One Hot Target

by Diane Pershing

  “No, it’s because you’re beautiful.”

  “Am not.”

  JR took a moment or two before chuckling. “Okay, how many times have we had this particular debate?”

  “Five hundred eighty-two,” she said with a laugh. “I kept count.”

  That got another nice chuckle out of him. She couldn’t believe it. They were okay, the two of them. Even after she brought up the lovemaking—which hadn’t been easy for her to do, but it was the five hundred pound elephant in the living room, had been since yesterday morning, whether they’d wanted to admit it or not. So she’d brought it up, they’d kidded about it, gotten past it.

  Was it possible? Could they actually still be friends after crossing that line into getting physical? Oh, how she hoped so. Without JR’s friendship, she would be lost.

  The mist had turned into rain, and even with a full moon and headlights, the road wasn’t well-illuminated. JR turned the wipers up and concentrated on his driving. Carmen switched on the radio and found some classical music—JR loved the stuff and had taught her to appreciate it. Strings, sad and soaring, filled the car.

  “What about Gidget?”

  His question, out of nowhere, made her jump. “Gidget?”

  “Back to the list of suspects. The mental illness theory. Aging actress, possibly jealous of young, nubile beauty.”

  “There you go again with that jealousy and beauty stuff, JR.”

  “Okay, but you know what I mean. She’s not a stable person, Carm.”

  She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “But, you know, she kind of is. At least for a homeless person. For sure it wasn’t her, dressed all in black, who pulled the trigger, that much I know. And I can’t picture her paying someone to do the job. I mean, she’s homeless. She has no money. Plus, it was her dog that chased off the intruder.”

  “Hmm. True.” He snapped his fingers. “Aha! Got it.”

  “What?”

  “Tommy Spencer, back from childhood to get even with you for pushing him into the mud puddle.”

  She slapped a hand to her forehead. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “And then there’s Doreen O’Hara and Sheila Parton.”

  “Who?”

  “You don’t remember? They were the princesses at your high school prom when you were voted queen. They hated your guts.”

  “How do you remember names from all those years ago?”

  “Legal training,” he said with a self-mocking grin. “I have a mind like a steel trap.”

  “Well, mine’s a sieve.” She made a face as she remembered that long-ago night. “Boy, I hated when they announced my name. I didn’t want to run for prom queen, from what I do remember. I didn’t want to get up there with that stupid crown.”

  “I think that’s why they hated you. You just didn’t care if you won or lost—for them, it was life and death.”

  “They made the rest of that year torture for me. You were off at Harvard by then. You flew in special just to take me to the prom. My hero.”

  “Because Kevin Sims got sick and couldn’t go.”

  “Kevin! God, I haven’t thought of him in years.”

  JR smiled. “It was fun being with the queen of the prom. At my high school, I was definitely not one of the cool kids.”

  She slanted him a look. “You’re definitely cool now, trust me.”

  “You think?” JR said with a pleased smile.

  “I know.”

  Wasn’t JR the best! As he had all those years ago, he’d stepped in, taken her mind off her troubles, even made her laugh. God, she loved him!

  She loved him, she thought, frowning. But what kind of love was it?

  It didn’t last. He’d been able to distract her for a while on the ride down, but the minute they entered his condo and shut the door behind them, JR saw that she wasn’t okay. She was, at least, no longer despondent; now she was more manic.

  “That massage Saturday night was terrific,” she told him. “I could use another one right now.”

  “If you’d like, I could—”

  She waved him away, headed for the kitchen. “Still got some tea? I feel like a cup.”

  “Make that two,” JR said, following her.

  She put water in the teakettle and placed it on the stove. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, “about the whatever-you-call-it, the assassin. Mac is sure it’s a pro. But he or she sure isn’t acting like a pro.”

  “Go on.”

  She found cups and tea bags and spoons and honey, and all the while she kept on talking. “Well, first of all they get the wrong person. And then, the second time, they miss. Aren’t paid killers supposed to be more accurate than that?”

