Killing Bliss

by EC Sheedy

  "Was married. For six years," he added, then paused. "She died... over a year ago now."

  "Oh." Death again. Death everywhere. But not at Star Lake. Not yet. "I'm sorry. That must have been tough."

  "Beyond tough." He opened his eyes, stared straight ahead. "I miss her."

  Addy knew about missing people you loved, knew the raw soreness of it, and couldn't think of a thing to say.

  "She was a lawyer. A good one," he added.

  "Any kids?"

  The silence lasted so long Addy grew uncomfortable. She'd asked more questions in the last five minutes than in the past five years, and they were all the wrong ones.

  "No, no kids. When Dana miscarried a second time, the doctors said trying again wouldn't be smart—or safe."

  She said nothing, decided to firmly reel in her curiosity before Cade developed some of his own.

  He shifted away from the tree, looped his arms around his knees, and looked across the lake. The position put her slightly behind him, and she could see the tension in his neck, the rigid set of his shoulders. "Dana had a child, though. She told me about him after her second miscarriage."

  A breeze, warm and mellow, suddenly ruffled the calm water, lifted to chatter among the leaves above their heads. When it blew at Cade's dark hair and set it across his forehead, he left it there, seemingly transfixed by either the lake or what was going on in his head. Addy waited.

  "She was a kid when she had him, barely seventeen, so her parents, and Dana—she never did blame anyone but herself—thought it best he be adopted."

  "A boy then?" Addy was riveted, and somewhat stunned he was letting go of something so personal.

  He nodded. "William. She didn't tell me about him until after the second miscarriage. He would have been fourteen then." Cade picked up a leaf from the grass beside the quilt, rubbed it between his thumb and index finger. "After that, she was determined to find him." The leaf tore apart in his hand, but he didn't appear to notice. "She only wanted to see him, she said, not make trouble for him."

  "What happened?"

  "We located the adoptive parents easily enough, but we were too late. The boy was gone." He tossed the damaged leaf and turned to look at her. "Turns out he'd run off eight months before—and it wasn't the first time—and it didn't look as if mom and dad had put a hell of a lot of effort into finding him. According to them, he'd been nothing but trouble, and they were leaving him to the 'proper authorities.'" He shook his head. "I never did understand what they meant by that, or who exactly the 'proper' authorities were. Not that it mattered. The bottom line was they'd written him off."

  "I guess adoptive parents don't come with any guarantees." Or foster parents.

  "Dana was sick with guilt," he went on. "Said she should never have given him up, should have told me sooner." He shook his head. "Should have, should have... the most overworked words in the English language."

  Addy agreed with that; her whole life was one long should-have.

  "I promised her I'd find her son, that we'd make things right for him." He leaned back against the tree, but this time he didn't look relaxed. His jaw was hard-set, his mouth a thin seam. "Hell, it's what I did... find people."

  "And did you? Find him?"

  "Yeah. Two years later. A month before Dana's diagnosis—and two weeks after he'd died from head injuries sustained in a car crash. His blood alcohol level was off the charts. He was barely sixteen. If I'd have known what she was faced with—the cancer—I'd never have told her. I'd have—"

  "Let her go on hoping?"

  "That hope might have kept her alive."

  "Did she see it that way? Blame you?"

  "No. When she was diagnosed, she said maybe there was some kind of cosmic plan after all, because now that she knew William was on the other side, she had something to look forward to."

  "She sounds very... cool, and smart."

  He slanted her a gaze. "She was both those things, and losing her damn near killed me."

  "But it didn't." Addy remembered her mom, the black aching hole her death punctured in her nine-year-old heart. "And you did the right thing. She trusted you, you had to tell her the truth."

  He met her gaze, his own switching from brooding to speculative, but he didn't say anything, which made her nerves jump.

  He probably saw right through her. After all, who the hell was she to talk about truth when her whole life was a lie? A lie designed to keep her safe, keep her from answering for her spinelessness that long-ago night. Gus said run, so she'd ran, then she'd erected an I-was-only-following-orders excuse to survive the guilt. She'd told herself she'd had no choice; she had to run to protect Gus and Beauty. She'd made a terrible mistake, been as ignorant of right and wrong as she was about words in a book.

