Alex shook his head. “You’re the one with a petting zoo, not me. I’m no Noah.”
Russ grinned. “So, where do you want your ducks?”
“In the pond behind the cabin. Go ahead and drive on back. I’ll get your money and meet you there.”
“Will do,” Russ said, pulling away.
Going inside, Alex took some money from the atrocious looking cookie jar that Angelina had given him. Stuffing the bills in his pocket, he headed for the pond. He saw Phoebe staring at him from a grove of aspen trees. As he watched, she walked toward Russ.
It was the first time that Phoebe had walked intentionally toward a stranger since her experience with Drake. Alex wondered why she was doing it now. He saw her glancing in his direction as she put her hand on Russ’s arm and began to chatter and laugh.
Alex’s heart lurched. He knew beyond any doubt that she was flirting in order to cause him pain. She was trying to make him suffer in a way that only a man deeply in love could suffer. She was being deliberately cruel.
Alex stood for a moment, breathing hard. Passing a shaking hand over his face, he turned and walked away. He didn’t think about the money in his pocket. He didn’t think about anything except the fact that Phoebe was flirting with another man.
~*~
Next to the pond, Phoebe saw Alex’s hasty retreat. She permitted herself a tiny smile. That will teach him. That will make him hurt as much as I’m hurting.
Down in her heart, she knew she was stepping over the line. Pushing feelings of guilt aside, she told herself she was glad that Alex was in pain.
She glanced at Russ. He was watching Alex disappear into the forest.
Russ’s face was full of confusion, and then it was full of disgust. Turning to her, he said scornfully, “Just what are you playing at?”
Phoebe blinked. “Pardon?”
“You’re a pretty thing, and under different circumstances I’d give you a whirl. But Alex is my friend, and from the looks of things, he has his heart set on you.” Russ scowled. Turning to one side, he spat contemptuously in the dirt. “But if you’re gonna play fast and loose with him, you don’t deserve him. Alex is a class act, and he deserves someone better than a cheap flirt with a roving eye.”
Phoebe gasped.
With a quick flick of his wrist, Russ opened the crate and let the ducks go free. Tossing the empty box into the back of his pickup, he climbed into the cab. “Tell Alex he can bring the money by my place when he gets a chance. There’s no hurry.” Russ glared at her. His lip curled. “And if you have the guts—which I doubt—you can also tell him that I think he can do better than a two-timing tramp like you.”
As Phoebe drew a painful breath, Russ started his pickup and left in a swirl of dust.
~*~
After Nicole and Zeke left, Marc walked over to Crystal. “I hate seeing Zeke hurt,” he said. “When I counseled him as a boy, I hoped his migraines would fade as he aged.”
Crystal sighed. “They seem to be getting worse lately. Of course, he’s spending more time at work, and the last few weeks have been very stressful.”
“His fallout with me isn’t helping either,” Marc muttered, cracking his knuckles. “I don’t know what more I can do. I’ve tried apologizing, but he won’t listen.”
Crystal hesitated. “I don’t know the particulars of Zeke’s childhood, but it was bad, wasn’t it?”
He nodded. “About as bad as it could get. His poor eyesight stems from blunt force trauma.”
Crystal looked horrified. “Zeke was beaten?”
“Repeatedly,” he replied. “He was also shot by his father. It’s a miracle Zeke survived.”
Crystal shivered. “An abusive father. That explains it.” She rubbed her hands over her arms. “Earlier, out in the hall, Zeke warned me against you. He said you were abusive. He thought you’d hit me and split my lip.”
Marc felt the color draining from his face. His thoughts whirled. What harm is there in a kiss in the moonlight? It’s destroying my reputation.
“I’m pretty sure I convinced Zeke that you didn’t hit me, but I’m beginning to understand why he’s so upset. If his father was abusive, you may have resurrected some bad memories.”
Marc felt sick. He remembered how hard it’d been for Zeke to deal with his father’s abuse. If Zeke is traveling down that path again…
“Don’t worry,” Crystal said. “Nicole has Zeke well in hand. She’ll look after him.”
