He grinned at her, for the first time in months, Donna thought.
‘You’re in a good mood,’ she said flatly.
‘Had a good week, babe.’ He whistled some tune or other. Sinatra’s “Fly Me To The Moon”, it sounded like.
I’ll bet you had a good week, Donna thought. He’d been with Madison the night before. She’d smelled the girl’s perfume on his clothes this morning when she’d gotten the laundry together. Well, enjoy it, pal. Because in one week from now, your smug little world is going to be knocked a degree off its axis.
‘Coming for a swim?’ he said cheerfully. Donna shook her head and turned back to her catalog.
‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘The water’s sure nice and clean these days, though.’
Donna stared after Blair’s back as he went out the French windows and across the lawn to the pool.
Just what exactly had he meant by that? It was a throwaway remark, except Blair never made those. Nothing he said was without calculation.
She rose from the couch and peered through the window. Blair had dropped his towel by the edge and was sauntering round to the diving board at the deep end. He leaped into the water with abandon, causing a huge splash.
Did he suspect something was going on between her and Kyle? If so, how? Kyle was a good-looking young guy, something Blair couldn’t have failed to notice, so maybe he was having a jibe at Donna just because of that, knowing she must have noticed the pool guy’s looks herself. She certainly didn’t think she’d been ogling Kyle in front of Blair. But she’d hired him, and Blair wouldn’t have forgotten that.
Blair was hardly in a position to get on his moral high horse when it came to unfaithfulness. He’d been screwing around on her for at least the last couple of years, and for all she knew longer than that. But he was a man, and the sort of man who held very strongly to a double standard regarding fidelity. According to his world view and that of the circles he moved in, guys fucked around. It was what they did, a part of their nature. Whereas a woman who put out for other men was a slut. It was sexist, it was disgusting... but it was the way Blair’s mind worked. And if he ever suspected Donna of playing away from home, he’d be pissed. Pissed not so much by the behavior itself, but because of what it represented. Disobedience. A pissed man of Blair’s wealth and power was dangerous. Maybe lethally dangerous. He could destroy her, and not just figuratively either.
As if she’d transmitted her thoughts to him, Blair looked up at the window from far below in the pool where he was bobbing, and waved to her. Donna didn’t wave back, but moved out of sight. Her pulse had quickened.
He knew something. She felt certain of it.
Mentally she ran through the possibilities. There’d been nobody to spy on her and Kyle and relay the information back to Blair, she felt reasonably sure. Had they left traces in the chalet? She’d washed the bedsheets herself, had cleaned the shower and the rest of the room of every trace she could find of Kyle’s blond hairs. He hadn’t worn condoms so there was nothing to incriminate them in that department.
Shit. She was going to be on tenterhooks from now on, reading meaning into Blair’s every remark, his every gesture. And he was going to string her along, she just knew it: leaking tiny details of his knowledge, a little at a time, just enough to keep her wondering and on the edge of panic. It was the kind of sadistic power game he loved.
She and Kyle would have to keep apart for a while, she decided. Should she tell him to stay away entirely? But that would surely just confirm Blair’s suspicions. No, Donna would have to maintain the appearance of a cordial employer-employee relationship with Kyle. It would be difficult for both of them, but not so difficult as being caught in the act by her husband.
She and Kyle would have to confer somehow, because she needed to rehearse the plan for next Saturday with him. Donna began to consider the options. It would have to be someplace in town where she was unlikely to be seen by anybody who knew her. The south side, probably. But now she’d have to make sure she wasn’t followed. What if Blair hired a private detective to follow her and take incriminating photos or something? She toyed with the idea of meeting Kyle at the motel he’d said he was staying at. They could get down to other things there, as well as discuss strategy. But again, what if Blair had someone on Kyle’s tail? She’d have to warn him to watch his back.
God, all of a sudden things had become a lot more complicated.
The first thing on her to-do list, Donna decided, was to buy a couple of cell phones. One for her and one for Kyle.
She threw down the stupid catalog and went to get her purse and car keys.
