by Kristen Lamb
After a couple seconds, I said, “What?”
“And when that asshole wakes up, tell him he hits like a bitch ? ”
“Oh, that.” I blushed, and chewed my bottom lip.
He shook his head and laughed. “Classic. Stupid. But classic.” His face turned serious. “You okay?” He cupped my chin and studied my face and neck.
“Stop asking me that. Yes. You mean sober? Z, Y, X, W, V, U, T, S...”
“Rosemary Johanna Lachlan,” he said and stepped closer, the smell of him stirring something deep inside.
“Only Nana calls me that and I let her, namely because she scares me. I’m perfectly okay, Special Agent Benjamin Sawyer.” I could feel the awkward tension building, which just made me babble. “I’m fine. Sober as a priest. Well, maybe not a Catholic or Episcopalian. Or even a Baptist.” I frowned. “Bad analogy.”
“Romi—”
“Pi is 3.145926535, and Hydrogen is the first element on the Periodic Table. Then Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, then Boron. What a terrible name for an element. Makes me feel kinda sorry for it. Almost sounds like a bad name, like You’re such a BORON, which I guess means this element is stupid and uninteresting.”
“All right. Enough. You pass.”
His fingertips whispered across my bruised cheek giving me chills. “That has to hurt,” he said.
“Not really, but I have a freakishly high pain tolerance, which, in retrospect, completely explains why I agreed to marry Phil.”
“Happens to us all. Love makes you stupid.”
“Are you stupid right now?” I asked, emboldened by Vicodin and my numerous brushes with death.
“Incredibly,” he said staring into my eyes. He untied my robe, pressed my body to his. His hands roamed down my back, then over my bottom. He drew me into his room as we kissed. We tumbled into his freshly made bed, though I did have to shove a bulletproof vest on the floor. His rough hands moved under my shirt and up my ribs. I relished the sensation of his mouth trailing my neck, his lips running lightly across my bruises, then down my collarbones.
I drew him up to kiss me, delighting in the feel of his well-muscled frame. He nibbled my ear and murmured my name, my real name. He called me Rosemary and I liked the sound of it. I pulled him up to look me in the eye.
“What do you want?” I asked, my voice rough.
“I want you,” he said and ran his lips along my jaw.
I grabbed his face and held it, staring him in the eyes. “Why do you want me?”
“Because you’re so damn smart and beautiful and strong.”
“Why do you really want me?”
He pressed his eyes closed and a flicker of tension moved across his jaw.
“Why?” I demanded. I sensed it, but needed to hear the words.
“Because I love you. There.”
“You mean it?”
He tugged me down and whispered in my hair, “I love you, Romi. You’re all I want, and I’ve wanted you for so long. Too long.”
I kissed him furiously and he stroked my body as I teased the waistband of his shorts. He reached for the nightstand and I heard a wrapper. The sound was a splash of ice water rousing me back to my senses.
“You were prepared for this?” I raised an eyebrow.
He gave me a boyish smile. “What can I say? I was helpless under the spell of Bad Sandy, and at the bar there was a dispenser in the—”
I kissed him then moved off the bed. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice gruff and head spinning.
“What’s wrong?” He reached for me but I untangled from his grasp. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, yes. I have to go.” I held my breath until the moment shattered.
“Romi, what do you want?” He sat on the edge of the bed.
“To find Phil and whoever killed my mom. I’m sorry. I wish I could be what you want. I thought I could, but I can’t. Not now.” With that, I retrieved my robe and returned to my room. I locked the door behind me, not so much to keep Sawyer out, but more as a reminder for me not to return.
Chapter Eighteen
I vaguely recalled Sawyer rousing me to take two more pills then I slithered back into a deep sleep of crazy dreams coiled with forgotten memories. We were kids, and Heather met me at the Eisler Ranch. We were playing in the abandoned barn. Then the face of a man. Sherriff Ferris. He yelled about trespassing and we ran home before he told our father. Then I was stumbling alone through a giant maze and couldn’t find a way out, but on the wall that strange diagram from my mother’s purse appeared, scored into a wall. Indiana Jones ran by me and a large boulder rolled our way. As I was about to be flattened, someone shook me.
“What?” I bolted up, this time hitting Sawyer in the face. “Ow,” I held my forehead and he rubbed his chin.
“I’ve got to start wearing a helmet when I wake you,” he said sitting next to me on the bed. He wore a plain navy t-shirt and a pair of Nike jogging pants. He had a sack from a burger joint and a large drink. “You need to eat.”
“How’d you get in?” I loosely recalled locking the adjoining doors. Images of last night assembled in my mind and my cheeks burned, but Sawyer seemed unfazed. I wasn’t saying anything if he wasn’t.
He held up the electronic key to my room.
“Oh. Right. What time is it?” I asked as I scrabbled to retain as many images from the dream as I could. Something told me they were important.
