The Hideaway

by Meryl Sawyer

  “I usually drink white wine, but Hogs and Heifers doesn’t serve wine.”

  “It’s not a wine crowd,” Zach observed, his eyes searching her face in a way that made her even more uncomfortable.

  “I thought dancing would help. You know, getting up and moving around, but when I came off the dance floor, I could hardly talk. I decided to go to the restroom behind the club to splash cold water on my face. Seth went to the bathroom, too.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Three minutes after midnight. I distinctly remember because I thought to myself that Khadafi was free.”

  For a moment he regarded her intently, his eyes revealing nothing.

  “When I came out of the restroom I felt worse, not better.”

  “Where was Seth when you came out?”

  “He said he’d wait for me, but I looked around and didn’t see him. It’s so dark back there. I waited but he didn’t come out of the men’s room.”

  “Funny.” Zach quirked one brow skeptically. “Seth claimed he waited for you but you had disappeared.”

  Claire stared at the two dogs, who were sitting nearby. She recalled Seth’s telephone message. At the time she thought he’d gone into The Hideaway to search for her. Now she wondered what he was concealing. “I saw him in the distance and followed him into The Hideaway.”

  “You’re positive it was Seth Ramsey? A lot of people came to see Flash and the Rusty Roots.”

  Claire nodded. “Seth turned. The moonlight was on his face. It was him.”

  Zach’s expression remained unreadable, and she wondered what he was thinking. Didn’t he believe her? How would he react to the rest of her story?

  “Didn’t you call to him?”

  “I tried, but I couldn’t talk. Honestly, not one word came out, so I kept following Seth. I knew by then I was really sick. I wanted to go home. Seth stopped in front of one of the bungalows.”

  “Really?” he said, his tone expressing his doubts. “Which one?”

  Claire shrugged, then set the coffee mug on the counter. “I’m not sure. It’s so dark back there, and by then I was really confused, stumbling around, anxious to get out of there. I heard a voice calling to me. I thought it was Seth.”

  She wavered, trying to decide how to tell him. Why, oh, why, did Zach Coulter have to be the sheriff? She didn’t want him, of all people, to know she’d done something so foolish. An uncomfortably long moment passed as Zach took a swallow of coffee, waiting for her to continue.

  “I went toward the man calling me. It was dark inside the room,” she said, her voice dropping with each word. “I couldn’t see a thing. I found the switch, but the lights wouldn’t come on.”

  “When I searched the place, I didn’t find any bulb in that room. The windows are painted black and covered by blackout curtains,” he informed her, his gaze narrowing.

  She hesitated, reluctant to confess what she’d done. Go ahead. Tell him the rest and let him think what he wants. You don’t care, do you?

  “The man pulled me into his arms and kissed me. He kissed me several times,” she said making it sound like simple kisses, not the erotic experience it had been. “My mind wasn’t working quite right. It was a few minutes before I realized I wasn’t kissing Seth.”

  Zach studied her quizzically for a moment. “You’d just seen Seth outside. How could you possibly think he was the man inside the room?”

  “I-I can’t explain. I was terribly confused.” She swallowed hard, knowing this was just the beginning. How could she explain that the experience had been wildly erotic—and only looking back had she found herself frightened. At the time it seemed so … right.

  “I wanted to push him away, but for some reason I didn’t,” she said, struggling to keep her voice from revealing her inner turmoil. “I wanted to tell him to stop, but my tongue felt like lead. One thing led to another and …”

  “And?” Zach prompted, his expression sardonically amused.

  “Well, you know …”

  “No, I don’t know.” He grinned, feather-like laugh lines crinkling around his eyes. “I haven’t a clue.”

  She refused to go into any more details. He knew exactly what had happened. She didn’t have to paint him a picture. “The next thing I knew it was morning.”

  “All night, huh?” He gave her a knowing grin that made her want to whack him. “So, who was the lucky guy?”

