by Alicia Scott
"I know what I need to know."
"And what is that, Maggie?"
Her face was more troubled. "That you're a good person, intelligent and levelheaded. That you don't usually yell at me. That generally you treat me like an intelligent human being who's capable of making her own decisions and strong enough to bear the consequences. That you respect me, that you think I have a big heart and that … that you find me attractive just as I am." Her voice faded away. She could no longer look at him. Instead she studied the rug, her hands knotted before her.
Cain was silent for a long time. Not moving, not speaking, just standing there. She finally risked a glance. His face was no longer blank, but troubled.
"I thought you'd left," he said abruptly.
"I did. I went to the store."
"No. I mean I thought you had left, as in you were never coming back."
Her eyes widened. "Cain," she said softly, "I gave you my word."
"I know." He looked at the ceiling. "I know. But I thought you had left anyway, and it bothered me, Maggie. It really … bothered me. I … I don't want to be bothered by such things." He peered at her through squinted eyes, his blond hair waving over his brow. "Can you understand that?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Cain, I—"
"Maggie, you've never asked about the murder."
"I don't need to."
"You can be that sure?"
"Yes," she told him honestly.
Her faith didn't seem to make him proud, though, or soften him, or touch him. Instead, he was abruptly shaking his head as if that proved she was a fool, and that hurt her tender feelings all over again.
"You think I'm so naive then?" she asked through an unbearably thick throat. "That it proves I'm stupid?"
"I wasn't going to s—"
"No, but you were thinking it. You were thinking, how can this tiny woman with her big ol' generous heart be so gullible? It's not like you're the first person who's thought that, Cain. And … and dammit, I refuse to apologize or defend or change. I trust people, all right? I go through life assuming the best about everyone, so there. Just sue me.
"And I've spent twenty-four hours in your company and I do not believe you are capable of murder. You didn't hurt the guard, you didn't hurt me. You are one of the most even-tempered people I know—the thought of you committing a rash crime of passion is frankly ludicrous. And then there's the simple matter that I asked you and you said no. You said no. I believe you, Cain. You can think I'm stupid if it makes you feel better, but I believe you anyway—"
"I don't think you're stupid."
"Are you so sure about that?" She refused to be so easily mollified. Instead, she stood five feet away from him, her fingers clenched into fists, her body stiff and her open face filled with hurt.
"Maggie … ah!" He seemed frustrated and distraught, and for the first time since she'd known him, at a loss for composure. His hand raked through his shorn hair once, then twice. "I'm mangling this."
"No kidding. And the clock is ticking, buster." She tapped her foot for emphasis. She was beginning to sense she had the upper hand and she had no intention of letting him off lightly. Let him squirm a bit; it was the least he deserved.
"I'm not used to people like you," he said abruptly.
"Oh?" She arched a fine brow. "You mean nice people? Kind people?"
His lips curved reluctantly. "Yes. Exactly." Then his face sobered. "I've been alone a long time, Maggie. I think sometimes … I'm better alone. Kathy used to say I was too remote, too self-contained, that no matter how much time she spent with me, she never knew what I was thinking, never thought that I needed her. I didn't really understand what she meant. But then she was dead and everyone agreed that I'd done it. My family betrayed me, my friends believed in the betrayal. Everyone, shaking their heads. 'Well, I never did feel like I knew him,' they all said, as if I'd been a stranger all along. As if none of it, none of the friendships, had been real." His voice broke. He forced himself to continue, his gaze planted on the wall. "And then there's you, Maggie. You've known me less than a day, you've met me under the worst conditions, and you've already given me more, trusted me more, than anyone else. You believe in me. And by God, I didn't realize how much I needed that."
He looked down, his voice too hoarse to continue.
Maggie gave up on distance. She strode toward him, not stopping until she was against his body, his damp towel against her damp skirt, her hands splayed lightly on his bare, freshly showered chest. Her fingertips massaged his collarbone, her gaze searched his eyes. "Tell me, Cain. Tell me what happened that night, tell me everything. I promise to believe."
