by Sharon Sala
“You aren’t company. I’m just so tired,” she said softly.
Wade began rubbing her back in a slow, soothing motion and swallowed past the lump in his throat, grateful beyond words that they were back at this place in their lives.
“Why don’t you take a hot soaking bath? That used to be your favorite way to unwind,” he suggested.
“I’m afraid I’d fall asleep in the tub. I am going to shower, but when I come out, will you just lie down with me?”
“Yes, I will just lie down with you.”
“Thank you,” she said, and stroked the side of his cheek, somewhat shocked that after three lonely years she was standing in a room again with the only man she’d ever loved. She kept remembering how good they’d been together, but not tonight. She was so damned tired she couldn’t think. Then she dropped her hand and kicked off her shoes.
“I won’t be long,” she said, and walked away.
Wade had seen the want in her eyes, but he also knew she was exhausted. There would be time enough later for making love. Tonight would be for just settling in.
* * *
Gunner liked living inconspicuously. It was why he’d opted for life on the streets, but since all this killing stuff began happening, there was too much going on. Having cops in his neighborhood made him nervous. They weren’t after him, but they were after information. They had been all over the place trying to identify the body of the homeless man who’d been found dumped amid the wreckage left by the storm. They were flashing pictures of the man, with his face blocked out, in the hopes someone might recognize him by the clothes he was wearing. Gunner had been dodging them all day because he was afraid he might know who it was and he didn’t want it to be true.
When Teacher never came back to their shelter that night he feared something had happened, but never in a million years would think his friend had been murdered. And he’d heard what they were saying, that the victim’s face had been mutilated. He didn’t want to see that. It wasn’t the way he wanted to remember Teacher.
Still, knowing what had happened made him extra wary. He finished all his panhandling long before it began to get dark. By the time the streetlights came on, he was only a few blocks from his place. He didn’t need a television and a fancy weatherman to tell him what was coming, either. All he had to do was look up.
Gunnar was moving as fast as his crippled knee would take him when he passed the Salvation Army’s secondhand clothing shop. He walked with his head down and the sack with the food he’d scavenged well hidden beneath his coat. It didn’t matter that the weather was too warm for the clothing he was wearing. For the homeless, it was a case of use it or lose it.
All of a sudden there was a wind at his back. He increased his stride and was barely inside the abandoned warehouse he called home when the heavens opened and the rain came down.
* * *
Hershel had been cruising the area where the homeless population was largest when the first raindrops began to fall. All the stores were closed. A few had security lights, but most were just darkened interiors beyond the heavily barred windows.
He kept looking down alleys and around Dumpsters, but the weather had driven everyone indoors. Down the street he could see the neon lights of a neighborhood bar, and he decided to park just up the block. The windows of the van were tinted, which gave him extra protection from being spotted, and if any cops cruised by more than once and noticed the van hadn’t moved, they would just assume he was inside the bar.
He’d only been there a few minutes when the thunder and lightning arrived, followed by rain, then pea-sized hail. He was cursing the fact that once again his vehicle was getting dented when the hail abruptly stopped. The rain was coming down so hard he couldn’t hear himself think, when all of a sudden he saw two kids come running down the street and then into the bar.
Within seconds they came back out again with a very drunk man between them. They were holding his hands and pulling at him as they went, trying to keep him upright.
He frowned. Some damn woman must have sent the two kids down to the neighborhood bar to get their father—in this kind of weather and in a place they had no business being.
You have no room to talk, Hershel Inman. You’re sitting out here looking for someone to murder. Shame on you…shame on you…shame…
“Louise, would you quit with the damn echo?”
She did, but only because she was already gone.
He glanced up and down the street, and was thinking of driving away when he saw a cop car turn at the intersection and drive down his way. He sank down in the seat and watched them pass, and told himself if they swung back by this way again he was driving away. But they didn’t come back. The wind grew stronger, and he watched trash come up out of an open Dumpster as though there was some kind of suction making it happen. He shivered, remembering the tornado he’d been caught in, started the engine and drove away.
He was about ten blocks down and taking a turn to the south when he saw a woman huddled up beneath the overhang of an empty building. He could tell by the way she was dressed that she was a prostitute. The first thing that went through his mind was why God would let someone like that live yet take his sweet wife. The thought fed his anger, and his anger fed his need, and seconds later he pulled up beside the curb and rolled down the window.
“Hey, honey. You wanna party?” she said.
Hershel grunted. “Yeah. I wanna party. Get in.”
He sat with his face in the shadows, and when she opened the door, the dome light didn’t come on.
It was to her credit that she hesitated.
“Why didn’t your light come on?” she asked.
“Burned out,” he said. “Come on. Get in before you drown.”
It was the water in her shoes and the rain in her face that made her ignore caution.
“Yeah, okay,” she said, and jumped up in the van and closed the door.