*
Monday morning dawned, hot as ever, and Kyle took the now-familiar journey in his pickup to the Thurgoods’ mansion. He waited for the electric gates to open, then headed down the driveway.
Donna’s call had disappointed, frustrated and, yes, scared him in equal measure. His cell phone had gone off the previous night with its Blondie “Call Me” ringtone - Donna didn’t look like Debbie Harry, exactly, but her sexiness reminded her of the singer somehow - and he’d snatched it up, eager to hear her voice.
She was worried Blair suspected they were involved somehow, and she thought it would be a good idea for them not to see each other for a while. Yes, they’d say hello, and he’d need to collect the keys to the chalet from her each time he came to clean the pool so that he could get his cleaning materials, but apart from that they couldn’t risk being seen together. That meant no sex, of course.
Christ.
He didn’t know if he could stand it. Not now, after he’d put up with blue balls thinking he could never hope to have her and had then been treated to a protracted marathon of hard fucking with her. To be told he had to back off once more... it didn’t bear thinking about.
But he had no choice. He had to go along with it. If Blair Thurgood caught them doing it, he’d go berserk. Kyle could handle himself, but he was afraid for Donna. So he’d have to content himself with memories, jacking off regularly and several times a day if necessary to keep himself from being driven insane with lust. He supposed it would make his and Donna’s eventual reunion all the sweeter.
Kyle parked the truck in his usual spot and walked across the gravel to the front door. As always his pulse quickened at the thought of seeing Donna. He lifted his hand to ring the doorbell when the door opened, startling him.
Blair Thurgood stood in the doorway, dressed for work in another power suit, staring at Kyle.
‘Hello, pool boy,’ he said. His tone was friendly enough.
Kyle fought the urge to take a step backward. ‘Mr Thurgood,’ he said, as steadily as he could.
‘Enjoying your work here?’ Thurgood said. Had he laid the faintest emphasis on the word work? Kyle couldn’t be sure.
‘Yes, thank you, sir. You have a beautiful pool.’
‘Indeed I do.’ Thurgood advanced on to the front porch and clapped a hearty hand on Kyle’s shoulder. ‘I have a lot of beautiful things. As I’m sure you’ve noticed.’
Oh shit, thought Kyle. He held Thurgood’s gaze. The man’s hand rested heavily on his shoulder.
The silence stretched out uncomfortably.
‘What’s your name, pool boy?’ asked Thurgood, sounding genuinely interested.
‘Kyle Cantrell.’ This time Kyle didn’t add sir. He was getting irked at the other man’s repeated use of pool boy.
‘You a married man, Kyle?’
‘No.’ If Thurgood didn’t remove his hand from Kyle’s shoulder in the next few seconds Kyle was going to do it himself. As if reading his mind, Thurgood lifted the hand and punched Kyle playfully on the upper arm.
‘I’m married, Kyle. Well, you know that. You’ve met my wife.’ Again, there was the hint of an emphasis on met. ‘Been married eleven years. And one thing I’ve learned in those eleven years, Kyle, is that two people can’t keep anything secret from one another for very long. Can’t be done. You become too finely tuned to the other person’s l
ittle ways and tell-tale signs.’
‘What’s your point, Mr Thurgood?’ asked Kyle, suddenly tired of these games.
Thurgood raised his palms heavenward, adopted a surprised expression. ‘No point really, Kyle. Just a little food for thought for when you get married one day. Think of it as an old geezer sharing his worldly wisdom with a hot young buck.’ And he grinned.
Kyle waited for more, but none came. He said, ‘Mr Thurgood, I need the keys to the chalet, if that’s okay.’
‘Sure.’ Thurgood produced the keys and dropped them into Kyle’s outstretched hand. ‘My apologies. I don’t want to keep you. I know you’ve got a lot to do this morning.’ Without taking his eyes off Kyle’s face he called, ‘Donna, honey. Kyle the pool boy’s here.’
