“I can make pancakes. From scratch.”
“Okay.” Windy gave him a big smile. “Pancakes.”
“Why don’t I drive and we can have someone pick up the criminalistics car tomorrow.”
“You don’t think I’m fit to drive?”
“I don’t think you’ll drive fast enough.”
In the car on the way to her house, he felt her watching him. Differently than she had before. “What?”
“I was just wondering how you knew what to do with Roddy. What to say. Did you really look up his school file?”
“I like to know a little something about the people my team arrests. It seems only polite.”
“That’s not why you do it.”
He shrugged. “It came in handy tonight.”
She was still looking at him. “You were amazing to watch. So calm, saying all the right things. Have you had negotiation training?”
“I had training in being a fifteen-year-old boy who feels alone.”
“Did something happen in your family when you were fifteen? Did your parents divorce when you were a teenager?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business. I don’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay. My parents were never married. My mother divorced a few times when I was growing up, though.”
“A few? How many stepfathers did you have?”
Ash had never thought of it that way. He’d always thought of them as his mother’s husbands. “Five, before I left high school. After that I stopped counting.”
“Your mother was married and divorced five times when you were growing up?” Windy repeated, turning in her seat to face him.
“No,” Ash assured her. “Only divorced three times. She killed two of them—not literally, at least I don’t think so. My mother’s list of desirable qualities in a man is short: old, rich, and emotionally distant. Or, as she would put it, emotionally self-sufficient.”
“I like that. Very snappy.”
“My mother has some great lines, although she doesn’t know it. She can recite jokes, pretend, but in reality she doesn’t have much of a sense of humor. She’s a psychiatrist,” he said, as if that explained everything. He could never remember having talked about his mother this much.
“What kind of relationship did you have with your stepfathers? Were you close to any of them?”
“I was more of a bystander in the lives of my mother and her husbands. I learned a lot from them indirectly, but there is only one I could really say I had a relationship with. Major Rice. He’s the reason I became a cop.”
“Was he a cop?”
“No,” Ash laughed at the thought. “He was a con man. He tricked my mom by marrying her for her money, when she was marrying him for his. It turned out that they both had plenty, but not enough for either of their ambitions, so they divorced. But they were married for about six months when I was fifteen. That’s what reminded me of Roddy. I started doing stupid stuff, and one time I boosted a car from the Hunts Mill Country Club parking lot. That night I drove the car back to the house of the guy it belonged to and parked it in his garage. It was a prank, to show how cool and brave I thought I was, you know? Boys do stuff like that. When I got home, Major Rice was sitting on my bed. He handed me his flask and said, ‘Look, Ash, being a criminal is a pain in the ass. You’re too smart for it.’ When I pointed out to him that I’d returned the Mercedes, he just sighed and said, ‘If you want to play that way, why not be a cop? All the fun of thinking like a criminal, with a pension.’ ”
Ash stopped there, not telling Windy the rest of the major’s advice, the two of them sitting on Ash’s bed, emptying the flask, the major saying, “You can always have affairs, go on dates, Ash, but take it from me, no woman worth being with is going to accept a short-term arrangement. You find one you like, you marry her. The older I get, the more I see the value of having someone to grow old with.” The old sap. Some con man.
Windy’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “So, is that really why you do this? Because you like thinking like a criminal?”
“You bet. That and never having to drive the speed limit.”
Ash stepped on the gas and they blew by a patrol unit on Desert Inn Road. The officer behind the wheel waved but didn’t move off the side of the road, knowing Ash’s car by sight, figuring he was going to an emergency. Not knowing the emergency was the temptation to act like a fool in front of Windy, tell her that he’d used up all his green paint trying to get her off his mind, that he could make her happy if she would let him.
Twelve years a cop and still an idealistic idiot.
He glanced at her in the passenger seat and could tell by the way she was looking at him, eyes sparkling, laughing, not afraid, that she liked going fast. And that she had no idea how he felt.
Standing next to her at her front door as she fumbled with the lock, cursing her key for not working right, Ash could not stop himself from wondering what it would be like to do this every day. Come back from dinner and stand right here, with her. And then go inside and be at home.
The door opened before she got her key to work, a tall blond man filling it. She looked up, startled, then laughed. “Bill. I didn’t realize you’d arrived.”
“I just got in. I’m so glad to see you. I was starting to worry.” The man gave them both a dazzling white smile. He was Ash’s height, lean, wearing pressed chinos and a yellow cashmere sweater, loafers without socks. He looked really nice, and the way he gazed at Windy it was clear he was crazy about her. Ash hated him instantly.
“I’m sorry,” Windy said. “I didn’t know when your flight was getting here and then—never mind. Bill, this is Ash Laughton. My boss. Ash, Bill Henderson.”
“Her fiancé,” Bill put in.
Ash didn’t even like his handshake. He said, “It’s great to meet you. And I’m not her boss.”
“Nice to meet you too. Thanks for bringing Windy home.” Bill slipped his arm around her shoulders.
Windy looked from Bill back to Ash. “Do you want to come in?”
Ash smiled. “No. I’ve taken up enough of your night.”