  “Or aren’t you just about the luckiest target in the history of the world?”

  “Possibly. But think about it.” She held up her thumb. “Monday, hired killer shoots poor Peg Davis, thinks he got me. Feels terrific, earns his money or whatever.” Her index finger joined the thumb. “Okay, then a couple of days later, he or she reads in the paper the name of the murdered woman and says, ‘Boy did I screw up. Got the wrong person. I’d better try again.’ Which he does, on Friday morning, but fails again.” Now her middle finger joined the other two. “He’s still looking for me, but he can’t find me, either because I haven’t been home or he sucks at his job.”

  JR propped a hip against a kitchen counter and considered. “Add the fact that he tried to break into your house on Tuesday night, before he knew he’d gotten the wrong person, and was chased off by a dog.”

  “Or maybe he did know he got the wrong person.”

  “How? They didn’t release the information about Peg Davis’s identity until Wednesday. Remember? You were at your mom’s and I called you up. It didn’t even hit the papers until Thursday.”

  “Oh, right.” All tea preparations in place, Carmen leaned an elbow on one of the counters and drummed her fingers against the tile. “Then why did someone try to break into my house on Tuesday night?”

  Her edginess was making him edgy. “Either they knew they’d gotten the wrong person,” he said, watching her, wondering where she’d go next, “and wanted to finish the job, or they thought you were dead and were trying to find something. Something you would keep in your house. Which leads us back to Tio having hidden something incriminating at your place.”

  She splayed her hands. “But I searched, JR. Thoroughly.”

  “Then it’s something you have that you don’t know you have. I’ll notify Mac tomorrow, give him permission to bring in a team to search your place. If that’s okay.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Her mouth quirked up on one side. “Maybe they’ll find my favorite lipstick. Ringo Red. I misplaced it a couple of weeks ago.”

  “I’ll tell him to keep an eye out for it,” JR said dryly.

  The teakettle’s shrill whistle made Carmen jump; then she made a fanning motion at her face. “Boy, that scared me.”

  “So I noticed.”

  JR turned off the gas and poured hot water into the cups while Carmen began to pace back and forth in the kitchen. She was about as wound up as he’d ever seen her. Which of the many problems on her plate was responsible for the present moment’s attack of nerves? he wondered. The danger she was in? Grace’s revelations? Or the relationship between the two of them—what she wanted from him, what was reasonable of him to ask of her?

  Whatever it was, he wished he weren’t so aware of her, of the sensual way she moved, even when on edge. Of the way her blouse fit so snugly over small, perfect breasts that he vividly remembered touching and licking, driving her mad.

  “Maybe he wasn’t searching,” Carmen went on as she paced. “Maybe he really was trying to break in to finish the job. Maybe he had some way of knowing that he’d hit the wrong target.” She stood still and snapped her fingers. “Maybe he hung around after the shooting and saw me, with Mac or with you. You know. At the mall. So he knew I was still alive and was trying to finish
the job.”

  “Either way, he wasn’t successful,” he reminded her. “It didn’t happen.”

  “We’re both calling the shooter ‘he.’ But it could have been a ‘her.’”

  “Could have been.”

  She was back to pacing. And his body was reacting to her as though he were seventeen again, when he walked around much of the day in pain due to hormonal activity in the groin area. Most anything could have set it off back then—a girl’s smile, the rear view of a woman in tight jeans, the smell of perfume, watching a female rake her fingers through her long hair.

  He was far from that boy now; he had more control than this, he told himself, and he’d better make use of it and soon.

  “So he or she screws up three times,” Carmen was saying. “Gets the wrong person, is chased away by a dog, hits heroine’s best friend instead of heroine…who, by the way, hasn’t been home since, so if he’s been trying to finish the job he has to be really frustrated. You know something, JR? If he wasn’t out to end my life I might almost feel sorry for him…or her.”

