Instrument of the Devil

by Debbie Burke

  After a long time, Kahlil said, “I miss my wife. Every day. But once I met you, the pain became easier to bear.” He slid his fingers in her hair.

  Since meeting Kahlil, she’d found a reason to drag herself out of bed in the morning. She even looked forward to the unpredictable antics of Lucifer because that gave her an excuse to call him, to meet for coffee. He had made the pain easier to bear.

  “In this most beautiful place on earth,” he said, “I would like to make love to you.”

  She lifted her face to kiss him as he lowered her to recline on the blanket. This is crazy. What am I doing?

  As his fingers opened her jacket, then slipped up under her blouse, she no longer cared about crazy.

  * * *

  The first big raindrops splattered on the blanket they had pulled over themselves to keep warm. Tawny felt the chill in the air and saw the clouds skidding rapidly across the sky. On top of her, Kahlil dozed, still inside her, his breathing soft and rhythmic. She shook his shoulder. “Wake up, a storm is coming.”

  He raised his head, kissing her before even opening his eyes. Then the raindrops fell faster, splashing on his back. He moved off her, pulling the blanket to cover her head and snug around her shoulders. They quickly dressed as the rain increased. Clutching their packs, they raced down the trail, slipping as the downpour turned the path into a torrent of mud.

  By the time they reached the convertible, they were soaked, just like the car since Kahlil had left the top down. Droplets streamed off the seats and drenched the plush rugs. While he raised the top, he began to laugh.

  Using the side of her hand like a squeegee, Tawny scraped puddles off the beautiful leather, teeth chattering. Why was he laughing? She imagined Dwight’s reaction to drowning a $50,000 BMW and it wouldn’t have been laughter.

  Inside the shelter of the car, Kahlil continued to laugh, throwing his hair back, flinging drops like a wet dog. He turned on the heater and seat warmers and hugged Tawny close as they waited for the blowing air to warm up. “I’m freezing.” His teeth chattered but his voice sounded happy, almost giddy.

  She marveled at his mood. “You’re crazy.”

  His laughter resumed. “You are right. I am completely insanely crazy.”

  For Tawny, the afterglow had long since disappeared, lost on the muddy trail. Her joints felt as if ice stiffened inside them. Her ring finger throbbed, the knuckle swelling more than usual. With ten years difference between them, Kahlil’s bones probably didn’t ache like hers.

  “Is your seat getting warm?” he asked.

  “Don’t think so.”

  “The rain probably shorted out the wires.”

  Tawny wished they’d brought her Jeep. Not luxurious like Kahlil’s convertible but it was outfitted Montana-style, with emergency blankets and extra coats in the back.

  They huddled together, shivering, until warm air finally filled the car. While they drove, raindrops changed to fat snowflakes that exploded on the windshield like water balloons. Heavy, wet globs of snow bent tree limbs and piled up on the road.

  “So, this is your springtime in the Rockies.” A teasing smile played across Kahlil’s face as he squinted through the slushy windshield, the wipers unable to keep up.

  “All four seasons in twenty minutes,” Tawny answered.

  He turned on the radio, flicking through channels until he settled on the oldies station Dwight used to listen to. How did he know?

  The Supremes sang, “You Can’t Hurry Love.”

  “Is this OK?” he asked.

  Tawny nodded.

  Her cold toes squished in mud that had slid inside her boots. More mud spackled her soaked jeans. The jacket she wore was drizzle-resistant, not downpour-proof. The heater blew some chill away but not all. She wished for the blanket they had made love on but it was a sodden dripping mess, flung in the back.

  Kahlil hummed along with Diana Ross. The clamminess of his clothes didn’t appear to bother him.

  A perverse desire to taunt him came over Tawny. “You weren’t even born when this song came out.”

  “I was when Phil Collins sang it.”

  She stared at him.

