by Rose Beecham
She took a deep breath and sank below the surface. Sleep, seductive as a sea anemone, waited to enchant and paralyze her. Jude almost let go, but her eyelids were tickled open by the light dawning beneath them. She tried to remember her dream more fully, but only fragments remained—the faint drumming of hooves and the rush of wind in her face.
Just as she resigned herself to another half-formed memory, there was something else. A shimmer in the trees, a slender, pale-haired boy who waved as she went by. The dream took form as she called it to mind. She and the spirit horse had slowed and wheeled around. Then they went back for him.
“Ben,” she whispered with a jolt of knowing.
She lay there while the sun threw small patches of light on her wall until it resembled a page from a collector’s album, littered with gaps where postage stamps belonged. She’d seen the same pattern play over Mercy’s body on the rare mornings she stayed over, but Jude didn’t want to think about that now. She focused on the pillow next to hers. She could make out the impression of a head. Sliding her hand over the sheet, she detected warmth.
It wasn’t her imagination. Chastity had slept in her bed last night. With an odd shock of guilt, she threw the bedclothes off and padded to the window, raising the blind that carved the morning light into tiny sections to match its latticed border. The day was sunny and the surface of the snow glistened as it began to melt. The divers would go in again this morning, and the sunshine would help.
Jude had a feeling about today. The dream was an omen, she decided, the kind of dream Eddie House would consider significant. A tapping sound permeated her consciousness, and she crossed her room to crack the door. The smell of cooking assailed her, and she retreated and found a robe. Guilt prodded her again. There was no reason for it. So what if she and Chastity had fallen asleep in one another’s arms? They didn’t make love.
All they did was kiss. For quite a long time. Then, when the intensity had them both breathing hard, Jude moved Chastity onto her back and set about getting rid of the nightshirt. And it was over, just like that. She felt a telltale stiffening in the compact body beneath hers. A hand pressed against her chest.
“I can’t,” Chastity whispered in her ear. She was shaking. It wasn’t a tease. She was upset.
“What’s wrong? Tell me,” Jude whispered back.
For a long time Chastity didn’t answer and Jude could feel her fighting sobs. Her face was wet. Eventually she said despondently, “I think I’m like this because my husband used to rape me. I’m sorry. I thought it might be…different, with you.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” Jude stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry you went through that. I hate that what we did made you think of him. Even for a second.”
“He didn’t mean it abusively,” Chastity said in a sad little voice. “He was doing what was expected of him by the church. But it seems to have left me…messed up.”
“That can change. I promise you. Past experience doesn’t have to ruin intimacy.”
“It just did.” Chastity moved back a little and turned on her side to face Jude. Caressing Jude’s cheek, she said, “I liked kissing you.”
“I had a feeling about that.” Jude made her tone playful, wanting to reassure Chastity that everything was all right.
“I guess it’s a start. Thank you for not being angry with me.”
Saddened by the comment, Jude drew Chastity into her arms and bent to kiss the soft curls that tickled her cheek. The fact that Chastity, who was so confident and assertive on the outside, actually expected to be treated badly at a time like this was very telling. She was in her thirties, yet she had never been loved as she deserved; she had no idea what good sex was. And it sounded like she’d decided to experiment with Jude because she thought a female partner might not take her to that unhappy place. Jude could understand that, but she was not a sex therapist. Chastity needed help.
After that, they’d fallen asleep and Jude didn’t even hear Chastity slip out of bed. Pondering on the twist of fate that had seen Chastity arrive just as Mercy was making an exit, she leaned against her bedroom door, briefly enjoying the unexpected but delicious breakfast aroma, then retreated to her shower.
As she turned on the jets and adjusted the temperature, she felt pessimistic all of a sudden. How did this happen? All she wanted was for something to be simple. There was chemistry between her and Chastity; she wasn’t imagining that. Her body still felt tender from unrequited arousal, and every time she touched her clit as she washed, she wanted to come. Common sense had prevailed the night before, and she’d refrained from getting herself off while Chastity slept in her arms.
She supposed their odd sense of connection might be nothing more than the attraction of two hardworking women who were lonely and seeking a friend. Before they could consider the possibility of anything more than that, they needed to know whether Chastity was a lesbian. She kissed like one. But, given her issues, that could mean anything.
The soap bar shot from Jude’s fingers and slithered around the shower floor as she tried haplessly to pick it up. Her fumbling, she decided, came down to the edginess of her unfulfilled state. Maybe she would take care of herself before she got out of the shower. That way she would be able to spend all day in her jeans without whimpering over seam pressure.
“Do you need help?”
Jude jumped guiltily and resisted the urge to gasp, Yes.
Chastity stood on the other side of the glass door regarding her with placid good humor. In one hand she had a mug of coffee, in the other a towel.
“I knocked,” she said, blithely unaware, “but I guess you didn’t hear.”
Jude decided she had two choices: turn her back like an affronted nun and stick her hand through a gap on the shower door for the towel, or act like this was a locker room and she didn’t give a rat’s ass who saw her stark naked. She had a good body. More pertinently, a juvenile part of her wanted Chastity to see exactly how good a body. Maybe if she saw what she was missing out on, she would go home with something to think about. If she noticed.
