by Jay McLean
Since I didn't plan to find out how it would be, I just went with the fantasy. In my imagination, I gave Rory a shapely little bod with a nice round ass and melon-sized boobs. I gave her mouth something better to do than chatter; I pretended she'd learned some pro techniques for blowing guys from her sex worker buds. There was this exotic brothel where Rory was one of the girls. They were auctioning her off, and damned if I hadn't made a pile at a poker game, so I bought her.
I took Fantasy Rory up to a little room with scarlet curtains billowing around us and made her kneel to blow me, then I tossed her ass up on the bed and plowed into her from behind while she wriggled and squealed out her pleasure. That worked. I stroked and massaged my cock until I got myself off, which was my usual habit these days. Except for the freaks like the blowjob girl in my car tonight, nobody wanted to fuck an accused girlfriend-killer.
Chapter Four
I overslept.
When I woke up, the clock said ten to eight. Shit. I was supposed to be at work by eight-thirty.
I staggered into the bathroom, emptied my bladder, brushed my teeth, and was about to jump into the shower when I remembered that I'd taken a shower just a few hours ago. Good enough. I jerked on a fresh shirt and the same jeans I'd been wearing last night and went into the living room. I could smell coffee. Fresh.
Rory was sitting at my computer, fingers flying over the keys. She stopped typing when she heard me behind her. She turned, closing whatever she was doing so the browser came up. And there, in the middle of the screen, was a big picture of Hadley and me, taken a few weeks before Hadley had disappeared. Right next to it was my mug shot.
Shit. She had cracked my password.
She was gazing warily at me. I did not see that half-scared, half-excited look of the killer-fucker chicks, but I wasn't sure what I was seeing. If she'd learned about the murder rap, why was she still here?
"So," she said coolly. "You're a killer. A good one, too, since they haven't nailed you yet. Well, hey. If you're gonna do a thing, you ought to do it well."
"Fuck," I muttered, starting toward her.
She jumped up from the chair and brandished a kitchen knife at me. She didn't hold it the way anyone experienced with knife fighting would. Not that I expected her to know how to wield a knife, but I'd learned the hard way never to underestimate my opponents.
"That's far enough." She held up her free hand in a stop-right-there gesture. "I haven't decided yet whether you killed her or not."
I was quick on my feet, and before he'd died, my brother had taught me a lot of ace moves. We used to work out together, Sean and me, and Sean had been a master of a variety of fighting styles. I had Rory disarmed, with both her arms twisted up behind her before the girl could blink. I kicked the knife across the room. Hard, but mostly for effect. Hell, the whole thing was for effect, since Rory wasn't even kicking or scratching. She did draw a deep breath for what I expected to be a bloodcurdling scream, so I jammed one hand across her mouth and increased the pressure on her arms with the other. "Make one sound and I'll really fuck you up."
She stopped her feeble squirming, and as my adrenaline ebbed, I noticed that I was holding a female with her ass pressed up against my thighs. I'd thought she was all skin and bones, but that wasn't how she felt. Her clothes last night had been baggy. But today she was wearing tight jeans and a short-sleeve top. Her feet were bare. Her body actually had some curve to it, and she smelled real nice. My cock had apparently picked up on this quicker than my brain, since I was already rocking a big erection. Terrific.
I wasn't too eager to uncover her mouth, even though she was trying to say something. I was glad nobody lived upstairs. Old house like this, the soundproofing wasn't up to modern standards.
"No one believes me, but I'll say it anyway. I didn't kill my girlfriend. I probably won't kill you, either. Unless you keep pissing me off."
Her shoulders shook and I thought for a moment she was crying. But no—the girl was laughing. Jeez, she was even crazier than I was. I unstopped her mouth, adding, "Don't scream."
"I never scream," she said, sounding insulted. Then she coughed, still laughing a little. "That thing you're doing to my arms is nasty."
