JULIET'S LAW

by Ruth Wind

  "The trouble is?"

  "Claude made a lot of enemies the past couple of years." One thick brow cocked. "Mostly women and a few disgruntled boyfriends."

  "I see." Juliet cut a triangle of ham, carefully layered a triangle of pineapple on top of it. "Criminal law isn't my specialty, but usually a crime of passion kind of murder seems to happen in the heat of the moment, or at least in the heat of the affair."

  "That's true."

  She ate the bite of ham, perfectly balanced salt and sweet, caramelized sugar, rich butter, crisp pineapple. "This," she said with deep appreciation, "is very good, Josh."

  "Like it, little girl?" He winked. "I have many special dishes up my sleeve."

  "Really." The word was droll. "As exciting as the Vienna sausages and saltine crackers we had the other night?"

  He laughed. "Point taken."

  "So, anyway," she continued. "Who are the most recent scorned lovers?"

  "That will take some digging, but it seems to be the dentist's wife. Who, in my opinion, would have been more likely to shoot Christie."

  A little pause fell. "What about the developers who want the land? What if they've gone out of their way to frame Desi or something?"

  Josh nodded, considering. "It's possible. There's a lot of money at stake, but we'll have to look into that some more. Might not be a bad idea to amble over to the Black Crown and see what the gossip around town has been."

  "Is it open tonight?"

  He raised his head. "Sure. You want to go?"

  "What else is there to do, really?"

  The corner of his mouth lifted, very, very slightly. "Nothing at all."

  * * *

  The Black Crown occupied a pub that had been serving libations to Mariposans as far back as the gold rush, though it had been called Molly's Tavern for most of that time. An ex-pro rugby player from New Zealand had purchased it two years ago and renovated it into a classic British-style pub that specialized in beers from around the world and old-fashioned pub food like hamburgers and shepherd's pie and even a ploughman's platter with cheeses and pickles that Glory loved.

  Josh wasn't much of a drinker, but he liked Tamati Neville and his pub. Rugby jerseys lined the walls, and the jukebox had a great selection, and Tam kept order with a jovial smile backed up by muscle when necessary.

  It was fairly busy tonight, especially for a night in the between times—between the summer tourists and hikers, before the winter ski crowds—and Josh glanced around, wondering why. A big group of skinny, tough runner types lounged in one corner, empty plates scattered on the table before them. One had an orange-and-white flag on his T-shirt: orienteering. Another group, mostly women, were dressed in athletic clothes, their leathery skin, sturdy thighs, and no-bullshit air giving away their adventure racer status.

  Tam was behind the bar as always, a tall, athletic man with thick curly hair and bright, wolflike green eyes. "Hello, my friend Joshua," he said in his clipped Kiwi accent. "What can I get for you two?"

  "Gossip is what I'm here for," Josh said, "but I'll have a bottle of whatever is on special tonight."

  "And you, miss?" Tam asked. "We have beer from everywhere, but other things, too. What would you like?"

  "What do you like best?"

  "Well, I must admit to a soft spot for my native Tui."

  "Okay. I'll have that." Juliet settled on the bar stool and glanced up at Josh, at which point he realized he'd been staring at her. The low light of the pub washed her blond hair with shimmery gloss, and he wanted to stroke the length of it, bury his hands in the softness. "What?" she asked.

  He shook his head slowly, and lifted one hand to her hair, touching it very lightly with his palm. "Your hair is beautiful."

  A flicker moved on her face. "Thanks."

  Tam came back with their beers, and Josh raised his to toast Juliet. "Cheers," he said. She tapped his bottle with her own and they both drank.

  "This is Juliet Rousseau," Josh said. "Her sister is the vet in town, and she runs the wolf center."

  Tam said, "The one who was arrested today."

  "Yep."

  "I am sorry," Tam said, his accent slightly formal. "How can I help?"

  "Claude drank in here, didn't he?"

  Tam rolled his eyes. "Yeah. There was a bloody bastard, if there ever was one." He glanced at Juliet. "Sorry."

  She smiled. "No problem. I agree with you."

