78 Keys

by Kristin Marra

  “Whoa, uh, thanks for that.” She shook her head and reached for her wine. “I only want a few sips, given all the pain meds in my body.”

  “Oh darn, I completely forgot about that. Sorry.” I was embarrassed by my lack of thoughtfulness. “Let me get you some juice, or tea. Soda? How about water?”

  We both stood at the same time. She turned and headed to the kitchen. “No worries. I’ll help myself.” She vanished from the room in double time. I remained by the couch feeling dopey.

  “Whoa!” I heard her yell from the kitchen. I rushed in to see what had impressed her. “You’re a cook?” She gazed at my well-used and amply supplied kitchen.

  “Yeah, I guess I am. Sometimes. I mean, I love doing it, but I’m often too lazy to go through the paces.” I stepped close behind her and surveyed the kitchen too. “Besides my library, this is the room where I spend the most time.” She leaned back into me as if it were as natural as relaxing into a chair. It was a satisfying and terrifying sensation. I didn’t know what to do with my shaking hands, so I rested them on her waist.

  “Why do I feel so comfortable with you, Dev? When you first came to the hospital room last night, you felt so, I don’t know, so right. You’re almost like a pleasant déjà vu. Like I’ve known you before. Is it just me?”

  She had her head against my cheek. My mouth was a few inches from her ear. “No, it’s not just you. I’m compelled to be here. With you. The reasons are complicated, but there’s no other place for me to be but right here.” I let my arms encircle her, and I held her close for a few luscious quiet minutes.

  Beep, beep, beep. The cooking timer interrupted the moment of magic.

  “Is the food ready?” She pushed away from me. She walked to the stove, grabbed a hot pad, and lifted the lid on the pan.

  My body felt chilled where hers had just touched it. Like a comforting blanket torn off me in the middle of a freezing night. “Let’s see if there are any veggies in the freezer. I’ll heat them up, and by the time they’re ready, the steak will be done. Oh, gosh, I hope you eat meat.”

  “I eat meat. Couldn’t be a combative bitch attorney without chomping on flesh once in a while.” She wasn’t looking at me. She was embarrassed by having leaned into me.

  “Have a seat. I’ll serve the meal in a few minutes.” I dug around the freezer. “Peas okay with your meat and potatoes?” I swung around to find her looking at my backside. She was definitely feeling better.

  She looked away and nodded. “I’m actually hungry. I haven’t had a real meal in two days, or a decent night’s sleep.”

  “We’ll fix all that shortly,” I said.

  “Hmm.” Her reply said more than any words could have.

  Laura’s splint inhibited her use of a knife, so I had the task of cutting her meat into bite-sized bits.

  “Here, let me give you the first bite,” I said and raised a bite of meat to her lips. She wrapped her lips around the food and took it from the fork while never removing her gaze from my eyes. While she chewed, she closed her eyes and concentrated.

  She swallowed. “That is astounding. So tender, succulent, and the flavor is perfect. What is it?”

  “One of my mom’s frugal dishes, flank steak supreme. Sounds a little low rent, but it fulfills all kinds of comfort food needs, doesn’t it? And wait until you taste the potato with it. It’s a mechaieh.”

  “A what?” She was proceeding to tuck into the rest of her food.

  “Mechaieh. Rhymes with messiah. It means a great joy or pleasure. All my mom’s dishes are mechaiehs.”

  Laura flashed a glance at me. “I’m beginning to think my being here with you is my mechaieh.” We both offered shy smiles over that comment.

  I drenched her baked potato in sour cream and butter according to her directions. Then I fixed my plate, grabbed a small canister, and shook yellow flakes over my food. Laura watched, looking appalled as more flakes covered my food like snow coating a meadow.

  “What in the world are you doing to your delectable plate of food?” she said.

  “Brewer’s yeast. It’s healthy for my system. Among other benefits, I get selenium and chromium, plus a host of B vitamins. And, to tell the truth, I’ve become addicted to the taste. It’s like how salt is for some people. They have to have it on everything. I’m that way about brewer’s yeast.” I gave an extra shake of the yellow flakes to prove my point.

