Flashback

by Cait London

  “Nice shoes,” she managed while stifling the need to giggle. Since she wasn’t a giggler, Rachel knew she’d reached a last-straw limit and anything could send her into an insane laughing fit, a release of tension. She tossed her briefcase to the couch, kicked off her own high strappy heels, and closed her eyes, locking in the sight of a six-foot-four male standing in high heels; she was certain she would need a good laugh when Kyle launched the questions he would certainly ask. She didn’t have long to wait—

  “And what did you give me to knock me out, anyway?” Kyle added darkly. “When I last looked, you didn’t have anything for pain in your medicine cabinet but aspirin.”

  Seated on the couch, hiding behind the newspaper’s sports section, Moses glanced up at her. If the tight crunch of his face, the tears rolling down his cheeks, indicated anything, it was that he, too, was seeing the humor of the situation. “They were too small for me,” he said amid gasps that evidently suppressed roaring laughter. “Kyle only has size twelves. They’re women’s fourteens and they fit.”

  “What the hell are you doing with custom-made high heel shoes big and wide enough to fit me?” Kyle exploded fiercely.

  “Hi, honey. How are you feeling?” Rachel managed to ask with a serious expression as she walked to sit on the couch beside Moses. She ducked behind the paper that was shaking in front of his face, and grinned at him. “Anything interesting in there?”

  Moses let go of a huge snort, an eruption of smothered laughter. Kyle sprawled into a chair; he grimaced, pain etched on his pale face, and Rachel forgot everything but hurrying to him. “Get these things off,” he ordered between breaths, his face pale and damp with perspiration.

  “I found those high heels when I went through Mallory’s things. I’d forgotten them until I was looking for shoes to go with this suit. I must have left them out, huh?” Rachel bent to undo the buckles, then knelt between his knees, rested her hands on them. “How’s it going, champ?”

  “I am not in a good mood. I went out to the garage this morning—rather midmorning. I overslept and had to meet the insurance guys and police at the garage. It looks like a war zone. All my cars were burned to hell.”

  “Look on the bright side—your office files are in good shape, if damp and smelling like smoke, and most of your inventory on the shelves was saved by Neptune’s Landing’s finest rural fire department.”

  “Uh-huh…‘bright side,’” Kyle repeated gloomily.

  Moses folded the paper and slapped it on the coffee table. “Thanks for unplugging the telephone when you left this morning, Rachel. We needed the sleep. It started ringing as soon as I plugged it in. Your mother and Jada both called, and the police are sending over men to collect Kyle for his formal statement. The insurance investigating team is going over his garage now, checking for salvage.”

  “Uh-huh. It’s a whole day’s lineup of answering questions. But let’s get back to the question of what you gave me, and it wasn’t aspirin.”

  She’d never forget lying beside Kyle, watching his pain, even while he slept, worrying about him. “Moses and I went through Mallory’s stash—I decided to keep the bag of her pills instead of throwing them away. I thought the pharmacy labels and a good drug identification book might lead to something or someone. They’ve been in Buttercup’s trunk the whole time. Moses picked out a little pill cocktail for you,”

  When Kyle’s scowl swung to Moses, the big beefy man held up his hands. “You didn’t want an emergency room, and we had to do something to keep you down.”

  Kyle was studying her navy blue business suit and short skirt. “I asked you not to do that program. You’re out hunting Mallory’s—the men who visited her, aren’t you? Didn’t I tell you just yesterday morning that the lid could pop right off this thing?”

  Rachel nodded contritely. “Yes, you did, dear—honey.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to wait for me? You’ve set yourself up as bait, haven’t you? What a dingbat, empty-headed, irresponsible idea.”

  She’d done exactly that, and her presentation to the businessmen’s club—women included—had led to some very unpleasant conclusions. She was looking at the potential consequences of going after Shane—cuts and bruises all over Kyle, his face swollen, his ribs tightly bound. “I am so sorry this happened to you.”

  He smiled lopsidedly, the effect of his swollen lip. “Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

  “I know, but I really am.” Rachel knew she was going to cry and she bit her lip to prevent it.

