by Jenna Rae
Lola was asleep by the time Del came out, and Del didn’t examine her relief over this too closely. She folded the rough bedspread over Lola, careful not to wake her, careful not to touch her.
Del left a note for Lola and jogged a couple of miles to South San Francisco, then rented a car and drove to a discount store. They would need a lot of supplies, and she went over her list with exhaustive care. Everything from medical supplies to ammunition to food to clothes. A laptop, backpacks, a duffel bag. She watched the charges add up and slid her credit card across the counter with a rueful smile.
She drove back, rubbing her eyes at a stoplight. She’d move Lola to a different hotel every night or two. Phan would go along with that. While he and Dominguez ran the official investigation, she would run her own. She’d set a trap for him. She’d draw him out and kill him. The fog in her head dissipated as she focused on this. She could see it as clearly as any movie, and she could feel her weapon, solid and steady in her hand. She could feel how she would regulate her breathing and focus her eyes and plant her feet wide apart.
She finally had a mental picture of him, though she knew it was hardly accurate. He looked like a cartoon of a bad guy: long lanky hair, comically large black glasses, a dark blue shirt and jeans, a leering grin on his twisted face, creeping toward what he thought was Lola. Del could see herself draw her weapon and look straight into his eyes. She wanted him to see her. She wanted him to know that he was going to die. Would he try to negotiate? Would he try to beg or bargain or trick her? She hoped so. She would like the chance to talk with him a little but recognized that this was unlikely. When the time came, she would end it. She was a good shot. It would only take one bullet.
I won’t need a gun. She forced her fisted hands back on to the steering wheel. Killing him would be easy. She only had to picture three things: Lola’s scared face, Lola’s blood, and the black words painted on the back wall of Lola’s pretty yellow house: “DIE WHORE.” Yup, Del thought, as she pulled into the parking lot and started hauling bags up the stairs and into the room. I’ll be able to kill him, no problem.
Chapter Nineteen
When she opened her eyes early the next morning to see Del packing food and clothes into a couple of overnight bags, Lola was dismayed. That meant Del thought they would be hiding for a long time. Del seemed very preoccupied. What was she worried about? Was Del mad at her for sucking her into this mess? Surely Del had a life of her own, one that she was putting on hold in order to help out. Should she try to talk to her? Del might appreciate being let off the hook. But Lola hesitated. The last time she’d tried to let Del off the hook, it had made Del angry. She didn’t want to do that again.
Lola murmured a good morning, and Del smiled at her briefly before returning to her packing. She chewed her lip, trying to decide what Del wanted her to do. Del was so quiet! Lola sat up and waited to see if Del would tell her what to do.
She handed Lola a small pile of clothes and things and nodded at the bathroom. “You first.”
There was a package of plastic food wrap on top of everything else, and Lola frowned at it. “What’s this for?”
“Your stitches need to stay dry.”
“Oh.” Lola nodded. “Thanks.” Her side hurt a little when she got up, when she undressed, when she leaned over to turn on the water. Maybe Del was annoyed with her for getting hurt. Who else but Lola would fall on a Christmas ornament and need stitches? Orrin was right, she was a clumsy cow.
Lola felt like a stranger in her own skin, showering in this impersonal place, her whole middle wrapped in plastic. She smelled different, because of the soap and shampoo. Even her mouth tasted different, because of the new toothpaste. She slipped back into the bedroom, and Del passed her without a word, holding her own bundle of clothing and sundries. Again, Lola couldn’t help but worry that Del was mad at her. Maybe she wished she could go home. Maybe she felt that this was all Lola’s fault for going online. She probably thought Lola was stupid and reckless and promiscuous. Maybe Orrin had been more right than Lola had cared to admit. Maybe she was too stupid and selfish to do anything right. It was starting to look like Del thought so, anyway. Lola tried to push these thoughts away. They didn’t do any good.