  Claire took a deep breath, then said, “I have no idea.”

  A suggestion of a smile played across his mouth, an infuriatingly sensual, arrogant grin. “You’re telling me that you—Miss Holier Than Thou—slept with a total stranger?”

  She looked him straight in the eye, determined not to let him rattle her. “I’m certain the drink had something in it. I would never have done anything so stupid otherwise.”

  Zach’s expression said he had his doubts. “Didn’t you ask his name the next morning?”

  Claire shook her head. “He was gone when I woke up.”

  He gave her another look that telegraphed even more suspicion. “You must have some idea of what he looks like. Remember, he’s your alibi.”

  She became increasingly uneasy. There was something more disturbing than usual in the way he was looking at her. She scrambled to recall any detail that might help. She was in real trouble here. All she had to work with were vague images of a very large man. “He had very big … equipment,” she blurted out. “Really large.”

  “Equipment?” Zach repeated, arching one black eyebrow for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face. It became a grin that emphasized his even white teeth. A second later he began to chuckle. The sound escalated into a full masculine laugh that echoed through the kitchen. Both dogs cocked their heads and stared at him. He tried to stop, managing to cut the noise, but his large frame kept shaking with mirth.

  She realized what she’d said and wanted to die. “He was really large. A tall, muscular man. Very, very big.”

  Finally, he said, “Sweetheart, anybody ever tell you that it’s not the size of the wand—it’s the magician?”

  She glared at him, the heat rushing up her neck. She knew her face was bright pink, which made her even more angry—with herself—with him.

  “How am I supposed to find some dude with a really big—”

  “Very funny. This is a murder investigation, and all you can focus on is …”

  “A big cock,” he finished with a grin. “Hey, you’re the one who brought it up. Can’t you just see me going around town with a tape measure?”

  She pushed away from the counter, both hands on her hips. “You vile creep, if I remembered anything more, I’d tell you. Do you honestly believe I want to be involved in this murder?”

  “You’re going to have to do better. I know it was pitch dark in there. That’s the way customers at The Hideaway like it. But you must have some other impression—” he hesitated, studying her for a moment “—of your alibi. Try again. I’m not buying this.”

  She struggled to remember something—anything. An image came to her, an image she hadn’t recalled until this second. Her thighs began to tingle and she squirmed as the erotic memory returned. “He had a beard.”

  “A beard. Now that’s something to go on. What kind? A goatee like all the kids are wearing, or what?”

  She thought a moment, trying to bring the image into a clearer focus. She felt herself blush as another even more erotic image of the mysterious stranger came to mind. “No, not a clipped beard, a full bushy beard.”

  “That’s good. There won’t be too many men around town fitting that description.” He paused, looking across the room to the spot where the dogs were now curled up, their muzzles touching. “It should be easy to find him unless … unless …”

  “Unless what?” she asked, more than a little unnerved by the memory of the bearded man kissing her.

  “Unless he’s one of the studs Stegner lets hang around to service women. In that case he could be from Santa Fe or
Phoenix and long gone by now.”

  Claire had a vague recollection of the man talking to her, but she couldn’t remember anything he’d said. Still, she had the impression of a good, gentle man. She reacted on instinct. “He’s not one of Stegner’s men.”

  “Okay, then I’m going to need a better physical description,” Zach said. “Come here.”

  Although he was just a few feet away, she reluctantly closed the distance between them.

  “Shut your eyes,” Zach said.

  “Why?”

  “Trust me, I need a little more information if I’m going to find your … alibi.”

  She closed her eyes, having no choice but to trust him, and Zach’s large hands came down on her shoulders. Through the lightweight sweater she felt the heat of his palms and the strength in his fingers. A fluid warmth spread through her, an annoying, dangerous feeling.

  “Don’t open your eyes,” he told her, his breath whisking across her ear. “Now put your arms around me.”

