Closer Than She Thinks

by Meryl Sawyer

  She hurried back and pressed the button on the wall to lift the garage door again. It creaked upward just as she sensed movement behind her. She bolted toward the opening door. Before she reached it, someone grabbed her from behind.

  “Don’t make a sound.” The cold blade of a knife against her throat reinforced the man’s ominous words. “Just listen. I could kill you right here. Next time I will …”

  “W-what do you want?”

  “Leave town”—he pricked the tender flesh behind her ear—“or die, bitch.”

  He released her, bolted out the now open garage door, and disappeared into the darkness, leaving her with nothing more than a fleeting glimpse of a tall, hulking man dressed in black who smelled of menthol cigarettes.

  CHAPTER 23

  The message light on her telephone was blinking when Alyssa walked into her bedroom. She was still shaken from the incident in the garage. It was only a threat, she kept telling herself. If he’d wanted to kill her, he could have. The opportunity had been there.

  Max had to be the one behind it. What had he told her when she refused to be bought off? I have other ways of getting rid of you.

  It could be Phoebe, she thought, then decided it wasn’t likely. Phoebe was a drama queen personified, and she hated Alyssa, but it was doubtful Phoebe would know how to contact a thug like the one who’d jumped her.

  She listened to the messages in case the hospital had called about Aunt Thee. They were mostly calls from the previous day when reporters had been hell-bent to interview her. The last message was from Jake.

  “Call me when you’re home. I’m worried. I should have gone with you.”

  She clicked off and wished Jake had been with her. If he had, the man wouldn’t have accosted her. So what? It would have postponed the inevitable. The creep would have waited until he caught her alone. Someone desperately wanted her out of New Orleans.

  Fear and anger knotted inside her chest. She had no doubt he would try to kill her if she didn’t leave. Why? What could be so important to Max? She’d barely met him.

  Alyssa refused to be frightened away. Aunt Thee was here—she thought a moment—Jake was here. She had no intention of leaving them. She’d just have to be careful.

  Should she tell Jake? She considered it as she took off her clothes and prepared for bed. No, she decided. If she did, she would have to tell him about his father’s threat. Despite what Jake had said about not being close to his father, she still was reluctant to drive them apart.

  The best approach to the problem was to tell Sanchez. He could talk to Max Williams and see if something could be done. She wasn’t going anywhere. She would put pepper spray on her key ring, the way she’d planned. She’d purchased the cell phone easily enough, but she had to fill out a form for the pepper spray. She could pick it up tomorrow.

  Thinking of security precautions made her realize she hadn’t seen her cell phone in her purse when she’d gotten out her house keys. She must be mistaken, she thought, but when she checked, the new cell phone had disappeared.

  “Way to go, Alyssa. You’re not on a roll here.”

  It could be inside her car, she decided. Going back to when she’d last seen it, she remembered the lights had gone out at Jake’s. It could have fallen out of her bag there.

  The telephone beside the bed rang, and she walked slowly over to it. Picking up the receiver, she braced herself for a threatening call or a reporter.

  “Hey, you’re home.” It was Jake. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I just came in.”

  “Is something wrong? You sound funny. Is Thee all right?”

  “Aunt Thee is getting better. She’s coming home tomorrow. I’ve hired a private nurse. That’s what kept me at the hospital for so long. The referral desk has a list, but you have to contact the person to see if they are available.”

  “Sounds encouraging. I have more good news. After you left, Sanchez got a call. Claude Harper’s been located.”

  The murdered nurse’s husband. Great, she thought, then cautioned herself that he might not know anything about the baby’s disappearance. Her nephew, she thought, troubled even more now that she knew their relationship.

  “Harper’s in Cabo San Lucas.”

  “Mexico, right?”

  “Yes. Baja California. Sanchez is catching a flight tonight from here to L.A., then down to Baja. He’ll get back to me as soon as he speaks to Harper.”

  “That’s great.” She climbed into her bed. “With luck this won’t be another dead end.”

