"What?"
"On the Internet."
"Oh. It's a forum. A fan forum. It's called SpacedOut or something. Jeremiah liked to hang out there."
She held his gaze a beat longer than was necessary, then clicked in the search box and brought up the on-screen keyboard. As she typed, her bare arm brushed against his jacket. He felt his heart pick up its pace, felt the flush on the back of his neck. With her intently focused on the screen, he was free to admire her, the flutter of her eyelashes, the curve of her cheekbone, the way the dangle of a single strand of hair caught the light from the open window. Click, tap, swipe, and there was the forum. It wasn't until she looked up that he realized that he'd been staring at her, and he swallowed.
"Thank you," he said.
"Knock yourself out. I'm just going to take a shower."
"Okay."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Um."
"Technology. Phones. The whole anachronism bit."
"Anachronism bit?"
She nodded, and just for a moment, crazy as it was, he was almost certain she was going to kiss him again—and this time he was disappointed when she didn't. "You seem pretty young to be such a … I don't know. What's the right word? Old fogy? I don't quite get it. What is it that you have against the modern world?"
"Maybe the modern world has something against me. And I'm not that young."
"You're not even fifty yet. I checked."
"You checked?"
"It's almost like it's an act," she said. "Like you're purposely being obtuse just for the hell of it. Because you know it annoys people or something."
"Does it annoy you?"
He said it with a laugh, expecting a witty rejoinder in return, but she considered the question as if it warranted a more thoughtful response.
"Only a little," she said.
"Well, that's good."
"And not really in a bad way. It's kind of charming. You throw people off a little. They don't know what to make of you. Is that why you do it? To keep people off balance? Some master detective trick?"
"Ma'am," Gage said, "if I could explain the inner workings of my own mind, life would get a lot easier for me."
"That's just the thing," Karen said. "I think you know exactly what you're doing—even if you don't think you do."
"You're making my head hurt."
"But it's more than that, isn't it?" she said. "I'm overthinking it, probably. It's more about you. About you wanting to create a life that's, what, disconnected from everybody. Is that it? You want to cut people out, keep yourself safe, because caring about other people can cause pain."
"I feel like I should be lying down on a couch while you take notes."
"I'm just trying to figure you out, Garrison."
"That makes two of us. And what about you?"
"Huh?"
"Are you cutting people out, Karen?"
"No."
"What are you running from?"
"Running? I'm not running. I'm on vacation."
"Bullshit. This isn't a vacation. What happened that made you run for the hills?"
She stared defiantly, her eyes doing this little dance, a two-step shuffle back and forth. Somehow the distance between them had been cut to only a few inches. He could count the freckles on her nose. He could study the sweat on her eyelashes. She was searching his face, looking for something, and she settled on his lips. She shifted forward, as if she was going to kiss him, but then suddenly spun away and marched off to the bathroom.
"I have to take a shower," she said.
There was a certain smugness this time. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. He wouldn't have been surprised if she could even hear his heart, which was beating so hard it actually hurt. Watching the sway of her hips, the way those shorts clung to her body, all those wonderful curves, it was all he could do to keep himself from following her. It didn't help that as she closed the bathroom door, she glanced over her shoulder, her expression both seductive and mysterious, before she disappeared inside.
It wasn't until he heard the shower a few minutes later that he realized that he was still staring at the door.
He swallowed away a lump as big as a golf ball, then settled into the chair by the sliding glass door. He tried to concentrate on the iPad, but his mind wandered. It wandered right back to those tiny shorts. Her room, on the first floor, led directly to the beach, and even the slope of the sand reminded him of a woman's body. The ocean beyond the beach was dark and brooding, an undulating mass of grays and blues.
The next thing he knew, she was standing in front of him.
In a towel.
"Doesn't look like you've gotten far," she said.
"Huh?"
She pointed at the screen, which still showed the home page of the SpacedOut forum. When she moved her arm like that, the towel shifted, almost slipped, though she made no effort to grab it. Steam rose off her arms, her bare shoulders, her slicked-back hair. It was not a big towel. In fact, like most hotel towels, it was quite short. Minuscule, really—more of an oversized white hand towel. One little tuck was all that kept it in place, and when she shifted, her breasts shifted along with it, straining against the rough cotton.
"Been daydreaming?" she said.
"Mmm."
"What's wrong? Am I distracting you?"
Somehow he found the will to clear his throat. "You should—you should probably get dressed."
"Probably," she said nodding. The towel slipped a bit more. Now there was more breast showing than hidden, soft white flesh. "Probably should do that, yeah."
"Do you, uh …" he began.
"Yes?"
"Maybe—maybe I should …"
"You should what?"
Then the towel slipped and fell. She made no effort to stop it, nor even acknowledged that it had happened. She stood before him in all her glorious nakedness, skin glistening, the muscles taut in the right places, the flesh more forgiving in others. She was as fit as an Olympian, lean and powerful, a precision machine in the way all the body parts fit so perfectly together, but with still enough womanly curves that there was little boniness to her. She had a tattoo of a black rose on her hip, quite low. He tried to remain focused on her eyes, he really did, but no heterosexual male could fight off that kind of temptation for long. The strongest of them could only last a second. He lasted less than that.