  He chuckled, as if refusing to let her make an issue out of their age difference. The conversation reminded her of the good-natured debates she and Dwight used to engage in. Dwight swore Sam Cooke’s version of “Don’t Know Much About History” was the best, while she argued for James Taylor’s. Now Tawny felt like the old fogey in the music debate.

  As they drove through Columbia Falls, a billboard advertising United Bankcorp shifted her mind back to real problems. Who kept depositing big wads of cash in her account? An imposter was hell-bent on making her appear to be a criminal. She just wanted to live her ordinary, law-abiding, low-profile life but the bank mess prevented it.

  Neal’s desperate message returned to haunt her. She had to find a way to help her son. Problems piled deeper like the heavy snow outside.

  She longed to return to those sweet moments in the mountains, to Kahlil’s tender kisses, his sensual caresses, the heated press of his body against hers. For a little while, he’d allowed her to forget about the real world. She wanted to tell him about the bank and the imposter. But that would only ruin his day, too. He looked so content. She decided to keep the trouble to herself.

  Back in cell tower range, Tawny checked for texts from Neal. No messages, no calls. She scrolled to read her son’s plea again, as tightness squeezed her heart.

  “Tawny.” Kahlil’s voice came softly.

  She realized she had stayed quiet for a long time while she studied the phone. “Mm-hm?”

  “I have been thinking about how to find your son. There is a colleague of mine who is very skilled in matters of locating and tracking. May I ask her for help?”

  Hope rose in Tawny’s heart. “Oh yes, please ask her. I’ll do anything to find Neal.” She leaned back in the seat as a question edged into her mind. “Why would a psychologist know a tracking expert?”

  He pulled close on the tail of a tractor-trailer rig. She wanted to warn him truckers never drove slowly without a good reason but before she could speak, he answered, “Sometimes I need to follow up at a later time with subjects in case studies. If they’ve changed employment or moved, I ask my colleague to find them.”

  “Oh. Like a private detective?”

  “Similar.” He steered too fast around the creeping semi-truck. The BMW’s rear tires broke loose in a quick fishtail.

  Tawny sucked in air, feeling a thrill of fear.

  Kahlil slid in the icy slush but regained control then glanced sideways at her intake of breath. His slight smile reminded her of Neal when he drove fast, the over-confidence of being young, male, and bullet-proof.

  “Tomorrow,” Kahlil said, “I must fly to Houston for a conference. I will speak to my colleague there.”

  Apprehension undermined Tawny’s gratitude for his offer a moment before. “Houston? You didn’t say anything. How long will you be gone?” As quickly as she blurted the question, she immediately hated herself for sounding needy. Just because they’d made love once didn’t require Kahlil to report to her.

  As if he read her thoughts, he said, “I did not want to spoil our perfect day.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “I will miss you too, my treasure. But it is less than a week.”

  If she couldn’t take back her outburst, she wanted to diffuse it. “Perfect day? We could have died from hypothermia.”

  He reached over and slid the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “Then death would come with my heart full of joy.”

  How did he always know the right words? Words she didn’t even know she longed to hear, yet when he spoke them, they wrapped her in serenity and peace. He was a poet, like Emma’s book, The Prophet.

  * * *

  Back at Tawny’s home, they hurried up the walk, past the front flowerbed where daffodils bent under snow. The white cloak smothered new grass. She unlocked the door and led Kahlil to the bathroom.
They stripped off their damp clothes. Together they climbed into the bathtub. Steamy water from the showerhead beat down on them.

  Head thrown back, he groaned with pleasure from the heat. Seeing him fully naked for the first time, she ran her hands over his sinewy shoulders, the lean muscles in his thighs and buttocks, the black thicket of hair framing his erection. Unlike Dwight, he wasn’t circumcised. With soap-slick hands, she explored the difference, which intensified his moans to climax.

  He gathered her in his arms. “Now you have made me useless.”

  “You’ll think of something else,” she teased.

  He did.