He stepped forward and Kyle moved aside to let him pass, bracing himself in case the guy took a swing at him. He didn’t.
Thurgood turned his head and said, ‘Donna’ll be glad you’ve come. She gets so hot, she’ll be wanting a swim after you’re done.’
And he sauntered off toward the waiting Cadillac.
Standing by the Caddy was the driver in his uniform and cap, watching Kyle. Again Kyle noted the smirk on the man’s face.
Kyle watched the big car pull away up the driveway, and it was only then that he noticed something odd about his pickup truck. It was listing a little to one side.
He hurried over. As he got closer he slowed, not believing what he saw.
Both tires on the driver’s side, front and back, were flat. Each had a ragged slash in it which had been clearly made by a blade of some sort.
‘Son of a bitch,’ he breathed, crouching to inspect the damage.
The driver had done it, quickly and quietly, while Thurgood had been talking to Kyle. He stared up the driveway but the Cadillac was long gone.
Kyle debated going up to the front door and ringing the bell for Donna. But that would be playing into Blair’s hands. They’d agreed to keep contact to a bare minimum, and that was what they’d do.
He slumped against the truck, reflecting that although the tire-slashing was clearly a warning, it was also in its own right a serious pain in the ass. One tire he could’ve replaced. Two meant calling out a mechanic.
As he dialed, Kyle couldn’t help a grim smile. Well, as a scare tactic it had backfired. Any qualms he’d had about breaking into Blair Thurgood’s house and stealing his painting were now completely gone.
*
Night had fallen and the cicadas were in full cry, with the occasional hoot of an owl to break the monotony of their sound.
Kyle had rented a nondescript VW from a downtown office and was parked up in the woods half a mile from the Thurgood house. He’d considered coming closer but he didn’t know how tightly the security cordon would descend around the property, and thought it might be difficult to get a car clear. On foot, he’d be more adaptable.
He looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. He and Donna had agreed he’d go in after dark, again to facilitate his escape. The trouble was, the sun didn’t set these days till almost nine in the evening, and even then the twilight lingered on.
Kyle took a deep breath. No more stalling. This was it.
He pulled on a pair of leather gloves, annoyed at how sweaty his palms were. He wore black jeans and sneakers, a black T-shirt, and a black nylon jacket, the lightest he could find. Feeling faintly ridiculous, he pulled a ski-mask – also black – from his jacket pocket and drew it on. Lastly, he picked up an oilskin sack he’d rolled up underneath the dashboard. It was just big enough to hold the two-by-three foot painting.
At a loping run he made his way through the trees toward the wall of the Thurgood property.
He leaped at the gate after a short run-up, and for an instant held his breath, waiting for the whoop of an alarm siren, the harshness of spotlights skewering him. But none of it came. Donna had disabled the system, just as she’d said she would.
Kyle dropped on to the gravel driveway. Ahead, the house was in darkness aside from a light on in the porch. Donna had told him about that. He headed toward the side of the house.
‘The bay window’s probably the best,’ she’d said. He hadn’t seen her all Monday, and had been half-afraid when he arrived on Thursday that he’d encounter Thurgood at the front door again. Not that he was scared of the guy; rather, Kyle was worried he’d flip out himself when he laid eyes once more on the man who’d ordered his tires slashed, and hit the guy or something. But Donna greeted him, handing him the keys to the chalet and dropping a tiny cellphone into his palm at the same time. Only later, after he’d gone home, did she call him on it.
He told her about the slashed tires. She was silent for a long moment, then: ‘Damn it. I’m sorry, Kyle.’
‘Not your fault.’
‘You need to watch yourself.’
‘I’m not scared of him. I’m more concerned about what he might do to you, babe.’
They were all set for Saturday. She ran over the schedule again. Blair was leaving for a business meeting in Atlanta at lunchtime on Saturday, and was going to stay there till Sunday. (‘He’ll be taking young Madison along, so he won’t get lonely,’ Donna said bitterly.) Donna would be in Columbus at a friend’s place for dinner and wouldn’t be home till around midnight. By that time, Kyle would have broken in, taken the painting, reset the alarms (Donna spelled out the codes and made Kyle repeat them twice), and gotten the hell out into the woods. He’d stow the painting in his motel room in the safe there and lie low, till Donna contacted him again, probably the next day.