“You work out,” Chastity said, rewarding Jude’s nonchalant exit from the shower with a candid interest that was encouraging, to say the least.
Jude took her time wrapping herself in the towel. She had a feeling from the dark gleam in Chastity’s eyes that every inch of her body had been recorded for later review. The thought converted her arousal to a hot longing she knew she couldn’t hide. She stared at Chastity and caught her breath sharply, stunned that she could be so turned on by a woman whose lack of experience was second only to a virgin’s.
Not her usual type at all.
“I’m sorry to intrude on your privacy.” Chastity handed Jude the coffee and started edging toward the door.
Jude said, “There’s no need to rush off now that I’m decent. Sleep well?”
“Very happily. You?”
“I overslept. That’s unusual for me.”
“You probably needed it.” Chastity toyed with the door handle. “Oh, there was a phone message for you. From the animal hospital in Grand Junction. Your cat is ready to be picked up.”
“Great.” Jude set the coffee down next to the wash basin and finished toweling off.
Chastity didn’t seem in any hurry to leave, now.
“Is Adeline up yet?” Jude wondered what the teenager was thinking, having awakened to an empty bed where her aunt should have been sleeping.
“Amazingly, she’s cooking breakfast. I think she’s trying to impress you.”
Jude laughed. “She said she wants to come out to the reservoir with me this morning to watch the divers.” They’d spoken about that, driving home the previous night. Adeline had insisted on riding with her, while Chastity followed.
“I’m not so sure about that.” Chastity frowned with adorable concentration.
She wasn’t beautiful, Jude decided; she was captivating. Neatly muscled. Physically confident. Petite and not especially curvac
eous. She could have been dainty, but her grace and agility were underpinned by a sinewy strength that made her seem more solid than she was. She carried herself with the straight back and squared shoulders of a dancer. Basically, Jude felt like a big lug next to her.
“I suppose if she really wants to, there’s no reason why she shouldn’t.” Chastity finally resolved the parental dilemma. “It was her idea to come here.”
“You know, you don’t have to come with us,” Jude said. “It’s cold and not very exciting.”
“I’ll come.” Chastity’s chin lifted just enough to suggest she thought Jude might be implying she was a wimp.
Jude gave an it’s-your-funeral shrug and said, “We’ll go get my cat before we head out.”
“What was the problem?”
“Starvation and who knows what else. She was a stray. Arrived on the doorstep a couple of nights ago.”
“And you took her in. That’s so sweet.”
“Her name’s Yiska,” Jude said. “It’s Navajo for getting through the night.”
“I like that.” Chastity stared at Jude as if she wanted to say something, then gave a small awkward laugh and seemed to change her mind. “Well, I better go help Adeline. Scrambling eggs is not one of her gifts.”
“Wait.” Jude took a couple of steps toward her. “We don’t have to behave like strangers, you know.”
Chastity searched her face quizzically. “What are we, exactly?”
“Do we have to decide that today?”
Chastity gave a shy smile. “I’d rather not.”
“Good. Then let’s take a rain check and see what happens.”
A short while later, watching Chastity and Adeline at the table laughing and chatting and passing food around, Jude felt intensely aware of her solitary state. An odd yearning hit her hard in the belly. She missed family.
*
“There’s only one Sandy Lane and he’s male,” Arbiter said. “Honorably discharged from the First Infantry Division six months ago.”
“So we have a false name,” Jude concluded. “Or she’s making it up about the 82nd Airborne.”
“Do you think she’s the real deal?” he asked.
“If not, she could be with the Company.” It had crossed Jude’s mind that if she had to guess Sandy’s day job, CIA operative would be next in line after the military.
“We’ll go back three years and profile every female discharged,” her handler replied.
“She says she was in Kosovo and Afghanistan, and served two tours of duty in Iraq. That should narrow it down.”
“Are you inside her place yet?”
“I haven’t been able to locate it, sir. She’s flying below the radar. We could fit a GPS device to her vehicle but this is a paranoid subject. She’d find it, and I don’t want her spooked.”
“Low tech, then?”
“I’m afraid so.” Jude hoped she wouldn’t have to resort to dumpster diving, but even though the war on terrorism was conducted largely according to a high tech/low legality model, the average domestic terrorist used low-tech methods. Sometimes you had to beat them using their own game, so it made no sense to rule these methods out for intelligence gathering.
“Anything on the Stormtroopers?”
“Not as yet. The target dwelling is pretty well snowed in.”
“Just say when. We can have a SWAT team in there in two hours.”
“Roger that.” Jude glanced toward the veterinary clinic. She’d told Chastity and Adeline to wait in there where it was warm, while she made the call.
“How’s the kidnapping investigation coming?”
“We’re still a body short of a capital case.” Jude was surprised Arbiter had taken an interest. He saw her MCSO work as a necessary evil and seldom showed an interest in the cases she worked.
“Obviously it’s the boyfriend.”
“Obviously.” Was this a new national pastime?—guess which loser killed Corban Foley.
