Turn or Burn

by Boo Walker

  “What?”

  I nodded. “Said they found you downtown with your throat slit.”

  She was silent for a while. Then, “That’s not playing fair.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “He wanted to know what we knew?” she guessed.

  “Exactly.”

  “What a jerk,” she said.

  I sat on the bed. “Did you find anything on your trek through the underworld?”

  “Not really. I met a couple girls who knew Erica and Lucy, but they didn’t have much to say. Seems their death is the hot gossip on the street. Everybody is wondering what happened and nobody knows. Mouths are staying shut.”

  “Well, we’ve got a couple leads. A place to start.”

  “That’s right.” Francesca got up from the table and approached me. “You thought I was dead?”

  “That’s what he told me.”

  “How’d that make you feel?”

  “How do you think?”

  “Poor Harper.” She sat next to me on the bed and opened her arms. “Do you need a hug? You’re so cute.”

  “Cute?” I mumbled. “Give me a break.”

  She pushed me back against the bed. “I’m right here, piccolino. Alive and well. I’m flattered that you were worried about me.”

  “I never said I was.”

  “You did with your eyes. Don’t get all tough on me now. Cute, innocent boy one minute; fearless Visigoth the second. I can play your games, too.”

  “Look what I’ve started.”

  “I guess that means you get one more chance with me. Do you want that?”

  “It might help some.” How could I say no?

  “That’s not very convincing.” She reached between my legs and took hold of me, and I grew in her hand. “I think he’d like some.”

  “We both wouldn’t mind a little.”

  “Then take me.”

  I think that meant green light. I flipped her onto her back—hard and fast—and pressed against her body, moving up and down, and our tongues touched and danced around one another. She pulled at the collar of my shirt until the first button popped. Then she pulled the shirt over my head. I reached down, touching the soft bare skin above her waist, and then stripped off her clothes. The sight of her see-through black underwear ripped right through me.

  There she was again, this Italian goddess, lying on her back, looking at me with big amber eyes, writhing like some gorgeous animal, asking something from me.

  Then she was on top. She undid my jeans and reached inside. A woman hadn’t touched me like that in a long time, and at first I shivered, right up through my spine. She rolled over on top of me and pulled my jeans and boxers off at the same time. Then she touched me more, and kissed me, starting at my shins and going all the way up.

  When she reached my neck, I was on top of the world, barely able to control myself. Straddling me, she sat straight up and removed her bra. She brought her breasts up over my face and I kissed them, tasting her body. She wriggled out of her panties and got back on top of me. I slipped inside of her and she worked me like some sort of sorceress. She moaned loudly and pushed my limits, working her thighs in some kind of organic rhythm.

  I didn’t last as long as I wanted to, but who could have? She didn’t make me feel self-conscious about it either. She took my hand and led me between her legs, and I worked my fingers in circles until she climaxed as well.

  We laid there in silence, and she stroked my chest and whispered sweet Italian nothings into the air.

  “What would you say if I told you I wanted to go about finding these people on my own?” I asked.

  “I’d say you’re confusing me with your girlfriend.”

  “I just—”

  She put her finger to my lips. “What? You just don’t want me to get hurt. I don’t want to hear it. I am not your girlfriend. I am a soldier.”

  “I’ve never made love to a soldier before,” I said.

  “Was it everything you hoped?”

  “Not bad for a first go at it.”

  “Not bad…right.”

  “It will get better.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? We will get to the bottom of who killed Ted, and I’m not leaving until we do, but that will not happen again.”

  “That’s what you said earlier. That promise lasted what…eight hours?”

  “I needed to finish what I started. I’d say we got it out of our system. Now we can go back to work without any sexual tension burning up around us.”

  “Suit yourself, but I could go one more round in the morning. Just for the hell of it.”

  “Well, I know you couldn’t go another right now.” She took hold of the limp me. “This guy’s not going to get up until a good night’s sleep. Mr. One Hit Wonder.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s probably true. But he could surprise you in the morning. You might see some things you’ve never seen before. Sleep here tonight. That will give you time to think about it.”

  “I could do that. A warm body would be nice.”

  “A warm body…yep. That would be nice.”

  Then a knock. Veggie burger…better than a post-sex smoke.

  CHAPTER 25

  My eyes peeled open just before 6 a.m. Three hours of sleep. Francesca woke as I started to get out of bed. “Where you think you’re going?” she asked.

  “It’s time to get up.”

  “Then get your butt back in here. I’ll get you up, soldier.”

  She pulled me to her and turned my world upside down. Her hands knew just what to do, where to go. I’d felt more alive that morning, and over the past two days, than I had in a long time. She had a touch that reached deep down inside my soul.

  Afterwards, I held her close and kissed her on the forehead. It felt nice. “I like you,” I said. And there it was! I, Harper Knox, had just opened up to a woman—hell, to anyone—for the first time I could remember.

  “Stop,” she said. “Don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do what? Tell you the truth?”

  “Just stop.” She was quiet for a minute. She pulled away and propped her head up on her elbow. “I need to tell you something.”

  “Oh, wow. The mysterious woman wants to reveal herself?”

