“A gray Taurus. I don’t see it.” It was sweet of Kira not to complain about the detour. If it weren’t for Barbara’s dumb brownies, they’d be heading out for a late dinner right now, not scanning the street for suspicious cars.
“I think you should call the police.”
“She hasn’t actually threatened me. It’s not against the law to show up at someone’s door and give them food.”
Kira eyed the plastic bag, lifting it to eye level. “Maybe we should take these brownies to the police and have them tested for poison.”
“She didn’t poison them. She’s trying to get me to spend time with her, which would be kind of hard to do if I were dead.”
“You can’t know for certain that that’s what she wants.”
“I just want the brownies out of my house. I don’t want to be reminded of her.”
“Okay, it’s your crazy client.”
They reached her car and Megan cleared the passenger seat so Kira could get in. “I wish I could return the pan right now, too, but I want to wait until she’s at work so I don’t run in to her and have to talk to her.”
Kira fastened her seat belt. “You’re returning her brownie pan?”
“I’m not keeping it.” Megan started the car.
“This is her way of keeping a connection going. If you wash out her pan and return it to her, she’ll think you two are friends.”
“She already thinks we’re friends. I don’t think it’ll make any difference.”
“Throw the pan in the trash.”
“It’s not disposable,” Megan said. “It’s a real pan.”
“So?”
“I can’t throw out a real pan and add it to the landfill.”
Kira shook her head like she could not believe what she was hearing. “I hope she doesn’t turn it into a shrine of objects you’ve touched. But I’ll return it for you. I’ll get it out of your kitchen as soon as we get back.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
Megan pulled up to the gate that secured the maintenance yard and waved her passcard in front of the sensor. The gate opened and she drove through. “Thanks, but it’s really no big deal. I’ll do it.”
“I could go with you if you want.”
“It’s all right. I’m not scared of her.” Barbara’s last hug had been claustrophobic, her insistence on being her roommate had been annoying, and grabbing her from the massage table had made her nervous, but… Okay, so she was scared of her.
“She’s still filling up your voice mail?”
Megan drove past the communal compost heap and parked by the nearest Dumpster. “I just have to wait it out. She’s got to stop eventually with the calls and the gifts.”
Kira paused with her hands on her seat belt buckle. “Once Trish hires a receptionist to book spa appointments, you’re welcome to have them take your calls as well. Whether or not you move your office to the hotel.”
“Wow, that’s…thanks, but…that’s not necessary.”
“I know, I know. You like screening the perverts yourself.” Kira unsnapped her seat belt.
“I’m good at it,” Megan objected.
“You are good at it. I’ve seen you in action.” Kira opened the door and started to get out. “But just because you’re good at it doesn’t mean you have to do it.”
Megan got out and circled to the passenger side to seize the trash bag from Kira’s hands. She wanted to be the one to get rid of the brownies and purge herself of Barbara’s oppressive energy. She swung the plastic bag back, overhead, and into the Dumpster’s unseen depths. It landed with a soft thump.
It was such a muted sound, so unsatisfying. She swung her arm again and slammed her hand into the side of the Dumpster. The impact reverberated up and down her arm. Ow. She whimpered and tried to shake the pain out of her wrist. She didn’t know it was going to hurt like that.
“Megan. Honey. Come on.” Kira pulled Megan into her arms before she could do herself any more unintentional damage. “We’ll take care of this. I won’t let her scare you.” Kira slid one hand up the back of her neck and stroked her hair upward, sending chills down to her tailbone. Their lips connected and Kira’s mouth moved softly against hers, gentle and reassuring.
Megan pulled back, gasping for breath. She sagged on weak legs. Kira was being so careful with her, so kind.
“You’re not still worrying about that psycho client of yours, are you?” Kira whispered into her hair. “Don’t think about her right now.”
“I’m not.”
“Glad to hear it.”