  "Are those things important to you, Addy. Trust? Truth?" He asked the question so quietly, it was almost a whisper.

  She opened her mouth, closed it, unable to form an answer to a question she'd slammed into as if she were a semi with bad brakes. It would help if he quit looking at her with those policeman eyes of his, eyes that so easily pierced the fog of denial she'd hidden behind for years.

  "Yes," she finally said, feeling dizzy, scared, and determined all at once, and knowing she couldn't lie anymore—didn't want to lie. Her secret, like a caged lion, was suddenly wild at the gate of her mind. She added, "They didn't used to be, but they are now."

  * * *

  Beauty made her decision—Diva jeans, the new sneakers she'd bought in the local Wal-Mart, and a big white shirt, perfect for driving. Pulling her hair back, she scrunched it together with a clip, then moved closer to the mirror to smooth the deep red lipstick away from the corners of her mouth. That done, she stood back.

  God, she looked more like Dianna Lintz than she had in years. She studied herself, tried to find that vain, silly, so-very-young girl, with her big dreams and even bigger bra size.

  "Too many men, idiot girl. Way too many men."

  She sighed noisily, making the sound more a snort than a murmur of nostalgia, because she knew damn well what had happened to that girl. She'd grown into a silly, vain woman with no dreams—and with an even bigger bra size.

  Would Gus notice the change? Would he be disappointed in her... what she hadn't done with her life?

  Would he hate her for being a hooker? Like her mother, a mother she hadn't called in years because she was too ashamed of what she'd said back then, and of what she was now.

  Damn, thinking of her mom always made her cry. What a snot she'd been...

  She brushed away the tears, her thoughts going back to Gus. Always Gus. And what would happen when they saw each other again.

  She shuddered and clenched her eyes tightly closed.

  He'd take her face in his hands, scrutinize it, see every three-hundred-dollar trick she'd ever laid drawn there as if by a permanent black felt pen—and she was powerless to erase them. For better or worse, she was what she was, and there was no turning back the clock.

  She wondered how he'd changed, what time had taken from him, or given. Would the heat between them still burn, be as raw and wild now as it was then?

  His mouth blistering hers, his fingers clutching fistfuls of her hair, his breath blowing over her neck like a wild, hot wind...

  Of all the men she'd been with, most of them rich and powerful, many potently attractive, none had made her heart stop, ignited her body the way Gus did.

  She closed her eyes, rolled her head to ease the tightness binding at the base of her neck. Back then she'd been so smart-mouthed, so ridiculously sure of the power in her face and body—and so damned scared. Gus didn't know what being scared meant. At seventeen, darkly handsome, he had the mesmerizing charm and unshakable confidence of a warrior god.

  "Crap." She stalked away from the mirror.

  Christ, if this was the kind of thinking inspired by wearing jeans and sneakers, she'd best get back to silks and satins ASAP.

  She shook her head. Hell, by now Gus wa
s probably as bald as a fridge door, had a matched set of love handles, and a criminal record of biblical proportions.

  Maybe he had told Addy "he couldn't wait to see her again," but that didn't mean squat. He might have been a warrior god, but he'd still walked out on her. A smart woman would remember that, remind herself he wouldn't be coming to see her now if it weren't for Bliss.

  She took some calming breaths and went back to the bed to finish packing her bag.

  She'd decided to head for Seattle, wait for Gus there, and thanks to her original erratic efforts to lose Bliss, she had a lot of time to make up.

  Now, losing him was the last thing she wanted to do. But she had no doubt he'd pick up her tail the minute she got in her car.

  She scanned the luxurious suite one more time, closed her bag, looped her tote over her shoulder, and headed for the door.

  When she opened it, Bliss was on the other side.

  The hotel hall was deserted.

  And her gun wasn't in her hand.

  "Hey, baby," he said, shoving her back into the room and closing the door. He looked at her bag. "We going somewhere?"