I let her go. She turned around slowly to face me, rubbing her arms where I'd gripped them. I wondered if she was going to make some wise-ass remark about my boner, which she must have felt. But instead she said, "You're fast." She looked a little pale and her chin was jutting out. Too stubborn to admit any weakness. She was scared, but she had it under control. "I'd have had you, though, if I'd been able to find a gun."
"I'm not likely to leave guns lying around." I didn't own any guns. My brother had been the shooter in the family, and I was glad I'd had no firearms stashed in the place when the cops had come calling after Hadley's disappearance. But if she wanted to believe I kept guns here, fine with me.
"So you didn't kill her," she said in a neutral tone. She had smoothed her hair back and settled again into my desk chair as if she considered it her own. I noticed that her fingers were shaking slightly, though. "Not that I'd expect you to admit it if you did."
"I don't really care what the fuck you'd expect. Get your stuff together. I'm going to work and you're going to the train station."
"Fine."
"How did you break into my computer?"
She snorted as if the question were idiotic. "Next time try not using one of the top 100 most common passwords. Namely number 79."
"You keep a list of the top 100 passwords?"
She tapped her forehead. "Top thousand. In here."
No way, I thought.
"Grateful you didn't use number 979. That would have been tedious."
"What are you, some kind of hacker?"
"You could say that. Speaking of which, your system security sucks. Ever heard of encryption? How about Tor? No self-respecting assassin should be without computer security."
I had a weird memory of my mom telling me that I should always count to ten before expressing anger or impatience. I got up to about seven before saying, "Shouldn't you be in school somewhere?"
"Spring break just started. Well, starts tomorrow, but I don't have any Friday classes, so I left a day early."
Now she had surprised me. "You're in college?"
"Of course I'm in college. I'm a senior."
"You're fucking nineteen."
"I'm also fucking smart."
"Yeah? What school?"
Her chin inched higher. "None of your business."
"You come from a family of sex workers, and you're claiming to be a college senior?"
Although she refused to meet my eyes, her reply was swift: "What, whores can't pass down smart genes? Don't bet on it." She smirked. "My dad could have been some rich Harvard guy."
I rolled my eyes. The only degree this girl was going to get would be a B.L. for Biggest Liar. "So you went home for break and your mother's boyfriend tried to rape you?"
She frowned a little, but said, "I told you—Mom's not really my mom. As for the deviant boyfriend, he was hopped up on speed or something. If I'd known he was such a whack job, I'd never have gotten into a car with him. I mean, the guy drives around with a shovel and a shotgun in his back seat."
"You got in a car with me," I pointed out.
She laughed. "Yeah, that's me. Out of the frying pan... Jeremiah Griffon O'Malley. I think I've even heard of you." She nodded to the screen. "I read through that shit. Press. Websites. Police reports. I'm not finished everything yet, but I'm leaning toward the theory that you didn't do it."
"How the fuck did you read the police reports?"
Her only answer was a disdainful look. "Far as I can tell so far, the cops had nothing on you," she said, clicking through the many browser windows she had open. "Even though they dug up your whole back yard looking for it, your girlfriend's body was never found. None of her blood showed up here, either. They did find her DNA in your bed, and yours in hers, but given that you two were hooking up, th
at was no surprise."
"You've been busy. What time did you wake up?"
"Around dawn. I used your computer 'cause you took mine. Where is it? In your bedroom, I presume?"
"You can have it back when you leave."
She nodded, then kept ticking off the details of the cops' case against me, which I already knew by heart. "You didn't have a solid alibi, but your MMO gaming history proved that you were home raiding for at least part of the night when she disappeared. Your only previous arrests were juvie shit."
"You hacked the juvie records?" I was starting to get impressed.
"Pfff. Easy in, easy out. You cut up quite a bit as a teenager, didn't you? You're lucky they didn't send you away, with all that drug dealing, joy-riding, getting into violent fights and all."
"You're not leaving any digital trails that lead back to me, I hope? I've got enough trouble already with the feds."