  “With Kyle and me here, we need more groceries, Rachel. I’ll haul some back here,” Moses interrupted as he stood, and Rachel had the feeling he wanted to escape the brewing argument. “I’ll be right back. Call me on my cell if you need me. Kyle should be flat on his back. He’s passed out once already. By the way, if any of the investigators call, the clothes Kyle was wearing last night are under your outside stairway. They smelled too much of gas to leave inside.”

  “Okay. Take my keys to the apartment. We’re not going anywhere. And, Moses, would you mind taking those heels to Shane Templeton? I think they just might fit him. And he seems to like women’s shoes.”

  “Shane? Wearing heels?” Kyle asked, his expression blank.

  “Men do that sometimes,” Moses said with a bland shrug. “Have no idea why.”

  “Mallory must have ordered them for Shane and kept them here for his use.”

  When the door closed behind Moses, Rachel stood and walked to it slowly, locking it. She needed time to package her thoughts, giving Kyle the truthful answers he needed. “I’ll make a deal with you. Let’s go lie down, and I’ll answer all your questions.”

  Kyle’s deep voice was raw with anger and it vibrated in the quiet apartment. “Where’s the damn gun?”

  This wasn’t going well, and Rachel felt almost as bad as Kyle looked. He could be obstinate, pass out, hurt himself—she ran all through the could’s while walking back to him. She recognized that dark furious look; Kyle was set to battle, and neither one of them was up to it. “I’ll tell you what you want, but I am so tired, Kyle.”

  “Then go to bed.”

  “I can’t, not without you.” I need you, Kyle…I need to know that you’re safe beside me, that I can watch you breathe when you sleep….

  Kyle noted Rachel’s uneven tone, the tears gleaming on her cheeks, the way she looked as if all that attitude and power had been sucked out of her. She looked as if she would break down with her next breath. She seemed to hang in the shadowy apartment, and he wanted to pick her up, to carry her to bed.

  In bad shape, he’d probably drop and hurt her. Kyle fought frustration and anger and the need to hold Rachel, to bind her close and safe to him. In his present shape, he doubted that he could protect her and that terrified him…. And he knew she wasn’t going to bed without him. “Okay, let’s go to bed and take a nap, but you’re not getting off the hook. You’ve got a lot of answering to do.”

  Kyle let Rachel maneuver him into the bedroom and onto the bed; he watched her as she slowly undressed, tossing aside her suit. He waited while she went into the bathroom and closed the door. Minutes later, she slid into bed beside him, naked and warm and fragrant. She sighed deeply as if she’d come a long, long way and looked at him across the distance of their pillows. “I’m so sorry, Kyle.”

  “So am I. Get over here. Don’t make me come and get you,” he added with a smile to soften the order. Rachel eased close, careful not to touch him; her arm rested high over his chest, as she smoothed his hair.

  Not one to lose an opportunity, Kyle moved his arm against her breasts and rubbed against them slowly. He opened his hand on her thigh and met her kiss, lingering in the softness of it as Rachel kissed his shoulder and eased her leg over his.

  While cuddling and reassuring each other that they were safe, Kyle tried not to focus on that little furry nest between her legs heating his skin. He moved his thigh slightly, and Rachel adjusted easily, that spot on his leg hotter now. He started a rhythmi
c nudge against her and his body launched into hard overdrive. “The gun, Rachel. What did you do with it?”

  She was soft and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder, looking up at him with drowsy eyes and her hand was wandering in places that waited and leaped to her touch—“Mmm?”

  “You wouldn’t try to sidetrack me, would you, Rachel?”

  He didn’t believe her sweet “I wouldn’t do that, Kyle,” but gloved and stroked in her hand, he really couldn’t focus on straight thinking. “Rachel, you’re very busy there. I seem to remember something like this happening last night.”

  Her hand smoothed his chest and Rachel lifted slightly, bending over him to kiss his lips, his cheeks, his aching head, and nibble on the portion of his jaw that wasn’t bruised. The combination of her body, naked and hot against his, the glove of her hand, and those tempting kisses caused Kyle to get lightheaded. Rachel brushed her lips lightly across his and whispered, “You said something very nice, and you were like you are now—very big—and I thought it might help you to relieve a little pressure.”

  If “swoon” was in a real man’s vocabulary, Kyle might have used it—he remembered her kisses all over him, those soothing whispers, and the—“So, I didn’t dream that.”