  “There’s an answer somewhere. It might have a lot to do with what’s going on now.”

  She didn’t see the connection, but the whole thing was so strange, she didn’t know what to think. She was tempted to tell Jake about the latest threat. Sanchez might be gone several days before she could talk to him. Jake kept talking, sounding tired but upbeat. She decided to wait until she consulted with Sanchez.

  “Since Thee’s going to have a nurse, do you think you could go to the Vampire Ball with me tomorrow night?”

  “What’s a Vampire Ball?”

  “It’s a full costume dinner-dance put on by the Orion krewe. I don’t go in for this society stuff, but my father asked me to come. I’ve bought four tables. What do you say? I don’t want to be caught with all those vampires by myself.”

  “Sure,” she responded, a plan in mind. “I’m certain Aunt Thee won’t care. She’ll probably go to sleep early, and the nurse will be here.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “What do you wear to a Vampire Ball?”

  “Fangs presumably.”

  She giggled, and turned off the bedside light. “Be serious. I need to know.”

  “It’s one of those fancy costume balls where everyone has custom-made vampire outfits. Don’t ask.”

  She’d never traveled in these circles when she’d lived here. But she was familiar with the local penchant for elaborate costumes, a legacy of a society whose most important event was Mardi Gras and the debutante balls that led up to it. Hattie and Gordon—it was hard to think of him as her father—attended several costume balls given throughout the year to raise money for the krewe.

  “I’m wearing the same thing I’ve worn for the three years I’ve been going,” Jake added.

  She listened, the dark room enveloping her, leaving nothing except the erotic sound of his husky voice. It was almost as good as being in his arms—almost—but nothing was quite like the real thing.

  “I give up,” she said when she realized he’d stopped talking. “Were you Count Dracula—fangs and all?”

  Several seconds of silence. “Where are you?”

  “At home.”

  “Hel—lo. Of course, you’re at home. Where exactly?”

  She hesitated. “In bed.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  “No, you won’t. I need my sleep. Tomorrow will be the first day in nearly a week that I’ve been able to work. I have a microbead salesman from Istanbul coming to see me.”

  “You’re right. I need to get up early, too.” His voice seemed deeper yet mellow like fine, aged scotch. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m into phone sex.”

  “No, you’re not. You like to joke around.”

  He heaved an affronted sigh. “If we were together, you wouldn’t be wearing anything but a smile. For sure, we wouldn’t be sleeping. Not after what went on this evening.”

  She couldn’t agree more, but she didn’t want to encourage him.

  “I need to tell you something.” His voice had shifted gears again. The smooth tone had been replaced by a strained note. “I have this … thing about Clay Duvall. It’s complicated. A lot of it has to do with business.”

  When he didn’t continue, she prompted him. “Your father admires the Duvalls, and it bothers you.”

  “In a way, you’re right. Max would rather I be Clay, but he didn’t bother to appear i
n my life until it was too late for me to have the advantages and the education it would require. But that’s not what bothers me the most about Clay.”

  She gazed into the darkness, only a ribbon of light wavering through the shutters from the streetlight outside her window. She waited, hearing something strange in his voice, but not knowing what to say.

  “It’s knowing you loved him, and you might still be in love with him. When I saw you last night, his arm was around you. I couldn’t help thinking …”

  “Is that why you were giving me the deep freeze?”

  “Yes. I don’t know what got into me. I’ve never been the jealous type.”

  She couldn’t help smiling inwardly. It was hard to think of Jake being jealous, but the thought pleased her. It meant he cared. This wasn’t just about sex.

  “Like I told you, I went with him because I was in shock over discovering Gordon LeCroix is my father, and I was shaken when that baby disappeared. I wanted to talk to you in the worst way, but I thought you weren’t coming back.” She took a deep breath. “I knew you’d understand since Max came back into your life after you’d grown up.”

  “You wonder where they were when you really needed them. It has to be rougher on you than it was on me. Gordon was there, but he ignored you, right?”

