Falling

by Rebecca Swartz

  I straightened abruptly. My mind was going off down useless pathways, and I didn’t want to feel any worse than I already did, which was pretty crappy, despite the great sex. I hopped off the bed and headed for the shower. Whether Kael was just passing through town, or here for a reason, whatever reason that might be, I didn’t want to think about it any longer. I was only here for a few days myself. And right then, what I really wanted was to head out to the pub for a couple of pints, possibly more, possibly with the intention of getting drunk and just forgetting for a while that somewhere out there was a woman that I really wanted and couldn’t have. It sounded like a perfectly horrible idea, but I was up for it.

  Four thirty on a Friday afternoon seemed to be the perfect time to show up at the Brass Penny. Two couples sat at a table, and another couple was seated at the middle of the bar, with a single guy at the far end. I sat at the nearer end, and Adam greeted me with a raised hand and a smile. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?” he said with a wink.

  “Where else would I go?” I returned, placing both hands on the bar.

  “The usual?” he asked.

  “You bet.”

  In a minute, he was back with a pint of the lovely amber ale I’d had the other day. He pulled over a coaster and placed the glass on it.

  “Thanks, Adam.”

  “No problem,” he said and leaned on the bar with an elbow. “What brings you in this afternoon?”

  I swallowed my sip of beer. “Well, Adam, I thought I’d come out and see how drunk I can get.”

  “Oh,” he said, eyebrows rising. “Are we celebrating or are we drowning?”

  I raised my glass and angled it toward him. “Drowning. Definitely drowning.” I took another swallow of beer.

  “Uh-oh,” he said with a frown. “Guy problems? No, wait.” He cocked his head, then lifted his chin and squinted a bit. “Girl problems.”

  It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Very good.”

  He nodded, gave me a commiserating smile, and then straightened behind the bar. “Yeah, unfortunately, I can’t help you. I don’t know shit about women.” And then he added brightly, “I can help you get drunk though.”

  I raised my glass to him once more. “Let’s stay on top of that then, shall we?”

  * * *

  In the end, I didn’t get drunk. Afternoon became early evening, the pub got busier, people came and went. I was staring blankly at the flat-screen television above the bar, nursing my third pint when a fellow pulled out the empty stool beside me, interrupting my reverie.

  “Is anyone sitting here?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Nope. It’s all yours.”

  He hopped up on the stool, a good-looking younger guy, maybe twenty-five, with an exquisite little goatee, slender mustache, shaved head and gorgeous blue eyes. Dressed in khakis, a light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and a striped, burgundy tie loose around his neck, I guessed he’d just gotten off work. I nodded at him as he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the bar. He interlocked his fingers and glanced at my beer. “Out for a night on the town, are we?”

  “Such as it is,” I replied with a polite smile.

  His grin broadened. “‘Such as it is.’ I like that. Completely ambiguous. Are you referring to the night or the town?”

  I warmed to him right away. Before I could answer him, Adam showed up. After placing his order for a pint of Guinness, he turned to me again.

  “So which is it?” he asked, keen with interest.

  I glanced away, and then looked back. “The night,” I said decisively.

  “Ah, well,” he said, “it’s early yet, so that makes sense. Plenty of room for improvement.”

  I gave a little snort of amusement and raised my glass to him, just as Adam delivered his Guinness. “Excellent timing, Adam, my friend,” the young man said. He lifted his pint glass to mine, we tapped them together, and both of us took a healthy swallow.

  “I’m Michael.” He put his pint down to offer me his hand.

  “Amy,” I told him, and we shook.

  Michael turned out to be fine company. He was a sommelier and lived just outside of town with his boyfriend, whom he was expecting to show up in about an hour. Both hailed from Seattle, but had, he said, made the transition to the South two years earlier with little difficulty. Hills Valley, I was told, was quite liberal and progressive, certainly more so than other parts of the state.

  We chatted for about half an hour and ordered a couple more pints before I became aware of a woman on the other side of the bar. I glanced over, made eye contact. She smiled at me, and I quickly looked away. Michael noticed.