Maybe Del wasn’t even mad. Maybe she was just tired. She’d been busy while Lola had slept. There was a brand-new laptop charging on the other bed and a pile of plastic bags and tags and wrappers on the other. An empty duffel bag and several bottles of water sat alongside an assortment of snack foods on the floor between the beds. She packed the food and waters in the duffel, leaving it on the floor. Hopefully that was what Del wanted. All of this stuff had cost plenty of money, and she’d find a way to pay Del back for it. How, she asked herself, will you pay her back for putting her life on the line for you?
She tidied up, made the beds carefully so as not to disturb the laptop, and tried to find a hair band in her purse, which she found on the floor near the door. Del must have grabbed it, she thought, or had someone bring it. She pawed through it and was appalled by the amount of stuff she’d left in it. She grabbed one of the empty plastic bags—apparently they were outside of the city—and started cleaning out the garbage.
There were tissues and gum wrappers and breath mints and empty lip balms and cough drops. Three of Orrin’s lists. A broken watchband Orrin had told her to get repaired two days before he’d kicked her out. A receipt for the vet in Folsom where she got Buttons and Queenie. She hesitated over that one, then pushed it into the garbage bag. She went through the small pile of things worth keeping—her wallet, a few odds and ends, her old music box. She rubbed the top for luck, and it was smooth as glass under her finger. How many times did I rub this thing for luck?
For nearly two decades, Orrin was The Enemy. But once upon a time, long ago and far away, he was her best and only friend. She had loved him, and she had lost him a long time ago. But there had been, maybe, a tiny part of her that had been waiting for her friend Dr. Beckett to come back and smile at her and tell her that everything was going to be like it was before. That he would be nice again and be her friend again.
Dr. Beckett only really died for her when Orrin died in that car crash, and she hadn’t mourned him yet. It surprised her how much it hurt to know that Dr. Beckett was never coming back. He was gone forever, now. She opened the box and refrained from pulling out her treasures. This was silly. With everything that was going on, pawing through her old things was a waste of time and energy. But in that tiny box was her whole history. She’d taken off her wedding ring months before and put it in the box. Almost my whole life so far, she thought, nearly the whole first half of my life fits into a three-inch box. She closed the box and put it back into her much-lighter purse. She set the trash in the tiny bin and sat on the bed and waited.
***
When Del stepped out of the bathroom, hair dripping on her neck, she saw Lola turn expectantly to her and suppressed a frown. She was feeling riled up and had been ever since she’d come back into the room. Lola had been crying in her sleep, tears running silently from her eyes, and Del had wanted to gather her in her arms and promise her that everything would be all right. She couldn’t do that, she had to focus. She had to stop thinking like a lovesick idiot and start thinking like a cop again. How had this woman become so important to her? When had this happened?
She felt a sudden and unwelcome rush of resentment toward Lola and wasn’t sure why. Irrational though it was, she was angry with Lola for putting herself in danger, and at herself as well for being so careless. Who in the world trolls the Internet looking for a date? Predators, that’s who, predators and stupid, naïve, silly little girls. Grown women know better. Grown women know that they shouldn’t go traipsing off to meet a stranger at night in the city by themselves. She felt Lola’s eyes on her and twitched her shoulders. She could see herself turn and grab and shake Lola till her teeth made music. For a second, this image was so vivid that it almost seemed like a memory.
She took a deep br
eath. Where’d that come from? This isn’t Lola’s fault. I’m not mad at her, not really. I just feel—what? She couldn’t name it. But it made her restless and edgy, and she wished she could go for a run or something. Anything to work off some of her tension. She didn’t want to snap at Lola and hurt her feelings. She shook herself back to the present, to Lola watching her in the hotel room they’d fled to because someone wanted to hurt her.
“Do you think you could sleep a little?” Lola asked, her eyes warm and concerned. She stood up and stepped toward Del. Her voice was tremulous. She was being careful. She’d noticed Del’s edgy mood, and it had made her nervous. Del didn’t want to think about that. She looked around the room and shook her head. Lola had cleaned up.