  JR handed her a cup of hot tea. “Seriously?”

  “No.” She offered a small, not-quite-successful smile. “Just injecting a little levity into the situation. Boy, this whole thing sucks, big-time.”

  “That it does. Drink your tea, Carm.”

  She took a sip, then set it down on the counter and hugged herself. “The truth is, I’m all over the place tonight, JR. Sorry. I feel kind of disoriented. I’m…I’m scared. What a concept, huh? I’m trying not to be, but I am.”

  That was his cue. He was supposed to go over to her now and hug her, offer his shoulder to lean on, murmur soothing words in her ear. But he couldn’t do it, couldn’t seem to get control of his body, which, recently allowed access to Carmen’s soft curves and mysterious places, didn’t want to behave, not this time. It had experienced paradise and it wanted to go there again.

  Now.

  JR took his tea and headed out of the kitchen, saying, “I know, Carm, but you’re safe here. No one can get to you here.”

  She followed. “Where are you going?”

  “It’s time for bed. You must be exhausted and I have to get up early in the morning.”

  He went into his bedroom, set the teacup on top of his dresser, pulled open a drawer, took out a T-shirt. Then he went over to his bed, grabbed one of the pillows and walked into the living room.

  Carmen followed him again. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for bed.” He walked over to the linen closet and grabbed a couple of blankets, went back to the living room and spread them on the couch.

  She perched on the arm of an upholstered chair, watching him, cradling her teacup, a look of confusion on her face. “Are you angry at me, JR?”

  He looked up from setting up his sleeping quarters. “What? No.”

  “You seem to be.”

  He stood up, wiped his mouth and considered what to do and/or say. He didn’t feel very smart at the moment. He was tired, his shoulder was aching, he’d been trying to be supportive and loving to his friend, all the while wanting to jump her bones again.

  He expelled a breath, then sat down on the couch and gazed at her. “I’m not angry at you, Carm. If anything, I’m angry at myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, despite everything, all I want to do is make love to you again. And again. And again.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh.” Then a small smile played in the corner of her mouth. “I wouldn’t mind. Who am I kidding? I’d love it.”

  She stood, set down her tea and reached for the ties of her wraparound blouse.

  “Don’t.”

  She looked up, startled. “What?”

  “We’re not going to make love.”

  Huge, confused eyes met his. “We aren’t?”

  He took another deep breath. He was feeling sad, so sad. Probably just exhaustion, but it felt different. It felt…hopeless. “No. Not until this crisis in your life is over and you and I can talk. About us. The two of us.”

  “I see.” She lowered her arms to her sides. “No, I don’t. Explain.”

  He tried to deflect her. “Can’t this wait? We’re both tired and scared. We both might say things we don’t mean.”

  “But, I’m curious. Why can’t we make love? We’re here, we turn each other on.” She smiled. “It’s way better than a massage.”

  “Lovemaking as physical therapy.”

  “Oh, JR, that was a joke. You know it’s more than that.”

  “Is it? To you?”

  She stared at him as though trying to figure him out. Then she nodded her head. “You are angry at me, aren’t you? Because when you said you loved me the other night, I didn’t say it back.”

  He considered her statement and had to admit there was some truth in it. “Maybe partly,” he said. “Yes. It hurt.”

  “I never want to hurt you, JR. Never. It’s just that I need time,” she told him, hands clasped under her chin. “Why can’t you give me some time?” All of the nervous energy humming through her seemed to disappear at once. As though someone had let all the air out of a balloon, her entire body sagged, and he saw how deeply exhausted she was; she could barely lift her head to look at him.

