"If Ed really is your father, then it would seem that way."
"Did you warn that yard guy? What's his name?"
"Ron? Yeah, I stopped by on the way out of town, told him they might try to pressure him for information." Gage smiled. "He said he'd look forward to it."
"You think they're back because they want his money or something?"
"Probably."
"What if I paid them to go away?"
"I'd rather you not talk to them at all. They don't know about you, and I want to keep it that way."
"But if they just want money—"
"The problem, Nora, is that once you give them money, they'll just want more. That's how guys like them operate. Not only that, this may not be totally about money to them. Like you, they might have some unresolved issues regarding their father."
Nora smiled wryly. "Thanks."
"You know what I mean. It just makes them more unpredictable. I'd like to think they'd be overjoyed to find out they have a sister, but they might be jealous instead. We just don't know. I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I wish I could tell you that your new brothers were Boy Scout troop leaders and members of the Lions Club. It changes how we think about your safety."
"What're you saying?"
"I'm saying I'm no longer comfortable with you by yourself here. I probably shouldn't have left you at all today. It was stupid, really, me leaving town, and you're alone in this motel room."
"They don't know I'm here."
"Right now, yeah. But for how much longer? No, I can't leave you here by yourself anymore. But you can't stay at my place either, not with them knowing where I live. I'm thinking we need to get you back to California."
"No," Nora said.
"I'd feel a lot safer if you had a bunch of big, burly security guys around you at all times."
"I'm not leaving. You can stop if you want, but then I'll ask people the questions myself. I've got to know this, Garrison."
"I'm not stopping. I'll tell you everything I find out."
"I know, I know, but I can't leave."
"Nora—"
"I don't want to argue about it. I've got to be here. This feels right. Besides, I'm doing some of the best composing I've ever done. Maybe it's all the stress, but I've already written two songs today. Two! And I think they're pretty damn good, too. Nobody knows I'm here, Garrison. Our plan is working. Let's just keep at it."
"Man, you're stubborn. We're talking about your life here."
"Yes, exactly. My life. This is important."
"Nora—"
"Our food is getting cold."
"Nora, damn it, I'm not leaving you alone."
"Well, I guess you better stay here, then."
"Fine. I'm sleeping with you tonight."
It took only a second for Gage to realize his unfortunate wording. They stared at each other over the boxes of Chinese food. Lady, taking this pause as some sort of invitation, whined pleadingly. Gage cleared his throat.
"I mean, I'm staying here tonight."
"I know."
"I'll sleep on the couch."
Nora looked down at her food. "Of course. I wasn't— I hope you didn't think I was … you know …"
"Of course not."
"I appreciate it. I do. You don't have to, though. I can take care of myself."
"I'm staying."
"Okay."
"And so is my Berretta. And so is Lady. I get the feeling she can be a vicious attack dog if need be. Don't be confused by her cuddly nature."
"Oh, I won't," Nora said. "I mean, just look at those teeth. She could probably rip through metal."
Perhaps because they were both looking at Lady—partly so they could avoid looking at each other until the embarrassment passed—the dog started panting, revealing teeth that certainly couldn't cut through metal. Or probably even thick cardboard, really. They laughed. Nora asked what his plans were for tomorrow, other than looking for lava rock. He told her that the list of people to talk to about Ed Boone had only grown. He may have lived a mostly hermitlike existence, but there were still people that knew things about him.
As they cleaned up from dinner, he debated how much more he should tell Nora right now. He hadn't said one word yet about the possibility that Ed Boone's death had been a murder instead of a suicide. She had so much to deal with just absorbing that Ed was her father; he didn't want to bog her down with even more troubles until he had a very good reason to do so. She might be angry with him later for holding back, but he'd wait until he had more definitive proof.
She asked if he wanted a glass of the Chardonnay. He said sure. She poured two glasses and they sat out on the porch in the darkness. Neither of them wore jackets. The night was still, the surf and the sand bathed with moonlight; it was low tide and there was plenty of beach. He smelled smoke from a beach bonfire to the north, an orange flickering dot in the darkness, and thought he heard laughter from the same direction.
Sitting in the darkness as they were, he was fairly certain nobody could see them, but he still found himself scanning the beach for any sign of trouble. In time, his eyes adjusted and he could see both the beach and Nora much better.
"So you wrote two songs," Gage said.
"Yeah."
"You want to play them for me?"
"Nope."
"Oh."
She laughed. He liked the way the moonlight played on her cheeks, the way her eyes seemed to glow. "It's nothing personal. I just don't like to play songs for someone until they're really finished."
"And they're not finished?"
"Nope."
"How do you know when they're finished?"
"They're finished when I play them for someone."
"That logic seems fairly … circular."
She drank the rest of her glass. "What's logic got to do with it? I'm a musician. I don't have to be logical. But enough about me. Tell me something about you, Mr. Private Investigator."
"Oh, there's not much to tell," Gage said.
"Alex told me you have an adopted daughter."
"When did he tell you that?"
"Is it true?"
"Well, yes, technically."
"Technically?"
"It's true. It's just a long story. He told you this right after you met him?"
