"It's always there for you?" Gage said.
"Exactly. But sometimes I start to forget. Maybe that's why I like being here. In Barnacle Bluffs. In this motel room. It's like I can just be me."
"Maybe you should make it a regular thing."
"Come here?"
"Sure. Like a retreat. Just disconnect from everything and be alone with your music."
"It's a good idea."
"Well, I have a few now and then."
She smiled. Their eyes locked. It was one of those moments when the great movie reel of life seemed to stop. For a moment, there were hundreds of little details that came into sharper focus: the rain hitting the patio glass, the soft glow from the lamp behind her creating undulating waves in the dog's black fur, the tiny pinpricks of light in her pupils that seemed brighter than anything else in the room. Then she swallowed. He heard his heart beating louder in his ears.
Nora put down the dog and got to her feet, standing over Gage, looking down at him. The lamp painted the fringes of her hair with gold. She put her hands on his knees and leaned toward him, the whole lovely weight of her, all those wonderful curves, and kissed him.
He smelled the wine on her breath, tasted the tomato sauce on her lips, and felt her nose brush against his own, cold but not unpleasant. She pulled back, those dark eyes wide and unblinking, her hands still on his legs. When she spoke, he felt her breath on his face.
"Was that okay?"
"Um. Yeah, I'd say. But I thought—"
"Yeah, I know. I just said that because I started thinking about doing what I just did the moment I saw you, and I was trying to protect myself. Can it just be … you know, whatever it is? No past, no future, no labels?"
"I'm good with no labels."
"Good. Because I don't think I can wait one more second."
"Me either."
"I'm going to kiss you again."
"Okay.
"And then I'm going to do other things."
He was trying to think of a witty rejoinder, but it was no time for being witty, and even if he'd thought of something, she gave him no time to say it. She kissed him again, this time with much more urgency, climbing onto the couch and straddling him, moving her hands from his legs to both sides of his face.
No labels. He refused to analyze it and just surrendered to the moment. The first time was there on the couch, her on top, clothes coming off in a frenzy, lips only parting when unavoidable. Usually the first time was at least somewhat awkward, if not completely artificial, full of self-consciousness and uncertainty that made every action timid, but that was not happening here. They were like two starving people who'd stumbled upon a buffet. Even the brief respite to take the normal precautions, often done with haste for fear that delay would kill the moment, did nothing to quell their desire for one another.
The second time was on the floor in front of the bedroom. The third time they actually made it to the bedroom, barely, ripping into each other on the side of the bed, bodies dripping in sweat, skin on fire. Gage couldn't remember when there'd been a third time, for him, in the span of an hour. In his twenties, maybe? He attributed his newfound sexual fortitude to the power of her music. He hadn't even felt one twinge in his bad knee.
Finally, they ended up entwined in both the sheets and each other, listening to the rain. They slept for a while, easy and contented, then talked in low voices about nothing in particular, the laughter coming easy, the silences neither awkward nor profound. They simply enjoyed each other's company, which, Gage had long since learned, was the best a person could ever hope for—to be heard without judgment, to be accepted without agenda. Whatever came next, they had that, at least.
At some point, Nora started nibbling on his ear and fondling him below. He tried to beg off.
"You can sleep later," she murmured.
"The spirit is willing, but the flesh … not so much."
"Well, your flesh is starting to feel willing, anyway."
"Hmm."
"What's that?" she teased. "Having a hard time speaking?"
"Mmm hmm."
"Don't make me go out and get some Viagra. The lady wants what she wants and won't be denied."
"No. No … I wouldn't … dare."
"Oh, I know what I can do. Better than a pill, at least based on what I saw on your face earlier."
She slipped out of bed, giggling, and padded naked into the other room. She returned with her guitar. He'd been caught between the equally powerful gravitational forces of sleep and desire, the draw of sleep winning the battle until he saw her standing there with that guitar, a glorious nude goddess. Any thought of sleep was banished. She knew it, too, because she smiled that radiant smile. She sat on the bed next to him, the guitar in her lap and cradled against that lovely belly, hair spilling over bare, freckled shoulders, her breasts so full and wonderful.