“Quite a creep show you’ve got going on,” Arbiter remarked. “You need that kook with the false teeth locked up before he muddies the waters any more.”
“You’ve lost me, sir.”
“Last night’s interview. Him and the village idiot, plus several of the dumbest hominids walking upright, trying to clear their names.” He actually let loose a laugh. “You better hope they never take the stand.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Put it this way—their lawyer’s the type who files his canines.”
Jude cursed and kicked some snow off the Dakota’s tires. Gums Thompson and Matt Roache had hired a lawyer. She knew that had to be coming, but she’d hoped for a slower response time from a pair of lost souls who weren’t exactly the local intelligentsia. She wanted to take another run at Thompson. He knew more than his mind was freeing up; she was convinced of that.
By now, Miller and Perkins would have lawyered up, too. Pratt could hardly contain himself over their engagement and Tonya’s baby announcement. Jude had needed to hold the phone several inches from her ear when they’d touched base before she set out for Grand Junction. People magazine was set to run Tonya’s triumph-over-tragedy cover story as soon as Corban’s body turned up. They were planning a big photo shoot at the funeral.
Pratt had been caught off guard when they phoned him to get a few comments on the record. He’d wanted to tell them to take a walk, he informed Jude, but instead he talked his way into his own insert with a head shot. She could tell he was feeling plugged-in.
Before he hung up, he warned her that reporters were hanging around the reservoir like maggots on roadkill. Everyone was expecting that body.
*
The reservoir was the biggest show in town, and Lonewolf had a front-row seat. One individual’s insular act of violence had served up the latest in a long line of real-life soap operas that would obsess the nation until a satisfactory climax was served up, preferably a death sentence.
Today’s juicy installment, the breathlessly anticipated discovery of a battered child’s body, was exactly the kind of spectacle that would send old-hat news stories packing. Who would want to know about Iraq, Katrina, or Dafur when they could wring their hands over an event that had everything going for it: no wider social consequences, no important lessons to teach, and no meaningful impact on anyone but the few players involved.
The Corban Foley Tragedy would occupy a thousand percent more airtime than the not-civil war in Iraq. After all, who gave a damn if Islamic fundamentalists would probably end up controlling the untapped Iraqi oil reserves that were earmarked to become America’s filling station in the coming oil crunch—the 2010 oil crunch the public wasn’t meant to hear about.
More to the point, who would buy advertising if news shows were reduced to discussing serious issues that involved numbers and politics and other such channel-surfing prompts? It would be the end of news broadcasting, and all those overpaid anchors would have to become reality-TV producers, which was, after all, what their skill sets equipped them for.
Lone didn’t have a problem with that idea. No one would know any less about the convergence of events that would soon send the American economy into free fall—a disaster wasn’t news until after it happened. Ask anyone if they knew how much of the world’s fast-diminishing oil reserves the Iraqis were sitting on. They had no idea and were usually amazed when Lone told them most of Iraq’s oil was still in the ground.
Of course, that didn’t mean anything unless you knew Iraqi oil represented fifty years of production and five trillion dollars in company profits. Annually, that was more than the biggest five oil companies made right now, combined. A motivation for invasion? Not according to evil-alliance propaganda.
Lone thought invasion priorities had to be fairly obvious when troops weren’t dispatched to the National Museum to secure the priceless artifacts of the cradle of civilization. Hell, the first building U.S. soldiers occupied was the Iraqi Oil Ministry, the place with the thousands of seismic maps that showed where
Iraq’s oil was. It made perfect sense when you understood that the war had nothing to do with freedom or WMDs. Given that only twenty percent of Iraq’s oil wells had been drilled at all, and the big oil men had already agreed on how the concessions were going to be carved up between them, it was kind of important that they knew where the undrilled eighty percent were at—duh.
Lone sometimes thought everything would have been so much better if the evil alliance had simply told the truth. She, and most every soldier she knew, would still have followed orders from their commander in chief. If her superiors had said the mission in Iraq was to convert the nation into an American military base sitting on top of the world’s biggest oil reserves, she would have seen the sense in that.
She might have had a come-to-Jesus over whether it was worth dying so that a few oil billionaires could get richer, but orders were orders. She would have done her duty. But she knew Brandon Ewart would not have joined up for that. Brandon wanted to fight a noble fight that was about freedom for oppressed people and candy for grateful children. He was willing to die for his high ideals, and he was betrayed by men who had no ideals at all.
Once Madeline had realized that, she couldn’t live with it.
Lone jumped slightly as a hand touched her cheek.
“You look so sad,” Debbie said.
Lone focused on a diver emerging from the freezing water. They had to limit their immersion times so they weren’t exposed to hypothermia. Organizing her thoughts, she said, “I wish the world was a better place.”
Debbie’s small, trusting face lifted to hers, sweetly framed with chestnut brown waves. “You make my world a better place.” Her voice was husky with emotion.
“That’s what I’m here for.” Lone smiled tenderly at her and rearranged the muffler that protected her throat.
“I wonder if they’ll find him.” Debbie consulted the heavens. “It’s warming up and the snow is melting. That should make it easier.”