  When she grinned impishly, that cute little dimple on her cheek deepened. “Oh, no, you were right with the project. I hope you don’t mind. It seemed to be the thing to do with—with your condition.”

  Kyle tried to work through who said what in the previous night. “What did I say that deserved that kind of special treatment?”

  “Nice things. Do you have to talk so much?”

  Kyle forced himself to return to the questions that Rachel evidently didn’t want to answer. He moved her hand from his really, really want-to bad, and held it in his own, lacing their fingers. “You talk now…. Where’s the gun and what happened with Shane?”

  Rachel sighed and flattened to her side of the bed. “The gun was gone when I got back. I haven’t had a chance to talk with Jada yet, but she or Mom probably hid it somewhere.”

  An unaccounted for, semi-automatic with a clip of hollow points wasn’t something that Kyle dismissed, neither was Rachel’s meeting with Shane. As soon as Moses got back, Kyle would ask him to find that gun. “What about Shane? What happened last night with him?”

  In the shadows of the room, Rachel’s face closed and she stared at the ceiling fan slowly rotating above them. “You were right not to like him. I’m worried about Jada. She cleans his house every other day and she’s got him lined up to marry her.”

  “That’s not good enough, Rachel. You’re avoiding the question…. What happened?” Kyle sucked back the rage building in him—from Rachel’s tight expression, he guessed that she’d probably been attacked.

  “We talked. It wasn’t good. He liked my heels, though,” she said shakily. “That’s why I thought those custom-mades were his, and I remember Mallory talking about how he liked her high heels. I thought it was odd then, but I didn’t make the connection.”

  “And did he like you?” Kyle pressed darkly and held Rachel’s hand when she tried to get out of bed. “You’re not going anywhere until I have some answers. Someone just tried to kill me. I think I deserve those answers, don’t you?”

  Not only did Kyle’s body and head hurt, but his heart ached because Rachel didn’t trust him. They’d made love for hours in that motel room, and he was in her bed now. She’d fussed and worried over him, cared for him, and she still didn’t trust him. “Tell me about Shane. The whole story, and we’ll work from there.”

  Rachel’s reluctant sketch left Kyle with an ugly deduction. “And you think those are his high heels—the ones you sent Moses to deliver? Do you know what that means?”

  Her bare shoulder gleamed as she shrugged. “That he’s a cross-dresser with definite tastes. Mallory probably catered to him, because she loved him at first, and later, well, maybe she felt sorry for him. For his part, he probably worried that she’d expose and therefore ruin him. I think he seduced her with things like that poetry book and wedding ring—who knows what happened there—and he had a nice safe place to come for whatever games they played.”

  Tears glittered in her eyes as she looked at Kyle. “I’m so sorry you were hurt—that your place was burned, and that the cars you loved and brought back to life are gone.”

  His inventory of classic cars wouldn’t be easy to replace, but Kyle had built his business from the ground up and he knew the route to travel. Because Rachel looked like she’d been dragged through hell, Kyle pushed down his frustration and hurt. “Come over here, lady. That’s enough talking.”

  But Rachel shook her head. “No, it isn’t. You were probably hurt because I’ve been pushing and asking a lot of questions, trying to get that list of men who saw Mallory, who might have hurt her. You deserve to know everything, Kyle.”

  He held her hand, the smooth, soft skin over the fragile bones, and from her expression knew that she was going inside herself to another time, recalling a darkness that she’d opened to few people. Rachel slid from the bed, and dressed slowly. In a black tank top and jeans, her midriff was a pale strip as she moved to open the plantation blinds. She looked out the window at the buildings in the distance; they seemed to be stacked against the Pacific Ocean. “Mallory came to see me in New York, because I called her. You didn’t hear all of the tape. Maybe you should.”

  She turned, a dark shapely silhouette with horizontal strips of bright sunlight behind her. “Are you up to this, Kyle? It isn’t pretty.”

  Despite the pain in his ribs and head, Kyle eased to sit upright. Whatever Rachel had to say, she was taking her time framing the right words to serve him. “Sure.”

  A half hour later, Kyle shook his head. Rachel sat across the table from him, looking down at the untouched slice of chocolate cake. Her hand shook as she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, her face pale in the kitchen’s afternoon sunlight.

  Neither of them were hungry, but it seemed to give Rachel something ordinary to do, in an unusual time, settling her somewhat.