"I introduced them," he whispered, and she could hear the underpinnings of guilt and remorse in his voice. "Ham suddenly appeared in Portland, said he wanted to get to know me again as it had been five years, and without ever suspecting a thing, I invited him to dinner."
"He wanted your girlfriend?"
"I don't think so. I think he just wanted to get back at me. He wanted to destroy his turncoat brother who'd spit on everything we were raised to believe. I'd just been appointed project manager to a new program we were developing for the government. I think that might have been the last straw for him."
"I don't understand," she told him honestly.
"Our father … he believes the government is evil. Schools are corrupt, public water supplies, public services. Street signs and traffic lights contain secret codes that will one day be used to herd together all dissidents. The ZOG hates middle-aged white Christian males, and if Aryans don't stick together, we'll all hang separately."
"Do … do you believe it?"
"No. I'm the family heretic. I figured that if God asked Noah to save two of all the animals from the flood, then he must value the diversity of the creatures that he created, including mankind. It was an unpopular belief where I grew up. I moved to Portland instead. I met all the people I'd been told were evil—they weren't."
"Then Ham came."
"Yes." He said softly, "I was willing to believe he wanted a reconciliation. I don't know why. We'd always fought. There was no logical reason for me to think things had changed."
"He was your brother."
"He set me up. I let him in, introduced him to my coworkers, to Kathy, and he took it all in, and in one brutal stroke took it all away. It wasn't even difficult for him. He was handsome, charming, and Kathy liked men with a dangerous edge. We'd been dating for a while, but the flush was over. She wanted things I couldn't give her and we both knew it. She must have thought Ham was quite dashing.
"And he must have thought it was very easy to kill his brother's Jewish lover."
"Oh, my God," Maggie whispered and pressed against him. Her open face was filled with so much horror, so much compassion for him and Kathy both. "Oh, my God."
He found his hands buried in her thick red hair, he found himself pressing her body slightly closer. She felt tiny and delicate, but not breakable. She was too supple, bending like a willow when under pressure, while he knew only how to stand stiffly and snap.
It had been more than six years since that night, but it had changed too much to ever let go. He'd been so sure relationships could be simply and easily defined. How much could go wrong? Even when he'd begun to realize Kathy and Ham were involved, he hadn't wanted to dwell on it. Kathy was a free woman. He didn't own her, she didn't own him. She could make her own choices.
But he'd never told her about Ham's upbringing, about his hatred and bigotry. When Ham had arrived in Portland, he seemed to have left that behind as well, and Cain didn't push too hard or ask too many questions. Cain had been weak, after all, wanting to believe that his brother shared his enlightenment, that leopards could change their spots.
He'd made Ham's job so easy and Kathy had paid the price for Cain's naiveté. Life wasn't supposed to work like that. His life wasn't supposed to work like that.
"But you didn't do it," Maggie whispered softly. "Why didn't the jury believe you?"
"Ham used my own hunting knife, then testified as an eyewitness to my alleged enraged attack on Kathy. The case was open-and-shut."
"We'll have to change that," she declared immediately. Already, she was gnawing on her lower lip. "Now how are we going to prove that?"
Very gently he wrapped his hands around her waist and set her from him. "We aren't going to do anything," he said quietly. "I'm going to go to Idaho. In the meantime, I'm hoping Ham will arrive in Oregon. While he looks for me here, I'll try to find evidence against him at home."
"Do you think you'll find much?" Maggie asked, momentarily ignoring that silly I-we thing. She'd cross that bridge later.
"I doubt it. It's been six years. On the other hand, Ham likes to brag. His friends will never testify against him, but perhaps a bartender or cocktail waitress might. Or there are a lot of magazines and propaganda documents that circulate among militias. Generally, they include 'accounts of war,' generic anecdotes of local activities."
Maggie's eyes grew huge and her face pale. "You mean … you mean he might have written up what he did and published it for others to read?"
"There are some people who think he performed a very noble act, Maggie." His lips twisted. "I'm sure my father is one of them."
