Daina nodded. “Yes.” A second passed, then two. And then Emma saw the light of comprehension dawn. “Ohhh.”
“It was a small thing,” Emma said with a shrug. “Yet maybe not so small.”
“No,” Daina agreed.
Emma fixed her with an unwavering look. “I love you,” she said quietly. “And I want you.”
Daina opened her mouth to speak.
“No, please, just…listen, okay?”
And Emma fell silent. She had never been in a position where her words counted for so much. She felt as if they were precious, fragile, that she had to deliver them with extreme care. “I’ve never had what I have with you. And walking away from someone is the easiest thing in the world for me. I never let anyone in close.”
She paused, stared into those blue orbs that patiently reflected her own image. “But you, I haven’t walked away from you. And you are so close I feel you, here—” she touched the spot above her heart, “—inside me. I want you, like I’ve never wanted anyone, anything, in my life. Beside you, everything pales in comparison. There’s a whole world that wouldn’t exist without you.” She dropped her voice, afraid she had said too much, afraid it wasn’t enough. “I want that world. It scares the hell out of me, but I want it, Daina. I want it.”
Daina just looked at her. Emma trembled somewhere deep inside. And then Daina opened her mouth once again to speak, and what she said was, “Oh my.” And she pulled herself in to Emma, and Emma clutched her tightly. And thought, Oh my, indeed.
They sat in the Explorer, the air-conditioning on to escape the heat. The Glock sat, like some weird ornament, on the dash where Emma had placed it.
“Was I in danger?” Daina asked, giving the gun a significant look.
“I didn’t know. I was taking precautions.”
“That was a bit of a tense scene, I guess,” Daina said carefully, eyes on her now, as if looking for something.
Emma nodded. “It was.”
“Did you…think you might...have to shoot her?” This was asked even more carefully.
Emma guessed that Daina was a little shaken by the fact that she’d drawn her weapon, which was understandable. “I didn’t know,” she replied, just as carefully. “I had no idea why she was here, and you were pretty freaked out. I was just taking precautions. It was automatic.”
Daina seemed to consider this. Her expression changed to a frown. She met Emma’s eyes once more, and asked bluntly, “Why does she hate you so much?”
The question surprised Emma. Daina didn’t miss much. “I don’t think it’s personal. She doesn’t even know me. I think, honestly, she probably hates everyone, if hate is the right word to use. She seems to be very angry and very lost. She was when I met her as well.” This last she added deliberately.
Daina said nothing. She just waited.
“That was three years ago,” Emma went on. “Sometime in September.” She saw Daina’s eyes widen slightly at this, and could guess as to the reason. She continued. “I picked her up in a bar. A one-night stand.” She grinned ruefully, humorlessly. “Not even that, a couple of hours. She was…hugely angry, very hurt. I figured out pretty quickly she was carrying a torch for someone.”
Daina’s breath escaped her in a light huff. “Me,” she said quietly.
Emma nodded. “It makes sense. The timing is right. But I didn’t know her name. Or I’d forgotten it. Whichever. I wasn’t able to put anything together until just now, when I saw her face.”
After a moment’s silence, Daina, with a wary look, ventured, “Did you—?”
Emma tried not to grin, was mostly successful. “Did I sleep with her?” She angled her head in acknowledgment. “After a fashion.” At Daina’s puzzled look, she clarified. “It was…one-sided. She got more out of it than I did, I’m sure.” She paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, “She hit me.”
Daina gaped. “She hit you?”
“Yeah.” Again the rueful grin. “Just hauled off and whacked me. Hard. She was spitting mad. I almost hit her back, I was so shocked. Instead I told her to leave. Which she eventually did, but not before tearing into me, screaming at me, ‘You’re just like her, you don’t love me, you’re just like her.’ I had no clue who she was talking about—”
“Me,” Daina said again, this time with a note of recognition, resignation.