  “He ignored everyone,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I can understand why Phoebe is so …”

  “Screwed up.”

  “Yes. I lived in their house never expecting anything from them, but Phoebe tried everything to make them love her. Phoebe could never please Hattie. No one could. The woman cares about nothing except her place in society and impressing her friends. Poor Phoebe didn’t stand a chance.”

  “A tragedy, I’m sure.”

  Again Alyssa laughed softly and cradled the phone to her ear while she snuggled against her pillow. Talking to him like this was intimate, yet safe. “Do you think I should talk to Gordon? He doesn’t realize I know the truth.”

  “It’s a tough call. I knew where Max was, but I never contacted him. Too much pride, I guess.”

  “That’s how I feel, too. Gordon had plenty of opportunities to get to know me or even just tell me he was my father, but he didn’t. I don’t want anything from him, and I certainly don’t expect anything. After all, I’ve lived with him. I know what a cold man he is. I just want to look him in the eye and tell him I know.”

  “You’ll get your chance tomorrow night. The LeCroixs will be at the Vampire Ball with the Duvalls.”

  Alyssa inhaled a stabilizing breath. She should have anticipated this. The Orion krewe was the pinnacle of society. Everyone who was anyone in New Orleans would be there.

  “Jake, I’d almost forgot. That stupid piece Ravelle did, accusing me of wanting Phoebe dead. Ravelle will be there for sure.”

  “So? I’ll be with you.”

  “I know. I guess facing everyone says I have nothing to hide, right?”

  “You got it.”

  “One other thing, Jake. Did I drop my cell phone at your place?”

  “No. I haven’t seen it. You didn’t lose it, I hope. I don’t like you wandering around without a telephone.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s probably in my car.”

  “If it isn’t, let me know. I’ll get you another one,” he said. “Now let me tell you about our costumes before I change my mind and come over there and slip under those covers to see what you’re wearing.”

  “Are you going to be there tomorrow night?” Maree asked. When Clay raised his eyebrows, showing he didn’t know what she was talking about, she added, “The Vampire Ball.”

  “Shit!” He’d forgotten all about it.

  “Neville’s taking me.”

  Was he supposed to care? Let Maree show up with Neville Berringer. Clay wondered how he was going to handle this. He was supposed to be there with Phoebe at a table with both their parents. He couldn’t imagine how he was going to explain the situation because he wasn’t sure where he stood.

  “I’m wearing this slinky black dress made of feathers,” Maree said. “The mask is all feathers, too. I’m carrying a leather whip decorated with feathers.”

  “She’s going as a vampire who’s into S and M,” Dante said.

  Clay could believe it. The Vampire Ball was the first big event after Mardi Gras, a season opener for the following Mardi Gras. People let their imaginations descend into the dark side of New Orleans, the days of voodoo and black magic.

  They were back at Maree’s place now, a cramped house on Julia Street with kitchy rattan walls and rattan shades covering the windows. Maree was talking over her shoulder as she busily lit the candles she always put on every available surface. The last of a pyramid of miniature votives was lit, and Maree flicked off the lamp. The scent of sandalwood and jasmine began to fill the room.

  Dante was in the kitchen, partially visible from where Clay was sitting on the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table. The big Bahamian had his back to him as he whipped up his favorite concoction, Cajun Martinis, gin with pepper vodka and a sprinkle of jalapeño peppers on top. He had a tight ass and a weight lifter’s shoulders to go along with his hefty cock.

  Just remembering how it had felt in his hand turned his own penis rock-hard. Usually, when he’d had this much to drink, he had trouble getting it up, but the little episode in the club had titillated him. He’d been thinking about it ever since and anticipating seeing Dante on top of Maree. Who knew? Maybe Clay would learn a few new tricks.

  “Take dis.” Dante handed him the Cajun Martini. Not that he needed anything else to drink. He’d been so shaken by his meeting with Phoebe that he’d had too much already.

  Maree grabbed her drink from Dante and twitted off toward the bedroom. “Wait until you see this.”