  “I just want you to know for some reason.”

  “Fire away. I’m ready.”

  “I’m engaged.”

  And with that, she fired one right to the bow of the USS Harper Knox that shook me to the bone. Captain, we’re hit! And we’re taking on water!

  “No kidding?” I said, acting like she’d done nothing but mention what the breakfast special was downstairs. They have a curry tofu scramble...I’m engaged...

  “Yeah,” she continued, “it’s complicated, but I’m supposed to be getting married.”

  “When?”

  “Next June.”

  I laughed out loud, though I didn’t think it was funny at all.

  “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

  “Uh, yeah, I’d say so.”

  “But I don’t want you to think that I’m a cheater. I’m not a bad person.”

  I grinned a little and shook my head, ashamed at my stupidity, realizing that I’d been seduced.

  “Where’s your ring?”

  “In my room.”

  “When’s the last time you wore it?”

  “On the plane on the way here.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Not really.”

  “I feel kind of used.”

  She kissed me. “I didn’t use you. I was not planning on telling you about my engagement, believe me, but I didn’t use you. It happened and I let it. And I enjoyed it.”

  “So tell me more. Might as well get it all out. Purge the demon.”

  “I told you not to take us seriously.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m just going with the flow. So what’s the story?”

  She sat up against the headboard, making no effort to cover herself. “He’s a
Count in Palermo, Sicily. Well, his father is. He’s in line to be. I think I told you…my father was a Navy pilot. He was stationed in Palermo at one point working with the Italian Air Force, and he became really good friends with this guy, the Count. His name’s Nicolo Paraducci. Counts don’t mean as much as they used to, but there’s still a great heritage and respect bestowed upon them. He has a palazzo in Palermo that has been passed down through his family for hundreds of years. And his son, my fiancé, Salvador Paraducci, is in line to become the Count eventually. Through our father’s relationship, we got to know each other and became very close. I was still in Rome, but we spent a lot of time together, going back and forth.”

  “This isn’t exactly what I was expecting, but keep it coming. I feel like someone’s reading me a Danielle Steele novel.”

  “Whatever. Then we went to University together in Rome and started dating officially. It was a big deal to his family and mine. His, because of the royalty and politics and everything. They, of course, loved me.”

  “Of course.”

  “It was a big deal to my family, too. My father was honored. He and Salvi’s father—”

  “Salvi? You’re shitting me.”

  “Yes, Salvi. He and Salvi’s father are best of friends and it meant so much to him. But my mother; oh, God. My mother grew up poor in Rome, and the idea of her daughter becoming a countess was a godsend for her. She’s proud beyond belief. And if you know any Italian women, especially mothers, then you know what I mean when I say proud. This is not something to take lightly. So in a way, I was betrothed long before Salvi gave me a ring. This marriage was written in the books years ago. But I slowed things down when I joined the Marina Militare, and Salvi and I didn’t see each other for a few years. It broke my mother’s heart. She wouldn’t even speak to me.”

  Francesca shook her head and looked off over my shoulder. “O mio Dio. My. Italian. Mother. I left the Marina Militare to get into doing contract work, and that’s when Salvi and I ran into each other. Somehow I let myself start seeing him again, even though I knew I still hadn’t gotten freedom out of my system. His family welcomed me back, and my mother and father were once again happy. The wheels began to turn, and it was hard stopping them. That’s when he put a ring on my finger, and I didn’t say no. Couldn’t is more like it. This was six months ago. I moved back to Rome to live near my mother, and preparations were made. As you can imagine, a wedding in Italy is a monumental event, and when it is into a royal family, it’s even bigger.”

  “But I don’t love him,” she continued. “Of course I love him as a friend. But I don’t want to marry him. Sometimes I do, but I think it’s all to make everyone happy. Everyone but me. I want to call it off but I can’t. My mother would die. When I say that, I mean it. It would kill her. If I called it off, it would be in the papers. My mother would be ashamed of me. It would break my dad’s heart too.”

  “So you’re going to marry a man you don’t want to marry?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  I sat up. “Not that I’m an expert on the subject, but marriage is between you and one man. It has nothing to do with what your parents think…or the media. We don’t live in the Middle Ages anymore. Marriages aren’t planned by mom and dad.” I felt like I was pleading a bit and decided to back off some.

  “Sure, it’s that way here. You marry who you love. But it’s still done differently back in Italy. Sometimes I think making my mother happy is more important than making me happy.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “It’s impossible for you to understand. You’d have to be Italian…it’s true. So that’s where I am. I’ve never cheated on him before, but something came over me. I was weak.”

  “How does Salvi feel about it?”

  “He loves me. I’m sure of it. The idea of breaking his heart hurts, too. It would hurt a lot of people.”

  “If you’re asking for my advice, you’ve heard it. But you’re right, I’m not Italian.”

  A long silence followed. To think I’d let myself open up to her. This was exactly why I’d shied away from a relationship for so long. Who needed this? I didn’t have a chance with this girl. I certainly didn’t need any more complication.

  I watched her naked backside move toward her clothes on the floor. Watched those legs, the muscles in her calves as they tightened, her hips sway, her breasts dip as she reached for her shirt. I thought to myself how we’d never be intimate again.