  Josh felt a sudden wish to puff out his chest and strut, or fling his arm out and claim her. Irritated with himself, he said, "So, did he bring his women in here?"

  "Sure. Different bird every week."

  "Anyone recently?"

  "The skier. Before that, nobody in particular. All summer, he was feeding on the hikers with the tours."

  Josh nodded. A local tour group brought hikers from all over the world to walk the Mariposa Falls Trail, part of a 238-mile loop that wandered through the Sangre de Cristos and the San Juan mountains. "Have you heard anything else?"

  Tam leaned on the bar and his arms rippled. "I'll keep my ears to the ground, mate, but not at the moment."

  "Right. Thanks."

  "Tam!" a tall, lovely blond woman cried from the other end of the bar. "A refill, love."

  The big man grinned. "Duty calls." He started to head down the bar, then turned around. In a low voice, he said, "There was a woman with him a bit, off and on all summer. I dunno who she was, but she had money."

  Josh took a notebook from his pocket. "Description?"

  "Dark hair, green eyes. An accent from Europe. Maybe Germany or Poland or one of those, you know. That kind of accent."

  "All right." Josh scribbled notes. "Age?"

  He lifted a shoulder. "Maybe early thirties." With a swipe at the bar, he leaned in toward Juliet. "Ye ain't with this guy, are you?"

  "Hey, man," Josh began.

  But Juliet grinned. "Well, he's not as gorgeous as you are, but he's got great eyes."

  "I reckon." He spotted the bar. "Come back under better circumstances."

  Juliet shot a look up toward Josh, her eyes as blue as turquoises. A fine glitter danced there, a tease and a challenge. He let his gaze drop to her mouth and thought again of her kissing him, of the cool feel of her fingertips against his cheek, the plushness of her breasts against his chest.

  "You're gonna have to quit looking at me like that," Josh said, and even he could hear the rumbling sound of his voice.

  "Will I?" she asked, and put her small hand over the back of his big one. Beneath the bar, their thighs bumped. "Why?"

  In other circumstances, he would have leaned over and accepted the invitation of that mouth. He would have thrust his tongue between her lips and laced his tongue with hers and inquired, in the most physical way possible, if she wanted to invite him in elsewhere. He was aching to touch her, undress her and look at her breasts and taste her pearling nipples. She had beautiful hair and beautiful eyes and a luscious mouth, and he wanted with a burning sort of energy, to explore her skin, see if it was as smooth as it looked. He loved blond hair. He loved pretty lips. He loved natural breasts, the squishy feel of them, the juicy jiggle. He imagined her nipples would be as pink as her tongue. Or perhaps dark and—

  "You're looking at my breasts," Juliet said. "In American culture, that's considered rude."

  "It's not rude in other cultures?"

  She shook her head. "Not at all."

  "Can we pretend we're in those other places?" He grinned. "I like looking at your breasts."

  Juliet shifted, leaning back a little. "Better?"

  He inhaled slowly, trying to calm his arousal. Leaning forward, he put his lips close to her ear and said quietly, "I could spend a whole evening on just your breasts."

  "Could you?" she said, just as quietly. "Doing what?"

  He raised his head and looked her in the eye. "It would be a lot more fun to just show you."

  Juliet stood. "Okay."

  Josh threw a ten-dollar bill on the bar and raised a hand at Tam.
"Let's go."

  She laughed softly and put her jacket on, tossing the long locks out of her collar and down her back, and headed for the door.

  He knew the exact instant her flashback seized her. Her shoulders went rigid and she had a faint vacantness to her face. With an unnerving speed, she bolted through the door.

  Damn. Josh bolted after her, catching up just as she skidded in the snow outside and fell flat on her belly, hitting hard enough he heard bones jar.

  "Juliet!" He knelt at her side, tried to help her up.

  But she fought him, her arms flailing, a dark noise coming from her throat. She gasped for breath, and he realized the wind had been knocked out of her. He blew in her face, as he did when Glory was a baby and cried so hard she lost her breath.

