No Rhyme or Reason

by Mairsile Leabhair

  I felt a sudden twinge of jealousy that I had no right to, and yet, there it was. She had gone out of her way to help me. To keep me safe. All the time being gentle and kind to me. It would be wrong to repay her with jealously. But I couldn’t ignore that I was, in fact, a little bit jealous. I shrugged it off, knowing it was just a transference of feelings. It wasn’t real… was it?

  Where Do We Go from Here, Part Two? – Trina Wiles

  “So, um, your ex-girlfriend? Has a condo? And she’ll just let us move in with her?”

  I glanced at Joyce out of the corner of my eye. She was looking straight ahead, but I could see the furrows above her brow. “Lori and I, her name’s Lorraine Reynolds, anyway, we’ve been friends since college and ended our relationship last year but still remained friends. In fact, she’s probably my best friend. She told me to use the condo anytime I wanted.”

  “Won’t we be intruding, showing up unannounced?”

  “Not at all because she won’t be there,” I said, noticing a smile forming in the corner of her mouth. “She travels a lot and is out of town for a couple of months. She always calls me and asks if I’ll keep an eye on her place while she’s gone. I do take her up on the offer when I can. Her condo is so much better than my apartment.”

  “So, you have a key, then?” Joyce asked.

  It seemed like a strange question to me; how did she think we’d get in? “Yeah. She gave me a key on our first date and then later, asked me to keep it for when she’s away.”

  “Oh, that makes sense,” she stated.

  Her eyebrows arched as if she were angry. At me? It was strange. Now that she knew that she wasn’t a nun, that she most likely was a law officer, and had most of her memories back, I thought… Ah hell. I don’t know what I thought. None of that mattered. She was raped three days ago. You didn’t just get over a thing like that.

  There was something going on that I couldn’t wrap my head around. The snitch had a snitch. Joyce was supposed to have been a snitch, but the person who left the message on my apartment wall had to of had inside information. My gut was telling me that he was a cop. The question was, police or Fed? They both had access to reports on Joyce and all they had to do was ask a few questions.

  “Where’d you go?” Joyce asked.

  “What? Oh, just thinking about the case,” I replied.

  “You mean, you were thinking about me?” she asked playfully.

  “Always,” my mouth said before my brain could stop it. “Uh… I was thinking about how they knew you were staying with me. Only two people in the precinct knew that. My boss and my partner. But it wouldn’t take much for someone to gain access to the reports and find out that I was assigned to your case. The question is, why do they want you to know that they know?”

  “Why are they playing these games?” she asked, looking at me for the answer. “If I’m a snitch, why not kill me so I don’t tell anyone what I know? Which at the moment, isn’t that much.”

  “My guess is that you’re always with me, now, and I carry a gun.”

  “Well, now, so do I. Let them come.”

  I liked her attitude but feared for her boldness. I was beginning to wonder if she really was a cop. The way she looked when I handed her the gun, almost as if she were afraid to touch it, was certainly not the way a cop would act. More like the way an accountant would act. Granted, not all her memories had returned yet, but handling a gun is instinctual for a law enforcement officer after so many hours of training as a rookie.

  As I looked in the rear-view mirror again, I thought about Joyce being an accountant. Maybe she discovered something in the books of whatever company she was investigating. Perhaps being an accountant was a way to get into the FBI, and that’s how she went undercover. The FBI would have the ability to scrub a person’s identity. I had thought about putting her photograph on the wire to the agencies in Houston to see if anyone claimed her, but Paul had argued that doing that might compromise the assignment she was on and make things worse for everyone. He thought it would be better to ask around discreetly, which would take time. With the possibility of a mole in our ranks, I appreciated Paul’s wisdom even more. So, where did we go from here? And more importantly, who could I trust?