  She eyed my now yellow food. “Well, good for you. Keep it away from my plate.”

  We ate in companionable silence until I noticed she was struggling to cut the hardened skin on her potato. “I need to have some of this,” she said. “It’s my favorite part.”

  “Here, I’ll help.” I reached over and used her fork and knife to cut the skin. Again, I put a bite into her mouth. This time a dab of sour cream remained on her lip. I didn’t think, hesitate, or wring my hands. I just leaned in and licked that tiny bit of sour cream from her lip. “I can be your napkin too,” I whispered.

  Laura sighed as if something perfect had happened. Then she came to her senses, I supposed. “What are we doing?” she asked while pulling her head back. “Is this even smart? Someone is trying to kill me, and I’m here playing kissy licky face. I should be calling the police.”

  That alarmed me. “No, not the police. We can’t trust them, not in this situation. First, we eat and rest. Then we make a plan.”

  “What plan? And as for resting, even though I have a battered body, the last thing on my mind is rest, especially with you around. What is this between us, anyway?”

  “I’m not really sure I can explain it. I just know that it’s almost irresistible for me. It’s nothing I’ve experienced before. Do you feel it too?” I touched Laura’s face, gently stroking the skin around the bandage covering the cut Tom Dwight had monstrously delivered.

  Laura leaned into my hand. “Yes, but the last time I felt this kind of attraction, I was young, and I was badly burned by Elizabeth. I haven’t felt truly attracted to anyone since. So this isn’t normal for me. And now my face has been carved up by an animal.” Welling tears made her eyes change to a deeper brown than I’d seen before.

  “Oh, sweetheart, your lovely face will heal. You’re only going to get more beautiful than you already are. Here, let me show you what I see.” I held Laura’s chin, thumbed away the tears, and looked into her eyes. We were lost in the electric moment. I think she needed to gain some authority in the situation. She stood so that she was looking down at me.

  Laura ran her hand behind my neck and entangled it in my hair. She gripped my curls and pulled my head back. “Let’s see what this is about.” She bent and captured my mouth with hers. This kiss was not tentative. It was strong, sure. I felt like she was staking claim on me.

  All my senses became attuned to the kiss. The fragrance of Laura’s skin. The wild feel of her fingers knotting my hair. My lips were open and ready when her tongue briefly explored my mouth. I gasped and moaned when she broke the kiss.

  “I assume you have a bedroom in this castle,” Laura said into my ear.

  “Are you sure about this?” I knew I was sure, but Laura was injured and in danger.

  “If I don’t survive this fiasco, I’ll be really pissed off that I didn’t make love one last time before leaving the world. So, yes, Dev, I’m sure.”

  I stood without a word, took Laura’s hand, and led her up the short flight of stairs that led to the master bedroom. When we reached my expansive, windowed bedroom, Laura took a few seconds to note the king-sized bed with books piled haphazardly on both bedside tables.

  “When the weather is clear, this view is better than downstairs. Right now, I’m glad we’re fogged in because I want no distractions,” I said.

  “No distractions,” she said as she turned to me.

  Laura trembled as I pushed my hands under her shirt and smoothed her skin. We both knew, in her injured state, that most of the effort would be mine. But it wasn’t an effort. It would be an unmitigated pleasure.


  I worked her hoodie carefully over her breasts, trying not to jar her wrist. My center of need was throbbing between my legs. Abundant soaking below signaled my body was slipping out of control. Whatever I did to her, I would revel in it. I hoped she felt the same.

  As if reading my mind, she gasped and said, “I want everything you can give me. All the moans. All the heat. All the wet. I want all of it.” Her voice had a swooning quality.

  I licked between Laura’s breasts. “You have no bra. Perfect.”

  “I…I couldn’t…get one on…one-handed.”

  “Then there is one tiny blessing from your fracture. And I’ll be sure to capitalize on it.” I covered Laura’s breast with my entire mouth and gently sucked, gauging the responsiveness of her breasts.

  Laura groaned and pulled my head tighter to her breast. Good start, I thought.

  “Let me take your shirt all the way off,” I said.