  When she didn’t move, he lifted her arms to his shoulders, and she let them limply hang there. She struggled to ignore the tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach. She told herself it was relief; the worst was over. She’d confessed what she’d done. But his rock-hard, inescapably masculine body pressed against hers, telling her that wasn’t the whole truth.

  “Hold me,” he said.

  Did he know what he was asking, what memories this would bring? She hesitated, then linked her arms around his shoulders. She could feel the sculpted muscles and solid bone beneath his shirt. The last time she’d been in his arms, Zach had been on the verge of manhood. He was still slim through the hips, but he had a more powerful torso than he’d had in his youth.

  Yes, he was a man now. All man. The catch in her breath took her by surprise. She had told herself that she didn’t remember what it felt like to have him hold her, but it was all coming back to her in a dizzying rush. For the love of God, don’t do this to yourself, cautioned the sensible part of her brain.

  “Was the man taller or shorter than I am?” he asked, apparently unfazed by having her in his arms.

  She squeezed her eyes tight, fighting to control the subtle, unwilling change in her body. Every heartbeat reminded her that his arms were around her, his hands resting lightly on the small of her back.

  “Come on,” Zach prodded. “Give me your gut reaction.”

  “Taller, much taller.”

  She opened her eyes and saw his head was bent down. He was so close that if she moved her lips would touch his chin, or cheek … or something. Rapidly escalating tension tightened every muscle in her body, and she became totally aware of Zach, so attuned to him that she could almost hear his heart beating. Certainly she could hear the soft rush of his breath and feel the heat of his body stealing through her.

  “I’m six-four,” he said, all business. He released her and took a half step back. “There are only a few men in town taller than I am.”

  “It has to be one of them,” she assured him. “He was taller than you and more muscular.”

  His eyes narrowed speculatively and he frowned, his mouth becoming tight and grim. He studied her a moment, his gaze eagle-sharp beneath drawn brows. Something’s terribly wrong, she thought. The warmth that had suffused her body just moments ago became a chilling apprehension.

  Zach walked across the kitchen into the family room and stood near the kiva fireplace. He was nearly as tall as the rounded, triangular-shaped fireplace. He was right, she decided. Few men around Taos were as tall as Zach Coulter. Hands on his hips, he stared through the panoramic window at the mountains. The architect had designed the home to showcase the majestic bluff of Taos Mountain. At this hour nothing was visible except a vast sweep of darkness and a moonlit sky studded by glowing stars.

  He stood there in silence, gazing into the night. Claire wondered what he was thinking. Nothing she recalled about the stranger seemed to lead anywhere. Except now Zach Coulter knew her secret.

  Surely the stranger would come forward if he knew she was in trouble and needed an alibi. The whole night had been strange—and wonderful. She had been left with the distinct impression that he was a good person.

  Why she believed that she wasn’t sure. It was nothing more than a feeling based on … On what? Nothing. He could easily remain silent, not giving her an alibi.

  “Claire, come here,” Zach’s voice cut through the quiet house.

  She crossed the room and stood beside him, facing the darkness. The moon hung low over Taos Mountain, limning the peak with light.

  “Tell me exactly what you remember after you went in that room.” He leveled her with a look she couldn’t decipher. “Everything.”

  What was he, some kind of pervert who got his kicks listening to details of other people’s sex lives? “I told you everything. I don’t see any point in repeating it.”

  “When did you take off your panties?”

  Panties? All she remembered was waking up to discover she was stark naked and her panties were nowhere to be found. “I didn’t. I-I mean … I don’t know when or how it happened.”

  He nodded, looking at her a moment before staring into the darkness again.

  “Most of the night is a blank,” she assured him. “I was in that room for hours, but I only remember what I told you.”

  “Like an alcoholic in a blackout. You were functioning at some level, but now you can’t remember anything.”

  “Wait a minute,” she said, a surge of panic jolting her. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Wasn’t there some Jane Fonda movie about a woman who wakes up with a dead body next to her? She can’t remember if she killed him or not? Don’t try to pin Duncan Morrell’s murder on me. I didn’t kill him.”

