by Nora Roberts
“You didn’t ask me to walk you out so we could stargaze.”
“No. I’m going to lay this out for you, Brody.” He shifted so they were facing. “First, there’s no sign that door was forced. You said, for certain, it was locked.”
“He picked the lock, had a dupe key. He’s done it before.”
“Christ.” With obvious frustration, Rick rubbed his hand over his face. “And he managed that at just the narrow window when she’s downstairs alone and you’re in the shower? This guy have super-powers, too?”
“He had to be watching the house.”
“For what? To play bogeyman? If he was going to do anything, he’d have done it when he had her alone. If he existed.”
“Just wait one damn minute.”
“No, you wait one damn minute. I’m a tolerant man, Brody. A man wears a badge and a gun, he better have a store of tolerance. I’m open-minded, but I’m not stupid. You’ve got a woman with a history of emotional disorder, who’s been drinking, who just rolls out of bed and claims she sees the same man she claimed to see kill some unknown woman—thatonly she’s seen. And this happens at the exact moment there’s no one to verify it.
“There’s no sign anyone’s been at that cabin, or lurking around it. Just like there was no sign anyone was killed by the river, no sign anyone broke into her apartment over Joanie’s, or messed with her laundry at the hotel. You’re sleeping with her, so you want to believe her. Nothing’s so alluring as a damsel in distress.”
Temper leaped. “What bullshit. Fucking bullshit. Since you’ve got that badge, you’ve got a responsibility to protect and serve.”
“I’ve got a responsibility to protect and serve this town, these people. You go ahead and be as pissed as you want,” he said with a nod. “You go right on, but I’ve done about all I can for Reece Gilmore. Those tourists and summer people are coming in, and I can’t waste time and manpower I need to keep order around here chasing her demons. I’m sorry for her, God knows. She’s a nice woman who caught a big, bad break. She’s going to have to get over it and settle down. Do yourself a favor, talk her into getting some treatment.”
“I thought better of you, Rick.”
“At this point, Brody,” Rick said wearily as he pulled open the door of his truck, “I can say right back at you.” He climbed in, slammed the door. “You care about that woman, get her some help.” He started the engine. “She needs it.”
When Brody stomped back in Reece was at the stove. Rice in a covered pot, chicken and garlic sautéing in a skillet.
“Fuck him,” Brody muttered and pulled a beer out of the refrigerator.
“Thanks. Thanks for taking my side.” She shook the pan, flipping chunks of chicken. “I didn’t have to hear the conversation to know his part of it. He doesn’t believe me, and this last incident colors all the rest. I’ve wasted his time, disturbed the routine, moved up from town cuckoo to town nuisance. And when you come right down to it, you can’t blame him.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Everything points to me making it up, or just being crazy.” She added the vegetables she’d already chopped and sliced to the pan, dashed in some white wine, gave the skillet another shake. “Just as it points to you sticking with me because we’re sleeping together.”
“Is that what you think?”
“I know you believe me, and knowing that is a lifeline.”
He took a long, slow sip of beer. “Want to pack it up? Try New Mexico maybe? The thing about both of our professions is we can do them anywhere we damn well please.”
Her eyes stung, but she kept stirring and shaking. “You know what? You could have fallen on your knees, holding an eye-gouging diamond, a puppy and a fifty-pound box of Belgian chocolate, professed your undying love and devotion, then recited Shelley. It wouldn’t have meant more.”
“Good, because I don’t know any Shelley offhand.”
“And it’s tempting,” she continued. “But I know better than anyone that you can run away, even walk away, and it doesn’t change the bottom line. I liked seeing the flowers bloom out there, liked knowing they can. If they can root out here, so can I.”
She took the bowl in which she’d whisked up her sauce, poured it over the contents of the pan. “This’ll be ready in a couple minutes. Why don’t you get the plates?”
26
REECE SAT in Doc Wallace’s examination room, grateful she didn’t have to strip down for the follow-up. She felt sluggish, the way she did when she’d overindulged at a party.