  Clay sipped his drink. It was a little spicy for his taste, but he drank it anyway. This was the same drill they’d been through before. Cajun Martinis and a lingerie show. Clay and Dante would sit side by side while Maree paraded around in the latest, skimpiest lingerie.

  Maree was good, he had to admit, much better than what you saw in the sex clubs. She never failed to arouse him. They’d end up in her bedroom with Dante hovering nearby. Tonight, Clay intended to do the watching.

  They waited, the room glowing in the amber candlelight, sandalwood perfuming the close air, drinking the Cajun Martinis and listening to the throbbing beat of reggae music. It made Clay’s head ache, a sure sign he’d had too much alcohol, but he kept sipping to avoid talking to Dante. He could feel the big man watching him.

  “Well, what do you think?” Maree asked in a breathless Marilyn Monroe voice, prancing out in a bra that had no straps or bands. It was merely separate cups, which lifted her tits upward like pagan offerings. Below a cherry-colored triangle of fabric formed the largest part of the thong, the color matching the bra.

  She sashayed around the coffee table, her drink in one hand, treating them to a close look. Her body was flawless, he had to concede. Not a ripple, not a mark on her except for the dime-sized mole on her ass, clearly visible to the right of the thong’s spaghetti strap separating her cheeks.

  “It’s the latest,” she informed them in the same breathy voice. “Self-adhesive cups instead of a dumb old bra.”

  She bent over and jiggled her tits in Clay’s face, and he said, “Not bad, Maree. Not bad.”

  She gyrated to the music, sipping her drink. Now and then, she’d stop and toss her head from side to side, the way she did when she was having an orgasm. Her hair swished back and forth, up and down with a whooshing sound.

  Clay ventured a look at Dante out of the corner of his eye. Nice work, Maree. The solid ridge of Dante’s erection pushed against his fly. Dante caught him looking and winked.

  Maree shimmied to a stop in front of Clay. She thrust her hips forward, saying, “Guess what? Edible undies.”

  “Cherry?” he heard himself ask.

  She wiggled closer until her crotch was two inches
from his nose. “Sniff. Then take a bite.”

  The sickening aroma of imitation cherry hit his nose and dove into his stomach, where it mingled with the whiskey and the Cajun Martini and did a belly flop. He gagged, but managed to recover enough to push her toward Dante, “I hate cherry. You try.”

  Dante didn’t need any encouraging. He grabbed Maree by her bare buns and pulled her up to his mouth. He munched on the cherry-colored triangle and consumed it in two bites. Maree arched backward and let her long hair hang down her shoulders like a dark cape while Dante used his tongue to explore her crotch.

  Maree waxed her pussy every week, so it was creamy and soft. Clay could imagine what she smelled like down there. She used sandalwood perfume to compliment the aromatic candles she adored.

  Dante tried to hand her off to Clay, but he said, “I’m watching tonight.”

  Without a word, Dante hefted Maree over his shoulder. The big man had her in the bedroom, on her back across the bed in less time than it took for Clay to toss back the rest of his martini.

  Dante stood beside the bed and toed off his loafers. His big, bare feet were dark at the ankles, but brownish-pink around the toes. He didn’t bother to unbutton his shirt. He yanked the front panel and the buttons flew off, pinging across the wood floor except for one, which gave way with a rip. He released his belt and dropped his pants in one quick movement.

  He wasn’t wearing anything underneath. His cock sprang forward at an angle, like a caged beast escaping. Shit. He was better hung than any of the guys Clay had seen when he’d been in school, including Stan the Man, center on the football team. He’d been the envy of all the guys because his dick was like a long-neck beer bottle.

  Watching them, anticipating, turned the heat in Clay’s groin into a very painful erection. He put his hand in his pants to make an adjustment.

  Dante glanced over his shoulder at him and winked. Then he positioned himself between Maree’s spread legs. He licked the insides of her thighs like a cat cleaning itself with long, lazy strokes. Maree writhed under him, moaning softly.