  Cold, hot, her heart banging a fear drum in her chest, she stepped back, away from him. "How did you—"

  "Get in here?" he finished for her, while he glanced around the posh room. "No sweat. Just waited for the right moment. There's always a right moment" He set his sharp, cold eyes on her. "I kept thinking about you all alone"—he jerked his head—"in that king-sized bed you got there. Thought you could use some company."

  "That'd be a half-million-dollar fuck, Bliss." She forced her gaze to his, willed herself to "keep it together" like Gus wanted her to, and casually put her tote at hand level on the gilded oval table against the wall in the entryway, then leaned against it and crossed her arms. Her voice was dead level when she said, "Because you touch me and Gus hears about it, instead of rich man, you'll be a dead man. And that sticky dick of yours will be maggot food within a week."

  He sneered, turned his back to her, and walked across the room to look out the window, giving her the moment she needed. "Relax, Mizz Fallon West" He exaggerated the false name, turned to face her, and dropped the smile. "Even your pussy isn't sweet enough for me to risk the meet with my old buddy Gus. That motherfucker—or should I say mother-killer—and I have a score to settle."

  "Gus didn't kill anyone."

  He snorted. "True blue to the end, huh? Gus's very own whore." He curled his lip. "Like you know shit about Gus Vanelleto." He strode toward her, surveyed her boldly, and suddenly grabbed her breast "And why the hell would I pay for something I already had for nothing?" He gave her breast a painful twist looked down at her, and abruptly the expression in his eyes, until then snide and purposeful, shifted to a darker, deeper emotion, his breath quickened.

  Beauty knew the signs...

  "Then again..." He grabbed her by the back of the neck, pulled her face to his.

  She tasted the bile of her own vomit in her mouth, swallowed it—and rammed her gun hard against his ribs.

  He let go of her, lifted his hands in the air. "Easy, baby. Take it easy. You know you're not going to shoot that thing." He dropped his hands, stuffed them in the pockets of his slacks.

  "That a risk you want to take?" she said, "Get back, and stay back."

  "Sure. Anything you say."

  "If that was true, Bliss, I'd tell you to drop dead and my troubles would be over."

  He laughed, stepped away from her, and sat on the edge of the bed. "I didn't come here to fuck you, baby. I came to make a deal."

  "Yeah? It didn't look that way to me." With five or six feet between them, Beauty breathed easier even as she tightened her grip on the gun. "And we've already made our deal. You get money. You leave—preferably this planet. Never to be seen again, like you promised." If he thought for a second she believed that last part, he deserved the most-brain-dead-of-the-century award.

  He rubbed behind his ear, relaxed as hell. "And I intend to do that, but I figure it'd be easier if we meet where we're going to end up. Much as I admire your tight ass, following it down the highway is a waste of my time. Plus I've got a guy to meet. So, you name the place, I meet you there." He shrugged. "No more traffic tag, and you can stop checking the rearview mirror hoping I've been taken out by a bus. How about it?"

  Beauty's mind raced. She could take off. Disappear like she had fifteen years ago. Hell, she'd done it once. She could do it again. Then when things were clear, safe, she'd call Addy and force her to tell her where Gus was.

  And Bliss would walk, get the chance to live out his miserable existence. Is that what you want?

  Her mind at warp speed, her stomach a stew of emotion, she settled her expression to a careful blank. If he even thought she'd bolt...

  "I hope you're not dumb enough to think this new arrangement is your ticket to pass Go and collect two hundred dollars." He tugged an earlobe, and for the first time Beauty noticed he wore a gold hoop. He turned it, adding with one of his smarmy smiles, "Because you should know, I've already connected with that roommate of yours. Lisa, isn't it? Nice little piece. Be some real fun if things don't work out with us—or you try to screw me over. I'd go in deep with her, that's for sure, really take my time." His eyes narrowed. "Not that I'd let her live to tell the tale." He gave her a cold look. "Made that mistake with you. I won't make it again."

  "Jesus, she's a kid. Barely sixteen. She has nothing to do with any of this."

  "She's a two-bit hooker. No great loss."