Emma angled her head once more, lowering her eyelids in agreement. “She was so…resentful. Like there was something I should have been doing that I wasn’t. I didn’t get it. I’d only just met her. It was just for one night, I’d been clear on that. But somewhere, somehow, I made a mistake. And it got messy.”
“I don’t think I want to hear any more.” Daina sounded edgy, unhappy.
“There’s nothing more to tell. I never saw her again.” Emma shrugged. “I made a mistake. I never repeated it.”
Daina gave her a curious look. “What was your mistake?”
Returning her look calmly, Emma replied, after a moment’s contemplation, “I have a few…self-imposed rules. I’ve made it a habit not to go against them.”
“Rules are made to be broken,” Daina said.
“Some rules. Under some circumstances,” Emma allowed.
It took a moment before Daina’s eyes once more lighted with understanding. “Ah,” she said, and smiled. “Giving me your number.”
Emma returned her look steadily, only nodding once in acknowledgment.
“Well, I’m glad you’re not inflexible.” Daina’s tone and expression bordered on coy.
Emma grinned ever so slightly. “I never claimed to be,” she returned mildly.
“No. But you’re very good at keeping yourself to yourself. It’s…challenging.”
To this, Emma said nothing.
“You’ve been with a lot of women,” Daina said.
Emma narrowed her eyes slightly, tensing as if bracing herself.
“I don’t expect you to talk about it,” Daina went on easily, gently. “I don’t really care.”
“So why ask?”
“I’m not asking.”
Emma regarded her thoughtfully for a few moments. Then, finally, quietly, she said, “Yes.”
Daina’s eyes and mouth hinted at a smile, a serious smile, not amused. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“You know,” was all Daina said.
A part of Emma refused to presume that she did. But another part of her answered, obliquely, For this, that, everything. She held Daina’s eyes for a moment, and the moment stretched out. And then, hating herself for saying it, but needing to all the same, she said, “I don’t know if I can do this. You and me. I don’t know—”
Daina surprised her, by pointing out gently, “You already are.”
With a startled blink, Emma realized she was right.
“I understand why you would say that,” Daina continued. “Or at least I think I do. Based on what you’ve shared, about your family, I think I understand.”
Emma wasn’t entirely sure that she did, but the fact that she made the effort made all the difference.
“You need to go,” Daina said matter-of-factly.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just hurry back. I don’t know what it’s like to miss you.” Daina smiled. “I might not like it much.”
With an answering smile, Emma told her, “I’ll be here at seven, if not sooner. Shall I bring wine?”
“They have a fondness for a nice merlot.”
“A merlot it is, then.”
“Kiss me,” Daina said, suddenly intent.
Emma leaned across and kissed her, and as ever, was shocked by the feelings aroused.
Abruptly, Daina broke the kiss and pulled away. Her eyes were wide, her chest rising and falling visibly. “Hurry back, okay?” She let herself out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind her.
Emma watched, a little numbly, as she dashed away up the walk, up the steps and into the house. She took a deep breath, reholstered the
Glock, and left the Buchanan residence.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
She let herself into her apartment, and the cool air, carrying the familiar, albeit slightly stale, scents of her home rushed toward her, as if in greeting. She moved to open wide the sliding glass doors to her balcony. She didn’t mind the fact that the air outside was hot and muggy; judging by the storm clouds she’d seen building off to the west, it would freshen soon.
She stood for a while, staring out the screen, past her balcony, to the park beyond. It was empty. As empty as her apartment. The thought struck her, hard. She’d never considered her apartment empty before. But now it seemed as if the very room mocked her; the furniture, the appliances, the framed prints and diplomas on the walls, the paint on the walls, all seemed to mock her, to jeer at her: You thought this was a home? Think again. This is just dead space. Dead space in need of filling.
Daina could fill this space. Daina could fill a world. The lack of her here, a place she’d never been, space she’d never occupied, was almost painful.
Christ, when did I become so maudlin?