  “Take anything…anything you want. I don’t want to stop. I can’t.” When she said that, I blessed the aphrodisiac effect of danger. Maybe Fitch was on to something with the torture and whip thing.

  Taking care not to jar Laura’s injuries, I worked her hoodie completely off and threw it aside. I had to stand there and look at her. “You’re so stunning. I don’t want to take my mouth off you, never mind my eyes.”

  “Then don’t. I need the bed. Now.” She was breathing as if fevered.

  “Can you do this? Will I hurt you?” I returned my mouth to her taut nipple, not really caring what she answered.

  Her voice caught at every breath. “Oh…parts of me will hurt worse if you don’t take care of me now. Please.”

  “Here, sit on the bed.” I sat Laura on the end of the huge bed and knelt in front of her. “If you need to stop, tell me. Okay?”

  “That won’t happen. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life as being here right now.” Laura looked into my eyes. We were at sea with no possibility for rescue. And it was okay. “Take me whenever, however you like,” she said.

  “I’d like you a million different ways. Lie down.” I pulled off my shirt and was gratified at her nod of approval. Then I removed my pants and underpants at the same time.

  Laura pushed herself completely onto the bed and rested her head on the pillow. I straddled her. “Lift and I’ll remove your pants.” I worked the sweats over her hips and gasped when I caught sight of Laura’s lacy silk briefs. “These defy imagination.”

  “That’s the point,” Laura said. Her voice was raspy with desire.

  She twitched when she felt my hands on her thighs. I spread her legs and took in the sight of her wetness and her heady aroma. Judging from the pulsing between my own legs, I knew I was as aroused as her.

  I couldn’t prolong the moment. My need to touch Laura Bishop had reached emergency status. I placed my fingers into her wet center and moved them up and down in her slick folds, landing on her clit for a few strokes. Without giving her a warning, I entered her with two fingers. Another solid hot push in, then out, in again. Over and over.

  The blood rushing in my ears coupled with the extreme arousal between my legs almost caused me to miss the sound of Laura’s labored breath. Her pelvis rose to meet each of my pushes.

  I looked at her ecstatic face and noticed the cut on her neck. It kept her from looking down at me. Everything I did at that end of her body would be a surprise. I bent and circled her clit with my tongue. She cried out in grateful pleasure. I was aware of the tremors pulsating from her center as I alternately sucked and licked. My fingers thrust again and again into Laura’s core.

  She was gripping the bedspread with her good hand. Her body quaked, having lost its compass. Within a few minutes, her gathering release found purchase and tossed her into oblivion, over and over. Laura screamed. She was heedless of how she sounded. And when it was over, tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.

  When I removed my fingers from inside, Laura gasped and whimpered, wanting to stay connected a little longer.

  “Don’t worry. I can go back there soon,” I said as I blanketed Laura with my body. I covered her face with kisses ending with a deep, moist kiss on her mouth. The fragrance of her juices sent another swell of frenzy through both of us.

  I pressed my swollen sex on her thigh and glided over her. I was so wet. Her leg was slick in seconds. Laura’s broken wrist rested on the bed, but her good hand searched between our drenched bodies looking to possess me. Once she touched my engorged clit, it took only a few strokes. I tumbled into my own abyss of pleasure, moaning from deep within.

  We lay silent, shuddering together for several minutes before Laura could speak.

  “How…what happened? I’ve never been so wild, so out of control. Who are you, Dev?” More tears gathered, and Laura fought sobbing.

  “Shh. Please don’t. I won’t go anywhere. We’ll get through everything. Together. This was meant to be. We are bashert.” I nuzzled my head on Laura’s shoulder.

  “What does that mean?” Before I could explain, exhaustion overwhelmed her. The stress, pain medication, and rocking orgasm took their inevitable toll. “Oh, Dev, I’m so so tired. I think I need to sleep now.”

  “Of course. You should sleep. I’ll hold you until you drift off. Then I’ll make some calls downstairs. Okay?”

  Laura couldn’t muster a reply. We worked ourselves under the covers. I adjusted myself to Laura’s side and pulled her close. After that, she was lost to sleep. I didn’t get to explain that bashert meant destiny.