No need for Viagra. He was ready to go, and he would have taken her then if she hadn't started playing. Gage had several moments from his past that he truly cherished, but he knew this would rank right up there. A naked solo performance from Nora West, who wasn't Nora West anymore, at least not the Nora West other people knew, the celebrity, but a wonderful and vibrant woman just as real to him as any other woman he had known—imperfect, full of doubt, beautiful.
When she was finished, he begged for another song and she obliged. He moved closer, kissing her shoulders, her back, caressing her with his hands, and she gamely kept playing though it was obviously a struggle. It became a game. How much pleasure could he give her before she had to surrender? The lyrics went first—it was difficult to sing between moans and gasps—and eventually the guitar was put aside too.
Finally, having spent all of their strength and then some, they finally collapsed in each other's arms and slept.
It was a deep sleep, Gage only briefly aware of her warm body pressed up against him and the gentle sound of the rain against the windows before he fell into that soothing and timeless place where there were no dreams and no worries, only peace. He slept for an hour. He slept for a year. It could have been either, but it was probably something in between, because when he woke—to the sound of a man snickering—it was still dark in the room.
His heart began to pound. He knew immediately somebody was in the room. It wasn't a dream. While Nora continued to slumber, he lifted his head and squinted into the darkness. There was only the barest amount of light, a pale white glow ringing the bedroom curtains, but it was enough for him to see the distinctive shape of a man standing at the foot of the bed.
"Time to talk," Elliott said.
Chapter 16
Calm. Gage tried to keep himself calm. No sudden moves. It was possible Elliott couldn't really see Gage either, which might give him a chance to get to his gun. But where was it? The wine had left his mind foggy. The Beretta and its holster were folded up in his jacket. The jacket was out in the—
"Looking for your piece?" Elliott said. "It's in my hand, pointed at your face. Don't do anything stupid, Gage."
This stirred Nora back toward consciousness; she fidgeted and murmured. Denny, who'd been standing behind Elliott, flicked on the light, and she bolted awake. The sheets had been wrapped around their torsos and legs, leaving them naked from the waist up. Nora, blinking through a tangle of hair, sat there with her breasts exposed until Denny snickered. That prompted her to shout and grasp the sheets, yanking them up to her neck.
"Well, well, well," Elliott said. "If it isn't the talented and beautiful Nora West."
He hadn't lied. The Beretta was in his right hand, pointed directly at Gage's face. Behind him, Denny, bearing the goofy grin and bugged-out eyes of a teenage boy who'd discovered porn on the Internet for the first time, also had a gun, a Sig 299 fitted with a suppressor—the same gun Elliott had shot Gage's potted plant with, by the looks of it, except for the silencer. His massive presence filled the open doorway. Rain droplets spotted their dark suits, and Denny's buzzcut glistened.
"Get the hell out!"
Gage said.
"Tsk, tsk," Elliott said, wagging his finger at them. "You're not in the driver's seat here, buddy. Didn't think I could find you, huh? We cruised a couple dozen hotels, but we knew we'd find your van eventually. And the clerk was easy to bribe."
"What—what do you want?" Nora asked, her voice tremulous and breaking.
"Oh, a couple things. First, I want to see those pretty tits again."
"What?"
"You heard me. Put the sheets down. In fact, just toss them off the bed and show me everything you got. Bet you got a nice twat, too, huh?"
"I'm not—I'm not—"
"Elliott," Gage said, "just what the hell—"
While Gage was thinking, Elliott turned and nodded to his brother, who aimed his Sig at the edge of the mattress and fired. Even with the suppressor muffling the noise, the shot was a loud thump, like someone banging on the wall. Both Gage and Nora flinched, and Nora started crying.
"Aw, you're going to ruin it with the waterworks," Elliott said. "Come on, suck it up."
"Elliott—"
"You want me to shoot your leg next time?" Elliott said.