She unpacked first, and dumped everything on the floor in the laundry room. Even though most of it was clean, she was possessed of an irrational urge to rewash everything. Foolish maybe, but she didn’t really care.
She checked the answering machine. Seven messages, none from Michaels. She sorted through her mail which she’d retrieved from her almost overflowing mailbox on the way up. In the haste of the relocation, she hadn’t thought to arrange for someone to collect it. Good thing she’d only been gone for a week.
It felt distinctly odd to be alone; she’d become so accustomed to Daina’s presence, she kept half-expecting to see or hear her. Soothing herself with the thought that she would see her later, she stretched out on the sofa; the muggy afternoon heat had begun to permeate the apartment and she felt herself getting drowsy.
When she awoke, she looked at her watch and was surprised to see she’d slept for two hours. It was now after five. And she still hadn’t heard back from Michaels. She wondered if he knew Cathy Marks was in town, or if Cathy Marks had made it to the station to see her husband after the sergeant had left. The thought of the woman was troubling.
It was only as she was folding her laundry on her bed that the question she hadn’t considered, hadn’t asked, suddenly popped into her head. She froze, right in the middle of folding a T-shirt. How had Cathy Marks known where to find Daina, how had she known that Daina would be there, at her parents’, at that time? Emma stared, unseeing, at the shirt held loosely in her hands.
“How could she have known that?” she asked herself, under her breath. A half-formed thought filled her mind, sickening her, worrying her, frightening her: Cathy Marks could not have known, unless—
The phone rang, startling her. Her heart, already pounding rather violently, slammed in her chest. She convulsively dropped the shirt on the bed, reached for the cordless handset on the night table.
Emma was vastly relieved to hear Daina’s voice. “Hey, sweetheart, hi.”
“Oh, I do like the sound of that,” Daina said, and Emma could hear the smile in her voice.
Her own smile faded, as she asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just missing you. A lot.” A pause, then, “Why?”
Emma sat down on the bed. She ventured carefully, “Did you tell Michaels that you were planning on going to your parent’s once we left the house?”
“It came up. I didn’t tell him, he guessed. Or assumed. Whichever.” Judging by her tone, Daina still harbored residual feelings of resentment. “He wanted to know if I’d be here if he needed to contact me. Why?”
Michaels would not have released that information, Emma knew. This had nothing to do with him, or anyone else on the police force. That sickening, worried feeling in her gut intensified.
“And you didn’t tell anyone else?” she asked, though the question was purely rhetorical.
“Who would I tell?” Daina now sounded a little impatient. “Emma—”
“I need you to ask your parents something, honey,” she interrupted, rising restlessly to her feet, sharpening her tone, “and I need you to ask them right now.”
“Okay—”
“Ask them if anyone called today, questioning your whereabouts, or if you were expected there anytime soon. Will you do that, please?”
“Yeah, of course. Hang on.” Daina no longer sounded impatient. She’d caught the urgency in Emma’s voice. She took the phone with her as she went to find Steve and Marlene. Emma heard muted voices. When she came back on the line, Daina sounded calm. “Emma? No, nobody called. They were home all morning and nobody called. Babe, what’s going on?”
Babe. No one had ever called her that before.
“I need you to do something else now. Go and look out at the street and see if there’s a green Sunfire anywhere in the area, but don’t leave the house and try not to make yourself visible.”
“Okay. We have blinds, no problem.” There was a pause, during which Emma’s pulse thumped loudly in her ears. Daina came back on, said, “Okay, no, there’s no green Sunfire. Isn’t that what Cathy was driving? Why am I looking for Cathy’s car?” Daina was still calm, but her voice was hard and sharp, like cut glass.
“Because a question occurred to me that I don’t have the answer to,” she replied, her voice level but hurried now. “How did she know that you were going to be there?”
Silence on the other end.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Daina admitted quietly.
