by Jenna Rae
“It feels like that time last year, doesn’t it? Thanksgiving?”
Lola nodded. “Too much. I didn’t think I’d ever feel hunted like that again.”
“Yeah. At least Ray Stowe isn’t a rogue FBI agent.”
“As far as we know.”
Del rubbed her forehead. “Anything I should know about Stowe?”
“I don’t know.” Lola tucked her legs under her and played with her hair. She was wearing Phil’s castoff Red Wings jersey, and it hung even more loosely on her shrunken frame than before. She tugged it before it could slip off her shoulder, and Del felt a familiar and unwelcome flash of desire.
“Anything you remember could be helpful.”
Lola chewed her lip. “Well, I don’t know. He was kind of smelly.”
“Smelly, how?”
“Bad breath, body odor. Pretty gross. If he had access to a shower and a toothbrush, he didn’t seem to be using them.”
“Funny, you noticing how he smelled.”
“Well, because of you. Because of when you asked me what the man who attacked me—creepy Christopher James—smelled like.” Lola shrugged.
Del smiled. “Are we getting nostalgic about that? Let’s not. What else do you remember about Stowe?”
“What else? Expensive, maybe tailored clothes. They looked clean. Very pricey shoes. He really smelled bad. Like sweat and cologne.” Lola wrinkled her nose. “He was gross. Other people must have smelled him. He was so odd. Shaved head, but not, like, in a deliberate way. Patchy.” She shook her head. “I didn’t even notice it at the time or thought I didn’t. But he had scruffy bits around his ears and here and there. It looked like he was blurry.”
“Was his behavior odd enough for other people to notice?”
“He was loud and most people were speaking in very hushed tones, you know. Some heads turned. It was his eyes—”
“What about them?”
“He had crazy eyes. Intense. You know? Like one of those screaming preachers on street corners? ‘The world is ending tomorrow so repent’—those kind of eyes.”
“What did he say? Do you remember?”
“He said Marco would never have a show because Ray wouldn’t let him. I found Marco and he was really upset. Scared.” Lola shuddered. “We snuck out and ran, literally ran, took a bus and then a cab. He was trying to cover our tracks, I guess.”
“Okay.” Del sobered. “Thanks. I may have more questions later.”
“Whatever it takes to make sure Marco is safe.”
“Absolutely.” Del took a deep breath, noting the way Lola braced herself. “Listen, I have to confess something.”
“What?”
“You told me that your stalker or whatever was taken care of, but I get the impression you just didn’t feel comfortable talking to me about her. So when you were still kind of awake, I asked you where your phone was.”
“Oh.”
“I read the first couple hundred texts.” Del made a face. “They were still downloading when you woke up. I never would have invaded someone else’s privacy like that, and I had no right to invade yours. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I filed a report. I went to a different station.”
“Yeah.”
“I—”
Lola was crying, and Del shielded her own eyes with her good hand. “I know. I looked it up.”
“Del, I’m sorry for hurting you. I never meant to, I—”
“No.” Del shook her head again. “We need to talk about your stalker. The other stuff we’ll deal with later. Tell me about Sterling.”
Lola sat back, tucking her feet under her, crossed her arms even tighter. If she were a snail, Del thought, she’d be all the way in her shell. This was, Del noted absently to herself, the third or fourth time she’d thought of Lola as being like this animal or that. What did that mean?
“It’s okay.” Del spoke as softly as Lola had. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. I just need to know.”
Del wasn’t sure she really meant that. Was Sterling the woman she’d seen in Lola’s car, the one playing with her hair? It had seemed a more intimate gesture than Lola was likely to be comfortable with. Had she even been aware of the woman’s hand on her hair? Suddenly that seemed possible. How had Del not considered it until now? Then she thought about Lola and the wine. Maybe the innocent was finally ready to sow her long-dormant wild oats. Too bad, Del thought with real regret, I fucked things up before that.
Lola was frowning. “What do you mean?”