"Well! We're just going to find this account and bring it to a judge!"
"Maggie," he said calmly, "even if such a thing existed, Ham wouldn't be so stupid as to use real names. I don't think one story published in a propaganda publication will overturn a murder conviction."
"Then we'll have to find something else!"
"I will."
"Brandon and C.J. will help us," she continued unperturbed. "They're very capable."
Cain couldn't take it anymore. He reached out, grabbed her hand and abruptly dragged her against him. His palms framed her face. He held her still and forced her to really look at him as he enunciated slowly, "Maggie, you can't help me. Don't you understand yet? There is a very strong chance that I may never be able to prove my innocence. There is a strong chance the police will return me to jail. There is a strong chance Ham will hunt me down, and I'm just not ready to kill my own brother. I don't have a lot of good options yet, and I will not let you pay for my mistakes. No more. I'm willing to stand alone and I'm willing to die alone if it comes to that. I pay for my choices, no one else. That's fair."
He released her face. He took a resolute step back and pointed toward the door. "Please leave, Maggie. Now."
"No."
"Please leave, Maggie. Now."
"No," she repeated.
His arm began to shake. "Dammit, I said, now!"
"And I said, no!" Her chest heaved, her eyes grew bright. She fisted her fingers at her sides and stared out at him with blazing defiance. "No, no, no!"
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"Because I can't help it!" she cried. "Because I want … I want to watch you eat in the morning, and … and shave over the bathroom sink and brush your teeth and put on your shoes. Because I want to hear more stories about your mother and listen to you sing along with the radio and … and I want you to hold me in your arms again and stroke my hair and tell me it's okay because you've got me, it will be all right. And I want to hold you, and I want to stroke your hair and tell you it will be all right. I'll introduce you to my brothers, I'll introduce you to my cats and my grandmother—you have to meet my grandmother.
"Because … because … because I want more out of life than a silly, stupid, damn locket!"
"A locket?"
"That's right," she declared fiercely, "a locket." And then her hand was wrapped tightly around the heart pendant dangling between her breasts. With a sharp tug, she snapped the chain. "I hate this thing," she said abruptly. "I hate it, I hate it. I wanted a father, I wanted a daddy to be there for me. And this is what I got instead—a cheap locket holding a picture of some woman I don't even know. But it was what I deserved, you see. Because I never asked him to stay. I never asked him to love me enough to be in my life and not keep running to someone else's. I just crept around the hallways like a little mouse, so convinced that if I was quiet enough, still enough, I could somehow hold it all together. If I just never made any demands, he would love me, my mother would love me … someone would love me."
She held out the locket and let it drop onto the floor. "What a bunch of hooey. You want something, you have to ask for it. You need something, you have to fight for it. Well, I want you, buster, so I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me."
His eyes widened, startled by her vehemence as she was startled by her vehemence. He opened his mouth as if to argue further, as if to demand that she leave. Instead, his mouth clamped shut. He looked at her with open, pleading eyes instead, and she could see her own need reflected there. "Maggie," he whispered. "You are killing me."
"I know," she said. "I know." And abruptly her fingers were on her tattered silk blouse and she was fumbling with the buttons. She wanted it off. She wanted her bare skin pressed against his, she wanted his lips on her cheek, her throat, her breast. She could see by the darkening of his eyes he wanted her, too.
"Stop!" he ordered hoarsely.
"Why?" she pressed fiercely.
"Because … because I want to do that! I … I want to do that."
He strode across the room. Two long steps and he was in front of her. Her fingers fell away without protest and his hands seized the silk.
"It won't change anything," he whispered feverishly, "it won't change anything." But his hands were fast, nimble and urgent on her buttons.
"Liar," she whispered and pressed her lips against his pounding pulse.
Her blouse fell away, battered silk floating down delicately to the carpet. She didn't wait for his fingers but attacked the buttons of her skirt while his fingers efficiently released her bra. She stood naked in just fifteen seconds. Cain joined her with a negligent flick of his wrist that sent the towel crumpling to the floor.