She kissed her again. Megan relaxed into Kira’s body and stopped worrying about anything at all—not Barbara, not soul mates, not fate. Kira was hers, and she was not going to give her up.
Kira must have sensed her surrender because this time, her kiss was different—it wasn’t careful and reassuring anymore. Kira was losing control, and Megan was too, driven by the feel of Kira’s desperation and a level of need within herself she’d never, ever felt. How had she fought this for so long? When she realized her hand was already inside the front of Kira’s jeans and she had not thought twice about unzipping them, even though they were outside in the maintenance yard where anyone could drive in at any moment and see them, she groaned. “We have to stop.”
“Why?” Kira chased her lips and recaptured them. It wasn’t that hard to do.
Megan’s hands shook as she zipped up Kira’s jeans and fastened the button, which was a lot harder to do than the reverse, especially when her mouth was busy meeting Kira’s onslaught. She pulled away from the kiss so she could concentrate, regretted it immediately, and went back for more. Kira pressed her up against the Dumpster and pushed one thigh between her legs.
The sound of the gate opening on its rattling gears made Megan freeze. Kira muttered a curse. She stepped back with a slow caress down Megan’s arm, as if she couldn’t bear to stop touching her.
“Your house is closest,” Kira suggested, pulling her toward the car.
“Your place isn’t that far.”
“Yes, it is. Besides, I’m planning to distract you on the way.”
Megan batted her eyelashes at her as they got into the car. “In that case, I’m definitely taking the long way.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Megan grabbed her mail from her mailbox on her way in the door. Bills, pleas from charities, junk and a letter from the National Therapeutic Massage Certification Association that looked interesting. She pulled out the letter and dropped the envelope into the recycling bin.
OFFICIAL SUMMONS, the letter read. Megan’s stomach dropped.
Dear Ms. McLaren, certified member no. 270164:
We have been advised of a possible violation of the NTMCA’s Code of Ethics, specifically Standard I (Professionalism) and Standard VI, Part d (Sexual Misconduct).
Megan was vaguely aware of the sound of the letter opener clattering to the floor. She checked the name at the top of the letter, certain it had to have been mailed to the wrong person. No, it was her name all right. How could this happen? She was always so careful. The only person she’d ever been less than professional with was Barbara Fenhurst. And Gwynnie, of course, but that was years ago, and Gwynne would never do something like this. She couldn’t see Barbara doing this, either, but only because it would never occur to Barbara that massage therapists actually had ethical guidelines they were supposed to follow.
This complaint was filed by Ms. Barbara Fenhurst as a result of events that occurred in June through August of this year.
Barbara? Of course it was Barbara. It all made a sick kind of sense. She couldn’t get what she wanted, so she figured out a way to get revenge. A very effective way. Of course she was lying about the sexual misconduct, but how could anyone prove that? And even if Megan could convince the committee it was a lie, Barbara still might be able to get her on a professionalism charge, considering the way she pushed her way out of that last stranglehold of a hug.
Fortunately she didn’t think she could lose her license over that. Could she?
We have scheduled a review of these allegations for September 19 at 9 a.m. at the NTMCA Regional Office in Wilmington, Delaware. Please inform us immediately if you are unable to be present on this date.
***
“No way,” Kira sputtered, accidentally getting a mouthful of seawater from treading water too vigorously when Megan told her about the letter. “No. Way.”
Megan took off in a flurry of arms and legs, speeding away from her and from shore. Kira followed. She’d never seen Megan react like this. One minute she swam like a madwoman, the next she seemed to barely be able to move. Kira kept abreast of her, keeping an eye on her the whole time, afraid to put her head underwater and miss the moment she started to drown. She knew Megan was a good swimmer, but the way her body slowed down and stopped working, like it wasn’t worth the effort to stay afloat, scared her. She was much more comfortable when Megan was pounding through the water in fury.
“She won’t win,” Kira said when Megan slowed down and flipped onto her back and floated. “They’ll never take her side.”
“I don’t have any proof,” Megan said, her face to the sky.