Gage tried to think of a way out of this. Rush him? He might stand a chance if it was just one of them, but not two. Elliott grabbed the edge of the sheet and yanked it off both of them, leaving them totally exposed. Nora, really bawling now, tried to cover herself, and Elliott admonished her to let herself be seen or face consequences. Reluctantly, she complied. All Gage could do was seethe.
"Very, very nice," Elliott said. "Look at that body, Denny. Isn't that nice?"
He glanced over his shoulder at his leering brother, who nodded enthusiastically. Elliott went back to marveling at Nora for a while, then yelled at Nora to stop crying. She took a few shuddering breaths and held it together. Then Elliott slid the Beretta into one pocket and reached into another, pulling out an iPhone. Before Gage really knew what was happening, Elliott snapped a couple pictures.
"There, sent them to my email, too," Elliott said, "just in case something happens to my phone. Good to have backups, you know. Go ahead, sweetie. You can cover yourself up again."
Nora didn't need to be told twice, grabbing the sheets and retreating her whole body under them. "But—but why—" she sputtered.
Elliott laughed. "Oh, the look on your faces! What, did you think we were going to rape you or something? We're not monsters. Well, I guess I can't totally vouch for my brother there. I mean, just look at him. He has a hard-on the size of California. If I left him alone with you, who knows what he'd do." He faked a shudder. "Icky. I mean, you do have nice tits, but I have my limits. You are my half-sister, after all."
Gage and Nora stared, prompting a smile from Elliott. He took the Beretta back out, clearly savoring the moment.
"Yes, I know all about your secret," he said. "Got the court order giving me access to dear old Dad's apartment today, and I found the fake will. I figure Gage here planted it. Nora being the executor threw me for a loop. We did some digging, talked to some people, including the same doctor Gage talked to in Florence. So he had a secret daughter. Ah! Now it made sense. Somehow you got it in your head that being his daughter, you could hone in on his money."
"That's crazy!" Nora said. "We didn't plant the will! He wrote it!"
"You're an idiot, Elliott," Gage said. "She doesn't need his money. She's rich."
Elliott started to say something, then sighed and reached down with the Beretta and picked up Gage's jeans. He flung them at Gage, who caught them.
"Jesus, put them on already," Elliott said. "I don't mind looking at her, even if she is my sister, but you gotta put your junk away, man. It's distracting."
Gage yanked on the jeans. "I don't know where you're getting your crazy ideas, but two seconds after you leave, we're calling the police."
"Oh, I don't think so," Elliott said. "I don't think your lovely new girlfriend wants those pictures I just took plastered all over the Internet, does she? That's why I took them, see. It's called leverage."
"I don't care," Nora said. "Do whatever. You're going away for a long time, asshole."
"Sure, go ahead. I dare you. But I think you'll change your mind. You've cultivated this sweet American girl image, and this won't help. You see, the pictures are only part of the leverage. I may not be able to prove that you faked that will, not yet, but I do know something that Gage apparently doesn't know. And he's the private eye! Not much of one, it seems. This one's right under his nose."
"What are you talking about?" Gage said.
"I'm talking about how the great Nora West is flat broke."
"What?"
"Not only that, but she's in debt up to her eyeballs. And to the wrong people, too. People I happen to … well, let's just say I have connections. Seems her whole music empire is a bit of a house of cards."
"Nonsense!" Gage said.
"Is it? Look at Nora. The truth's written all over her face."
Gage looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bloodshot from crying, but it wasn't just shock he was seeing. When she looked back at him, he saw something else—shame.
"Nora?" he said.
"I'm—I'm not after his money! It's … I don't— I mean, I've had a few cash-flow problems. But it's not why I'm here. He doesn't have anything anyway!"
"Oh, don't play dumb," Elliott said. "You must have found out about the three quarters of a million he has sitting in that Fidelity account. Maybe old Daddy-o forgot about it. Or he didn't let himself think about it because then he'd go back to gambling. But when he sold the house, he put the money in an index fund and just let it ride. Twenty years of compound interest can do a whole lot."
"That's—that's not that much money! Not compared to what I have. Why would I … It's crazy! My boat is worth more than that."