"Karen."
"Mmm?"
"Your towel."
"Yes?"
"It, uh, fell off."
"Sure did."
"Um. I don't—I don't want to take advantage of you."
"Why not? What if that's what I need right now? Jesus, take advantage of me."
"But what happened to you that—"
"Forget about that. This is how you can help me. "
"Karen—"
She leaned into him, cupping both sides of his face and kissing him hard on the lips. Whatever protests he had, that kiss was like a delete button for his mind, wiping it all away. He tasted soap. Then her whole body folded against him, legs between his legs, her breasts on his jacket. Small as she was, she still seemed to envelop him, bare flesh crushing against him, a hot furnace of sexual desire.
In the beginning, other than sliding his hands onto her bare bottom without really thinking about it, he was not much more than a passive participant. She kissed him hungrily, on the lips first, then worked her way down, kissing his chin, his Adam's apple. Then she slid her hands under his polo shirt and across his chest, kissing her way down, his belly button, lower still, a few nips and bites along the way, reaching his belt buckle and working his belt free with the deftness of a street magician performing a card trick.
When she started working on his zipper, Gage decided it was time to start being an active participant. Or maybe decide was too strong a word. His own desire took hold, his qualms banished to some backwater part of his mind. It had been too long since he'd been with a woman, and his body, knowing this, was not letting him m
iss the opportunity. In an instant he was standing, clutching her bottom so hard she yelped, holding her against him as he carried her to the bed. His knee hurt like hell, but what did it matter?
The heat of her neck against his nose. The honey scent of her shampoo. He barely had time to take in these sensations before they fell onto the bedspread. She was laughing and smiling, happy in the moment, and seeing her in this state was the most powerful aphrodisiac she could have used on him. Somewhere along the way, with a fair amount of help from her, he shucked off his own clothes. Now, skin against skin, contact wherever contact was possible, there was no room for thoughts at all.
And for all their hurry in the beginning, there was no hurry in what happened next.
* * *
"Nice room, by the way," he said.
She murmured in response, and with her head on his chest, he felt it more than he heard it. A single cotton sheet lay over their cooling bodies, her hand resting on his stomach, her leg draped over his legs. Gage didn't know what time it was, but judging by the position of the sun, a silvery wrinkle in a sky like aluminum foil, it had to be going on late afternoon. He should have cared, felt the rush of impatience to make something happen in the strange case of Connor Fleicher and Jeremiah Cooper, but for the moment he cared only about remaining where he was. Her hair, now dry, tickled his nose, and he breathed deeply, taking in the intoxicating smell of her.
"A little expensive, though," he said.
She lifted her head and peered out the window, as if noticing the view for the first time. Far away, too far for them to see into the hotel room, a woman and a child, both dressed in parkas, walked hand in hand by the surf.
"Yeah," she said.
"I'm not complaining, mind you."
"I wanted to treat myself," she explained. "I've been staying in Motel 6s mostly. And I thought, you know, if you were interested … I wanted a nice place."
Looking down at the side of her face, her head still lying against his chest, he could clearly see the rosy color in her cheeks. It was funny, blushing after everything they'd done to each other the past few hours. He'd known she was fit, but she'd certainly proved it. She'd proved it, proved it again, and proved it a few more times just to make sure there was no doubt. If it had been a scientific experiment to prove her fitness, there'd be no question of her thoroughness.
"It sounds like you've been planning on seducing me for a while," he said.
"Ever since I met you," she said.
"I'm that handsome?"
"Mmm. Try not to let it go to your head."
"Too late. I'm needy that way."
"You're a hell of a lover too."
"Wow," he said. "Now you're really in danger of overinflating my ego."
"I didn't think your ego could be overinflated."
"There you go. That's bringing me back down to size."
Her hand, resting on his stomach, strayed lower. "I bet I could bring you back up to size pretty fast."
"Ah."
"Cat got your tongue?"
"Or something."
She giggled. Her hand moved away, index finger tracing lazy circles on his chest hair. "Don't worry. I'll let you recharge."
"Thank you."
"But only for a little while."
They lay like that for a time. He heard voices through the walls, a man and a woman in the next room. He couldn't make out the words, but he could tell it was a pleasant conversation, an easy one. Maybe they were talking about where to go for dinner. Whether to walk on the beach now or later. The movie they'd seen last night. Easy chatter. The kind that he used to have with Janet years ago, and with Carmen when she was still in town. He hadn't thought he'd missed it, but now he saw how empty his life had been, how much of a hole Carmen had left in his life when she'd gone.
Now here was this woman, this lovely, beautiful woman, a strange combination of resolve and fragility, like a steel bearing inside an eggshell—or perhaps the other way around.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Okay." Already he could hear the guardedness in her voice.
"You don't want to talk about why you're here. That's fine. I don't want to push you."