  * * *

  Kahlil returned to his house that evening with a stomach full of Tawny’s delectable homemade soup and sexually spent. She’d let him know he would be welcome to stay the night but he resisted, claiming an early flight to Houston the next morning.

  There was no conference in Houston.

  The desire to be with her tugged at him. He longed to again taste her nipples, hardening into pink pebbles between his lips, to feel the arching of her back, to watch the rosy flush bloom across her chest when he brought her to climax. But spending the night, in the bed she shared for many years with her husband, was too risky. Her emotions hovered close to the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment. Taking her husband’s place in their bed could trigger a backlash of guilt. He had half-expected regretful tears following their initial lovemaking but she proved stronger than anticipated.

  Strong, yet with a soft, gentle way about her. So unlike Maryam with whom sex meant a ferocious challenge. In the early years, his wife’s demands had excited him, her passion great but her rage greater. As he’d grown older, the relentless pressure to perform weighed heavily on him. Entering her always meant a competition he feared he might fail.

  He fell asleep, thinking of Tawny’s silky welcome.

  Early Sunday morning, he turned in the rain-damaged convertible to the rental agency and chose a Subaru SUV, its commonness rendering it nearly invisible on Montana roads.

  Invisible and anonymous.

  Chapter 6 – NSF

  On Sunday morning, Tawny called Virgie Belmonte to have breakfast.

  “Love to,” her friend replied. “Just let me kick David out of here and I’ll meet you at eleven.” David was Virgie’s third ex who sometimes spent the night.

  At the restaurant, buzzing with the after-church crowd, the aroma of sausage and warm maple syrup filled the air. The hostess hugged Virgie. “Great to see you, Dr. Belmonte.”

  “How’s your dad?” Virgie asked.

  “Good, thanks to you.”

  “Give him a big kiss for me.”

  When they were seated in a booth, Tawny said, “We can’t go anywhere without running into your fans.”

  Virgie flicked her bangs back and scanned the menu. “Cancer’s everywhere. I’ll always have a job. Unfortunately.”

  “Or fortunately, according to that young lady’s father.”

  Virgie’s eyes misted. “I just wish I could have done more for Dwight. Doctors aren’t supposed to have favorite patients but he was mine. Such a kind, decent, good man.” She wiggled her shoulders as if to shake off sadness and grinned. “He didn’t have any eligible brothers, did he? I’d like to find one just like him.”

  “Last of the family. And our son is too young for you.”

  Virgie raised one eyebrow with a sly grin. “Are you sure?”

  Tawny forced a smile, although worry settled like boulder on her chest. “You couldn’t stand him for long. Smelly socks everywhere.” She put on glasses to study the menu. “Besides, he’s gone all the time, stationed God knows where.”

  “That could be a benefit. Enjoy the hell out of him while he’s around then ship him off so I’d have some peace and quiet. I’m not long-term marriage material. Not like you and Dwight.”

  After they ordered, Tawny’s need to confide in her friend couldn’t wait any longer.

  Fear returned over Neal’s plea. “Virg, Neal’s in trouble. He sent me this text.” She displayed the message.

  Virgie whistled. “That doesn’t sound good. What did you do?”

  “Texted him back. Then I asked Kahlil if he could track Neal’s location through the phone.”

  “Kahlil?”

  “Dr. Zhivago.”

  “Ah.” Virgie nodded. “Did he?”

  “Said he couldn’t but he knows someone who might be able to. Meanwhile, I’m half sick with worry. You can’t imagine where my mind has been going with this. He’s been kidnapped, held for ransom, tortured, on and on. I’m even thinking about drawing the rest of that weird money out of the bank so I’ll have a war chest in case my fears come true.”

  “What about that screw-up with the bank? Did you get it straightened out?”

  Tawny shook her head. “I took out the cash, like you suggested. But more money keeps appearing. Get this, there’s a woman who looks exactly like me who deposited that first batch of cash. The bank has it on video. I saw it. It’s spooky.”