“It’s obvious she’s lying.”
“It’s my word against hers.”
“She’s lying!”
“Yeah, I know, but the truth is, I wasn’t one hundred percent professional with her. Even if they don’t get me for the alleged groping, they might get me for the way I acted with her that last time. For assault.”
“For pushing her?” Megan’s excessive conscientiousness had better not be what made her lose this fight.
“I pushed her pretty hard. And I shouldn’t have yelled at her.”
“Your idea of yelling wouldn’t be loud enough to scare a mouse.”
“Yelling is not always about decibels.”
“I’ll bet it is to the police.” Whatever Megan thought she’d done, it couldn’t have been that bad. “Look, if she wanted to get you for assault, she’d have called the cops. She knows she can’t pin anything on you.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“They’ll believe you. If they have any sense at all, they’ll believe you. Of all the people this could happen to, you are the last person who deserves to be accused of having sex with her clients, or of being unprofessional in any way. You’re so careful about that.”
“Turns out that being careful didn’t protect me.” Megan spun herself in violent circles, kicking up turbulence, but her voice was flat. “Besides, I wasn’t careful that last time. I panicked.”
“They’re not going to take away your license for pushing her.”
Megan stopped spinning and rubbed water over her face and out of her eyes. “Just the groping, you think?”
Hearing the vulnerability in her quiet voice as she struggled to keep it light sent Kira into another silent round of swearing. “I’ll go to the hearing with you and set them straight.”
“No one’s allowed inside. Anyway, Svetlana already offered to go.”
She told Svetlana about this before telling her? “We can both go. We’ll wait for you outside.”
“You sure? If you’re going, I’ll tell Svetlana not to cancel her clients.”
“I’m definitely going with you.”
Megan disappeared underwater and Kira didn’t let herself blink until she saw her re-emerge. Megan ducked under again and grabbed Kira’s waist, tangling their legs on her way up. Kira grunted at the impact and hugged her back, even though they were both struggling to keep their heads above water and they were far from shore.
Megan pushed them both to the surface and let go. “I’ll try not to grope you in front of the committee,” she said, sounding almost normal. “It might look bad.”
***
Megan stood next to Kira in front of a rack of fashionable business suits she couldn’t imagine wearing. She was deathly unexcited about picking one out, but she needed one to face the committee in. “Am I looking for a skirt suit or a pantsuit?”
“I think pantsuits are more businesslike.” Kira pulled one off the rack and held it up to Megan’s body appraisingly. “But that’s only because skirt suits turn me on. All I can think about is getting my hand up that short hemline.”
Megan paused in the act of taking the hanger from Kira’s grasp. “A skirt suit is not sexy.”
“Sure it is.”
Megan hung the suit back on the rack. “It’s staid and boring.”
“That’s what’s so great about it—knowing that underneath that proper, professional exterior is a woman who wants me.”
“Not helping.”
“You’re worrying about this too much. They’re not going to be judging you on your clothes.”
No, they weren’t. The NTMCA Ethics Committee was going to be judging her on how well she defended herself, and she was not looking forward to that. How did you defend yourself against a lie? Still, she wanted the committee to take her seriously, and dressing professionally wouldn’t hurt. “These all look so uncomfortable.”
Kira drifted off in hunting mode. She waved Megan over to a rack of suits that were less boxy and more like her typical drapey, flowing clothes. “Here, look at these. These look comfortable, don’t they?”
“For a suit, maybe,” Megan conceded.
“Feel how soft this one is.” Kira caressed the arm of a silky-looking jacket and held it out for Megan to feel.
It did feel soft.
“It comes in both pants and a skirt.”
“You think I should get the pants?”
“Whatever you feel more comfortable in. If you happen to pick the skirt, that’ll just be a bonus for me.”
Megan found her size—in a pantsuit—and handed it to Kira to carry for her. She was too worried about the hearing to be anything but irritated that she had to spend money on something she would never wear again. “How could these hideous skirt suits possibly be a turn-on? Are you making this up to try to make me feel better?”