"No, he stopped by today with his wife. Eve, right? Sweet lady. Brought me some baklava she made. Yummy stuff. Now tell me about this daughter of yours. He said she just left for college."
"Jeez, did he give you my complete biography or the Reader's Digest condensed version?"
"Have I hit a sore spot? You don't have to talk about it. I'm certainly not one to judge."
She put her glass on the plastic end table between them, folded her hands in her lap, and gazed out at the ocean. The breeze stirred her curly hair over her eyes. Gage, not quite trusting himself to allow his senses to be dulled, seeing dangers not only out in the dark but also in the tantalizing possibilities that lay between them, took one little sip of his wine and put it on the table. It was cold and sweet, with only a hint of bitterness.
"Her name's Zoe," he said. "She left for PSU yesterday. Smart kid, tough as nails, been through a lot. I love her."
Those last three words were such a frank admission of his true feelings that he felt embarrassed. He certainly hadn't planned to divulge anything so personal. His face felt warm, his throat tight. He realized the pause was only drawing attention to his awkwardness, but he couldn't get himself to speak. He sensed Nora looking at him.
"Tell me about her," she said.
It was the sort of thing a psychiatrist said, and ordinarily Gage would have reacted with sarcasm, but he surprised himself again by answering honestly. He told Nora how Zoe came to be in his care. He explained how rough their early time together had been, the violent world he inhabited that had occasionally enveloped her, and the constant guilt he felt about not being able to shield her from it. He tried to put into words how complicated his feelings were seeing her leave
for college.
"Honestly," he said, "I'm a little relieved. I miss her, but she's probably better off not being around me."
"Do you really think so?"
"Yeah, I do. Bad things always seem to happen to people who spend too much time with me."
"What do you think she would say?"
"I don't know. It'd probably be loud and profane, though." He laughed. "I have learned that I don't get to make those choices for others. I tried keeping people away from me for the first five years I was here. It didn't work so well."
"Mmm. After your wife died."
Gage looked at her sharply. She raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"I didn't learn that one from Alex. I got that from the Internet."
"Right. Why should I even bother joining Facebook? Everything about me is plastered all over the place anyway."
"Sorry. I just wanted to know what kind of person I might be hiring."
"I guess I just hate that my personal life is out there for anyone to read."
"Tell me about it."
Gage heard the pain in her voice. When he looked at her, she tried a smile, but he saw how false it was. He'd never liked his own minor fame, but he knew it was nothing like what she experienced.
"I guess I shouldn't complain," he said.
" I didn't mean that. It's not a contest. I just meant I can relate, that's all. I mean, I found out my last boyfriend was cheating on me because one of the tabloids published a photo of him with this other woman at a club."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well." She shrugged. "All I'm saying is that at least you have people who care about you. Don't take that for granted. It means a lot."
"Oh, I'm sure you've got people who care about you, too, Nora."
She snorted.
"What about your manager? Your band?"
"They just want things from me."
"I have a hard time believing that's true for all of them."
"Oh, it is. Trust me, if I wasn't the famous Nora West, the big shot, they'd be gone in a heartbeat. That cheating boyfriend I just mentioned? Turns out pretty much everyone around me already knew he was unfaithful, but nobody told me. Nice, huh? And shit, right up until I found out, I was dreaming about when he was going to pop the question. What a fool I was. Jesus."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't say that any more. Don't say 'I'm sorry.' I hate that crap. I don't want pity. I'm fine, really."
"Okay. I wasn't offering pity, Nora. Just empathy."
"Right. Now I've pissed you off."
"You haven't—"
"It's okay. I know what you meant. I'm just not myself." She picked up her wine, took a sip, looked at it, then guzzled the rest. "This whole Daddy-o thing has just got me screwed up. I feel like, I don't know, like I'm outside looking at myself. And I don't like what I see. I just … I want you to understand why I have a hard time trusting anybody. They all end up screwing me over eventually. Jesus. Maybe it's the wine. I'm saying way too much. We've just met and I'm dumping all over you."
"It's okay," Gage said.
"No, no, it's not. It's not fair. You're nice. And look at me, whining about my problems. I'm rich! I'm famous! I've got my art! I shouldn't have anything to complain about. I'm bitching about a cheating boyfriend and your wife was … she was …" Her eyes teared up, and she shook her head forcefully. "It's dumb. I just have to grow up, that's all. You probably think I'm a pretty self-centered diva, huh?"
"I don't think that."
"Sure you do. Everybody does."
"Nora—"
"It's okay. It's what I am."
He touched her arm. He didn't do it in a sensual way. It was an instinctive act of comfort, of trying to quell the hysteria in her voice. Yet there was still something electric that happened when his hand touched her bare arm.
He would have pulled his hand away—his better judgment was already reminding him that he was crossing a line—but then she put her other hand over his. She stared at his hand, not looking at him, and slowly began to trace her thumb around his knuckles. Then he didn't know what to do. He couldn't pull his hand away. He didn't want to pull his hand away. What she was doing was both completely innocent and incredibly erotic, and he felt frozen.