She’ll do that, Del thought, she’ll clean up after me and cook for me and take care of me. She’s been somebody’s little wifey forever, and that’s all she knows how to be. Do I want that? Does she want that? Does she even know what she wants? She’s a child. She has no ability to take care of herself or to decide anything. She’s looking to me to figure this all out for her. Again, she backed away from her thoughts. There was too much going on that she didn’t want to think about. Dark clouds swirled through her thinking and got darker and darker. She was losing it, just when she needed to not lose it.
“Del, maybe you could sleep a—”
“Some of us don’t get to just go nighty-night when we feel like it,” she shot out.
Lola backed up a step. Her gaze dropped. “I’m sorry.” She started to hug herself, but she must have bumped her cut, because she went white and dropped her hands to her sides.
Del rubbed her forehead. “Listen,” she began, “sometimes I get a little wound up. And right now, I’m pissed off. Not at you. People snap at other people when they’re pissed off. It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t want to do that—”
“Then don’t.” Lola’s quiet voice cut off Del’s words, and Del stared at her.
“What?”
“Don’t. Don’t snap at people. At me. I mean, if you really don’t want to.”
Del barked a short laugh. “Well, okay, then. There you go, problem solved.” She rubbed her hands together in an all-clean motion and laughed again.
“Don’t laugh at me.” Lola’s voice quavered. “I mean it. You aren’t some helpless child. You have a temper. So, fine. You don’t have to give in to it. You can decide how to handle your feelings like a grown-up instead of a spoiled brat. You don’t get to yell at me.” Her voice rose and grew sharp. “You don’t get to call me names. You don’t get to tell me what to do, and you don’t get to—”
Her voice broke, and she backed away again, sitting on the bed with a plop. It must have hurt like hell, because she gasped and held her body stiff and straight. She closed her mouth and looked deliberately away from Del.
Del stood frozen in front of her, unable to move or speak.
“I’m sorry,” Lola whispered. She was still pale, her eyes dark.
Del was rooted to the floor until she forced herself to move and squat in front of Lola.
She waited until Lola’s eyes met hers. “I’m sorry. Okay?”
Lola nodded.
“You’re right, you know.” Del was glad that her voice was cool and smooth. No shaking. No emotion. Cooled off. The way it should have been all along. She stood back up.
Lola shook her head, but Del stopped her with a gesture.
“No, what you said about not giving in to my temper.” She drew a deep breath. “I say things I shouldn’t say. I expect everyone to jump when I snap my fingers. I like being in charge.” Her eyes dropped to Lola’s.
“You don’t say.”
Del grinned her daddy’s slow grin, and Lola’s answering smile was a real one. She was so beautiful when she smiled like that. Del held her gaze and saw a flush stain Lola’s cheeks. A fissure of energy ran between them.
Del heard herself saying, “We’re all wrong for each other, you know that, right?”
Lola nodded. Her wide eyes were fixed on Del’s, and Del felt like she was on fire.
“Neither one of us is ready for this. You’re a victim, you’re a witness. It’s inappropriate.”
Lola nodded again. Her eyes were wide, her mouth, soft and inviting. Del saw her cheeks flush even brighter and her breath quicken. She was oriented toward Del—her curved thighs, her generous hips, her lush breasts. She stood, her whole body an invitation.
Del swept across the small space between them and crushed Lola’s mouth with her own. She felt Lola flinch in shock and then soften and slowly, slowly start to kiss her back. Her mouth searched and probed and devoured Lola’s, and she pressed against Lola’s body with her own, careful to avoid her hurt side.
God, she was soft! Her skin was smooth and warm and inviting. Del could feel Lola’s pulse threading in her throat. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and her breath was sweet in Del’s mouth. Del’s hands were on Lola’s face, her still-wet hair, her damp shoulders, and her warm, round hips. She felt Lola press back against her, her hands clutching Del’s shirt, and she groaned again. Stop! she yelled at her body. It ignored her and kept kissing and pressing into Lola’s yielding warmth.