“Neither did I. Not until just now. I don’t know if it’s relevant, but I’m not taking any chances. I want you to lock the doors, stay in the house. I’m coming over.”
“Okay, but—shouldn’t we call the police? If—”
“Michaels hasn’t called me back. I don’t know where he is or how to get hold of him.” Emma grabbed her gun and ankle holster. “The police won’t come. She’s not a suspect, they have her husband in custody, and she hasn’t done anything wrong.” She was fastening her holster, her foot resting on the bed, trying not to hurry, thinking fast, trying not to make any mistakes. She jammed her gun in. “They might if I call them, but I can get there faster anyway. Wait for me.” She was striding down the hall now, for her shoes, her keys.
“Okay.” And then, quietly, fiercely, “I love you.”
And Emma took a moment to smile. “I love you. Now let me go,” she said gently.
At the door, she pulled on a pair of New Balance running shoes, swept up the keys and her cell phone from the shelving unit to her left, stuffed the phone in her pocket, and opened the door.
“Hello, Emma.”
A blur of movement in her peripheral vision, an arm whipping up and across, the hand gripping something brown, shiny. She never even had time to react. The brown, shiny object connected brutally with the curve of her forehead where it blended into her brow, she felt her brow split, pain and light exploded in her head as she reeled, and then she was falling, and everything faded into nothing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Daina locked all the doors and didn’t leave the house. She told her parents about Emma’s worry, which was now her worry, and which then became their worry. She told them that Emma was on her way over. They were visibly relieved to hear this.
And then she sat down to wait. Not patiently, since patience had never been one of her strong points. Every once in a while she went to stand at the window to peer through the blinds. She looked for a green Sunfire, didn’t see one. She looked for anything out of the ordinary, saw nothing.
The minutes passed, agonizingly slow. She felt herself becoming anxious, caught herself glancing at the phone, found herself unable to sit at all, and began to pace, to the window and back, over and over. She told herself not to worry, but worried anyway. She told herself to stop pacing, stop going to the window, but couldn’t seem to. She continued to wait.
Ten minutes past Emma’s anticipated arrival time, her r
esolve snapped. She grabbed for the cordless phone on the coffee table, punched in Emma’s home number. She waited, listened, breathing through her mouth. It rang and rang, until the answering machine picked up. She disconnected, then thought to call the cell phone, only to pause and blink stupidly.
“Shit,” she muttered. She didn’t know the number, had never called it. For a protracted moment, her mind went completely blank. And then she remembered and she strode to the kitchen where her parents were pretending to drink coffee. They looked up, somewhat anxiously.
“I need Emma’s cell phone number,” she said without preamble.
“Oh!” Her mother visibly started, then hurriedly crossed to the fridge. She plucked a slip of paper from behind a sunflower magnet, handed it over.
Daina glanced at the number on the slip as she entered it on the keypad; the cell phone rang four times before the voice mail kicked in, and again she disconnected without leaving a message. She looked at her parents.
“I can’t get ahold of her,” she told them quietly. “I don’t know where she is. I don’t know what to do.”
From the way they looked back at her, it was obvious they didn’t know what to do either. She turned away, to stare out the patio doors. She told me to wait for her. She told me not to leave the house. I’ll wait. I won’t leave. Not yet, she thought grimly.
***
It was the phone that brought her around. Its unusually strident and sharp tone sliced through the fog and agony in her head with all the delicacy of a ripsaw. She grimaced, half-aware, but still half-floundering in some thick, soupy darkness that was like mud filling her brain. Her grimace caused a line of fiery pain to burn its way across her left brow to the temple; tears immediately squeezed out between her tightly closed eyelids. The pain was as effective as a slap in the face. Complete awareness flowed into her, over her. She became aware of the feel of the nap of the carpet against the left side of her face, became aware she was lying on her left side, that there was a horribly uncomfortable, hot, knife’s edge of pain burning across her shoulders, between her shoulder blades.
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