Marc gave an uncertain nod. He hoped with all his heart that Zeke wasn’t reliving the memory of the murders.
Crystal’s voice gentled. “Marc, I know you’re upset. But all you can do is be nice and show Zeke that he’s wrong about you. He’s fair. He’ll eventually admit that he’s mistaken and forgive you. He’s too decent to do anything else.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “Now, how about if we order some pizza? I’m starving, and if we order in, we can keep working.”
Marc took a shivering breath. “Sounds good. What toppings do you like?”
“Honestly?”
“Am I gonna regret asking?” he asked, finally returning her smile.
“Maybe we should order Chinese instead.” Crystal laughed. “I don’t think it’s smart to reveal my pizza preferences this early in our friendship.”
~*~
Phoebe’s feet felt like lead as she headed to the cabin. Her actions toward Alex filled her with shame. Russ’s words, “cheap flirt” and “two-timing tramp,” kept ringing in her ears. She knew she deserved them. She dreaded facing Alex, and at the same time, she wanted desperately to see him and make sure he still loved her.
When she reached the cabin, the echoing emptiness told her that he wasn’t inside. She searched the rooms regardless. She went to the barn, but he wasn’t there either. Feeling something akin to panic, she ran to his favorite boulder by the stream. He wasn’t there praying.
Phoebe felt a numbing pain rising within her heart. For the first time, she didn’t know where Alex had gone. For the first time, she was completely alone. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been depending on him until suddenly he wasn’t there.
Wandering back to the cabin, she curled into a tiny ball on the sofa. She was ashamed. She was scared. She was alone. Worst of all, she was no longer certain that she was loved.
~*~
Gerald pulled himself slowly through the trees. Each movement brought searing agony. He’d avoided inspecting his injuries. He was afraid that if he looked too closely the horror would cause him to shut down. He was certain that he had several broken ribs and a broken leg.
The path began climbing. It wasn’t much of an incline, but it felt as if he was facing a mountain. Exhausted, he stopped crawling and tried to recoup his strength. Suddenly, he felt a burning pinch on his forearm. The pinch was followed by another. Dozens of pinches—even more—began tormenting him.
Gasping, he looked down and realized that he was lying on an anthill. Frantically, he tried to brush the biting insects away. Rolling like a log, he heaved himself off the path. His head slammed against a rock.
Shivering pain. Rolling nausea. Blackness reached out friendly hands and engulfed him.
~*~
Crystal was pulling cartons of Chinese food out of the bag from Red Panda Pagoda when Marc came back with two sodas from the vending machine. Smiling over her shoulder at him, she asked, “Did you get me a diet cola?”
“No,” he said, setting two regular colas on the desk. “You don’t need to diet.”
Tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, Crystal muttered, “That’s what you think.”
“Hey, I grew up with four sisters, and I know all about women and their must-diet mentality. Trust me. You don’t need to lose weight. Your figure is exceptionally nice just as it is.” He chuckled. “Besides, I can’t understand why you want a diet cola when you allow yourself chocolate chip cookies.”
Crystal rolled her eyes. “A woman has to figure out what’s important in life. If I don
’t have the calories in the cola then I can eat the cookies without guilt. It’s all a matter of perspective. The intricacies of the calorie dance are something that women understand even if men don’t.”
“Forget the calorie dance. I’m telling you, you look terrific.” Marc nudged the cola toward her. “Drink your soda and enjoy it. You can afford some extra calories.”
She shot him a skeptical look.
“As your friend,” he said, “I promise to let you know if you start getting love handles.”
Running her fingers over the condensation on the can, she flicked water at him. “If you do, I promise you’ll regret it. Any man who tells a woman that she’s getting fat is just asking to have his head bitten off.”
Marc laughed. Opening cartons, he passed her a plate.
After he prayed over the the food, Crystal helped herself to some sesame chicken. “Did you find any pictures of a teenaged Drake in the yearbooks you were viewing online?” she asked.