"I told you, I'm on vacation."
"Yeah. You said that. But you know I'm not buying it, so let's drop that charade, okay? I just want to know one thing right now. Are you still in the FBI?"
She didn't answer for a moment, then she rolled away, facing the wall. The rivets of her spine were like footprints left in the sand. He reached out and touched her back, gently pressing his fingers against her warm flesh. She pulled away from him, body half off the bed.
He sighed. "I don't know why you have to keep this from me. I want to help you."
"That's just it," she said. "Maybe I don't want your help."
"I just want to have some idea what I'm dealing with here."
Her voice, when she spoke, turned thick. "You're dealing with a woman who wants to make love to you. Why does it have to be more complicated than that?"
"It's always more complicated than that."
"Jesus. Men. You try to give them what they all say they want, sex without the complications, and all they can do is ruin it."
"Is that what men want?"
She didn't answer.
"Or," he said, "is it just what the men you've been with want?"
She rolled over, facing him again, and her eyes were watery and bright. "Are you trying to be cruel?"
"I'm trying to get you to talk to me."
"Maybe you should go."
"I could call Alex and he could log into the FBI database. He still does some part-time work for them, you know. I bet he could find out the answer to my question pretty quick."
"Jesus!"
"I'd rather have it come from you," he said.
"Get out!"
"Are you still in the FBI?"
"Leave!"
She shoved him hard in the chest. There was an animal-like rage about her now, her eyes dark, her face flushed with her anger. When he didn't move, she shoved him again, even harder. Her arms were so lean, her hands almost as small as a child's, but there was a focused power about her. He felt the bruises already forming.
Not reacting the second time seemed to slip something loose inside her. She screamed and thrashed at him, pummeling his chest, arms, and face, not punches but wild swings that sometimes connected but mostly in a glancing way. Even so, the sum of all that fury was going to leave him bloodied pretty quickly if he continued absorbing it with his defenses down.
So he swept her up in his arms, squeezing her close, crushing her arms and breasts so tightly against his chest that she didn't have much room to operate. She went on struggling, bucking and kicking, a hysterical display that finally culminated with her biting him on the shoulder. Biting him! Absorbing that without resulting in a violent response of his own took every ounce of self-control he had, but absorb it he did—though not without a strangled yelp.
Whether it was the yelp or more generally his steely resolve, her fever of rage broke. The screaming turned into sobbing. She plowed her face into his shoulder, whole body convulsing, a seizure of tremors and shakes, hot tears planted against his skin. This took twice as long to burn out as the rage, but he held on just the same.
Eventually the fire burned out. The rocket fuel was spent. The smoldering remains lay cradled in his arm, a lovely woman who seemed much smaller and more fragile. Minutes ago he was wondering how any person who stood against her, whether as a lover or as a criminal, would have any chance. Now he wondered how she even had the strength to get through the day. Every person may have contained such a contradiction within them, but he couldn't think of a time when they had both been on display in such a short period.
Outside, the ocean in all its vast grayness continued its endless sweep against the sand. There was nothing out there but rotting logs and tangled kelp. The air whistled through the vent above them, and he could just feel it brushing his forehead. Kar
en was so still, he thought she might have fallen asleep, but then she sniffled.
"Sorry," she said.
"Don't be," he said.
"I made a mess of your shoulder."
"It's probably an improvement."
She replied with such a soundless laugh that he wouldn't have been able to tell if she didn't have her face pressed against him.
"Do you want to talk about it now?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Okay," he said.
"Eventually. Eventually, I will. I just … not right now. In my own time."
"Okay."
"But I'm still in the FBI, okay? I'm just … I'm on leave. I answered your question. But wait on the rest. Can you do that? Can you wait?"
"I can wait," Gage said.
"Good. While we're waiting, I want to show you something."
"What's that?"
Her hand began to move again.
"Oh," he said.
* * *
The air was still too charged with emotional electricity to spend time in her room with the iPad, so after getting showered, he took her to the inn's restaurant. It was going on five o'clock by this time, and they had the panoramic view all to themselves. The skylights and the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the west wall gave the place the feel of a cruise ship, especially since they were so high they could see only ocean, no beach. They could have been a hundred miles out at sea. The sun, quite low, strained to pierce the overcast skies like a silver sword lancing through wool. A gas stove burned low in the center of the room, pulsing out waves of heat.
They took a seat near the window, sitting side by side, her knee pressing against his thigh as they both leaned in close, over the iPad. He set his cane on the chairs on the other side, trying not to be self-conscious about it. At this point, what did he have to hide?
Since she was obviously more familiar with the iPad, she took the helm, navigating through SpacedOut's flashy front page, full of photos from all the current science-fiction movies, into the many layers of fan forums. The neon green text on a black background was tough for Gage to read, but Karen appeared to have no trouble, fast-tapping her way through the account-creation stage and plumbing the depths of the forums, dancing from one thread to another so fast Gage had a hard time keeping up.
The Lovely Wicked Rain: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series) Page 14