  It didn't help immediately, and it was hard to hold on to her. The sidewalk was slippery with the slowly piling snow, and he skidded twice, feeling as if he was holding on to a fish that didn't want to be caught, or a wild horse. She bucked and flipped and twisted, fighting as if for her life. Blood came from her nose, and her hands were skinned raw, and she didn't seem to even notice.

  Finally he grabbed a handful of snow and aimed for her face. She dodged and the bulk of it landed against her neck and chest, and for whatever reason, it did the trick. With a gasp, she caught her breath and her eyes focused on the moment. This moment.

  "Hey," he said, sinking down against the wall. The street was deserted, the air filled with tiny steady pellets of snow. She was draped across his lap, blinking.

  "Hey," she said, and swallowed. The tension in her body eased. "Sorry. I did it again."

  "Can you walk?"

  "Yeah. It's all mental, not physical." She stood up, brushed herself off, felt the blood on her face and looked at her glove. "Is it bad?"

  Blood smeared from her nose and a cut above her eyebrow. He took snow from the window ledge and offered it to her. "We're only a few blocks away. Let's go get you cleaned up."

  "Okay," she said. It seemed impossible it was the same word she'd uttered in such a saucy tone a few minutes before.

  With as much gentleness as he could offer, Josh reached out and took her hand. She didn't pull away.

  * * *

  Juliet felt the stinging in her hands more acutely than anything. The palms were skinned raw, in a way she hadn't done since she was a child and had fallen on roller skates.

  Depression crept in as they walked back, a sense of things going wrong, to never be put right again. Her sister rotting in jail, her own mind claimed by some wretched moment in the past. She felt doomed and defeated.

  When they got to the house, the dogs rushed forward, sniffing her hands curiously. Josh's dog licked the stinging palms helpfully, and when the other dogs slumped by the fire, Jack padded behind the humans when they went to the bathroom.

  It was a wonderfully old-fashioned room, with glass brick and tiny, art-deco era tiles on the walls. Jack trailed in after them, sniffed a corner, then the edge of her shoe, and settled in the hallway just outside the door as if keeping watch.

  Juliet avoided looking at herself in the mirror, and turned on the water in the sink. "I can do it," she said.

  "I know you can," Josh replied. "Why don't you let me help you? I'd really like to."

  Embarrassed, she lowered her eyes and plopped down on the toilet. "Okay."

  A smile edged his voice. "You say okay a lot." He dipped a wash cloth in warm water. "Lift your chin."

  She did, but still managed not to look at his face, instead focusing on the buttons traveling up his shirt. Off-white buttons in a green corduroy shirt. "So is the pub guy a friend of yours?"

  "Acquaintance, I'd say. He was with a crew of smoke jumpers who were fighting the Hayman fire a few years back. You remember the Hayman fire?"

  "No."

  "It was a bad forest fire, the worst we've had in Colorado in decades. They were fighting it for weeks, and it took a lot of manpower." Gently, he wiped blood from her face. "Tam and another guy had a bad landing—he broke his leg and his friend died. Don't move."

  He ran cold water over the cloth and pressed it to her eyebrow. "This one is bleeding pretty good. You might need a stitch."

  She didn't say anything, remembering another night, another time her face was gently wiped clean of blood. Her throat felt tight.

  "It might be a good idea to talk about this," Josh said. "Maybe tell me what happened?"

  A half hour ago, she'd been thinking only about how it would feel to have Josh's arms around her, taste his mouth, feel his hands. She'd been thinking about what his body would look like without clothes and how it might feel to have the attention he promised—an evening on your breasts—and then, some wretched something had yanked her back in time again, and it had been bad, this time, a sense of panic so acute and overwhelming that she'd barely been able to breathe.

  "I feel so cheated," she said dully.

  He sank down on the bathtub, putting their faces on the same level, and brushed hair away from her forehead. "Cheated how?"

  His eyes were that soft deer-brown, the lashes so very long and childlike, softening the hard lines of cheekbone and jaw. His hands, brushing that hair away, were gentle as feathers. "I haven't been able to feel much of anything for a long time, and there I was, wanting you in a real way, wanting to kiss you and—" She lifted a shoulder. "And then something in my brain or memory kicks in and it's like I've made no progress at all."

  "Were you raped?"