  Was that Really Obnoxious? – Joyce aka Ruby Grace Sutherland

  After Trina was satisfied that we weren’t being followed, which consisted of sudden U-turns at fifty miles an hour and backtracking for a block or two, we stopped at a crowded mall and picked up two disposable cell phones, which she paid cash for. Then we drove the city streets some more, repeating her evasive techniques, until finally, we pulled up to a very tall building whose marque read The Monolith.

  “Is this where we’re staying?”

  “Yep. I hope you’re not afraid of heights,” Trina replied with a chuckle.

  She parked around the back of the building, and we got out of the car and retrieved our luggage from the trunk.

  As we walked toward the building, I looked up at the penthouse and was suddenly dizzy. “How many floors is this thing?”

  “Thirty,” she responded.

  “And when you asked if I was afraid of heights?”

  She grinned and looked up at the building. “Her condo is on the top floor.”

  Of course, it is. “So… she’s rich, then?” There’s a reason they call jealousy a green-eyed monster.

  “Her parents are, hand over fist.”

  Of course, they are. “Why the hell did you break up with her?”

  Trina stopped. She looked annoyed with me. “I do not compromise my integrity just because someone has money.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

  She stuffed her hands in her pocket and shuffled her feet. “I broke it off with—”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation,” I inserted, feeling guilty at my own obnoxiousness.

  “Maybe I want you to know,” she rebuffed. “I broke it off because she wanted me to be her mistress. I wanted more.”

  “You wanted more?” She was in love with her. “So, are you still in love with her?” Oh, shit. Where did that come from? “Never mind, that’s a completely unfair question.”

  She looked at me and smiled as if she knew why I had asked. “No, not anymore. I let her go a long time ago. Even before we broke up.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s sweet of you,” she said. “But at least I got a friend out of the affair.”

  “Are you friends with all your ex-lovers?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

  She said it proudly, and I wondered just how many lovers she’d had. As if she had read my mind, she answered my unspoken question.

  “I was a wild teenager and only settled down my last year in college when I moved in with Lori. So, counting a couple of new girls every Friday during high school football season, I’ve probably had the pleasure of fifteen to twenty cheerleaders.”

  My mouth gaped open, and my eyes grew large. “Are you serious?”

  She let out a loud belly laugh. “No. I was just pulling your leg.”

  “Yeah, I thought so,” I said on an exhale.

  “Actually, it was more like ten cheerleaders. Some of the games were away games.”

  I swatted her on the arm. “You are so full of shit.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  With Ex-lovers Like This – Joyce aka Ruby Grace Sutherland

  We stepped off the elevator onto the thirtieth floor, and Trina led me to the left where there was only one door. She unlocked it and showed me in. I thought that I was entering a royal palace. She had me leave my suitcase in the foyer, and we walked into the living room.

  “Wow,” I blurted, gawking at the room.

  Oriental rugs provided a path across a wooden floor into the living room, which was three times the size of Trina’s living room and twice as tall. The exterior wall had floor-to-ceiling windows and they provided a continuous view of the city from every vantage point. The
draperies and valances produced an elegant framing that blended perfectly with the large Oriental rug and brought out the mauve walls coloring. An intricately cut wooden coffee table stood in the middle of the rug, surrounded by an overstuffed couch and two armchairs and a chaise lounge chair. End tables were tucked in between the chairs and couch, and still, there was room to add a few more chairs. I had to admit, the girl had taste.

  The dining room was just off the living room and had a deep-amber oak table with eight leather-backed chairs, also in oak. Above the table hung a candelabra and alongside the table, polished silver cutlery lay ready to use on the sideboard. In a word, beautiful.

  “All this for one person?” I asked, falling back into the most comfortable chair I had ever sat in.

  “Oh, there’s more. Much more,” she assured me.

  She held out her hand and helped me up. We walked into a room with a leather-bound armchair and a large desk with a leather office chair. Behind the desk was a credenza with a couple of machines on it.

  “This is her private office and as you can see, there are two computers, a printer, and a fax machine. Lori doesn’t use any of it.”

  “Then why have it?” I asked.