  “What?” he asked curiously.

  “What ‘what’?” I said, even as my eyes strayed in the woman’s direction.

  His eyes followed mine, and he gave the woman a friendly tip of the head, then angled his head back to me. “Looks like your night is about to get better.”

  I was unimpressed. “You think?”

  “She’s very attractive,” he pointed out, quite unnecessarily.

  She had a dark cap of hair above large brown eyes, sculpted eyebrows and a strong jawline. When she smiled at me again I saw even white teeth. I hoped she would stay over on her side of the bar, but as soon as Michael got up to go to the men’s room, she rose to her feet and made her way over.

  Placing both hands on the backrest of Michael’s stool, she leaned forward a fraction and asked, “Is your friend coming back?”

  I turned slightly toward her. “Yes, I believe he is,” I said, not unkindly.

  “Well,” she continued, leaning in a tad closer, “this is going to sound very forward, I’m afraid, but I find you very attractive. I was wondering if I could buy you a drink.”

  If she had offered to just take me home for a night of uncomplicated sex, I might have said yes. The offer to buy me a drink, while a lovely gesture, just made me feel tired. I glanced at my half-empty pint glass and decided I’d reached my limit.

  “No, I’m sorry,” I told her. “Thank you, really, but I need to be going.”

  Though obviously disappointed, she smiled and said, very graciously, “My loss.” She turned and retraced her steps.

  Michael returned several seconds later. He reached for his beer and made a tsk’ing sound. “I saw you turn that beautiful lady down,” he said disapprovingly.

  I pulled my glass closer and stared into its contents. “I should wear a ring,” I muttered.

  He almost choked on the mouthful of beer he’d swallowed. Reaching for a napkin, he wiped his mouth and said gravely, “Oh, please, honey, trust me, a ring is not going to stop them from coming after you.”

  After we’d downed the rest of our beer, he let me know his boyfriend wasn’t going to be joining him, and so he was heading home. I was grateful for the opportunity to take my own leave. We exited the pub together, hugged on the sidewalk, and then headed in opposite directions. When I got back to the hotel, I stripped out of my clothes, climbed under the sheets naked, and fell asleep much faster than expected.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I awoke Saturday morning with the feeling that I had narrowly avoided a small disaster the night before. I rolled over onto my back and stared out the window. The sky was a pretty cornflower blue. I glanced at the clock. Not quite eight thirty. Before I could stop myself, I wondered what Kael was up to. Immediately my insides clenched with an undeniable hunger.

  “God damn it!” I threw myself out of bed and practically ran for the shower.

  As the water poured down on me hot and fierce, I decided, just like that, that I was going to the ocean. I could see no point in hanging around town for the next two days with absolutely nothing to do, and nothing to protect me from errant thoughts of Kael Harding. Once out of the shower, I dried off and dressed, got my possessions together, and headed for the parking lot. I-40 was only a couple of minutes away; I was on my way to the sea in no time.

  It was a gorgeous day for a drive, the temperature
a few degrees cooler than previous mornings. In just under three hours I came in sight of the water; I continued on to Kure Beach, passing beach homes and condos painted in yellow, mauve, orange, and almost every other hue of the rainbow. I immediately sought out a motel, and chose the Sand Dunes, which had a lovely ocean view, as well as a pool and hot tub. It was within walking distance of several restaurants, yet a little off the beaten path. My room was on the second level, accessible by outside stairway, nothing fancy, but it had a private oceanfront balcony with Adirondack chairs and a small deck table. I removed the gaudy bedspreads from the two double beds, folded them and put them in the closet, and threw my things onto the nearest mattress. I was already wearing shorts and a T-shirt over a black sports bra. I changed to sandals, left everything else behind, and locked the door behind me. Securing the key into a zippered pocket, I practically skipped down the stairs to the walkway leading to the beach.