  “I’m not accusing you of murder.” He put one strong hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go back to when you ordered the tarantula juice. Did you see who—”

  “I didn’t order it. Angela Whitmore at the next table was having one. As we came up, she insisted we try the tarantula juice. She added two more to her order. I didn’t see who made them. I didn’t even look.”

  Zach asked, “Where was Stegner?”

  “Up by the band. He saw me, though. He looked right at me.”

  “Who ordered your second drink?”

  “I don’t know. It was just there when we came off the dance floor. I only took one sip. By then the first one had hit me hard.”

  He led her back to the sofa and nudged her down onto the cushions. “Have you ever heard of Rohypnol?” She shook her head, and he continued, “It’s a new drug. It hasn’t been approved for use yet, so doctors in this country can’t legally prescribe it, but you can bring in enough for personal use from another country like Mexico.”

  “What does it do?” she asked, wondering where this was leading.

  “The drug delivers a killer punch like you’ve had a dozen drinks instead of one. The pill itself is tiny, so it’s easy to drop into a drink. It dissolves quickly and is tasteless.”

  She stared at him, too stunned to speak, her heart pounding as relief nearly knocked her to her knees to say a prayer of thanks. Her wild fling with a total stranger wasn’t entirely her fault. The knowledge made her weak with gratitude. Yet she was frightened, too. Who would do something so vicious? “You think someone put one of those pills into my drink?”

  He nodded, saying, “Police in Florida call it the ‘date rape’ drug because they had so many complaints of rape when guys dropped the pill into drinks.”

  “Seth would never—”

  “I didn’t say he did it, but someone wanted you stumbling around half out of your mind. Roofies—that’s what the kids call Rohypnol—makes you appear to be a little drunk, but okay. The women report having trouble speaking and being confused about sizes and shapes as well as the sequence of events. They can’t remember everything that happened come morning.”

  “Do you think I’m mistaken about the man’s size?”

  “P
ossibly. Things are always exaggerated in the dark. The stranger may well have been shorter and less muscular than you recall.”

  “I’m sure of the beard,” she insisted, another flash of memory coming to her unexpectedly, and she hoped she wasn’t blushing. Yes, he most definitely had a beard. “Why would anyone give me one of those pills?”

  “If I knew the reason, I might be able to solve this case.” He gazed across the room to where the two dogs were sleeping, curled up together. “I haven’t had a single complaint of anyone getting a Roofie at Stegner’s place. Nothing.”

  “Maybe the women were too embarrassed to complain.” She studied her bare toe for a second. “It was really hard for me to tell you.”

  For an instant his gaze sharpened. “Did he rape you, Claire?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head, reluctant to admit how thrilling the experience had been. After Zach had used the term “date rape drug,” she recalled news accounts of other women’s experiences with Roofies, and knew she’d been very lucky. “I don’t remember everything, but I know I wasn’t forced. At first I wanted to say no, but then …”

  He let the word hang there for a long moment. “But? But what?”

  “I didn’t want him to stop. I was enjoying it too much,” she admitted, her voice so low that she wasn’t sure he could hear her.

  “Really? You liked this well-hung dude.” There was a curious expression on his face even though his intention was to bait her as usual.

  She didn’t respond, and finally, he said, “Roofies aren’t in general circulation around here or I would have heard something. Several states have outlawed it, but it’s not illegal to possess it here.” He leaned closer, his expression frighteningly serious. “What I want to know is did someone know you were coming and bring Roofies, or was it unplanned?”

  “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to drug me,” she said, bewildered.

  “That’s easy. They wanted to frame you for murder.”

  Six

  Claire stared into the darkness beyond the soaring sheet of glass and knew Zach was right. She’d denied the possibility all day long, but the nagging fear had been there, lurking in the corner of her mind.