She wiped the water from her eyes and pushed the wet, stringy strands of hair off her forehead as she began to recount her wares.
“I don’t do anything kinky, and I get twenty-five bucks for a blow job. If you want to fuck me, it’s fifty bucks and you have to wear a condom, so what’s your pleasure?”
His Taser was between the console and his leg. He saw a flash of panic in her eyes as he reached down, but it was too late for her to react. He fired at point-blank range straight into her face.
He immediately smelled urine and knew she’d just wet herself. He shoved her into the floorboard and pulled out a wet wipe. Grateful the van had leather upholstery, he calmly cleaned off the seat where she’d been sitting, then, just for the hell of it hit the Taser one more time and gave her a second jolt. Her eyes were rolling back in her head and her body was seizing as he drove away.
* * *
From inside the warehouse, Gunner had seen Proud Mary huddling beneath the overhang of the old cigar shop. He knew her pimp and knew she was afraid to go home without making her quota. She was nearing forty years old and way past her prime. She’d been there for almost an hour when he saw headlights appear, and heading in her direction. He was making bets with himself as to whether the guy was trolling for drugs or sex, so when he pulled up to where Proud Mary was standing, he guessed it must be sex. He watched as she darted out into the street and over to the light-colored van. When she opened the door he expected to at least get a glimpse of the guy behind the wheel, but the light never came on. Then she hesitated.
“Don’t do it,” he muttered. “Don’t do it, don’t do it. Don’t get in the van.”
When she did, he frowned. He kept his eye on the van as it drove away, but it was raining too hard to be sure about the color, let alone make out the tag number. He watched until the taillights disappeared, and then he moved away from the gap in the wall where windows used to be and curle
d up in a corner, away from the blowing rain.
The old warehouse was spooky enough on still nights, but tonight, with the roar of wind and rain, it was worse. Old Nick himself could sneak up on him tonight and he would never hear him coming. He missed Teacher’s company, but in a way he was actually envious, too. Old Teacher didn’t have to mess with this life anymore if he was already dead. He’d gone on to a better place.
* * *
The television was still on when Jolene fell asleep, giving Wade just enough light to look his fill at the woman by his side.
The butterfly bandage on her head was a little bloody. The scrape on her chin looked red and raw. He knew the burns from the electrodes Inman had shot into her chest were uncomfortable, too. He kept thinking how close he’d come to losing her again, and how bad he wanted to put his hands on Hershel Inman. The man was a walking, talking monster who needed to be put down.
When the storm finally hit, Jo began to get restless. Fearing she was going to wake up, Wade moved closer, slipped his arm beneath her neck like he’d done so many times when they’d been married, and held her close.
When she sighed and then rolled toward him, throwing her arm across his chest, he closed his eyes. This was the way people who loved should always sleep: as one.
Along toward morning, Jolene woke up with her nose squished against Wade’s bare chest and her hair caught beneath his arm, and groaned.
He woke instantly.
“Are you okay? What do you need, Jo?”
“I need to go to the bathroom, but my hair is caught.”
“Oh, sorry!” he said, and quickly moved to free it.
She rolled over to the side of the bed and sat up, then groaned again.
“Sweet Lord, I am sore in every muscle in my body,” she said.
“Compliments of the Taser. Muscles don’t like getting a jump start. Do you need help?”
“No, I’m okay. Just complaining,” she said, and hobbled off to the bathroom.
Wade got out of bed and went to the windows to look out. There were puddles on the lower level of the hotel roof, and the streets below looked glassy, still wet from rainfall, although the sky was clear.
It was just after daylight, and he was suddenly hungry. He turned on the bedside lamp and fumbled around until he found the room service menu, scanned the breakfast offerings and grunted. Good. They started serving at 6:00 a.m.
When Jo came out of the bathroom, she found Wade on the phone. Fearing it was some kind of bad news, she almost laughed out loud when she realized he was ordering pancakes and sausages for two. She eyed the play of muscles across his broad back as a flash of heat shot through her belly. How easy it was to still want him, even when they hadn’t done the homework to make peace with how they’d hurt each other.
Finally he hung up, then realized she was sitting on the bed behind him.
“Do you feel better since you moved around a little?” he asked.
“Yes.” And she added, “You know Tate and Cameron will most likely order breakfast for all of us later.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll be hungry again by then anyway.”
“You have a tapeworm,” she muttered.
He frowned. “No, actually, I just have a healthy appetite.” He leaned down until they were nose to nose and then added, “For all things tasty.”
He watched the color rise up her neck and into her cheeks, and once he was satisfied he’d gotten under her skin, he went to the bathroom, leaving her to consider the ramifications of what he’d just said.
Jolene sank against the pillows behind her, watching his sexy strut as he left the room. There had been a time when she would have called him on that taunt. Instead, she rode the little shiver that coursed through her body and tried not to think of how it felt when they made love.