  Beauty's mind went into sharp focus. "Just when I think you can't get any lower, any slimier, you surprise me." She lifted the gun. "I should kill you now and be done with it."

  "Probably should. Probably would, if we were in a nice dark alley where you could make a run for it. But here"—he waved a hand around the posh suite and shook his head—"I don't think so. Wouldn't be smart. Once I was past the dragon at the gate, I made sure a few people saw me coming in here. Even scheduled room service and promised a big tip for prompt delivery." He stopped, looked at his watch. "Should be arriving any time now."

  Beauty gaped at him; it wasn't just her face that was blank, it was her useless brain.

  Hell, she could hear a cart coming down the hall.

  The hand holding the gun shook with a white-hot anger and frustration. He'd set her up.

  She stuffed the gun in her tote, picked up her bag, and opened the door. Any thoughts of running, of leaving Frank Bliss alive for any longer than she had to, were gone. "Enjoy your meal, Bliss. I only wish it was your last. I'll see you at the Evenwood in Seattle."

  "Seattle," he repeated. "I should have guessed."

  "Room service?" The server said brightly.

  "Only if you're the fumigation crew," she said as she strode out.

  Two seconds later, she punched the elevator button, her mind definitely made up. No more confusion. She couldn't wait to hit the road.

  The day after tomorrow, if she put in some long driving hours, she'd be in Seattle, less than three hours from Star Lake. When she got there, she'd call Addy, then settle in to wait for Gus—to come and take care of Bliss.

  But this time she wasn't going to be left out of the action. This time she'd watch Gus kill the son of the bitch.

  She came near to smiling at her apt turn of phrase, but couldn't dredge one up. Instead, she walked grimly out the front door of the hotel. God, she needed a drink.

  * * *

  Bliss sauntered out of the hotel, his stomach full, his head clear, and a plan in place. Hell, he'd even managed to catch a Mariner's game before he left He spit out the toothpick he'd lodged in the corner of his mouth, and walked down the street, on top of the goddamn world.

  He had Beauty exactly where he wanted her; he had them all where he wanted them.

  And a half-million on the come.

  Whistling, he stepped into a phone booth, placed the call collect.

  "Hello."

  "Wayne?" He knew Grover was shitting h
is pants hearing his voice on his home phone. He heard a quick intake of breath.

  "You really should call the office, Jimmy."

  "Gotta hand it to you, Wayne baby, you're cool as glass when you have to be." He paused, enjoying himself. "Is savage Sandra hanging around?"

  He got his answer when Grover, his tone business-formal, said, "What can I do for you, Jim?"

  "I've got some instructions for you," he said. "First, get me an airline ticket on the next flight out of Sacramento and into Sea-Tac. Pick me up at the airport and bring the money. When everything's set, call me at this number." He lifted the matchbook he'd taken from his motel to the streetlight and reeled off the number. "Don't fuck up, Grover."

  Before Grover got started on the questions, or the poor-me whines, or about how he didn't have any money—blah, blah, blah—Bliss hung up. He didn't have time for that crap.

  He walked the last block to his rental car. Christ, Wayne Grover was a stupid mush-for-balls bastard.

  But handy. He smiled, opened the car door.

  Kind of like having your very own ATM.

  Chapter 14

  Addy circled her living room. Again and again. Her own words, what she'd said to Cade earlier today—about trust and truth—sticking in her brain like a pair of those long, old-fashioned hatpins.

  After saying them, she'd barely opened her mouth again, because she couldn't come up with anything better to say, or shake the feeling that if she did the wrong thing again, ignored those words, she'd... die, at least inside, no matter how hard she tried to stay safe in her cozy and contained world.

  She had to tell the truth. Had to. Which meant trusting someone. Her instincts shouted it should be Cade. Trouble was, she wasn't sure which instincts were yelling loudest, the ones she'd honed in the fine art of character assessment or the ones he'd managed to drench in hormones. About to take the biggest risk of her life, she hated to think her decision was based more on her simmering sex drive—and a pair of sexy green eyes—rather than cold, clear logic.