  As soon as I came in sight of the sea and felt the breeze on my face, I knew I’d made the right decision. I breathed in deeply of the salt air, and my spirits lightened. For the next couple of hours, I lost myself in the sun and the sand. I shucked my sandals to walk barefoot for a few miles; I turned around and headed back. I ventured into the water whenever I got too hot, and kept my shirt on so I wouldn’t get sunburned.

  I returned to my room and grabbed my wallet. Hungry now, I went in search of a place to have lunch. I chose Dave’s Seafood, attached to the pier, and ordered a Corona and a bowl of chowder rich with clams, scallops and crabmeat, with corn bread on the side. I sat outside, as did most everyone else, beneath patio umbrellas with beer logos. When I was done, I ordered another beer and sat enjoying it and the view.

  Later, I took a jaunt around the area, past the marina and its incredible variety of boats with names like Juanita, Bi The See, Crucible and Hammer Time. I bypassed the tourist shops and their paraphernalia, until I came upon a small used bookstore. I ducked inside, and came out several minutes later with a copy of Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot. I went up to my room, made myself comfortable on the balcony, and read for a few hours. When I got hungry again, I went back to Dave’s and had another wonderful meal. I sat for a couple of hours, enjoying the evening and the sunset, then strolled down to the beach in the dark and sat for a while on the still-warm sand. I felt peaceful and at ease. Eventually, I went back to my room, where I fell asleep listening to the waves of the ocean roll endlessly into shore.

  * * *

  Beachcombing and swimming early on a Sunday morning felt almost decadent. I wasn’t the only one to indulge; several other people had the same idea. I walked along the hard-packed sand, stopped now and then to pick up the occasional shell that caught my eye, and watched as a trio of brown pelicans coasted effortlessly over the water on their way to somewhere. A young man with a chunky yellow lab splashed around in the shallows. I felt a flash of envy for their close relationship. Bemused, I shook my head. Maybe I should get a dog, I thought.

  I came to a stop then, and sank down to sit on the sand and watch them. I was always amazed to see two individuals from different species get along so well, when so very often two human beings could not see eye-to-eye. This, finally, brought me around to thinking about Kael. I had studiously and stubbornly refused to dwell on any thoughts of her. Doing so accomplished nothing, other than to contribute further to my frustration and puzzlement. Still, if I put those thoughts aside, and just considered the enjoyment quotient, Kael and I were pretty good together. I knew no more about her than I did the dog and the young man splashing in the ocean, but it looked as if they were having a fantastic time together, and sometimes, that was all that mattered.

  In the end though, how could I consider someone viable relationship material when she had readily admitted to killing people? I was very drawn to Kael, I couldn’t deny that, but every time I considered that one particular fact, my brain seemed to short circuit and shunt my thoughts off onto another track. I couldn’t wrap my mind around my attraction. Which didn’t make it any less real, but it did make it easier to dismiss. And being able to dismiss it made it much easier to rationalize why I didn’t go to the police with what I knew.

  “Or something like that,” I muttered.

  The guy and his dog had moved off down the beach. I got to my feet, brushed off the seat of my shorts, and returned to my room to shower and find some coffee and breakfast. I then drove a short distance up the coast to the aquarium at Fort Fisher, where I spent a couple of hours wandering around, looking at sharks, and rays, and various other kinds of ocean life encased in glass tanks. It had been years since I’d been to an aquarium, and it was fascinating. By the time I got back to the motel, it was time to check out. I threw on a button-down shirt over my tank top, gathered up my few possessions, locked them up in the Jeep, and drove the fifteen or so miles to Wilmington.

  Lunch was a simple affair, a wrap and a salad at a café with outdoor seating. I had just finished eating when my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. The number displayed was unfamiliar, but the voice on the other end was unmistakably Lena Bowman’s.

  “Amy? Ms. Squires?”

  “Yes. Lena? What can I do for you?”

  “Well, it would appear that there’s been a slight…development,” she said, her voice perfectly calm.

  “A ‘development’?” I frowned. “You mean with the order?”