This may have only lasted a few seconds, but it was long enough for Gage to become aware of the beating of his heart and the warmth in his face. Then, abruptly, she pulled her hand back, looking left and right, uncertain. She got to her feet.
"I'm going in," she said.
"Okay."
"I'm—I'm pretty tired. I know it's early, but I think I'll—I don't know. Probably just read for a while in bed."
"Sure."
She started inside, then paused midway through the screen door and looked back in his direction. The light from the living room left her mostly in silhouette, but he could see her well enough. She wouldn't look him in the eyes. "You'll be okay on the couch?"
"Yep."
"I'll get you some blankets and a pillow."
"That'd be nice. Thank you."
"Okay. Okay, good."
"Nora?"
"Yeah?"
She still wasn't looking at him, so he waited. She was like a hummingbird, ready to flit away, but he wanted her full attention. It worked. She looked at him, eyes big and watery, vulnerable. It was hard to believe that someone so in the public eye could be so easily bruised, and it made his heart go out to her. If there was anyone who needed a real friend, it was Nora West.
"I'll never screw you over," he said. "It's just something I don't do. When I say I'm there for someone, I'm there for them. Always."
For a long time, she did nothing but look at him. Was she trying to discern the truth? He realized that other people could say the same words to her, and probably had, and still betray her, but he hoped she could see his seriousness. He may have fallen short of the ideal more than once, but it was never from lack of trying. Maybe it sounded hokey to her, a corny truism of superheroes and medieval knights, but he didn't care.
In the end, he wasn't sure how she took it, because she merely bowed her head and went inside.
Chapter 14
For Gage, it was a long night with only brief periods of uneasy sleep. He could have blamed it on any number of things. It could have been the strangeness of the motel room, with all its unfamiliar sounds, the hum of the refrigerator, the gurgling pipes, or the pair of drunks who staggered back to their room at two in the morning. It could have been Lady, who punished his forgetting to let her out before going to bed by scratching on the front door at three a.m., prompting him to take her down to the parking lot where she could do her business in the bark dust. It could have been the couch, which wasn't particularly bad, especially with the pillows and blankets Nora gave him before wordlessly retiring to her room, but it certainly didn't offer him the comforting familiarity of his own bed.
Most of all, he could have blamed it on his anxious state of mind, worrying about the Younger brothers or other potential threats, his Beretta under the couch within easy reach, his heart occasionally jumping into a higher gear at the slightest strange sound from outside.
No, Gage knew his restlessness could be blamed almost entirely on Nora West.
He couldn't even lie to himself about it. He would prefer to believe that the reason he kept thinking about her all night long was because he was worried about her safety. That certainly would be a more virtuous explanation, one more fitting with what he had told her last night on the balcony—which was, of course, true; he would be there for her, no matter what. But this was different. This was more primal.
He wanted her.
He wanted her as much, if not more, than he'd wanted any woman in his life. As he lay awake on the couch, alternately studying the cracks in the ceiling and playing tug-of-war with the downy comforter, her face kept looming before him in a room dimly lit by the moonlight filtering around the edges of the curtains. Those luminous, soulful eyes. Those full, rich lips. How wou
ld it feel to kiss those lips? Not once was he tempted to knock on her door—he would never dare, never—but over and over again, he imagined her coming to him. He imagined rolling over and seeing here standing there.
Lust. That's all it was. He'd known her, what, two days? Not even that. He was primed for it. Tatyana hadn't been gone that long. The hurt was still raw. He was susceptible to a rebound. Zoe leaving made it worse. There was a yawning void in his life, and he was fixating on Nora as a quick fix. The beautiful musician. A fantasy.
But what was wrong with lust?
If two people could find comfort in one another, did it have to mean more than that? As long as both people had the same expectations—granted, an iffy proposition—then what was wrong with giving in to desire to abate the loneliness they both felt?
His attention kept returning to her door. There was so little separating them. A dozen feet, a couple inches of pressboard. Was she lying there thinking of him? He thought he heard sounds of restlessness from her bed, the rustle of sheets, the frequent movements of her body. He felt like a fraud. When she'd made her declaration to him that they wouldn't be sleeping together, he'd told her he hadn't been thinking about that at all, but he had. The lust was there even then.
At some point his exhaustion must have won the battle over desire, because he woke to the click of a door. His hand went instinctively to the Beretta just under the couch cushion before he realized the sound came from the bathroom. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and saw the light under the bathroom door. A second later he heard the flush of the toilet, then the shower running.
He slipped on his pants, stretched, and moseyed to the kitchenette. His back felt like it was loaded with bricks. He would have killed for a toothbrush, too. Lady, who'd spent most of the night on loveseat, lifted her head briefly but didn't get up. He made some coffee, and, since he was already bustling around and the shower was still running, thought what the heck, and made up toast and scrambled eggs. At this point, Lady was more than a little interested, perching at the edge of the kitchen with her eyes wide and ears perked.
He was setting out two plates along with some orange juice when he heard the bathroom door open. Steam drifted along the ceiling.
A Lighthouse for the Lonely Heart: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series Book 5) Page 15
