and to pretend nothing had come between them. It just wasn’t possible. She wasn’t sure she could touch her again without feeling betrayed. Would she ever be enough to keep Abby from leaving again? Had what they shared meant anything at all to Abby? She blanked her mind, refusing to consider that option, and retreated to the familiar to mask her pain. September 1862, Author O. Henry, William Sydney Porter, was born in Greensboro. 1894, Lunsford Richardson introduced Vicks VapoRub. 1944, serviceman, and later actor, Charlton Heston was married at Grace United Methodist Church.

  “Did you hear me, Loane?” Thom asked.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “I asked how your palms are healing.”

  “Fine.” She opened her gloved hands but kept her fingers entwined.

  “Mind if I look, to check on my nursing skills?”

  Loane wasn’t ready to take off her gloves, especially now. The news about Abby made her feel too vulnerable. Her palms were still red and scarred, a constant reminder that nothing would ever be the same. “Not right now, okay?”

  Thom’s brown eyes were full of the understanding Loane needed. “Of course. Do you want us to stay for a while? We can talk through this with you.”

  “No, thanks, Thom. I need time to think.”

  “It’s probably not a good idea for you to be alone. Are you sure?” When Loane nodded, they headed toward the elevator. “Call us if you need anything. Seriously.”

  “Thank you for telling me this in person. I’ll be okay.” As she watched them leave, she wasn’t sure she would ever be okay again.

  She sat motionless on the sofa staring at the business card with Abby’s number on it. The unresolved questions swirled in her mind but churned up no answers. Morning turned to midday before she acknowledged that the only way to get answers was to talk with Abby. Finally, with a shaky hand, she reached toward the small piece of paper that Abby had touched hours earlier.

  Lifting the card to her nose, she inhaled—no scent of her. Turning it over, she looked at the number scrawled across the surface and her vision blurred. The bold strokes, curly ends of the characters, and the slash through the sevens were distinctively Abby. She dropped the card in her lap and wept for the losses of her past, for the fear of the present, and for the uncertainty of the future.

  For two more hours she paced back and forth across the condo before summoning the courage to pick up the card again. She double-checked each digit before dialing and entered the number. After the first ring, she hung up. Opening the balcony door, she stepped out into the fresh air to clear her head, then tried again. Another misfire. Her courage waned in direct proportion to the number of rings.

  What would she say when Abby answered? Would she be able to speak at all? Could she bear to see her or was it best to leave things as they were? Abby was alive, and that was all she needed to know. Maybe Abby had encountered serious problems, maybe even been injured herself when she exited her life. If she didn’t ask, she’d never understand. Abby had chosen not to contact her and Loane had kept her feelings hidden. Any chance of a relationship between them was probably already gone. What harm could a conversation do? She made the call and this time waited for an answer.

  “Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Good morning, M.” Kinsey dropped her knapsack, pulled up a straight-backed chair, and turned the computer toward her.

  “Kinsey.”

  “Mind if I check on the program I’ve been running?”

  “Nope.”

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kinsey peered around the side of the computer at Abby. “I don’t know you very well and I don’t want to get fired, but I’d bet that’s not true.”

  “Why?”

  “Hmm. Monosyllabic responses are usually a dead giveaway. No eye contact. You look like you haven’t slept. Do I need to go on?”

  Abby finally looked up. Kinsey practically bubbled with youth and vitality. Such optimism and hope was like an unwelcome splash of cold water, especially after she’d been up all night waiting to hear from Loane after the scene in the club. She’d left her number with Eve yesterday afternoon; surely she’d given it to Loane by now. Her anxiety level was maxed out.

  “Sorry, Kinsey. I didn’t get much sleep.”

  “A woman?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Not usually. A friend of mine has that look a lot—like something has been ripped out of her by the roots.”

  She stared at Kinsey and marveled at the wisdom coming from her. “How do you know about such things at your age?”

  “Loss and grief aren’t age specific. Can I do anything to help?”

  If only something could be done to erase the past, to set things right. “Thanks, but it’s a waiting game at this point. I’ve done all I can.” For the moment maybe, but what if she’d made another decision four months ago? How would things have turned out with Loane? Abby felt certain they would be together. Her feelings had been and still were true. Then why did you leave? The same question tormented her over and over, and her answer was always the same: duty, responsibility, and an oath—it was the right thing to do—at the time. Would Loane understand? She prayed that she’d have a chance to find out. Worrying wouldn’t help. Work might at least distract her temporarily. “Any luck with the program?”

  Kinsey tapped a few keys on the computer and studied the display. “It’s still running. Maybe ten, fifteen more minutes.” She was already reabsorbed in the information on the screen.

  Abby flipped open a file folder marked SUPPLIERS and mindlessly stared at the list. The lines blurred into an image of Loane leaving the club with that brunette. She imagined a look of sexual hunger in Loane’s eyes while every inch of her fair skin quivered and strained for release. She visualized a stranger teasing and tormenting her lover. Abby could satisfy her with one quick flick of her tongue. A sickening wave of jealousy bolted through her, and she clutched the folder until the sides buckled and the pages fell out. “Damn it.”

  She bent to retrieve the sheets but the image remained. Maybe Loane had gotten her message from Eve, and leaving with another woman was her response—screw you. But she wouldn’t have known where to find Abby. The point was the same whether delivered directly or indirectly. So why had she bothered to rescue Abby from the combative patron? In spite of their differences, emotion still ignited between them. She’d felt it in Loane’s touch and seen it in her eyes. Her tortured stare had initially conveyed disbelief, then fear, and finally something akin to rage. Her anguish had broken Abby’s heart. Would she ever be able to soothe so much pain? Would Loane even let her try?

  “M…did you hear me?” Kinsey asked.

  “Sorry?”

  “The program is finished, and we have a problem.”

  She moved her chair around beside Kinsey and stared at the computer screen. “What exactly am I looking at? You’ll have to break it down for me.”


  “Well, the income and expense columns are pretty normal. The club makes a tidy profit and overhead is low. That’s all good. But there’s another account being run as a shell company. Someone’s using the club as a front to launder money, depositing large amounts into this shadow account and then redistributing it to smaller outside accounts.”

  She tried to follow along as Kinsey explained, but the figures made no sense to her. “You’re sure about this?”

  “No question. I haven’t nailed down the outside accounts that the surplus is coming and going from, but I’m certain of what I’ve found.”

  “Can you tell if it’s illegal?”

  “I’m not a forensic accountant, but I’d bet on it. Why else would anyone need to shuffle this much money through a back door?”

  “Would you put a copy of your report on a flash drive for me? And let’s keep this between us. I don’t want to raise any red flags until I know exactly what I’m dealing with.”

  “Will do.” Kinsey slid a drive into the side of the computer and a few seconds later handed it to her. “I’ve transferred my analysis program and the results to an external drive. If anyone else looks at the system, they won’t see any trace.”

  “Perfect. You’re turning out to be quite a star employee.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  “Now go to lunch or something. I need to think.” This could be a turning point in the case if she could show a connection between the large sums of cash and the guns—guns she had yet to prove even existed. There were too many loose ends. There had to be a link and she wanted to find it…soon.

  She needed a break but wasn’t likely to get one as long as her mind was on other things. It had been almost twenty-four hours since she gave her phone number to Eve, and she was tired of waiting for something to happen. As she grabbed her purse and headed for the door, her cell phone rang.