"No worries. I've safeguarded your machine and cleaned up all your connections, but any serious hacking I'll do with my own machine."
"What about my IP address?"
"Relax. Total stealth mode, no footprints."
I started pacing in the small room, annoyed that it wasn't bigger. I needed to go outside and run. The muscles in my legs felt tight. I told myself that I didn't really care that she'd found out about my youthful indiscretions; I'd smartened up a long time ago. Actually, Sean had beaten me half dead and threatened to finish the job if I ever fucked up again. The only good thing about Sean's being dead is that he hadn't been there to witness the whole fucking town accuse me of murdering Hadley. I don't think I could have borne seeing the shame and disappointment in his eyes.
"Your WiFi password is even more pathetic. Seriously makes me doubt you're smart enough to pull off the perfect crime."
I felt my hands fisting. I was seriously thinking about punching out the wall.
"You and Hadley. How'd you ever get with a socialite, anyway? You're not that hot." I felt her gaze on me, checking me out. "I mean, well, actually you are kinda hot, but you're not exactly The Bachelor material."
The tension in my body started to hit the red zone. As in, I wanted to stick my dick in her mouth just to shut her up. "Get your stuff together. You've got a train to catch."
"I've still got a ton of material to investigate. The cops interviewed all sorts of people. I'll bet you don't even know everybody they talked to."
Damn, was she trying to get me to let her stay here? No way that was happening. "I've been over and over this stuff, usually with a couple of burly cops leaning over me with pizza breath. Last thing I need is some hacker-chick regurgitating it again."
"I could be your savior. I excel at analysis, and I see things that others don't."
Yeah right. How had I got stuck with this waif again? "The only thing you're gonna be seeing is the inside of a crappy suburban train. Let's go."
"I took this IQ test once that pegged me at 204. I'm a fuckin' genius. You should be down on your knees thanking me for taking your case."
Shit, this girl was delusional. "Get your boots on. I've got to get to work. You can go to Boston, New York or Timbuktu. I'll even buy your ticket."
"You couldn't afford to buy me a ticket to Timbuktu. I'll bet you don't even know where it is."
That was true enough. "Ugly boots. On."
Complaining all the way, she obeyed.
Ten minutes later, I dumped her at the train station. She looked forlorn walking along the platform beside the train, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She smiled back at me and raised one hand in a wave that pulled a weird little string at my heart. Well, at the place where my heart used to be. My chest had been feeling cold and empty ever since Sean had died and Hadley had disappeared.
I turned my back on her and put the car into gear. I was late for work because of the annoying brat. 204 IQ. Give me a fucking break.
Chapter Five
We were doing demolition work that day at a nice suburban home that had had a kitchen fire a couple weeks ago. The only area that actually needed refurbishing was the wall where the stove had been, but the owners had decided to renovate the whole kitchen right down to the outer shell. It would cost a lot, but I guess they figured it would boost the value of their home to have a whole new kitchen. So our crew had to tear everything out—cabinets, appliances, walls, floor—the whole room.
There is something satisfying in total demolition. Rip that shit out until there's nothing left but the building's bones. You had to be careful, of course, especially when you got down to the electric wires. You also saw some nasty stuff behind those walls—dirt, plaster, rotting insulation, mouse shit, roaches and small animal bones. Sometimes there was even weirder shit in there, like beer cans, used condoms, children's toys.
Once we found a pistol in the walls of an old Victorian. Turned it into the police, who said it had come from the 1880s. Made me wonder if one of the original builders had committed murder and walled the murder weapon up. Great hiding place. A carpenter I knew told me he'd once found a human femur behind some dining room walls. Said he'd spent ages looking for a skull and other bones to match it, but there was only that thigh bone. No one had had a clue how it had found its way in there.
Made me wonder about all the dark shit people hid beneath the facades they build around their inner selves. With some folks you could see who they were, right down to their hearts. But with others, all you saw were blank, shiny walls, hiding God-only-knew what garbage.