  “Carm, please, let’s not—”

  “I’m overwhelmed here, JR,” she went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “It’s really too much to think about. Someone is trying to kill me. And I just found out my mother isn’t my mother. And I can’t go home because it’s not safe. And even before all this happened, I was looking for a career. Some meaning in my life? I have debts. I sold my car. I’m tired of it all. I’m tired of me.” Her eyes filled. “I just don’t want to be me right now. That’s why I thought it might be nice to make love with you. Or one of the reasons, I guess. I was looking for some relief, someplace to hide from being me. To feel safe. I feel safe with you. Or I used to, anyway.”

  Making love with him to hide, for relief, because she felt safe. It didn’t get much further away from what JR wanted to hear than that. That same sense of hopelessness swept over him again. “We’re not talking about the same thing. We’re just not on the same page.”

  “See?” She shook her head. “Just what I said would happen, it’s happening. The friendship is in trouble. Maybe it’s over. I hope not, but it sure is having a rough patch. And it’s all because we got physical.”

  “No.” He wasn’t at all angry anymore. “It’s all because I said something I’ve been keeping back for years. It’s because I told the truth. And I’m sorry, Carm. If a friendship can’t survive one of the friends telling the other the truth, then it has no excuse to exist at all.”

  “But—”

  It was his turn to interrupt her. He held up a hand. “Please, Carm. Neither of us can keep our eyes open. Go to sleep. My turn on the couch. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” He rose and headed for the bathroom. “We’ll get through this, I promise.”

  “You always say that,” he heard her say behind him.

  “And I always mean it.”

  Something woke her up. The rattling of hangers. She opened one eye to stare at the clock. Six a.m. The noise was JR rooting around in his closet.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked groggily.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I was trying to find a tie. Go back to sleep.”

  She flicked on the lamp, rubbed her hand over her face. Then she propped up her pillow—causing Owl, curled up on one end of it, to protest—and gazed at JR through only partly opened eyes. He was showered and shaved, and natty as always in a navy-blue suit and a pale olive-colored shirt. She yawned. “It’s so early.”

  “I have to get to the office, make sure I still have a job.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Not really. It’s just, well, last week, I wasn’t exactly available to my clients.”

  An instant spear of guilt hit her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Emergenci
es are emergencies. Everyone has them. My bosses understand. I have some work to catch up on, that’s all. Found it.”

  He pulled out a tie; it was a deep-olive color with small blue-and-white-diamond shapes scattered all over it. He slung it around his neck, letting it hang loose.

  Remembering his sore shoulder, Carmen said, “Need some help with that?”

  “No, Daisy will tie it for me when I get in. Go back to sleep.”

  She frowned, scratched her head. “I smell coffee.”

  “It’s brewing. It’ll be ready in a few minutes. I have to go.” He walked over to her, leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Stay here, okay? Don’t go anywhere. Watch movies, read, rest. I’ll call you later.”

  He walked briskly out of the room. She wanted to call him back, wanted to talk about how they’d left it last night, wanted to make sure they were okay. He’d acted like they were okay, hadn’t he? All domestic and bustling around looking for a tie, coffee brewing, giving the little woman a kiss before heading out to slay dragons.

  Weird. Like an old Doris Day movie. She shook her head. Weird.

  Chapter 10

  Carmen pushed the pillow away. It smelled of JR. His scent, his aftershave. It was interfering with her sleep. God, all she wanted to do was sleep!

  She opened one eye. Seven a.m. She’d drifted off after JR left, and she must have had a bad dream, because she was drenched in sweat, her heart racing.

  She pushed off the covers, gathered the cat in her arms and headed for the living room. Her heart was pounding, her head was filled with nonsense, buzz, lint. She made for the big windows and JR’s million-dollar view of the Pacific Ocean. The morning sky was overcast—was there more rain forecast for today?

  Her heart was beating way too fast. Was she having a panic attack? It sure felt like it. Once, during one of her many searches for meaning in her life, she’d attended a meditation workshop, which hadn’t worked out because she’d had trouble sitting still long enough to concentrate. But she did remember that they’d said to find a focus point, stare at it, and regulate your breathing. Deep breath in, deep breath out, several times in a row.