“Noon. I let you sleep, but you need food. You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
I struggled to right myself on the pile of pillows and the muscles in my throat and chest protested.
Sawyer had an odd expression, then somberly said, “About last night…”
Oh hell. Not this.
I shifted away from him, my ears hot. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He seemed confused then laughed. “Wait, no. We aren’t talking about the same thing.” He kissed me lightly. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re right.”
“I am?”
“Cotton said he loved you then chose Delroy. Phil said he loved you and bailed. Understandable that those words wouldn’t carry the weight they should.”
I drew the covers close to my chin.
Then he frowned. “I know you’ve been hurt. I’m a patient man. But I do love you. No matter what happens, believe that.” His eyes held an unsettling gravity.
I wanted to tell him the same, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we needed to finish this thing before I could ever know how I really felt about Sawyer. “I want to say the same—”
“You don’t have to—”
I drew his hands into mine. “It would be unfair to pledge my love when all I want right now is a savior. Would I still love you if you weren’t rescuing me? I have to know that. Those words don’t come as easily as they once did. You deserve truth.”
A glimmer of pain flashed across his face.
“And though I’m not ready to say I love you, I’m not exactly set against it.”
He nodded, his face somber. He glanced away then chuckled. “We do need to keep this sticky little fact I’m in love with you on the down-low. You aren’t a suspect or witness or even an official part of any case, but it still looks bad and I don’t think my bosses would be happy with me right now.”
“Definitely sticky.” I made a zipping motion across my lips.
He scooted closer. “No, I wanted to talk about what happened last night at the bar. What went on in the hall?”
I relayed the events as I remembered even that the guy insisted on speaking to me in Spanish and clearly thought I was someone else.
“You’re certain he mentioned Los Espectros. ”
“Yes, I remember because of the news, and also I’d give it an A+ for super terrifying cartel names. Ice Wraiths? Wicked and deep. Do they hire marketing people for this stuff?”
“Los Espectros de Hielos is a major drug cartel—”
“One of the most powerful in Mexico. I know.” I scratch
ed the stiches in my palm. “My trash talk now seems way stupider than it did before.”
He said nothing, but a slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“In my defense, I had been bitch-slapped, choked, and nearly knifed. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.”
“While you were sleeping, I asked Kim to e-mail me that one picture of your parents at a party, then I did some research. Seems the guy in the background attended the same high school as your mom, which might have been how she knew him. Later became a municipal officer for Presidio.”
“A cop?” I hadn’t expected that.
He nodded. “Name was Anthony Edward Folken. Decorated officer. Eventually worked in Waco in a gang unit, then a South Dallas Narcotics Unit. Turned bad.”
“Bad?”
“Fired then jailed,” he said.
“For what?”
“It happens. Law enforcement’s tough.”
“I can only imagine.”
“We see bad guys living the high life, driving Ferraris and living in mansions bought with blood and innocence.” A deep bitterness laced his words. “Waving it in our faces with their high-priced attorneys who bend the laws and let those cockroaches slip through lapses and loopholes. All the while they grin, knowing we can’t do a damn thing. We have to follow rules against an enemy with no rules. Thought I’d left that shit in Afghanistan.”
“Has to be hard.”
“We live in so much gray, that, after time, the lines start to blur. Every law officer faces this, so I’m not too quick to judge.”
I scowled, then murmured, “ Dance with the Devil. Devil don’t change. He just changes you. ”
“What?”
“Nothing. You’re right. I watch too many movies.” I tucked my hair behind my ears then stopped. “Why are you looking at me like I’m a blurry line?”
He unwrapped my hamburger for me. “You think too much.”
“Which gray area got Tony in trouble? I swear it wasn’t me.” I bit into the burger, the muscles in my face and jaw screaming. I didn’t care. I was famished.
Sawyer smiled. “A few years ago, Folken was caught dealing large quantities of seized narcotics stolen from the evidence room. Internal Affairs did a massive bust and a bunch of people went down.”
“What happened to him?” I asked, covering my mouth full of food.
“Supposedly made a deal in return for testimony against the others. Did a little time and then went off the grid after that.”
“I have something to tell you, but promise not to be mad,” I said.
“I can’t promise that.”
“Fine. Little Ed Metzger, my neighbor Ida’s son? I swear that is the same guy as this Anthony Folken.”
“Yes. He was at the bar last night. He’s the one who saved your tail.”
“You knew?” Then I groaned. “Of course, you knew. You’ve been watching me for a year.”
“It’s what caught my attention when you first showed me the pictures. I was fairly sure that was the guy we’d seen with you at Casa Linda.”
“Let me guess. He’s not really related to Ida.”
“Highly doubt it.”
“She was a ploy to get close to me. But why?” I nibbled on the edge of the burger and my head felt like it might burst. “Can I have another Vicodin? Only one for now.”