Del had to recall herself to the moment.
“Well, you don’t seem too eager to talk about it. Whatever happened, I won’t be mad or blame you or whatever. You can trust me.”
Lola nodded, but Del had to work to keep her expression bland.
You can trust me? You can trust the woman who cheated on you, lied to you, bullied you, ignored your feelings—yeah, you can trust me. Of course you can.
“I went to Pier 39 with Marco,” Lola mumbled, and Del tilted her head. “There was a Meetup group. Do you know what that is?”
Del nodded. It was time to put on the badge again, act like this was just some woman. Not, she reminded herself, that she’d ever done that particularly well where Lola was concerned.
“So I was hoping to make friends.” Lola shrugged. “I thought—anyway, this woman was there, she—”
“You thought what?” She shouldn’t interrupt, of course. She waited for the answer with badly concealed impatience.
Lola regarded her with hooded eyes. “Does it matter, really?”
Del shrugged.
Lola’s words came in a rush then. “I brought nothing to our relationship. You had a life of your own and friends and a real mind of your own. I didn’t. I was like an empty shell standing next to you. I was given a second chance to rewrite my life and I didn’t. I chickened out. I didn’t have any friends of my own. I didn’t work, not really. I just hid in your life, in your house. I wanted to do things better. I thought it would be better if I didn’t depend on you so much. That we could have a better relationship if I worked on being more independent and less of a helpless baby.”
“Okay.”
Lola curled up into a tighter ball on the chair, a snail inside a shell inside another shell. Or was she a deer, veering toward a cliff? Or a sea turtle, clambering awkwardly toward the beckoning sea? Del shook away the images.
“We went to lunch, a big group, and no one would talk to me, and this woman Sterling was talking to me. She seemed nice. Then she took my picture.”
“Took your picture? Just like that?”
“I know, right? But I—it’s stupid, but I honestly didn’t realize—she seemed nice.”
“So, she took your picture.”
“She gave me her card and I gave it to Marco.”
Del tilted her head. “Because?”
Lola flushed, shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. I—okay.” She sat up straight, set her feet on the floor. She cleared her throat. “So Marco said I was flirting with her. Which I’m sorry but I think it may have been true. I didn’t mean to and I didn’t realize I was doing anything wrong.”
Del shrugged, trying and failing to feign nonchalance.
“I told her about us by the way. But maybe Marco was right. I don’t know.”
Del nodded, unsure what to think of that. “And then you left?”
Lola nodded. “I never expected to see her again.”
“But you did.”
“Yes. I ran into her shopping, and she was kind of hurt because I didn’t call her.” Lola started folding up again, and Del forced herself to nod and keep a neutral expression on her face.
“So you felt guilty even though there was no real reason to.”
You let her manipulate you just like you let Janet manipulate you. Like you let me manipulate you.
Lola shrugged.
“She acted like you owed her something even though you didn’t.” Del heard the irritation in her own voice and sn
apped her mouth shut.
Lola sat back and let her head fall against the back of the chair. She looked like a blow-up doll that had been deflated. Her eyes were dull, her voice flat. She told her story like she was reciting a grocery list. She stumbled to an abrupt stop suddenly, and Del tilted her head.
“So you gave her a ride home? That’s it?”
“Yes. But I looked up the address online, and it’s not her house. It belongs to a very nice elderly couple who’ve never heard of her.”
Del nodded. “In the car—”
“Nothing. She was weird, you know, like in the coffee shop. Hopping around different subjects. But no biggie. Just weird. It’s the texting that freaks me out.”
“It’s rotten,” Del blurted out.
“I know,” Lola whispered. “I know. Whatever’s wrong with me, it’s never going to get better.”
Del fought irritation. Lola was obviously holding back. She still didn’t trust Del, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why, was it? She had reached Lola’s limit with her for the night, that was obvious. She offered a small, reassuring smile.