  Trina shuffled her feet. “For college. She insisted we each needed a computer to do our homework on, but then she never used hers.”

  “How did she get through college?” I asked.

  “She didn’t. She landed a gig as a model and quit college. That’s where she is now. Modeling at a show in New York.”

  “Oh. Must be nice,” I retorted.

  “I guess. I saw her in a show once here in Houston and thought it was insane. The pressure was intense, and several models nerves were so frayed I thought two of them might end up in a fight. Lori was one of the two.”

  We walked into the bathroom next. It was three times the size of Trina’s bathroom, and I found that I couldn’t wait to take a luxurious bath in that oval-shaped tub with a window that overlooked the city and scented candles that lined the windowsill.

  “I saved the best for last. The bedrooms.”

  Bedrooms… as in two? For some reason, I hoped there were two rooms to keep things in check. My transference, if that really was what I was feeling, was becoming harder to deny.

  Trina opened the door to a large, pink-floral bedroom.

  “Wow… just… wow,” I exclaimed, trying to look at everything at once.

  The four corner poster canopy bed with rose pillows, and flowing floral curtains on the canopy, sparkling with tiny white lights, gave me ideas that I had to chase away. This room was made for sex. I can’t. What if I’m married? No, if I were married, I’d feel it in my heart just as I knew in my heart that I wasn’t a nun. Still, I needed to worry more about why someone thought I was a snitch, and what it was that I supposedly tattled on. I had to ignore all other thoughts until I knew that.

  “This is your room, if you want it,” Trina said.

  “Is this your ex… I mean, Lori’s room?”

  “Does it matter?” Trina asked, walking toward the door.

  “Yes, actually. I won’t feel comfortable sleeping in the bed that you two slept in. I’m funny that way.”

  “Well, alrighty, then,” she said with a smile. “The other bedroom was mine when I stayed over…” she stopped and looked at me, “after we broke up.”

  “When you housesit for her?”

  “That, and other times,” she replied without elaborating. “You can have this bedroom.” She opened the door to a strikingly handsome room, masculine with brown and amber colors. A third of the size of Lori’s room, the queen-sized bed with a brown-checkered comforter, sat in the middle of the room surrounded by end tables, a dresser, and a stationary bicycle. There were free weights in the corner near the balcony, and I could visualize her pumping iron in a tight tank top and—

  “Did you say something?” Trina asked, pulling me from my fantasy.

  “Oh, I was wondering if Lori decorated this room, also. I mean, I assume she decorated the condo herself?”

  “Yeah. She did, but she asked me what I wanted, so I guess in a way, I decorated it… uh, do you like it?”

  “Very much so. It’s you, strong and athletic, self-assured…” Something distracted me. On the nightstand was an 8x10 frame of Trina and a strikingly beautiful blonde who I could only assume was Lori. They were standing arm in arm in front of the Empire State Building in New York City. “Nice picture,” I commented, noting that they were the same height and build, although Trina was more muscular.

  “Yeah, that’s Lori. She put that there a few years ago, and I haven’t the heart to move it.”

  Is my face that obvious? Can she read my mind? “You don’t have to explain it to me. She’s very beautiful.”

  Trina walked over and picked up the picture and opened the bedside table. She placed it inside and shut the drawer. I was grateful that I didn’t have to stare at the two lovebirds gazing into each other’s eyes all night. So, if I was sleeping here, where was Trina sleeping? If she picked Lori’s room, then I had to wonder if things were really over between them.

  Trina turned back to me. “I know it’s late, but why don’t I fix up some of my famous omelets? We haven’t eaten much today.”

  “To be honest, I’m exhausted. I’d like to take a bath and turn in. Maybe you could save your famous omelets for in the morning?”

  “No problem. Let me get your suitcase.”

  “I can do that. You’ve got your own things to put away.”

  We walked back to the foyer, and she picked up her duffel bag as I picked up my suitcase. She stopped in the living room and threw her bag on the couch.

