Butterfly

by Sharon Sala

  Like a magnet, she turned toward him, pulling him close. It had been so long—an eternity—since she’d felt so alive. She was out of control, and it just didn’t matter.

  Ben traced every inch of her face with his kisses, memorizing the shape of her lips, the texture of her skin and the silent plea in her eyes as his hand slid beneath the waistband of her jeans.

  Then suddenly she was rolling off the mattress and scrambling to her feet. Her hands were shaking as she clutched at her shirt, holding it close around her neck.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t let you see the… It’s too awful to—”

  Ben stood. The pain in his voice was too obvious for her to ignore.

  “All you had to do was say no. I would never hurt you,” he said, and started to walk away.

  “No, wait!” China cried. “Not like this. I don’t want you to think I didn’t… that you—”

  Ben turned, confused and more than a little bit hurt.

  “Then what? Tell me, China. What the hell went wrong?”

  She turned loose of her shirt, then dropped her head, unable to see the disgust on his face.

  “It wasn’t you, it’s me,” she whispered, touching her breasts, then her stomach. “The scars… they’re terrible… so ugly. I can’t even look at myself. How can I—”

  Ben cursed. His anger startled her, and she gasped and took a sudden step back.

  “You think I’m so shallow? You think I don’t know the consequences of what happened to you?”

  “Not shallow, not you. It’s me. I—”

  “Stop it,” Ben muttered, and took her by the shoulders, making her look at him. “I’ve seen your wounds. I saw them the night they picked you up off the street. I saw them in the hospital when your belly was nothing but a long line of staples. I sat by your bed and prayed for you to open your eyes and talk to me, and not one Goddamned time did I think to myself that what had happened to you made you less of a woman.”

  Horrified by what he was saying, China wanted to run. She couldn’t look him in the face and know that he’d seen a part of her that even she couldn’t face.

  “Don’t you turn away from me,” Ben said, his voice rising in anger. “Don’t you do that to me. You can hide from yourself, China Brown, but you don’t hide from me. I’m not afraid of what’s beneath your clothes. You’re the one with the problem.”

  She watched in horror as he suddenly ripped off his shirt and threw it on the floor.

  “If you’re so turned off by scars, then you’d better see mine.” He lifted his arm and then turned. The light caught and held on the thick, jagged pucker of flesh across his ribs.

  “Car bomb, my rookie year on the force. Every time I look at that scar, I remind myself how blessed I am to be alive.”

  China jerked as if she’d been slapped, knowing how deep the wound must have been to leave such a horrible mark.

  “Oh… my… God.”

  He took one look at the horror on her face and knew it was over. Tired of fighting a losing battle, and tired of being the only one in love, he reached down to pick up his shirt when she caught his hand.

  “You shame me,” she whispered, and laid the palm of his hand against her breast. “Please. Help me. Teach me to love myself as much as I love you.”

  Joy spread within him in quiet increments. “Teach you? I can’t teach you anything, China. All I can do is love you. The rest is up to you.”

  “Then bear with me, Bennett.” She lowered her head and began unbuttoning her shirt.

  He stopped her with a touch, then a kiss. “Let me,” he begged. She dropped her hands to her sides and looked down at her feet.

  “No fair,” he said softly, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze. “If you have the courage to confess your love, then you have to follow it through. Test me, China. See the look on my face and know the truth in my heart.”

  So she did—watching him with a steadfast gaze as he undressed her, one piece of clothing at a time. When he was through, he took off the rest of his clothes and then stood before her, unashamed of his obvious need.

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, China Brown, and to me, you are the most beautiful woman in the world. I’ve loved you far longer than it made sense to care. You took me into your heart. Will you let me the rest of the way in?”

  She held out her hand, and he took it, letting her lead him back to the mattress. Then she pulled him down beside her and took him into her arms.

  “Make love to me, Ben.”

  He rolled, covering her body as he captured her mouth with his own. Time ceased.

  The old cat in the comer was through nursing her kittens and now slept with them curled all around her. The pigeon China had frightened away circled high above the barn, looking for a safe place to land.

  Cowboy stood beneath the shade tree at the far corner of the corral, asleep on his feet, while high in the loft, Ben made love to the woman of his heart.

  Their bodies rocked in perfect rhythm, carrying them from one sexual plateau to another—from the moment of first joining, to the beginning of the end. They could no more have stopped than they could have quit breathing. Somewhere within the act, a knowing came upon them that this pleasure couldn’t last.

  It started first with China, building low and hard and fast. She arched, meeting the power of his thrust with a strong need of her own, and as she did, she lost herself. It burst within her in a blinding flash of pleasure so vast she thought she would die.

  The scream in her throat came out as a groan, and she locked her legs around Ben’s waist in a subconscious act of holding on to the feeling.

  Ben’s endurance was just about gone, and when she pulled him the rest of the way in and then couldn’t let go, he gave up to the feeling and spilled himself into her in shuddering thrusts.

  The silence that came afterward was as powerful as the act had been. They clung, one to the other, stunned by their joining until their skin began to chill. He needed to get his weight off her body, but he couldn’t find the strength to move. Finally he rose up on one elbow to look down.