“No.” Marc sighed. “I’m starting to think that Drake and his girlfriend went to different high schools.” Grimacing, he took a sip of cola. “The thought of looking through all the yearbooks of all the high schools in all those different cities is daunting. I’m not sure it’ll be worth the time until the field is narrowed down some more.”
Crystal passed him an eggroll. “Have you heard back from any of the sixteen girls ?”
“Women actually. They’re all grown up now. I’ve heard back from four. None of whom recognized Drake.” Marc passed her the Szechuan beef.
“Well, that’s still progress,” she said, scooping some beef onto her plate. “You’ve narrowed our search down to twelve girls.”
“How about you?” Marc asked, taking some rice and passing her the carton. “Any luck decoding Drake’s alias?”
“Not really. I want to have a look in Drake’s apartment.”
He picked up his chopsticks. “Why?”
“I’m sure dragons are the key to Drake’s identity, but I’m missing a piece of the puzzle. He may have left a clue in his apartment. I’ll bet if we ask nicely, Agent Ruthford will take us. He’s parked outside.”
Marc grunted and took a bite.
Crystal opened a package of cellophane-wrapped silverware, twirled her ponytail around her head, and used the plastic ware to pin her bun into place.
Marc made a strangled sound in his throat.
Seeing his glance, she blushed. “I’m sorry, were you going to use the silverware? I thought you were using chopsticks.”
Marc’s lips twitched. “I am.” He chuckled. “I just realized why you have silverware in your purse.”
She raised a hand to her bun. “I guess I do grab any old thing when I want to get my hair out of my face. I need to empty my purse soon. I’m running out of silverware at home.”
“I have to admit that some of the things in your purse kinda caught me off guard. But knowing you better, I’ll bet you have a perfectly logical explanation for every one of them.”
“Sure, I do.” She dipped her eggroll in sweet-and-sour sauce. “What was something in my purse that you wondered about?”
“The rotary eggbeater,” he replied.
“I can see why you wondered about that. It has a very complicated use.”
“I can’t wait to hear you explain.”
“I use the eggbeater to help me define the matrix of the externalities of the coalition formation in the Nash Equilibrium.”
“Oh,” Marc said in a subdued voice, stroking his beard.
Crystal sucked in her cheeks, trying to hold back her laughter.
Marc looked at her and narrowed his eyes. “Come on, really?”
“Of course not,” she gasped, letting her laughter bubble free. “You’re awfully gullible, aren’t you? I use the eggbeater to make instant pudding. My old eggbeater broke, so I bought a new one the other day and keep forgetting to take it out of my purse.”
“You scamp,” he said, “you had me going for a while. What about the frog beanbag?”
“Easy explanation. It can be used as an icepack or a hot pack—something essential to have if your ankles tend to turn.”
“How about the screwdrivers?”
She grinned. “Some of my exploits are well-known in campus scuttlebutt, but no one really knows half of the crazy situations I get myself into. When I get trapped in some weird way, most of the time, I can manage to free myself before anyone sees me—hence the tools. I’ll have you know that I can take a door off its hinges in one minute flat.”
“Unless you’re trapped underneath of it by your hair.”
“I’ll grant you that.” She giggled. “What else were you curious about?”
“The tiny fire extinguisher?”
Crystal shuddered. Her smile died. “Drake likes fire.”
“I’m sorry, Cris,” he said softly. “I didn’t think.” He hesitated. “The fire in the lab scared you pretty badly, didn’t it?”
She shivered. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
He nodded. After a second he asked, “How about that big Italian-to-Chinese dictionary? What do you use it for? Whacking bugs?”
Crystal snorted. “The dictionary’s not difficult to explain. I’m learning Italian.”
“By translating it into Chinese?”
She pushed at her glasses. “It kills two birds with one stone. I don’t want my Chinese to get rusty.”
Marc took another bite of food. “Just how many languages do you speak?”
“Counting English?”
Nodding, he took a sip of cola.
“Eleven and a half.”
Choking, Marc set his cola down. “Which ones?”
“English, French, Mandarin Chinese, Gujarati, Russian, Latin, German, Japanese, Thai, Spanish, Hindi, and some Italian.”