  “Aren’t you going to sleep in Lori’s room?” I asked casually.

  “Nah, that room’s too pink for me,” Trina replied with a smirk.

  “Oh, then let me sleep on the couch. It’s only fair.”

  “We’ve had this argument before, Joyce. I mean Ruby.”

  Shaking my head, I frowned at her. “I prefer Joyce.”

  She tilted her head just a bit, and I thought I saw a glint of pride in her eyes. “All right, Joyce. As I was saying, we’ve discussed this before. I sleep just fine on the couch. You take the bedroom. We’re going to be here for a while.”

  “How long do you think?” I asked.

  “Longer than I want to be.” Her face turned serious as she put her hand on my shoulder. “I need you to hear me on this. We can’t trust anyone. Not even Paul. Okay?”

  “You think Paul’s involved?” I asked incredulously.

  “No, but someone on the inside knew you were at my apartment and until we know who that is, trust no one.”

  “You sound like something I’ve heard on television,” I quipped.

  “I’m serious, Joyce. I need you to be, too,” she countered, a bit annoyed.

  Coming to attention, I saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That’s more like it,” she said with a smile. “You’re dismissed.”

  Laughing, I swatted her on the arm and turned to go. She grabbed my elbow to stop me. With a soft smile on her lips, she gazed at me with an unspoken question. I knew what she wanted to ask.

  “I get it and I promise, I’m taking this seriously,” I said. “All I ask is that you don’t imprison me in here.”

  “Understood. And all I ask is that you don’t leave here without me.”

  “Of course,” I answered. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  I’m Doing It My Way – Trina Wiles

  While Joyce took her bath, I called Paul. It wasn’t something I was looking forward to.

  “Hey, Paul. It’s me,” I began.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “Ah, were you worried about me?” I teased, stalling for time.

  “Listen, smartass. I got your text that someone had broken into your apartment. I’m here now, and they did a number on it.”

  “Yeah, I know. The bastards tore it up pretty bad,” I acknowl
edged.

  “So, you’ve been here? Why did you leave? Where are you now?”

  He shot the questions at me so fast I didn’t know which one to answer first. “Yes, I was there. I left because they knew where we were. They’re watching us, playing some kind of game of cat and mouse. I’ve stashed Joyce away where she’ll be safe and no, I’m not going to tell you where. There’s a leak in the precinct, Paul.”

  “And you think I’m it? Is that why you didn’t answer my calls?” he asked accusingly.

  “I left my cell phone at the apartment, so it can’t be traced. And no, I don’t think you’re the informant, but I’m taking every precaution,” I answered. “Just like you taught me.”

  “Clever, throw it back in my face, why don’t you?” Paul whined. “So, what are you going to do?”

  “Depend on you to find the graveyard rapist’s killer.”

  “And while I’m doing that, what will you be doing?” he persisted.

  “I’ll find out who the mole is,” I said, without a clue how I could do that hiding out here.

  “Can’t wait to hear how you’ll do that,” he said smugly.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  But It Wasn’t A Dream – Joyce aka Ruby Grace Sutherland

  I soaked in the luxurious bubble bath far longer than I should have, but it was so relaxing and for a few minutes, I had no cares at all. I drifted to the clouds on soft bubbles and when I looked up, Trina was there, bathing me. It wasn’t sexual, there was no desire in her touch or in my reaction to it. In fact, she seemed apologetic as she worked the tangles from my hair. That’s when I realized that I was dreaming.

  There was something so familiar about this dream. Almost like déjà vu but more vivid, clear, in focus, even. I had seen it before, but it wasn’t Trina standing over the bathtub. It was me. There were no bubbles to soften the skin or candles to sweeten the air. The bathtub was small, with chipped porcelain and rusted spigots. The room was dark, without windows, but I couldn’t see past the bathtub. I looked down and saw a young girl crying. I don’t know how long I was dreaming, but I woke up screaming. “Trina!”