  “No, not with the order,” she said slowly. “The order is fine. However, I believe I should have been more…forthcoming. And now a situation has developed—” She broke off, and then said, all in a rush, “Do you think you could come to the house?”

  My frown deepened. “Well, yes, of course, but I’m not in town, I’m in Wilmington. What do you mean a situation has developed?”

  “Wilmington?” she repeated, her voice both amazed and disappointed.

  “If I leave now, I can be there in about three hours,” I quickly reassured her. “Why should you have been more forthcoming? I don’t understand—”

  “Will you come here? Straightaway?” Her voice was now low and taut with tension.

  “Yes, of course, I’ll come straight there.”

  “Good. I’ll wait for you.” She hung up.

  I blinked, puzzled and concerned, then stuffed the phone back into my pocket. I jumped to my feet and headed for the Jeep. I pulled the gun case out of the lockbox, not even giving a thought as to why, shoved it under the passenger seat, and headed for the highway.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  It takes every last ounce of her resolve to leave Amy again, to be the creator of pain, to love her (and oh god, how she does love her) and then to leave. But she is worried about a few things: one, that she doesn’t want to spend too much time in one place, and two, that she has a feeling that the guy she’s supposed to be watching is worth watching, and she must do so. It has always been this way. She chooses one man, in one state, and she focuses on him until the job is done. She has never failed to get the job done. But leaving Amy, seeing the clear disappointment on her face, is almost enough to convince her that getting the job done is not as compelling as it once was. She knows she can’t back out now though; her damn single-mindedness won’t let her.

  Near the halfway house where her target is staying, she camps out in the woods on a rise above the dwelling. She gently pushes Amy from her mind, and for two days and two nights, she watches. When he leaves on his own, on Sunday, she guesses he’s been granted a day pass. He leaves the property without escort, and she wonders if he intends to return. If not, that would be a bad move on his part, all things considered.

  She gets to her feet and follows after him at a discreet distance. He’s so focused on moving furtively away from the property, he doesn’t notice her. She wishes she could just shoot him right now. The bastard deserves it. But it’s much too close to habitations. She continues to pad along behind him.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  During the three-hour drive I considered what Lena meant by being more forthco
ming. I wondered what kind of situation could possibly have developed. Of course I didn’t know the woman’s life story, but her application and our conversations, both before our meeting and during, seemed to be completely upfront and straightforward. She could be referring to anything.

  Maybe I was going about it wrong; maybe I should press for certain details right from the start; maybe I should ask questions and expect answers. I gave a soft snort and shook my head. These women deserved to be believed and trusted on their own merit. They didn’t have to validate themselves to me. I was there for them, to help provide them with some peace of mind, when sometimes such a thing was so hard to come by. Sometimes a security system was not the answer, or at least not the only answer. In those cases, I helped my clients find other resources, self-defense courses, a local animal shelter, anything they required or thought they required. That was what I did. Because that was what they and every woman deserved: help, belief, attention.

  It was almost six thirty by the time I pulled off I-40. Even though it was a Sunday evening, traffic into town was congested. At a stoplight, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and went through my incoming calls. Lena’s number was at the top of the list; I hit SEND. The call connected, but it just rang and rang and rang.

  “Damn it!” I muttered. I was now starting to feel a measure of anxiety. Something was definitely wrong.

  Traffic crawled through downtown. I reached Lena’s street and veered off, pushing my speed up to twenty-five. I didn’t slow until I reached the driveway. I was grateful to see that a fresh load of pea gravel had been spread its entire length. Had those treacherous potholes still been present, I would have abandoned the Jeep and run for the house. I stopped a few feet shy of the front step, threw the transmission into neutral, leaned down to pull the gun case out and unlocked it. I grabbed the Glock from the foam lining, ejected the magazine to ensure it was loaded, then replaced it and racked the slide. I leapt out of my seat and shoved the gun into my jeans at the small of my back, pulling my loose button-down shirt over it. My actions were directed purely by instinct.