  Her hair fanned the mattress beneath her head like a puddle of dark silk. Her eyes still reflected the shock of climax. But her body was limp, satiated by the power of their lovemaking.

  “You take my breath away.”

  She looked up at him and saw the reflection of her own face in his eyes; then she sighed. “It was good?” He groaned. “No. Good is not a word for what you did to me. I may never walk again.”

  “Good,” she said, and then wrapped her arms around his neck. “At least then I’ll know where to find you.”

  He groaned and then laughed. “I love you, China Brown. Do you doubt me now?”

  “No.”

  He nuzzled his face against the curve of her neck. “Then I’ll give you something else to think about between now and the rest of our lives.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, then moaned as he rolled the tip of her breast between his fingers.

  “One of these days, when all this mess is over, we’re going shopping. I’m going to buy you the biggest diamond I can find, and then you and Mom are going to plan our wedding. You once told me that you didn’t know where you belonged. Well, I’m telling you now, my love. You belong with me.”

  They made love again in the loft before climbing back down. And while China held his promise close to her heart, there was a part of her that didn’t know if it would ever come true.

  ***

  The woman stormed into the cabin, her frustration level at an all-time high. She needed an outlet for the anger that burned deep in her gut, but she couldn’t play the game. It had been months since that sketch had come out in the Dallas Morning News, but there was too much at stake to take a chance, which left her with only one option. There had to be a witness somewhere—someone she’d known nothing about—but time was on her side. All she had to do was wait and one day she would know who it was.

  ***

  A new
lead in the Finelli murder came in the form of a telephone call to a journalist at the Dallas Morning News, offering information for money—a lot of money. The journalist was busy, trying to meet a deadline.

  “This is not a tabloid, buddy. We don’t pay for news.”

  “Your loss,” the caller said, and hung up.

  The journalist hung up, but there was a niggle of curiosity, wondering what the man had been trying to sell. It wasn’t until that night, as he sat in his apartment with a box of pizza in his lap and a long-neck beer on the table by his feet, that he realized what he’d probably turned down.

  Randy Boyle, the anchor for the ten o’clock news, was smirking like the proverbial Cheshire cat. Even though the journalist doubted that Channel 7 was in the business of paying off snitches, he wouldn’t put it above the likes of Boyle. He upped the volume on the remote and took another drink of beer as Boyle began to speak.

  “This evening, Channel 7 has learned that there is a surviving victim of the serial killings here in Dallas. A pregnant woman, who officials now believe was just an innocent bystander to the murder of Chaz Finelli, is in seclusion and waiting to do her part in bringing the killer to justice. The baby she was carrying died on the scene, but she survived, due to the gallant efforts of the doctors and nurses at Parkland Hospital. Her identity is not being released, for obvious reasons.”

  “Well, hell,” the man muttered, then swallowed his last bite of pizza and turned off the TV.

  Out on the English ranch, China was in the living room alone when the bulletin was announced that there was new evidence in the serial killer case. She bolted to her feet and then yelled out Ben’s name.

  He came running, his mother right behind him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “The TV. Just listen to what they’re saying.”

  They sat, as the journalist had done, listening to Randy Boyle knock down the carefully laid blocks around their world.

  Before he’d even finished the bulletin, Ben was on the phone to his captain, struggling with disbelief.

  “Someone sold her out!” he yelled. “She might as well stand on a street comer with a sign on her back that says Shoot Me.”

  “They didn’t give her name,” Floyd said, although that was a weak excuse and he knew it.

  “Well, hell, Captain, if someone knew there was a witness, then they’re bound to know her name. As soon as enough money is offered, that will be common knowledge, too.”

  “Maybe so,” Floyd said. “But it’s done, and there’s nothing we can do except what we’ve been doing.”

  But Ben wasn’t buying that. “There’s something I can do,” he said. “I’m putting myself on round-the-clock guard duty with our only witness, and don’t start telling me that detectives aren’t bodyguards. You tell it to the governor. He’s the one riding your ass to solve this case.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” Floyd snapped. “You’ve got yourself involved personally, and we both know it.”

  “Hell, yes, it’s personal!” Ben yelled. “I’m going to marry China Brown, but I can’t do that until the woman who shot her is behind bars, and she’ll never be behind bars if we don’t protect China.”

  China was shaking so hard she couldn’t stop. She needed to run—to hide—but there was nowhere to go but to Ben.

  He saw the panic on her face and grabbed her, then wrapped her in his arms.

  “Either grant me the authority for what I want or fire me,” he said.

  Floyd cursed. English was just crazy enough to do what he said. The last thing he needed was to lose a good man, as well as their only witness.

  “Fine,” he snapped. “But this is temporary, until we can come up with a better plan.”

  “The plan is to find that woman,” Ben said. “There are no other options.”

  He hung up in Floyd’s ear and then tossed the phone onto the sofa and held China instead.

  “It’s going to be all right, honey, I promise. I’m not leaving here again until this is over.”

  Then he looked at Mattie, who’d listened in horror to what had happened.