  *

  I detested tearing myself away from Laura after our lovemaking. The silken texture of her hair in my fingers, her gentle sleep breath, and the intoxicating smell of sex fought to override the call of my responsibilities. But I had to talk to Fitch. When Laura was completely asleep, I extricated myself from her exquisite body. I found my robe and went down to my study. I’d left my cell phone in the bedroom, so I used my landline to make the call.

  Fitch answered her phone after one ring.

  “Damn, Rosten, where have you been? I’ve got information that isn’t meant to ferment in a barrel until it’s ready to drink.”

  “Sorry, I was, uh, distracted.”

  “I’ll bet. I’ve traced Laura Bishop’s spending habits to every high-end lingerie outfit on the Internet.”

  “You didn’t.” Fitch remained silent. “Okay, you did.”

  “From the smoky sound of your voice, you are the beneficiary of Bishop’s wanton spending. Was she wearing any vinyl?”

  “Don’t start, Fitch. She’s my fantasy, not yours.” I updated Fitch on the Tom Dwight incident on the ferry. Then I asked what she had learned in her research.

  I heard the clicking of a keyboard and pictured Fitch in her technology room that looked like the lair of a mad scientist. All it lacked were bubbling beakers connected by tubes. Then I remembered that Fitch really was a mad scientist.

  “Who do you want me to start with? The Stratton cabal is pretty disturbing. I’ve got little on Stratton, of course, but there’s a bit on Jerry Greenfield and Tom Dwight.”

  “What about Laura? Did you find anything else about her besides her spending habits?” I was annoyed with Fitch for prying into Laura’s life, but I had asked her to do it.

  “I think Bishop is pretty clean. She just slept with the wrong person. That was the story of my life until I took full control, if you catch my drift.”

  “I do and let’s move on. Tell me about Tom Dwight.”

  “He is one scary dude. Grew up in Bumfuck, Texas, and managed to get in all kinds of juvie trouble. His parents dumped him on his uncle, Allen Dwight, who raised him in a white supremacist environment. The kid was burning crosses before we learned to shave our legs. Even Texas authorities were appalled and took little Tommy away from his uncle by age fifteen. Foster homes until eighteen, then Dwight disappears from public record for a while.

  “It took a bit of digging on my part, but he finally resurfaced as a mercenary soldier. He did
dirty work for a few nasty governments in Central and South America. Then he landed a job as a squad leader for Mohawk Security. That was about fifteen years ago. During that time he started writing religious tracts for a fundamental Christian outfit sponsored by Jerry Greenfield. Apparently, Tom Dwight found God, and Jerry Greenfield found Dwight. From then until now, he’s been Greenfield’s lackey and probably hatchet man. He’s dangerous, Dev. He thinks Jesus is on his side because Greenfield is on his side.”

  “Huh. It just goes to show ‘You can educate a fool but you can’t make him think.’”

  “Isn’t that the truth? Is that one of your Talmud sayings?”

  “Why should I think of something original when I’ve got Talmud to quote? Anything more about Elizabeth Stratton?”

  “Stratton? No. I can’t find a human interest word on her, except what’s in an approved bio. Her life remains an outline on a clean white slate.”

  “Tell me about Greenfield.”

  “It’s kind of the same story as Stratton: bland. Greenfield grew up in San Diego. Played soccer in high school. Decent grades got him into Pepperdine. He did well enough. Joined a fraternity and a few academic clubs. He earned a bachelor’s in religious something or other, graduated, and went to a Baptist seminary in Oklahoma. That’s where he apparently learned his phony Southern accent. But it’s strange. In fact, it’s strange about both characters, Stratton and Greenfield.”

  “At this point, nothing will surprise me about those two. Keep going,” I said.

  “Both the bios check out. School grades are perfectly submitted by all their teachers. Records show their sports scores. But there’s no color.”

  “No color?”

  “These are pretty controversial folks. You’d think there would be some people from their early years who remembered them and were itching to be interviewed. The press loves to dig into the flotsam of people’s lives and print it for more prurient humans like me. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, of human interest about these two. Even a look on the Internet maps for their childhood homes comes up with vacant lots. The houses were demolished within the last twenty years.