  “So that’s it, huh?” I asked. “Between you and me, I mean.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Well, it was fun. Do you take a check?”

  She glared at me. “Not funny.” Then she pulled the shirt over her head. “Now, what’s the plan today? I don’t suppose you want to heed Detective Jacobs’s warning and stay away, do you?”

  “Not at all. I want it now more than ever.”

  “Then clean yourself up and meet me in the lobby in twenty. Arrivederci.”

  ***

  I stood in front of the mirror for a while. That’s what I get for trying to become human again. I wasn’t right for it.

  I shook my head, then lathered up and ran a razor over my face. My thoughts went to Ted. He had to know his dangerous little cousin would cause some problems. I couldn’t believe he didn’t tell me about her marriage. He had to have known.

  I missed that bastard. Teddy. We’d had some fine times together, whether it was buried in a trench or pushed up to a bar in some no-name country drinking the local lagers and banging down enough shots of liquor to make your hair fall out. Literally. We were invincible, watching people die all around us. It could never be you, until it is. Now, Francesca’s story reminded me even more that there was nothing bulletproof about me. We’re all easy to hurt. We’re all so vulnerable.

  CHAPTER 26

  Still in a towel, I walked up to the blinds and opened them part way. If someone had been waiting to snipe me all night, he had his chance now.

  It was the first day of June, and you wouldn’t have known it. I could see the trees getting blown around down below. The yuppies were in their North Face Gor-Tex jackets and Patagonia beanies, so I knew it was cold. The rain had stopped, and a bit—a wee, wee bit—of blue sky was trying to emerge, but it was still dismal outside.

  I looked at the Space Needle, the tower built for the 1962 World’s Fair and the defining characteristic of the Seattle skyline. An exquisite piece of Northwest architecture and one that conjures up great memories of my childhood. Up until my mother was sick, we’d eaten up there at the top of the Needle every year for probably twenty years, on my father’s birthday. Like I mentioned, we were simple folk and this was one of the highlights growing up.

  The restaurant is at the top of a long elevator ride, and it revolves. It takes about forty-five minutes to go all the way around, so by the time you finish dinner—assuming it’s one of those few clear days you hope for—you can see a good chunk of Washington State. It was jaw-dropping and extra special for a kid growing up on a farm.

  Thinking better safe than sorry, I closed the blinds and put some clothes on. My standard jeans, button-up, and a black corduroy blazer to cover up my shoulder holster, and some leather shoes that were long past needing to see the cobbler.

  The elevator stopped at Francesca’s floor, and there she was, ready for the day. “Good timing,” I said.

  I got the bellhop to hail a cab and we were off. Thirty minutes later, we were in her Rover on our way to Jake’s Woodworks in the U District, meaning the University District, the home of the UW Huskies. It’s not ten minutes from downtown but has a character all it’s own, something that the young and ambitious bring. The Huskies stadium was right on the water, just a few blocks down. On game day, people tie their boats up at the marina and walk right in.

  We found a metered spot on Forty-Fifth, in the heart of the U District. The summer students were crossing the streets with their backpacks and eager minds. We weaved past them for two blocks until we reached the
address. Jake’s Woodworks was etched on the glass door. The place looked like it had been there longer than the University. Being the true gentleman that I was, I opened the door for my lady and followed her in. Pipe smoke hit my nostrils. Two men were behind a long counter, tugging on tobacco. A customer was examining some knives behind the glass.

  “Can we help you?” one of them said. He was wearing overalls and flannel.

  Pipe-smoking woodworkers were my cup of tea. “I think so,” I said. “I’m looking for a guy named Jameson Taylor. He’s an old friend of mine and his wife—well, his almost-ex—told me you guys could help me. You know him?”

  They looked at each other and Overalls said, “Yeah, I know him. He’s been coming here a long time. But I don’t know where he is.”

  I nodded, looking around the store. Hobbies are a funny thing, I thought. You find something you like to do and immerse yourself in it, like it gives you something to live for. Something to do while you’re waiting to die. Maybe I needed to find something.

  “How does one get into woodwork?” I asked.

  Overalls stood up. “Well, depends on what you’re looking to do. We got people who build furniture, art, shelves, instruments, you name it. Who wants to know?”

  “My name’s Phil Darry. I knew Jameson was always good at this stuff.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Never seen his work. Not sure what he does.”

  I got a little closer to the counter. “You don’t happen to keep records of your customers, do you? I sure would love to find him.”

  “Ah, we tried that for a little while. I might have a few left over. I guess it’s worth checking.” Overalls moved over to the computer and started fiddling around. The other one sat there tugging on his pipe and staring off into the store. It was the kind of place where people hang around even if they’re not getting paid. There was a door to an office in the back, and I could hear someone back there, moving things around. I didn’t think much of it.

  Finally, he said, “I don’t see it. Sorry about that. Come to think of it, we haven’t seen him in a while. You want to leave a card or something? I can leave it here on the counter and next time we see him, we could let him know you’re looking for him. I don’t know when he’ll be coming back but it might be worth a shot.”