Sleeping pill, she thought. Just an over-the-counter deal Brody had urged on her. Not that he’d had to do much urging, she recalled.
Though it kept the curtain closed on the nightmares, she felt heavy-headed and dull this morning. It was worth the trade-off—this one time. She didn’t want to go back to them, to the sleeping pills, the antidepressants, antianxiety.
She wasn’t depressed. She was being stalked.
The door opened. Doc strolled in, carrying a chart, wearing a smile.
“Congratulations. You’ve gained six pounds. That’s real progress, young lady. Four more, and I’ll stop hounding you.”
His smile faded as he came around the table and got a look at her face. “Or maybe not. Last time I had you in here you looked pale and worn out. You still do.”
“I had a bad night. A horrible night. I ended up taking a sleeping pill—nonprescription type. Even that left me washed out.”
“Anxiety?” He took her chin, turning her head to study the yellowing bruise on her cheek. “Nightmares?”
“I took the pill to avoid anxiety and nightmares. I saw the killer last night.”
Doc pursed his lips, and his eyes were sharp on her face when he slid onto his stool. “Why don’t you tell me about it.”
She ran it through, every detail. “You don’t have to believe me, or say you do,” she finished. “It’s been a crappy few days, so I look pale and worn out.”
“This tender?” he asked as he gently pressed the bruise.
“A little. It doesn’t bother me.”
“How long have you been taking the sleeping pills?”
“Last night was the first one in nearly a year.”
“Have you started back taking anything else since you were here last?”
“No.”
“Any other symptoms?”
“Like forgetfulness, seeing things that aren’t there? No.”
“Let me play devil’s advocate for a minute. Is it possible that this man you saw could represent your fear? You didn’t see the face of the man who shot you. Not clearly. Or the trauma you experienced wiped that face out of your memory.”
“I don’t think I saw him,” she said quietly. “It was like snapping a finger. The door slamming open, me starting to turn. I saw the gun…and then…well, then he used it.”
“I understand.” Briefly, gently, he laid a hand on hers. “You never, from what I understand, saw the other men who killed your friends?”
“No, I never saw any of them.” Only heard them, she thought. Only heard them laughing.
“Have you considered that the figure at the window last night, potentially the man you saw by the river, is a manifestation of the fear and helplessness you experienced during the attack and after it?”
Inside her belly something twisted. Disappointment, she realized. Simple disappointment that he didn’t believe her after all. “You’ve been reading psych books.”
“I admit I have. Giving your fear mass and shape doesn’t make you crazy, Reece. It could be a way of bringing it out so you can see it, experience it, resolve it.”
“I wish it were. But I know a woman died by his hands. I know he’s watching me and doing what he can to break my nerve and undermine my credibility.” She smiled a little. “It’s not paranoia if they’re really after you.”
Doc sighed.
“I know what paranoia feels like. How it tastes in the throat. I’m not paranoid. I’m not manifesting my fe
ar. I’m living it.”
“Another possibility. Just hear me out. The first time you saw this man, and the violence, you’d just encountered Brody on the trail. The other incidents increased as your relationship with Brody developed. The more serious you’ve become, the more serious, or personal, the incidents. Is it possible your sense of survivor’s guilt is putting up obstacles to your happiness?”
“So I’m making myself crazy to sabotage my relationship with Brody? No. Damn it, I’vebeen crazy. I know what it feels like, and this isn’t it.”
“All right then, all right.” He patted her hand. “We—how was it said?—eliminate the probable and whatever’s left, however improbable, must be the truth. We’re going to draw a little blood, see how you’re doing.”
REECE WENT BACK to Joanie’s for the second half of a split shift. Mac Drubber and Carl were plowing through pork barbecue subs. Mac held up a hand to stop her as he chewed and swallowed. “Ah, I got in some fresh Parmesan. Kind comes in a chunk.”
“You did?”
“Thought you might want it. It’s a little dear.”