“Listen.” Del cleared her throat. “What you said, there’s something wrong with you. I—”
“No,” Lola interrupted. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You know it’s not true, right?”
“Right.”
Del laughed. “God, you’re a lousy liar.”
Lola didn’t react to this.
“Hey.” Del stood and stretched carefully, babying her shoulder. “I want to talk to you.”
“Okay.” Lola’s face was neutral, careful, wary.
Del had planned to talk about how to handle the stalker. Instead she heard herself saying, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? What for?”
“For everything. I didn’t mean to—I don’t know how to tell you.” She couldn’t seem to stop the flow of words. “I cheated. With Janet. Right before I got shot. Didn’t tell you because I’m a coward. A cheater and a coward and a liar. Didn’t want to lose you. Felt guilty, took it out on you by being an asshole. My shoulder’s fucked up now, just like everything else, because I didn’t want to go to the doctor so I didn’t. I didn’t want to do physical therapy so I didn’t. I wanted to be with Janet so I did that. I acted like a selfish ass, and I took what we had and threw it away for nothing. I’d take it back if I could but I can’t.”
“You—”
“But that’s not even the worst thing and you know it, don’t you? The worst thing was that night, the last night we even tried to make love. But we didn’t. Because I made you feel—I—”
“Please stop, please.” Lola’s voice was a hoarse whisper.
She stood and turned toward the fireplace. She was still and silent for several minutes, and Del was frozen. Should she leave? Try to explain? She started to feel like she was drowning. Her chest was tight, tighter. She sucked in air and felt something in her shoulder rip. She gasped in pain.
Lola turned around and she was the efficient nurse, the obeisant servant, the placating nanny.
“Are you all right? Do you need anything?”
Del shook her head. “I don’t want to upset you. Shouldn’t have done this. Not like this. I fucked this up too. Oh, shit.”
“Del, do you need to go to the hospital?”
Del shook her head, careful not to move too much.
“Please, tell me what you need. Del?”
“This was pretty lousy timing on my part, and I’m sorry for that. Too. Sorry for that too.” She barked a bitter laugh and turned away.
“Del, are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’ll look into this Sterling chick. I’m gonna need a description, the times and dates, all that. Can I just take your phone, is that okay?”
Lola nodded. “I haven’t been using it anyway.”
“It’s not hard to see why.”
Del’s face wore the grim, determined look that made her seem more like a soldier off to do battle than a cop, and Lola was reminded of the day she first saw Del.
“You looked like the Faerie Queene,” she murmured, and squeezed her lips together. “I didn’t mean to say that. Sorry.”
Del blinked at her. “Are you gonna go gomer?”
Lola frowned. “Go ‘gomer’?”
“Never mind.” Del shuffled toward the front door. “Listen, I gotta get started and first I gotta go to physical therapy. Lock the door. Set the alarm, okay? I’ll call you tonight and I’ll know more by then. Email a timeline. I’ll get her card from Marco. I have your phone. I’ll talk to the leader of the Meetup group. Hopefully the psycho has priors. Bye.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“I don’t want her to rescue me.”
“Okay.” Margaret regarded her with an unreadable expression. Lola fought a surge of resentment. She was in therapy specifically because she needed help from someone who could detach and analyze things objectively. So why, she wondered, was she so disappointed that Margaret was detached and analytical and objective? What did it mean that she sort of wanted Margaret to like her, to care about her? Was that normal?
“I don’t want to need rescuing. I want to be able to take care of myself.”
“Want to?”
“Can. I can take care of myself.” Lola covered her face with her hands, then pulled them away. “Sort of.”
“But you need help to deal with Sterling.” Margaret pushed up her glasses. “Does it have to be Del who helps you? Could another officer do it instead?”
“They don’t care.” Lola shrugged. “Del’s the only one who wants to help.”
“How does Del’s helping you with Sterling affect your relationship?”
“It makes me dependent on her again. Which I definitely don’t want.”
Margaret didn’t say anything.