I didn't much like my job, but there were days when I didn't hate it, either. The guys I worked with were great, mostly. It had been my uncle, my mom's brother, who gave me the job after the whole arrest thing had happened. The cops had had to let me go because they didn't have enough evidence to charge me with anything. But since practically everybody in town believed me guilty, no other jobs had been forthcoming.
I knew I was lucky Uncle Mike had been willing to put me to work. I'd turned down a solid permanent job he'd offered me a couple of years back when I'd been trying to finish college, and he probably thought me an ungrateful fuck. Back then I'd naively thought that life had something better in store for me than building new kitchens, bathrooms, and finished basements for rich people's suburban homes. Carpentry was skilled work, but I saw myself in a suit, Italian shoes, a fancy car, a high salary. One day I'd be hiring carpenters and plumbers myself to renovate my own suburban mansion.
Ah, dreams.
* * *
When I got home that evening, I was surprised to find my door unlocked. The FBI checked up on me now and then, and those guys were even worse than the local and state cops. Since Hadley's body had never been found, there were some theories that she might have been kidnapped, which had been all the excuse the feds had needed to add their personal contribution to making my life miserable. Little details like needing warrants didn't seem to stop those dudes. If you accused them of violating your Constitutional rights, they always had some smart answer about me maybe being a national security risk.
Yeah, you heard right—my girlfriend vanishes so maybe I'm a terrorist. This is despite the fact that my brother gave his life for his country.
Assholes. Once the authorities get you in their sights for any reason whatsoever, everything you do is suspicious.
But it wasn't the feds at my place, after all. It was Rory. She had jimmied the lock on my front door.
"What the fuck?" I shouted at her when I busted in, fists hot with rage. Maybe I was capable of killing someone after all.
"I know," she said, jumping up from my computer where she had once again parked her ass. The late afternoon sun was slanting in the window beside her, giving her heart-shaped face a golden glow. "I'm like that sad-eyed puppy who keeps turning up even when you try to dump him off at the pound." She grabbed a hank of her long hair and waved it back and forth in front of her face. "Wagging my tail 'cause I'm so happy to see you." She shot me that big, wide, engaging smile. "Careful. Don't get too close or I might pee on the
floor."
And fuck, just like that I started to grin. My entire body felt lighter somehow, as if the air had cushioned up under my feet. She was something. As far as she knew, I had murdered my girlfriend. If she'd been sensible, she might have figured that she'd had one hell of a lucky escape. Instead, she'd bounced right back to me. Was this silly girl with the sky-high IQ naive enough to trust me?
"You shouldn't have turned your back on me at the train station," she said, still laughing.
"You didn't board the train."
"Nope. And it was only about a fifteen minute walk back here. I'm sorry," she added, sounding all earnest and contrite. "It's only for the weekend. My friend Izzy will be back in town on Monday, and I can spend the rest of the week with her."
"Don't you have any other friends?"
"Sure I do. But they're away getting wasted in places like Cancun and Panama City." She nodded toward the kitchen. "Are you hungry? I cooked."
I'd noticed the yummy smell wafting in from that direction. I was starved. Things were looking up if the girl could cook.
"I could probably eat something."
She beamed at me, probably because I'd just implied she could stay. She looked adorable to me. She'd cleaned up real nice. I liked the tight jeans, which revealed that she actually had a waist, hips, ankles. She was still wearing that short-sleeve top. I could tell that there were actual boobs under it, even if they weren't quite as large as the ones I'd given her in my fantasy last night. Her arms and hands were well-shaped and she had a long neck and an impish face. Her skin was almost translucent. She wasn't beautiful, but there was something about her features that drew me. Weird though it seemed, her smile made me happy.
"I think I'm making progress," she said, gesturing at the computer screen. "I've been at this all day."
"Were you telling me the truth when you claimed to have hacked the cops?"
"The local cops are well protected against hackers. Surprisingly secure for such a small-ass town. Still, I got most of the police info, yeah. I had to go through other channels."