Lola’s hands roamed lightly, tentatively, up around Del’s shoulders, her neck, into her hair, and Del exhaled loudly. She grabbed at the slippery fabric of Lola’s shirt and struggled with the buttons. The bra Del had bought was too small, and Lola’s breasts strained against the fabric. Del kissed the warm bounty of skin in her cleavage and let her tongue flick at the deep crease with greedy hunger. Her hand grazed something, the bandage on her side. A flash of anger distracted her for a moment. Was she in pain? She glanced at Lola’s face, but she seemed to be okay.
Del wanted all of this flesh, every sweet inch of it. She wanted her naked. She wanted to own her and see her exposed and vulnerable to her alone. The underpants she’d bought for Lola were plain white cotton, unbeautiful, utilitarian, but she wanted to see them. She wanted to rip them off and tear them into pieces. She was trying to slow herself down, to cool off, to think this through, but Lola’s skin was singing out to her—touch me, kiss me, own me, explore me, make me your own. She shook with desire. She was dizzy, drunk on need. Lola’s mouth was open and soft, her skin rosy and warm. She wants me too, Del realized. She wants this as much as I do.
This realization erased what little self-control she’d managed to hold onto up to that point. She launched herself at Lola, kissing her breasts, pulling Lola’s body toward her own, her hips grinding into Lola’s. She pushed her thigh between Lola’s, forcing her legs apart. Lola’s whole body immediately tensed. Her eyes flew open. This time they were too flat, dull with fear. Del froze and slowly pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her heart bounced painfully against her ribs. What was wrong? This, all of it—God, it was totally wrong. It was predatory. Unprofessional. Inappropriate. Just wrong. Lola pulled her shirt closed, and Del turned away.
Lola reddened, ashamed of her childish reaction. She’d been so drunk on Del’s kiss one moment that she’d hardly known where she was, and the next moment, she’d panicked. She wasn’t sure why. She wanted to explain to Del that she’d liked the kissing, that she’d never felt so alive, ever, that she wanted Del to kiss her again, that she hadn’t meant to pull away. But she didn’t know how, and Del’s back was to her. She was looking out of the scummy window.
“Del?” she forced the tremor from her voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I—”
Del turned around, and Lola wanted to cry. Del’s face was contrite and somehow also blank and politely neutral. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong, Lola. I’m the one who should apologize. I don’t know why I did that. It was totally inappropriate. I’ve never crossed the line like that before, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“But—” Lola watched Del stride out of the room and let the door slam behind her. Her body tingled with longing and her mind with fear and shame. “What’s wrong wi
th me? What’s wrong with me?”
Chapter Twenty
Del strode around the parking lot, struggling to keep her emotions in check. She’d lost control and taken advantage of a vulnerable, confused, frightened woman who clearly didn’t know her own mind and was, Del reminded herself, both traumatized and in danger. She needed to focus on that and on nothing else.
There was no doubt in her mind that the attacker and the cat killer and the pipe bomber were the same person and that he would try to get to Lola very soon. Whether he wanted to kill or kidnap her was a question Del wanted to answer and couldn’t. What was his game? Why had he put cameras all over the house? What was he hoping to see?
She called Phan and jumped in without preamble. “Bad guys follow patterns. They fixate, start out friendly and nice and then escalate.”
Phan grunted. “This guy doesn’t follow any kind of pattern. He seems completely disorganized, but his forensic countermeasures are fucking exemplary.”
“Why ‘whore’? All three times, that’s the only consistent thing.”
“Yeah. And what about the cameras?” Phan made an exasperated noise. “Is he a peeper, or is it something else?”
“How can we use them?”
They debated various options for using the cameras, but each involved getting approval from the captain, who was unlikely to approve any of their ideas.
“So,” Phan muttered, “we wait.”
“Unless there are exigent circumstances,” Del said, and Phan snorted a laugh.
“Right. Unless there are exigent circumstances.”
“I’m not convinced that Beckett’s definitely dead. And where’s the money?”
Phan’s voice was soft. “And who else is looking for it? The partner?”
“Why didn’t the Feds track him down?”
“Why,” his voice was almost a whisper, “didn’t they hit Lola harder?”