“But I am scared.”
Again, Margaret only watched her.
“Have you considered maybe there’s a part of you that—”
“—wants to feel safe and loved and protected?” Lola sniffled. “It means the world to me that Del cares if I’m safe. Of course! But that’s not what I want our relationship to be. I want to be her partner and her lover and her friend, not the damsel in distress she has to rescue.”
“Have you told her that?”
“Oh!” Lola shook her head. “Not really.” She snuck a glance at her watch and felt a surge of relief.
“Well, I think we’re out of time.”
Margaret gave her a hard look and Lola smiled in embarrassment. She wasn’t sure therapy was such a great idea. Maybe it would be better to work things out on her own. Maybe depending on Margaret was just as bad as depending on anyone else.
“You’re a big, fat chicken,” she told herself, glancing in the rearview mirror at the red sports car tailgating her. That’s when she remembered the boat.
“The first time I saw Sterling wasn’t in the restaurant,” she told Marco minutes later over the phone. “It was before that. I was looking at the boats and there was a woman in a red sweater, and she was Sterling. I recognized her at lunch, but I forgot.”
“I have a thought.” Marco sounded almost like his old self, and Lola realized she hadn’t heard him sound like that since the night at the gallery. “We could go there, see if we see the boat.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Lola frowned, staring out the window at the darkening clouds. “I wouldn’t know one boat from another, and what are the odds she’d happen to be there right then? Anyway, it’s gonna rain.”
“No, it’s not.” There was a pause, and Lola could almost picture Marco looking out the window. “Even if it does, who cares? Oh, come on, wouldn’t you just once like to take the upper hand? At least to try?”
Lola surprised both of them by bursting into tears.
“Yes,” she blubbered. “I really, really would.”
An hour later they were walking arm in arm along the walkway where Lola had first seen Sterling bring in the little sailboat. It wa
sn’t raining, but it was dark and cold and windy enough to drive most people indoors, and they had the area mostly to themselves.
“All of a sudden this doesn’t seem like such a great idea.”
“Yeah.” Lola made a face. “I couldn’t begin to tell you which boat it was or which dock. And nobody’s sailing today, obviously.”
Marco’s hand was cold in hers, and Lola let go of it with a regretful smile to tuck her hands inside her pockets.
“I’m sorry,” she said, scanning the marina. The sea was choppy and forbidding, and she could understand why only a couple of very large vessels were on the move in the bay. At the rows of docks spread out along the shoreline, the boats—which all looked basically the same to Lola—seemed to be dancing in their moorings. Several banged into their docks over and over and Lola shivered. She couldn’t imagine wanting to get into one of those flimsy things to face the icy, forbidding waters of the bay.
“At least we tried.” Marco sighed heavily. “I sort of had this fantasy. She’d be here, we’d confront her and it would make things better. Stupid.”
“No.” Lola bumped him with her elbow. “We have a right to live our lives without being scared. That’s not stupid. And okay, so we didn’t find Sterling here. So what? Like you said, at least we tried.”
There was a flash of light off to her right, and Lola shielded her eyes to check it out. What was that? Was it coming from one of the boats? She searched all over but didn’t see anything.
Suddenly, one of the larger boats seemed to break loose from its moorings and start banging around and out of its slip. As though guided there, it went straight toward the opposite side of the narrow channel. The smaller boat in the opposite slip slapped against its moorings as though trying to escape a pursuer.
“Hey, should we do something?”
“I don’t know,” Marco murmured. “Whoa! Look!”
The big boat smashed into the smaller vessel, which broke apart almost immediately.
“Oh, my God,” Marco cried out. “It’s crumbling like a cookie!”
Lola murmured in agreement, too stunned to do more. As they watched, the larger boat battered the smaller one into pieces. Then it bounced out and careened wildly around the channel between the rows of slips. Too shocked to do anything but gape at the spectacle, Lola and Marco watched the boat head out into the open water.