* * *
Hershel got back to the motel just as the storm was winding down. He’d dumped the redhead’s body amidst the debris at a storm site that had yet to be cleared, then finished off by stripping off her clothes and mutilating her face postmortem.
He was soaked to the skin and wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower, doctor his face and go to bed. He wouldn’t send a text to the FBI team tonight but would let his handiwork speak for itself.
When he got inside the room and saw that his bed had been made and clean towels put out in the bathroom, he almost turned around and ran. He looked around outside for the do-not-disturb sign he’d left on the door and finally saw it out in the parking lot, lying in a puddle of water. It had blown off in the storm.
He ran back inside the room, frantically checking to see what, if anything, had been moved, but as far as he could tell, his bag with his disguises was still in the closet and untouched, and the only things different were clean sheets and towels, and a freshly scrubbed bathroom.
“Damn it to hell!”
Now he was going to have to move. He couldn’t take the chance and assume everything was okay. He felt every day of his sixty years of living as he stared at the room.
Weary to the bone, he began packing, and soon had everything in his van and ready to go. He trudged up to the office, tossed the key on the counter and settled up with his credit card.
“Thanks a lot, Mr. Parsons,” the clerk said as he handed Hershel a copy of his bill. “Safe travels, and I hope you heal up real soon.”
Hershel nodded, pocketed his wallet and headed back to the van. Now he had to find another place to stay. As he drove away, he told himself it was probably for the best. No need getting too settled when the next storm could hit anywhere.
A little while later, just as Wade and Jo were digging into their first breakfast of the day, Hershel Inman was checking into a motel less than a mile from his hunting grounds. He considered it a boon to his business to be this close to a prime shopping district. He then crawled into bed and fell sound asleep.
Eleven
“Are you going to eat that sausage?” Wade asked, pointing at Jolene’s plate.
“No, help yourself,” she said.
He popped it in his mouth as she poured the rest of the coffee into his cup.
“Uh…Wade?”
“Yeah?”
“Before we get all busy with the day, thank you for staying here last night.”
“I’m going to do it again tonight,” he said, and set his empty plate aside.
“I’m sure it won’t be nec—”
“Yes, it will be,” he countered. “Inman threw down the gauntlet, so to speak, when he tried to take you out. He’s been very straightforward about how much he dislikes your presence. You cannot take his threats lightly.”
She shrugged. “So when am I going to get bugged?”
“Tate said sometime today, and…I have something to tell you.”
She frowned. The quick change of subject couldn’t be good.
“What’s wrong?”
“I liked being back in bed with you.”
She blinked.
“Okay, but why did that come out sounding like you’re pissed off about it?”
“I also like making love to you. A lot.”
All of a sudden she could see where this was going.
“Well, I always liked making love to you, too, so I don’t understand the—”
“I just want you to know that last night could very well be the last time I’m a gentleman about being in your bed.”
She started to laugh, then thought better of it and circled the table, sat down in his lap and put her arms around his neck. She hadn’t been with anyone since their divorce and was suddenly very grateful. The pulse at the base of his neck was pounding against her palm, and she recognized the glint in his eyes. She leaned forward until their foreheads were touching.
“I fel
t really bad last night, and you were so great, but you have my permission to be a complete heel the next time the mood strikes you.”
Then she centered her mouth across his lips, enjoying the scent and taste of maple syrup. Who knew pancake syrup could be such a heady aphrodisiac?
Within seconds he had her flat on her back on the bed.
“Time’s up,” he said gruffly, and stripped off her clothes. “I promise not to hurt you, but I swear to God, I just might die if we don’t do this now.”
In a way, it felt like the first time they’d made love, with more than a little desperation and an ache needing to be quelled. Foreplay was unnecessary, even a distraction. She wanted that rush, and she wanted Wade.
There had been a few moments yesterday when Wade had feared they would never have this chance again, and now that fate had spared her once more, he wasn’t wasting time. She was hot and ready when he slid between her legs, and just that quickly, it could have been over before it began. He stopped, took a breath, and then focused on the woman beneath him.
“Sweet Lord, I have missed you so much…and missed doing this with you.”
When he started to move, the heady heat of Jo’s body wrapped him up and pulled him under.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
She cupped his face with her hands. “I see you. I see you, sweetheart.”
“Don’t let go,” Wade whispered, and began to move, going stroke after long, steady stroke until minutes had passed and their bodies were bathed in sweat.
Then Jo began breathing faster, inhaling short bursts of air, and when she suddenly arched her back and wrapped her legs around his waist, he knew she was coming. Just like the first time they’d made love, she began to cry. Then it had scared him. Now he knew he was doing everything right.
As for him, he’d lost his mind somewhere between the gasp and the moan, and collapsed on top of her, shaking in every muscle.
“Oh. My. Lord,” Jo said.
Wade had no words. He was waiting for sanity to come back with his vocabulary. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.