“I’ll come by later and get it. Thank you, Mr. Drubber.” On impulse, she leaned down, kissed the top of his head. “Thanks. I don’t deserve it.”
“Oh, now.” A little pink rode along his cheekbones. “You got a mind for something we don’t stock as a rule, you just let me know what it might be. No problem getting it in for you.”
“I will. Thanks.”
And first chance she got, Reece decided, she was going to make something special, something superb, and invite him over to Brody’s for dinner.
She walked into the kitchen in time to see Linda-gail slam a tub of dirty dishes next to Pete.
“Uh-oh.”
“Trouble in paradise,” Pete said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t you mutter around me,” Linda-gail snapped, whirling so her hair swirled out like a short red cape. “I’m not deaf.”
“Going to be unemployed you keep slamming things around.”
Linda-gail rounded on Joanie. “I wouldn’t be slamming things around if your son wasn’t a liar and a cheat.”
Her expression remained placid as Joanie continued to grill steak and onions. “My boy may be a lot of things not so complimentary, but I’ve never known him to be either of those. Mind yourself, Linda-gail.”
“Did he or did he not tell me he had to stay at the ranch last night helping out with a colicky mare? And was that or was that not a big, fat lie as Reuben was in here fifteen minutes ago asking me how I enjoyed the movie Lo took me to last night?”
“Could be Reuben was mistaken. Could be a lot of things.”
Linda-gail lifted her chin. “You’re his ma, and you’ve got to stand by him. But I won’t tolerate being lied to or cheated on.”
“Can’t blame you for that, and you take it up with him whenever you like. As long as it’s not when I’m paying you to wait tables.”
“He said he loved me, Joanie.” This time her voice cracked, just a little—and had Joanie’s lips going tight. “He said he was ready to build a life with me.”
“Then I expect you’ll have to have a conversation with him right soon. But now, you’re going to get out there and do your job. You’ve got customers.”
“You’re right, and I’ve wasted enough of my time on him. Men are no damn good for anything.” She stalked out, leaving Joanie sighing.
“If that boy’s messed this up, he’s a bigger jackass than I ever gave him credit for.”
While Joanie looked worried, Reece felt a tightly clenched fist knead in her belly. Where had Lo been last night and why had he lied about it?
“And are you going to stand there daydreaming,” Joanie demanded, “or take over this grill? I’ve got office work waiting, and I’ve got to pay for all this damn paint.”
“Sorry.” Reece grabbed an apron, headed to the sink to wash her hands. “The new paint looks good. Cheerful.”
“New and cheerful costs.”
There’d been a three-man crew painting after closing, Reece recalled, and the daffodil yellow with red trim perked up the diner considerably. But what had those men been doing at nine the night before?
“So, when did the painting start, exactly?”
“Eleven. And you’d think that Reuben would be too tired to flap his lips in here today after working till three in the morning.”
Casually now, Reece warned herself. Very casual. Just making conversation. “Is that when they came in, eleven?”
“Didn’t I just say so? Reuben and Joe and Brenda.”
“Brenda? Hotel Brenda? I thought her brother was on the crew.”
“Dean had something else to do, so she said. She’s better at the cutting in anyhow.”
Reece began to cook, and as she cooked she tried to imagine Reuben or Lo, Dean or Joe behind sunglasses and an orange hat, outside Brody’s kitchen window.
AFTER WORK, Reece snagged a ride home with Pete.
“I appreciate you taking me to Brody’s.”
“Not far, no problem.”
“Pete, what do you suppose Lo was up to last night?”
“Some woman’s skirt. Never can think without thinking with his dick—beg pardon.”
“I guess if that’s so, he must’ve had more than his share of trouble with women.”
“Usually sweet-talks them out of kicking his balls into his throat—beg pardon again. But he won’t have an easy time sweet-talking our Linda-gail. She’s a tough nut.”
“You’re right about that. Now take Reuben, for instance.” Casually again, Reece reminded herself. “You don’t see him with women, at least not right and left.”