  “Mom, call Dave. If he wasn’t watching the news, tell him what happened. We’re going to have to set our watches in shifts.”

  “Oh, my God,” China moaned, and turned in Ben’s arms. “Mattie, I’m sorry, so sorry. I never should have come here.”

  “You hush,” Mattie said, as she reached for the phone. “You’re part of our family, and we protect our own.”

  “Mom’s right,” Ben said, as his mother left the room to make the call. He sat down on the sofa and pulled China into his lap.

  “I suppose we’ve been kidding ourselves that this wouldn’t happen. We’ve been fortunate that it took them this long to get onto the fact that there had to be a witness for the composite to even be made.”

  China thought about what he said, and as she did, her panic began to recede. He was right. It was an inevitable part of this whole ugly mess, and maybe it was time. She was well now—stronger than she’d ever been before. If she was ever going to have a normal life, this had to be over.

  “You’re right,” she said, surprising herself as well as Ben by how calm she felt. “It was the shock of hearing it that frightened me, but I think I’m actually glad. I want this over, and if it means being a Judas goat for a killer, then so be it.”

  Ben turned pale. “You’re not putting yourself up as any target. Don’t even hint at such a thing.”

  “But I am, Ben, don’t you see? It won’t take her long to figure out who I am. She’s seen my face. All she’ll have to do is ask around. It’s only a matter of time before someone puts two and two together and remembers the woman under guard at Parkland Hospital, and then someone else will remember the detective who bent all the rules to be with her and… Well, you get the picture.”

  “Jesus,” Ben whispered, and pulled her close. “You’re scaring me, China.”

  “I’m scaring myself,” she said. “But I’m more angry than scared. She took something from me that I can never have back. I want to be able to walk through a mall without wondering if I’m going to be shot in the back. I want to buy groceries and go to movies and sit in the park. I love you, but I’m tired of hiding. She took my life. I want it back.”

  “You’re right, China, and understand… I’m with you in this all the way, and I swear on my honor, I will keep you safe.”

  China shook her head. “I don’t need your promises, Ben English, not when I already have your love.”

  ***

  Ben and China weren’t the only ones who’d been rocked by the bulletin. Far away, in the middle of Dallas, another viewer had sat glued to the news. When it was over, the remote was aimed and the television went dead. Images of faces from the past began flashing one by one.

  Someone survived. But who? The game only involved one man at a time, and except for Chaz Finelli…

  Understanding dawned.

  The pregnant woman—the one who’d begged not to be shot! But the papers had said two had died that night. So how could…?”

  The baby! Of course! How stupid I am. It was the baby that died, not the woman.

  Son of a bitch! She saw and heard everything. My God, my God, she can bring down the whole house of cards.

  ***

  Connie Marx was at her computer, her fingers flying fast and furious as she added this latest bit of information to the file she was creating.

  A witness! All this time there had been a witness. Anger spiked. Then why the hell would they assume it had anything to do with her? As soon as she asked herself the question, she realized the answer. Until they’d been able to question the victim further, all they’d known was that the killer was a woman. Considering the people Connie knew had been seriously questioned, probably a tall, blond woman. It was only after the composite had been created that they’d eliminated her from the list.

  Connie hit another series of keys, called up a list and hit Print. As soon as th
e printer spit it out, she moved to a filing cabinet and pulled out a file, then spread the contents on the table, sorting them one by one. Someone in this stack could very well be the killer, and then she stopped and rocked back on her heels.

  Or not.

  What if the killer was someone who had escaped Finelli’s net? What if it had nothing to do with Finelli’s blackmail scheme? What if Finelli had been incidental to the larger picture? Of course! After all, the other victims had been a party to strange sexual activities before their bodies were discovered. And their murders had been done execution style, while Finelli’s was an act of impulse spurred on by rage. Possibly rage at being discovered. But what had Finelli known that the rest of Dallas did not?

  Connie laid down the file and then strode to the window, letting her thoughts run free. If only she could talk to this witness. Ben English had almost promised her an exclusive. He would know who she was.

  She started to reach for her phone, then stopped.

  No. She’d already made a mess of her life, and this wasn’t about her any longer. She was just an observer, waiting to report the truth.

  Seventeen

  China’s existence had become big news. The next day, all over Dallas, people were talking, speculating as to who it could be. Rumors flew thick and fast that had nothing to do with the truth, but they were enough to stir up the story all over again. The composite of the serial killer was reprinted in the papers and flashed at every televised newscast. It became an all-out media war to see who could top whom. Beauty shops were doing a booming business. Women who had been blond for years were changing the color of their hair for fear they might be mistaken for the woman the police were looking for.

  ***

  Charlotte Humbolt, society editor for the Dallas Morning News, was sorting through the picture files of Dallas’s finest when she came across a handful of pictures of Mona Wakefield that had been taken at a charity event. She grimaced, remembering what a scene the woman had made by showing up in a sheer georgette dress. In the sunlight, the damn thing had become see-through. Toby Walters, the president of Lone Star Savings and Loan, had been gawking at her so hard that he’d misstepped, fallen into a rock garden and broken his leg.