He tapped a pill out of the small amber bottle and I took a sip of the jumbo Coke he’d brought with my meal. “I knew who he was the second I saw him helping you up. But if he wanted to hurt you, he’d have let Tito cut your throat.”
“I think Tito just wanted to rearrange my face, in a most unpleasant way.” I grimaced at the memory.
“That was seriously quick thinking last night. I told you you’d make a great agent.” He winked.
“Me with a gun? I’m dangerous enough with my mouth.”
“True.”
I play-punched him in the arm. “You aren’t supposed to agree with me. You’re supposed to say Oh, no Romi, you’re perfect. And oh, so pretty.” I wolfed down another bite. “You haven’t been a boyfriend in a while have you?” I forced myself to slow down.
“Very rusty.” He sipped my Coke and helped himself to some of my fries. “I do have some other information. Before, it didn’t seem relevant but now…” He stiffened.
“Now what?”
“I’m not sure how you’ll take it. Promise not to get mad?” He tensed.
“I can’t promise that.” I cocked an eyebrow. “What?”
“You said Phil proposed. You were planning to get married, right?”
“Yes, he proposed to me the fall before everything went to hell, in October. We were supposed to start planning the wedding as soon as we returned from the big trip to Monte Carlo in June. It had been like pulling frog teeth to get him to pick a date. He kept moving it around and blaming it on our work schedule. The rest you know.”
“What if I told you Phil couldn’t have married you?” He sipped the Coke and had a look like he was waiting for me to freak out.
“Of course, he couldn’t. He was too busy stealing a half a billion dollars and planning how to hide out in Switzerland.”
“Romi, I don’t know how to say this.”
“Say it.”
“At the time Phil proposed…” He stroked my hand. “Phil couldn’t marry you, because he was already married.”
I sat, stunned for a few moments. Nothing surprised me at this point, but I hadn’t expected this. “Why do I feel like a member of the bomb squad lately?”
“Understandable.”
“Who was he married to?”
“A big time real estate agent in Alexandria, Virginia. A Kalista Delphinos.”
“Know anything about her?” I asked.
“Family was definitely big leagues. Father was a star athlete at Harvard. Later became a congressman then worked for a powerful tobacco lobby until he died from a stroke.”
“Definition of irony,” I mumbled through a mouth full of fries.
“Her mother was a former beauty queen, Valedictorian at Vanderbilt. Kalista earned a degree from MIT, then married Phillip William Gerald right after graduation in a lavish Greek Orthodox wedding.” Sawyer opened his laptop and there was a photo of a petite tan, brunette with light blue-green eyes. Her hair was in a chic classic bob that framed her delicate jaw.
“That makes sense now,” I said, studying the image. We were the same size and build.
“What?”
“Phil always hated my hair. Guess he was grooming his wife’s replacement. Didn’t want me being blonde. Kept pestering me to dye my hair dark.”
“Don’t you dare,” he said.
“Did he divorce? Are they still married?”
“Stranger still. Supposedly they had a rocky marriage.”
“Which happens when you’re proposing to other women. Pretty much figure proposing to other women’s off-limits once you’re hitched.”
“This started years before you met. Phil was quite the ladies’ man. Caught in a string of indiscretions with high-end escorts.”
“Yikes.”
“Kalista was described as very insecure.”
“Again, happens when your husband is chasing other women.” I munched down more fries.
He gave me a dirty look and I shut up. “Apparently, her parents were hard on her. Very high-achieving family. Never got off her case, and it caused a lot of fights. Parents disowned her when she and Phil separated.”
“Even though her husband was clearly a lying, cheating bastard?”
Sawyer shrugged. “High-profile family, and Greek-Orthodox do not take kindly to divorce. I’ve worked with these kinds of people. In high society, you pay the hookers hush money and have your own affair with the pool boy.”
“Proof that you don’t have to live in a trailer park to be dysfunctional.”
“Kalista and Phil separated again right after her father died, cutting her from the will and leaving her nothing. She’d been living and w
orking in the D.C. area, and Phil in Dallas. Coworkers said they were trying to patch things up. Then mom died in a sailing accident, but Kalista apparently hadn’t mended fences in time for her mom to amend her will. Mama Delphinos left all the family money to charity.”
“Ouch.”
“Kalista had no remaining family or any of the sizable inheritance. Pushed all her friends away. Phil was the only one she was ever seen with in the years that followed. Allegedly in severe depression. She quit her job and someone, probably Phil, deposited money in her personal checking account and paid all her bills.”
“Explains all the trips. Am I the world’s stupidest person?”
“No, Romi.” He stroked my arm. “You’re a good person and you were young.”
“Where’s she now?”
“That’s where it gets weird.” He scratched his head and frowned. “She sells her condo, claiming she and Phil are getting back together. Then she takes a Christmas vacation by herself. A cruise to the Caribbean. Told her remaining friends she needed time to think about what she wanted. Phil wanted to live in D.C. and she wanted to start over in Florida.”