“He gets around. He’s just got the sense to be discreet.” Pete slanted his gaze over to Reece, gave a quick, gap-toothed grin. “Had himself a red-hot fling last winter with a snow bunny. A married one.”
“Really?”
“Kept it pretty quiet, but it ain’t easy slipping in and out of a woman’s hotel room without somebody noticing. That Brenda’s got a nose for that sort of thing. Even if, as I heard, he came in through the basement entrance.”
“The hotel basement,” she murmured.
“Then word got out altogether when they had a hell of a row one night. Her yelling and throwing things. Beaned him with some sort of perfume bottle, it seems. He ended up hightailing it out of there, face all scratched up, boots in his hand.”
“What did she look like?”
“What?”
“The snow bunny, the woman. I guess I’m just curious.”
“Good-looking brunette, as I recall. About ten years older than Reuben’s what I heard, too. Called him up at the ranch off and on for weeks after, crying, yelling, spitting. Reuben, he confessed to me one night over a few beers how the experience put him clean off married women.”
“That would do it.” They were already turning toward Brody’s. “I guess Brenda’s brother, Dean, had a hot date last night.”
“Or a poker game.” Pete clucked his tongue. “I tell you a fact, that boy’s got ten dollars in his pocket, he’s going to stake himself to Texas Hold ’Em with it. That’s why he’s broke more often than not, and shining up Brenda for a loan. Gambling’s bad as heroin you don’t know how to handle it.”
He stopped his truck in front of the cabin. “Heard you had some doings out here last night.”
“I guess everyone’s heard by now.”
“Don’t you let it get you down, Reece.”
Curious, she turned to him. “How come you don’t think I’m crazy?”
“Hell, who says you’re not?” He smiled. “Everybody is, to some extent or other. But you say somebody was prowling around out here, I figure there was.”
“Thanks.” She opened the door, shifted to smile at him as she got out. “Thanks, Pete.”
“Nothing to it.”
There was to her. Maybe the cops didn’t believe her, but Pete did. And Brody, Linda-gail, Joanie. Doc Wallace su
spected she was manifesting, but he was trying to look out for her. Mac Drubber probably thought she needed a few screws tightened, but he’d bought Parmesan because she wanted it.
She had a lot of people on her side. And another angle to pursue.
She found Brody on the back porch, drinking a Coke and reading a paperback.
He glanced up, and as he was obviously pleased with what he saw, a smile flitted at the corners of his mouth. “How’d it go today?”
“From bad to better. Doc’s happy I’ve gained some weight, and proposed the possibility that my orange-hatted man is a manifestation of my fears and survivor’s guilt—but is willing to be open-minded, if I am. Mr. Drubber ordered me some fresh Parm, and Pete gave me a thumbnail run-down on the romantic lives of a couple of guys in town.”
“Been busy.”
“And then some. Lo lied to Linda-gail about his whereabouts last night.”
“He’s been known to play it pretty loose with the ladies.” Brody laid the book aside. “You think Lo’s a killer?”
“He’d be the last I’d have picked. Damn it, I like him, and my friend’s in love with him. But isn’t it, traditionally, the least likely who’s the one? Isn’t that how it works?”
“In fiction, and only in good fiction if it makes sense. Lo bangs the ladies, Slim, but he doesn’t choke them to death.”
“And if one threatened him in some way, pushed him until he snapped?” She crouched by Brody’s chair. “Reuben had a hot affair with a violent ending with a married woman last winter.”
“From Lothario to the Singing Cowboy?”
“It should be possible to find out where he was last night. He didn’t start painting at Joanie’s until eleven. And Brenda’s brother didn’t show at all.”
“So you’ve decided on your suspect list because you’re not sure where these three guys were last night—at the time in question.”
“I have to start somewhere. Fighting back. Substantiate where they were, take them off the list. Can’t substantiate, keep them on.”
“And, what, work your way through every man in the Fist?”