For a moment she couldn't breathe, couldn't move. She stood just inches from him, her eyes drinking in every detail. His strong, square-cut jaw was covered with soft, flaxen whiskers that reminded her of wheat lightened by an August sun. His chest was smooth, broad and sculpted, his neck corded, his collarbone creased, his nipples dark brown and hard. The pale coloring wasn't quite right for him, she thought. He should be lightly golden, not dark bronze but lightly tan from running along mountain streams with the sun deflecting off the water onto his skin. Prison had robbed him of that nourishment as it must have robbed him of so much else.
She raised a single hand and flattened it against his chest. "You're so beautiful," she whispered hoarsely. "I've never seen … never seen anything so lovely."
"Don't talk. Just let me touch you."
She nodded mutely.
Cain's hand reached out. He was surprised to see that it was trembling. He didn't touch her skin right away—it was so delicate, so translucent he was afraid he would mar it with his fingerprints. Instead he picked up a handful of her hair, feeling the thick, spongy mass, warm and vibrant in his hand. He opened his fist, and the silky strands wrapped sinuously around his fingers, his thumb, his wrist, his forearm. In the dawning light of morning, her hair glowed with an inner fire, like raw energy that was gathering, preparing and waiting to be unleashed.
He wanted that hair cascading over his lips, his throat, his chest. He wanted to bury his face in it, inhale the sweet scent of shampoo and drown in the vibrant life.
She stood so still, like a doe on the verge of flight, he wasn't even sure she understood just how beautiful, how extraordinarily strong she was.
He took one step forward, hooked his arm beneath her knees and swung her against his chest effortlessly. Two more strides and he tossed her onto the bed, listening to her breathless laugh of surprise and anticipation, following her quickly onto the sinking, queen-size mattress.
The bed dipped drastically beneath his weight, conveniently rolling Maggie into his body. He saw her eyes, hea
vy-lidded and luminescent. Her hands were half-fisted by her sides and he could tell she was slightly nervous, slightly afraid. It grounded him enough to slow him down.
"I would like to touch you," he whispered bluntly. "For a long time. May I?"
She nodded wordlessly, her eyes now wide.
He stretched out his body, supporting himself on his right elbow as his left hand reached out and lightly touched her cheek. She flinched and he frowned, beginning to realize just how wary and hesitant she had become. He was a large man and he knew she was inexperienced.
He could take it slow. For her.
He brushed back her hair, fanning it around her on the worn white pillow, combing his fingers through the strands until they gleamed a deep, golden red. Then he traced his thumb down her oval face, sliding his fingers down her throat, finally settling the base of his palm against her pounding pulse point. Her small, high breasts rose and fell rapidly. Her hips squirmed a bit against the bedspread.
His body began to truly ache. She was so warm, so generous, and it had been so long since he'd felt like anything other than stone. So long since he'd really let himself remember the simple pleasure of human touch.
He ducked his head and found her lips. Her neck arched instantly, her mouth opening, her arms curving around his neck. She pressed her lithe body against his lushly and he almost fell apart.
Suddenly he was raining kisses across her lip, her brow, her cheek. He nuzzled her throat, kissed her neck and drifted his lips even lower to the soft, tender flesh he had to taste. She sighed his name. She arched against him hopelessly, guiding his head to her breast, offering herself to him so sweetly it stung his eyes and thickened his throat.
His lips curved around her nipple. He tasted her, rose petal soft and dewy earnest. Her skin smelled of carnations and rain-swept skies. Her flesh filled him, consumed, drew him down into sweet places he'd never known.
He devoured her. He kneaded her breast, he suckled her nipple as greedily as a child. She arched up, she cried out his name, and his lips pursed harder.
His pulse thundered in his ear. He couldn't think anymore. No more logic, no more chessboards or binary riddles. Maggie filled him, and for a dangerous, hovering minute, he thought he might need her as he'd never needed anyone. And a part of him wanted to plunge over the abyss and surrender to her completely.