“But—”
“Really. I’ll leave you two alone. You okay?”
“Yes.” Windy nodded. Did she look disappointed or was that just his imagination?
Bill’s face registered concern. “Did something happen?”
“No. Nothing,” Windy answered. Too fast, Ash thought.
“Okay. Well, uh, good night,” Bill said.
Ash realized that he wanted to punch Bill with the full force of the adrenaline and anger he’d kept from Roddy. He wanted to shake the man’s arm off Windy and take her himself.
He was thinking like a caveman. He said, “Good night.”
“Bye,” Windy said. Then, holding his eyes, she mouthed the word “Sorry.”
When the door was closed, Ash mouthed, “Me too.”
He drove home wondering why, in a city where even the damn dry cleaners were open twenty-four hours a day, he couldn’t get his hands on a lousy tube of green paint at midnight.
Windy stared at the place he had been, the man with five stepfathers who did not think her weak for freezing when she saw danger and who knew how to make pancakes from scratch and realized she had not even thanked him for saving her life.
“He seems nice,” Bill said as he locked the deadbolt.
“Yes.”
“Tough day?”
And he knew the songs from The Muppet Movie. “Long day. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Bill winked. “Your wish is my command.”
He linked his fingers with hers and pulled her close to him, and she shut her eyes as his mouth covered hers. Her hands came up and tangled in his hair, deepening the kiss, holding on to him desperately until her body was burning up with desire and she couldn’t take it any more. She whispered, “God, I want you.”
And he said, “I haven’t heard that in a long time.”
Windy pulled away and gazed
at him, shocked.
“What?” Bill asked.
Her hand went to her lips. “Nothing.” How could she tell him that she thought she had been kissing a different man?
“Let’s go upstairs.”
“Yes. Okay. Let me just make sure the back door is locked.”
“It’s locked. Come on.”
Her eyes moved to the scuff mark she’d made on the baseboard, twenty-one feet from the front door. Twenty-one feet, the safe distance. Ash hadn’t even come in that far.
Following Bill up the stairs, she told herself that what she was feeling was simply the result of a long and harrowing night. She would be back to normal in the morning.
Ignoring the thought that maybe with some men there was no such thing as a safe distance.
CHAPTER 61
Harry lay in bed and thought about Eve. Making love to her had been like having a feather resting on your chest, she was so light and tiny. This little fragile creature. It wasn’t at all like what he’d imagined, when he’d started imagining it years earlier.
The first time he really noticed her she was lying on her back, biting her nail, with a naked man on top of her. The complete lack of expression in her face fascinated him. Here was this man, pouring everything into her he had, and she couldn’t care less.
When the man was done she gave him a little smile and showed him out the door. Then she returned to her room and stood naked at the window smoking a cigarette with one hand and furiously stroking herself with the other. When she came it was just a flicker on her face, nothing more.
After that he couldn’t stop watching her. With her bony arms and legs and big eyes she reminded him more of an insect than a woman. He watched her everywhere she went, from home to school, and eventually school to the Yucca Motel. When her family moved he moved with them, becoming familiar with the back alleys and trees around their houses, so he could always see her. Always watch.
He read all the magazines she threw away to learn more about her. He knew that she was “Sassy but Smart” according to the “Rate Your Male IQ” quiz. Knew that she was “The Shy Girl” according to “What Kind of Friend Are You.” And he learned other useful things, “How to Be Your Own Best Friend,” “Who Girls Think Is Hot Now!,” “What to Look for in a Perfect Boyfriend.” He saved the articles she marked, notes she threw away, preserving her with the same care he had once lavished on his delicate models. Maybe if he got enough pieces, he would know all about her. And Charles could not take her away.
He saw the afternoon that her mama made her cry. That night he went through the entire Dumpster behind a florist shop to find the most perfect flower. He kept the yellow rose in water overnight and the next morning snuck out to put it on her windowsill.
She’d seen it when she got up. He watched her pick it up and smile. She smelled it then read the card. She cried a little. He was sure after that she’d thrown it in the trash. When he’d met her again at the opening of her restaurant, she said she had saved it. He knew she was lying but he didn’t let it bother him.
As the months of watching her turned into a year, he decided she had to know he was out there. He was the only constant in her life, the only one who followed her everywhere, knew everything about her. He felt like she depended on him. Sometimes when she was with men in her room at the motel he saw her looking out the window, and knew she was looking for him. He would listen for the special way she went “oh yeah” or said the name of whoever she was with. She wrote the names on her palm so she could remember them at the right time.
Then one day he went to the Sun-Crest apartments in the morning, to walk with her to school—on the other side of the street, staying out of the way so she wouldn’t notice him—and she never came down. He waited a half hour, then figured she was sick. But when she didn’t come down for a whole week he asked a girl he went to school with who knew Eve, where she was. The girl told him Eve moved. Left town. Just like that, without saying anything to him.
He was heartbroken. He had been saving money to ask her to run away with him, and he took it and left, went up north. He got a job with a guy he’d been in school with working construction and he discovered he liked it. He started losing weight, gaining muscle. Feeling good about himself. He forgot all about Eve, dated other girls, slept with some of them. Saying “oh yeah” and their names the way Eve had.