That was as much as he needed to know for now, she said. When she called him again on Sunday she’d give him further instructions.
Kyle reached the bay window and peered in through a crack in the drapes, half-expecting irrationally to see somebody looking out. He could make out a few details of the living room but mostly it was in darkness.
Slipping off his jacket, he balled it tightly around his gloved fist and pressed firmly against the window pane. The glass was tough, but began to creak under his unrelenting pressure. With a sharp crack it gave. Kyle used his covered fist to hammer at it until he’d created a hole big enough to put his arm through. Then he reached in and unfastened the latch.
He glanced around briefly at the room where only a couple of weeks earlier he’d sat and been interviewed by the woman he was now risking his freedom for. Donna had talked him through the layout of the house, or in any case as much of it as he needed to know. He went through into the entrance lobby with its marbled floor, marveling silently at the sheer luxury of the wealth that was being flaunted. Turning left, he began to ascend the great main staircase, which swept to one side in an arc.
He reached the second floor and got his bearings. Identical doors led off a corridor running left and right. The one he wanted, Blair’s study, was the third on the right. He stepped up to it, tried the handle, again expecting an alarm to go off which it didn’t. Pushing the door open, he entered.
The tall windows had shutters which weren’t completely closed, and moonlight spilled in. Two walls were covered with leatherbound books – Kyle wondered if Thurgood had actually read them or if they were just for show – and a gigantic mahogany desk took up most of a third side of the room.
Above the desk, instantly recognisable from Donna’s description even in the dim light, was the painting.
Kyle didn’t know much about art, but he kind of liked the picture. It was of a small village sloping down to a beach, fishing boats hauled up onto the shore and fishermen unloading their catch. He stood gazing at it for a moment, aware that he was about to take hold of the single most expensive thing he’d ever touched.
‘Hello, Kyle.’
The shock of the adrenalin surge was like electrocution and Kyle almost fell off his feet. Whirling round, he saw the dark shape in the chair behind the door. The man was in silhouette, but Kyle recognised him as Blair Thurgood.
In the dimness, his teeth gleamed white. Something else gl
inted, and Kyle realised what it was even before Thurgood flicked on a table-lamp nearby and the room was flooded with brilliant light.
In his hand Thurgood held a semiautomatic pistol, and it was aimed straight at Kyle.
Six
Donna floored the accelerator of the Mercedes, sending stumbling merrymakers scurrying for their lives as she tore through the streets. It was Saturday night and the bar crowds were in full flow, which made driving exceptionally difficult.
Shit, she thought, biting her lower lip so hard she tasted blood. Shit, shit.
The dashboard clock said it was eleven fifteen. Kyle had planned to break in at around ten. So if he’d followed his plan, he was probably already on the run, or even in police custody.
Donna had tried to appear as relaxed as possible during dinner, smiling and nodding politely at the banal conversation around her, but all the while she’d been unbearably tense inside, hoping against hope Kyle would bring it off. She’d felt her cellphone buzz twenty minutes ago and had felt an instant stab of exultation. Had he done the deed already and made his escape? She excused herself and went outside in the balmy summer evening air to take the call.
But it wasn’t Kyle.
She listened, the horror expanding in her stomach and chest. Her fist gripped the phone so tightly she heard the metal and plastic creak.
Blair wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He’d left the conference in Atlanta some hours earlier.
Which meant he was either on his way back home, or had arrived there already.
She ended the call, took a long second to center herself and try to slow her hammering heart, then went back in to the dinner. She told her hosts she was a little tired and had to get back. It was late enough that she didn’t think she raised any suspicions, and she kept up the façade of cheerfulness until she was in her car and pulling away.
Drifter's Blues (Erotic Noir) Page 6