Kira shook her head, but her broad grin kind of ruined the effect. She walked over to a mannequin, ran her thumb along the hem of the mannequin’s skirt, and winked. “I can’t believe you dated a lawyer and you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“Amelia’s business suits did not turn me on,” Megan snapped.
“You missed out.”
Megan flung another suit at Kira.
“Ah, a skirt.” Kira held the suit up to get a good look before draping it over her arm. “Do I get to watch you try this on?”
Megan glared at her.
“Oh, come on, I hate shopping. I ought to get something in return for my fashion advice.”
Granted, Megan was grateful to have the advice of someone with a job that did occasionally require business attire, but they both knew Kira was the one who had insisted she take her shopping. “You promised to help me prepare for the questions if I let you come along,” Megan reminded her. “There was no mention of fashion advice.”
“I’ll think of some good questions while you’re changing.”
“Questions about what happened with Barbara Fenhurst.”
“Of course questions about what happened with Barbara Fenhurst. What else would I—”
“Hard questions.”
Kira came closer, steely-eyed, ready to prove herself. “Why did you encourage Ms. Lunatic to schedule late-night appointments with you?”
Megan stiffened. She’d been so sure Kira wouldn’t behave that the question caught her off-guard. She’d expected a not-quite-under-her-breath question about her underwear, not this. And she was annoyed with how defensive the question made her. She had to get over that if she wanted to give intelligent responses at the hearing. “I don’t consider six thirty to be late.”
“Why did you encourage her to continue seeing you when you couldn’t cure her? When her pain showed no improvement resulting from your treatment? Isn’t that unethical?”
N
o improvement? Did Kira honestly think… Okay, trick question. Kira was better at this than she’d realized. “Misleading, but good. I’ll have to think about that one.”
“In the meantime…” Kira stopped outside the entrance to the fitting rooms and handed her the clothes she’d been carrying for her. She looked so hopeful.
“You can wait outside.”
Kira bent close to her ear and muttered, “Was waiting inside the fitting room with you actually an option? Because that’s kind of what you made it sound like.”
Megan blushed. Of course it was an option. Just…not today, not when she was trying on a suit that needed to give off an aura of unassailable appropriateness. She hugged the clothes to her chest and slipped inside one of the rooms. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Take your time,” Kira said sweetly, catching the door as it swung shut. She held the door ajar and spoke through the opening in a lowered voice. “You’re really not going to ask me in so I can see how they look on you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m a woman. I’m allowed in here. No one will notice.”
Megan hung the suits on a hook. “That’s not what’s stopping me.” She placed the palm of her hand on the center of Kira’s chest and gave a gentle yet pointed push. Kira immediately stepped back and let her lock the door. So different from the last time she’d had to push someone out. She loved her for that.
“The saleslady would be more than happy to unlock this door if I asked her to,” Kira teased.
“That I’d like to see.”
“What I’d like to see is—”
“I might need your advice about the length of the hemline,” Megan said, raising her voice to be sure Kira would hear her through the closed door. She didn’t need to whisper in her ear to pay her back and put her imagination to work. “I’ll measure it by hand lengths and you can tell me exactly where you want me to stop.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Inside the nondescript office building in downtown Wilmington that housed the National Therapeutic Massage Certification Association’s regional office, the three members of the Ethics Committee sat at one end of a small, outdated conference room behind a long table on which lay a laptop computer, a voice recorder and several stacks of paper. Megan and Barbara faced the committee from behind two smaller desks. They had both been provided with an official copy of the complaint, a pencil, a glass and a sweating pitcher of ice water—massage therapists did love to encourage everyone to stay hydrated. Megan already had a headache from the buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lighting. She couldn’t decide whether pouring herself a glass of water would help, or whether it would make her even more anxious by adding a full bladder to her list of stressors.
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