And then, finally, he’d met Amanda. He saw her at a bar one night and his heart stopped. She wasn’t the prettiest girl there, or the sexiest dressed. But he was in love instantly. She looked just like Eve.
He remembered the lessons from all the magazines of Eve’s he’d read, all the soaps he had watched as a boy and he put them into play. Afraid she would say no if he asked for her number directly, he got her address from a mutual friend and showed up at her house unannounced, with a big bouquet of flowers.
The door, and then her heart, opened to him like magic. They were married seven months later. As he looked at his beautiful bride, his Eve, he had thought, this must be what happiness is like. And then she had become pregnant and he had discovered true bliss.
Harry had been the most joyful father in the world. Look, he would say to anyone who would listen. Look, I am normal. I have a wife. A beautiful baby. I am a success. He was going to school at night for his degree, working days in her father’s security business. Security work. He was good at it. He’d honed his skills following Eve. He liked to know people’s secrets. He always liked to know what went on in their heads.
One morning after he’d been up late studying he was feeding Kyra breakfast and trying to get her ready for day care when she started to cry. Just started wailing as he was putting her sock on.
He hadn’t heard Amanda come into the room but there she was, next to him. She snatched the sock out of his hand and said, “Harry, let me do it. You’re a mess with her.”
It was the strangest sensation, like being in two places at once. He was here in his house, and then at the same time he was back at his sister’s crib when she was a baby.
“Don’t touch my daughter,” he heard Charles’s voice overlaid with Amanda’s.
He didn’t feel anything inside him click, but his throat tightened and it got harder to breathe. “She is my goddamned daughter,” he said.
Amanda stared at him, her eyes hard and confused. “Give her to me, Harry.”
She reached out and he slapped her hard across the face. “She is mine. I will dress her.” He dragged Kyra out of her chair and pressed her against his chest, holding out his hand. “Give me the sock.”
Amanda did not move. Kyra wiggled and held her arms out for her mother, trying to get away from him. It infuriated him. He held her harder, and shouted, “Give me the goddamned sock. I can do this. I can do it!”
Amanda blinked at him, the sock dangling from her hand, like she did not understand what he was saying, what she was seeing. And he knew at that instant that she was going to leave him. Because he was a failure as a father. A failure as a husband. She was going to take Kyra and leave him and get a divorce and he would be alone and abandoned.
He wished he could just start over, rewind and begin again. Erase all of this so no one would know. And then he saw how he could do it. Make it so it never happened.
“You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?”
She was still staring at him with blank, stupid eyes. She shook her head slowly. “No.”
“You lying bitch.” He squeezed Kyra until she howled. “I don’t believe you. Beg me for forgiveness.”
Amanda came back to life. “Please, Harry, Please. Let her go. Give her to me.”
Power surged through him like a lightning bolt. His mind raced with possibilities. So many things he could do. Clutching Kyra to him he walked toward his wife.
“Give me my baby,” she moaned, backing up until she was against the counter. He closed the distance between them and she shrank into a corner. “Please,” she said, reaching for the baby. “Let me have her.” She was pinn
ed against the dishwasher, looking at him with terror.
It was so easy. Too easy. Even at the moment he remembered thinking, Next time I need to take it slower.
He did not know how long it lasted, seven, maybe ten minutes. When it was all over, the room was incredibly quiet. He hadn’t realized how noisy it had been but the peace that descended then was more than just silence. It was an incredible sensation of tranquillity that went deep into his bones. It was like the feeling he had when he took a good run, only even better. Because it did not make his bad knee hurt. It had been a lot easier than running.
Although he did work up a marathon appetite. He sat back down at his place at the head of the table and ate his toasts, then Amanda’s, then the little squares she had cut for Kyra. Everything that passed his lips was ambrosia. Breakfast had never tasted so good.
And that was the problem. He’d been trying, here in Vegas, to recapture that taste, but he just couldn’t get it. He knew from his research that it had something to do with his adrenaline, the chemicals in his body when he got excited. All he wanted was to experience that taste again, that perfect breakfast. Apparently he just hadn’t gotten excited enough yet.
Certainly taking Mrs. Waters’s head and trying it at home had not worked. The second breakfast with Kelly O’Connell had been better. He had almost killed her but then stopped, and as a result of this reprieve, Kelly was both more scared and more willing to believe him when he told her he would let her go if she just pretended that he was her husband, having breakfast with her, nice and normal. But it was still missing something. His overall diagnosis was that he had not yet been emotionally involved enough with his victims to get the same rush.
That would definitely not be a problem with Windy.
CHAPTER 62
Sunday was perfect. Windy had slept in and then she and Bill had a long, leisurely brunch before picking Cate up from her slumber party. Cate was bursting with half recalled ghost stories and the information that she had not been scared at all and was completely ready to do it all again next week on her class camping trip. They spent the day running errands, including driving by the gated development Bill was interested in, Falconview Falls, which Cate liked because there was a huge bronze bird perched on top of the guard house.
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