He blinked. “You never cease to amaze me.” Suddenly, he narrowed his eyes. “Cris, you’re sucking in your cheeks again. Are you pulling my leg about the languages?”
Her lips twitched. She shook her head.
“Eleven languages, that’s all?” he asked, fixing her with a piercing gaze.
Crystal felt herself blush. “Technically, I guess I do speak another language.”
His eyes danced. “I can’t wait to hear which one.”
“Klingon.”
Marc threw back his head and laughed. “Why’d you learn that?”
“I got bored last winter, and it was a kick to learn. The language sounds awful though—all gruff and guttural. A few months ago, I wasn’t thinking, and I started muttering Klingon phrases at the supermarket. A lady in the checkout line thought I was having a stroke.”
Grinning, Marc waved his eggroll at her. “Speak some Klingon to me.”
Crystal took a sip of cola. “What do you want me to say?”
“Whatever you’d like.”
“Well, I do know a phrase that you might find handy, especially when you take off your shirt to play football in the campus quad.”
Marc grunted. “When I play football, I never take my shirt off.”
She shot him a skeptical glance.
“OK,” he admitted. “Maybe I did take my shirt off once.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“OK, so I take my shirt off now and again.” He chuckled. “I happen to get hot.”
“You aren’t the only one,” she replied dryly. “You should see the girls drooling when you disrobe. Your muscles should be listed in the NSU information packet as a campus attraction.”
“You’re a complete nut, you know it? So what is this handy phrase?”
“Be’HomDu’na’wljtlq’a’ghureghqangqa’moHlaHqu’be’ megna’ Somraw’a’ wlj’e!”
“Dare I ask for a translation?”
Crystal gave him a naughty grin. “I said, ‘It’s certainly true that my enormous biceps are capable of swelling spectacularly for the thrilling of the hearts of many women!’”
Giving a roar of laughter, Marc tossed a wadded napkin at her
and tried to repeat the Klingon phrase. “Bee home dune awe—”
Holding up a hand to stop him, Crystal said, “Hol yljatlh RomulaSngan! Qlchllj HeSo!”
“What did you just say?”
She giggled. “‘Speak Romulan! Your Klingon accent is horrible!’”
Collapsing back in his chair, Marc gave a whoop of laughter. “Crystal Stuart, you’ll be the death of me. I never would’ve taken you for a Star Trek fan. I thought you liked old movies.”
“I happen to like both.” She took a bite of eggroll. “I believe—if you’ll permit me the liberty of misquoting Buddha completely—that we should dwell in the past. Dream of the future. Ignore the present moment completely.”
“Now that I know you’re a Star Trek fan, the next time we order food we should get some Klingon gagh.”
“If you think I’m eating live serpent worms, you’re—” Crystal paused and stared at him. “There’s no way you’d know what gagh was unless you like Star Trek, too. Admit it. Don’t lie—admit it.”
“Freely. My whole family was into Star Trek when I was growing up. The stories were fantastic. My mom wasn’t crazy about the love scenes, but my dad always said that the fast-forward button was a Christian’s greatest friend.”
“My grandpa said that, too.” She pushed at her glasses. “You aren’t making fun of me, are you? You really like Star Trek?”
“Do you want me to prove it?” he asked, grabbing another spoonful of rice.
“That would be nice, but I don’t know how you can.”
“I do.” With a corny grin on his face, Marc held up his hand, split his fingers in the familiar Vulcan gesture, and said in a perfect impression of Leonard Nimoy, “Live long and prosper.”
“Spock!” Crystal squealed. “You sounded exactly like him. Can you do another?”
“You’re…too lovely to ignore…too much of a woman.”
“Captain Kirk down to the dramatic pauses,” Crystal gurgled. “Was he your favorite captain?”
“Picard. You?”
“Janeway,” she replied. “Any woman who could command a starship, take down aliens twice her size, and still look ultrafeminine has my vote.”
“She was kinda cute,” he admitted. “Was Commander Riker your favorite character? My sisters swooned over him.”
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