"Sure, but not after you pay off your loans. You're way upside down, honey. I also know you're trapped in a pretty shitty record deal. So not only are you extremely bad at money management, you really don't have much coming in after everyone else takes their piece. Seven hundred and fifty thousand may not be that much, but it is when everything is going to collapse without it. The people you need to pay now don't give a rat's ass how many Twitter followers you have."
She started crying. "It's not true. I made some mistakes, yes, mostly by trusting the wrong people, but I'm not here because of that."
"Stick to singing, Nora. You'll never make it as an actress."
"I'm telling the truth!" She looked at Gage. "He's lying! I was getting on top of the financial stuff. This is about— It's about a lot more than money."
"It's always about money," Elliott said. "Me, I could really use three quarters of a million. I won't pretend otherwise. That will, whether Dad wrote it or not, is not going to hold up in Oregon. I checked. It'll all go to probate. So the library won't get a penny. But you might be able to prove you're his daughter and get a cut. Without a valid will, the judge will probably split the money among all his children. Or maybe he'll turn out to be a Nora West fan and things won't go my way at all. I've learned to expect the worst." He tapped his breast pocket. "That's where these pictures come into play, plus all the shit I know about your sorry financial state. But if you back out now, well, I'll just sit on it."
"So you're trying to blackmail her?" Gage said.
"I prefer to think of it as … expert persuasion. Look, I don't want her to have one fucking penny. Maybe that's petty of me, but he was my father. Not much of one, really, but he was nothing but a sperm donor to her."
"Get out," Gage said.
"Careful, careful. I'll leave you two to your little love nest, but first I want to make this absolutely clear. Nora needs to get back in her car and go home. If I find she's still in town tomorrow, I send these pictures to every gossip website I can find. If she still doesn't go home after that …"
"What?" Gage said.
"Let's just say I have other means of persuasion. Denny, let's go."
Denny, who had never sto
pped leering, wiped a line of drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Nora tucked the sheets closer to her breasts. They started for the door, then Elliott turned back. He removed the clip from the Beretta, emptied the cartridge and the chamber, put the clip back, and set the gun on the edge of the bed.
"Wouldn't want you to think I was a thief," he said, grinning.
* * *
Gage waited only until he heard the click of the front door before jumping off the bed, grabbing the Beretta, and sprinting barefoot to his holster. There was so much adrenaline coursing through his body that he didn't even feel a twinge in his knee. He found the spare clip, loaded the gun, and darted back to the front door. He eased it open a crack and peered outside. When he saw no one on the landing, he opened it and leaned out. A light drizzle streaked through the lamplight over the parking lot, but he saw no one.
Then he heard the roar of an engine. Taillights flared down the road. It was too dark to make out clearly, but he thought the basic shape matched the Mustang. The car eased onto the road, no hurry, and headed north.
Gage, cool air on his bare chest, stood in the doorway debating what to do next. Call the police? Gage and Nora hadn't been physically harmed. There was no sign of forced entry. What proof did Gage have that anything had actually happened, other than a bullet in their mattress that could have been anyone's? He could pursue Elliott and Denny himself, but even if Gage thought that was a good idea, and he didn't, the Younger brothers would be long gone by the time Gage got to his van.
Instead, Gage closed the door and locked it again—they must have picked it, or stolen a key from the front desk—and returned to Nora. She hadn't moved, staring blankly into space and clutching the sheets to her chin. He sat on the bed next to her. Lady, who must have been hiding in the living room, hopped onto the bed.
"You okay?" he said.
She didn't move.
"Nora?"
Finally, she blinked hard. She looked at him, started to speak, then burst into tears. He held her until she got the worst of it out of her system. Then a whole bunch of stuff came gushing out, how she never meant to lie to Gage, how it was true that she was in financial trouble but she hadn't said anything because she was embarrassed and kept thinking her problems would be solved somehow—an HBO special, a book deal, something would come along if she just toughed it out. That wasn't why she was here. She really did want to know if Ed was her father.
A Lighthouse for the Lonely Heart: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series Book 5) Page 19