  She bowed her head, ashamed. It was so humiliating, every time, to have to admit it. "A little more than a year ago." With exasperation, she said, "I don't know why I can't seem to get over it, process it, be done with it. I mean, he barely even hurt me. As these things go, it wasn't that bad."

  "Oh, Juliet," he said, taking her hand and carrying her knuckles to his lips. "That's like saying you were only murdered with a single gunshot instead of knifed. It's horrible."

  She shrugged. "Maybe."

  He pressed the cloth to her eyebrow again. "Have you had any counseling for PTSD? They have some better techniques these days."

  "I've had counseling. I really think I'm doing okay. It's just that a couple of times lately, I've had some bad moments."

  "Right. I can see that you're pretty functional. Smart. All that stuff." He smiled. "But you're also having some pretty serious flashbacks and that's going to make life tough to manage."

  "Have you had some training in PTSD or something?"

  He raised his eyebrows. "I studied it on my own. In case Glory had symptoms, I'd know what to do."

  "I see."

  "Tell you what," he said. "Let's go make some hot chocolate and look through the video collection and see what looks good. What do you say?"

  "I'm not an invalid," Juliet said with some irritation. "I don't need special treatment."

  "Okay, Hop-A-Long."

  She scowled at him. "What does that mean?"

  He stood and held out a hand. "Come on. Let's go make something good and watch television and let the rest of the world go by for a couple of hours. How does that sound?"

  For a moment, she hesitated, then put her hand in his and let herself be hauled to her feet. "Pretty damned good."

  The dogs, excited, ran for the back door, looking over their backs to make sure the humans were getting the message. Juliet let herself laugh, let the day shake free from her shoulders. "Think they might want to get out?"

  They all traipsed down the hall, into the kitchen, and Josh opened the back door. He whistled. "Well, it's coming down now. Look at that."

  She peeked out over his shoulder. "Dinner plate snow!" she cried. "It's so pretty."

  "It is. Now don't you think hot chocolate seems like the right idea?"

  "Yeah," she said. "It does."

  As she stood there, she thought of her sister, out in the darkness last night. "I am so worried about Desi," she said quietly.

  "So am I," he said.

  "We have to find out who did this," Jul
iet said. "I keep worrying that it looks bad for her. That if I can think the worst—"

  "The worst?"

  Juliet raised her eyes. "That she killed him." There, she'd said it.

  He took a breath. "We have to find out the truth."

  "Are you afraid of what you might find?"

  "Maybe a little," he said, and brushed a lock of hair off her cheek, tucked it behind her ear. "But it's always better to know the real truth of a thing."

  "Is it?" she asked. A fierceness rose in her. "I'd lie to protect her, Josh."

  His smile quirked sideways. "So would I. So would my mother and her cronies. So would a lot of people. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, huh?" He took her hand. "Come on, let's get some refreshments."

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  Josh built a fire and made a tray with cookies, cups, a fat pot for the hot chocolate, even some marshmallows. While he was getting it ready, Juliet dutifully flipped through his extensive DVD collection. It contained a fair number of race-car and football movies, along with what appeared to be every James Bond ever made, and all the original Mission: Impossible television series. There were Disney cartoons she assumed belonged to Glory.

  But Juliet was also delighted to discover her favorite kind of movie: big dramas, not the usual black-and-white comedies so many people seemed to collect these days, but war movies and tragedies. She saw The English Patient and Dangerous Liaisons and— "Dr. Zhivago! You have actually seen this movie?"

  "Oh, yeah. My mother loves it. I've watched it with her a million times." Kneeling by the fire, Josh grinned over his shoulder. "Julie Christie is hot."

  Juliet grinned. "She's blond, right?"

  The lights flickered suddenly. Went out. "Uh-oh," Josh said. "I forgot to mention the power is a little wonky during heavy snows. The lines are still all overhead in this part of town."

  Juliet leaned back on her heels. As always, the quiet left behind by a power outage always amazed her. The hush filled the rooms, and then the lights blinked back on. They wavered, then held.

  "I'm going to get some candles," Josh said. "Go ahead and put the movie in if you want."