  Echoes of Mallory’s taped voice ricocheted in the tiny room: “You even come close to my family, and I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you! You better not have raped Rachel, you bastard—”

  Rachel wrapped her arms around her body and rocked on her chair. “That’s what you didn’t hear, why I think there’s a connection to the man who attacked me. Now here’s the rest—”

  Kyle tried to fit Mallory’s threat into the full story Rachel unwrapped slowly as she meticulously cut her slice of cake into tiny pieces. “At first, I thought it was some guys, peeved that I’d won a few silly little games of eight ball…. Whoever intended to rape me—couldn’t perform. So I guess Mallory’s stick pins did their job, huh?” she asked shakily as her fingers dug into her arms.

  Kyle took a sip of the burning hot coffee, the pieces of the puzzle that was Rachel, coming together painfully. All the pieces fit—the way Rachel went after those punks on the beach, pitting herself against them, the first few times he’d moved too close, that fear in her eyes, the way her body had stiffened. He saw her alone, shivering in the park, hurrying to put on her clothes, hugging the tomcat to her as her only friend—and then Mallory, livid that whoever had used her was now moving on to hurt her family….

  “She came to you—”

  “I couldn’t tell Mom or Jada. I just couldn’t.”

  Kyle heard something creak and he’d bent the fork in his hand. He tossed it onto the table. “And the boyfriend, the guy you were living with? What happened there?”

  Rachel shook her head and the sunlight caught on the tendrils around her face. “Mark couldn’t take it. I couldn’t bear for him to touch me. I didn’t want to go out at night any more. I added extra locks to the apartment…it was like a fortress—”

  She laughed shakily, the kind of empty sound brought on by a nervous reaction. “I started wearing a lot of clothing, even in the heat—protection, I guess. The only ti
me I felt safe was when I came back to Neptune’s Landing. Funny isn’t it? That I would feel safe here, when Mallory was in such pain?”

  The flat of her hand hit the table and she stood, hurriedly cleaning the table, the dishes clattering into the sink. “I owe her. Mallory came to me when I needed her, and all that time, I never knew what she was going through—that she had a daughter. I don’t know why she gave me this place anyway, challenged me to get it up and running—”

  “Maybe I do….” Kyle said softly.

  Rachel leaned her hips back against the countertop, crossed her arms and rocked slightly. “Why?”

  She looked as if she’d been torn in pieces. Kyle’s instincts were to hold her, but just then keys rattled in the door’s locks. The door opened and Jada flounced into the living room. She tossed a variety of sacks on the couch. “Clothes for Kyle, just like you said, Rache. Socks, jeans, undershorts, and shirts,” she explained curtly. “At least if I don’t have a man, I can shop for one.”

  Behind her, Moses moved more slowly, locking the door carefully behind him. He came to the kitchen, tossed the keys on the table and sat down, hauling the two-layer cake to him. Rachel dug in a drawer and handed him a fork. “Dig in.”

  “Your sister is in a bad mood,” Moses muttered warily.

  Jada came into the kitchen, pulled out a drawer and got a fork, sitting down in the chair Rachel had vacated. She reached for the cake platter, started to pull it toward her but Moses held it tight. “I deserve this.”

  “Listen, you big wall of muscle with gorgeous hair, I need it more.” Jada looked from Rachel to Kyle and back again. “You’re both too quiet…. What’s going on?”

  “Things.” Rachel shrugged and frowned slightly at Kyle. He caught the meaning—Don’t tell my sister about the attack….

  “You were right about Shane,” Jada stated fiercely around a huge mouthful of cake. “I ran down your errand boy here and found out he had a delivery to make—he asked me where Shane lived. So I took those super heels from him…delivered them to Shane, and he lost it. He’s got some kind of burn-looking stuff on his throat and he laid into me so hard about the shoes that hey—what’s that about methinks the rat protests too much? Anyway, I told him that I thought he’d look really sharp wearing a garter belt and fishnet stockings, maybe a bustier with those heels. He went nutso. Yelled at me…called me a ‘ditsy airhead.’ I was ready to go for him—because how many times have I scrubbed out his toilet bowls anyway? Then Muscles here, must have heard me yelling back, because he came into the house and asked if there was any problem.”