  Virgie’s brown eyes widened. “Wait a sec. Someone is impersonating you and sticking money in your account?”

  “Yes. There have been three different deposits, more than a hundred-forty-thousand. I only saw the video for the first incident. But I’m guessing the same woman did the others, too.”

  Virgie leaned back in the booth, lines deepening across her forehead. “You’re being set up. Why?”

  “Damned if I know. Every time I go in the bank, they treat me like a felon. The manager called a security guard on me. I thought he was going to pull his gun. On me! Me, who’s so devious, I couldn’t even keep my five-year-old daughter from finding out about her surprise birthday party.” Tawny dropped her head into her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Has anyone in law enforcement contacted you? The sheriff, FBI, Homeland Security, IRS?”

  Tawny shook her head, fingers pressing over her scalp, wishing she could squeeze a solution from her brain.

  “I’m betting they will,” Virgie said. “Hate to tell you but you’re probably already under surveillance.”

  “I figured that. In fact, I keep seeing this dark blue Crown Vic.” Tawny stared out the restaurant window, scanning the parking lot and street for the possible tail. “I tried to get in touch with our lawyer but he was out. I’m scared to talk to anyone without him.” She twirled her coffee mug, spreading a spill. “The imposter drove a Jeep that looks just like Dwight’s. This is big time.”

  Concern deepened the brackets around Virgie’s mouth. “You say you took out some of the money?”

  “Yeah, on the advice of a friend.” Tawny punctuated the last word with finger quotes.

  Virgie grimaced. “Well, I hope you learned your lesson not to listen to friends who have their head up their ass.”

  “You couldn’t know. I didn’t know. Who would have guessed this would morph into a sinister conspiracy? When it started, I thought it was just a stupid computer error.”

  Virgie grasped Tawny’s hand. “All the same, I hope I haven’t made it worse.”

  “So do I.”

  Their breakfasts arrived and the server refilled their coffees. Virgie sprinkled tabasco over her scrambled eggs, while Tawny cut into her omelet and twirled melted cheddar around her fork. They ate in silence, mulling over the problem, occasionally exchanging glances.

  Think of anything yet?

  Nope, you?

  Virgie finished off her last bite of toast. “How’s Dr. Zhivago?”

  Tawny felt her cheeks redden. “He’s sweet. Very sweet.”

  “Really.” Virgie’s tone sounded less than surprised. “I thought you looked especially glowing when you came in.”

  “Stop it.”

  Virgie’s lopsided smile carried a taunt. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

  Tawny picked up the orange slice garnish and nibbled it to avoid answering.

  “Well?” Virgie persisted.

  “OK, yes
terday. We went on a picnic up past the dam.”

  “Nice romantic setting.”

  “He tells me things that make me feel all warm inside. He’s a psychologist, a doctor, but he tells me I’m smart. Miss Almost Drop-out.”

  Virgie huffed with exasperation, blowing her bangs up. “Quit selling yourself short, Tawny. You’re a very intelligent woman. When I think of how you handled Dwight’s different specialists, with all those complicated protocols and meds, yet you kept track of contraindications and interactions. I just wish all my patients had an advocate like you. In fact, why don’t you come to work for me?”

  “Oh, stop.” But Virgie’s compliment reassured Tawny.

  “Go on about Dr. Zhivago.”

  Tawny felt blood rising in her neck again. She glanced at surrounding diners but all appeared preoccupied with their own conversations. Even so, she dropped her voice. “Dwight’s the only man I’ve ever been with. Until yesterday. It was…” She searched for the right word to describe Kahlil but gave up. “Nice. Actually, way beyond nice.” A twinge of guilt pinched her. “But something just doesn’t feel right. It’s too soon.”

  Virgie snorted. “It’s too soon to put him on your credit cards. It’s too soon to buy a house together. But,” she rapped a spoon on the table, “it’s not too soon for a little taste of honey after the eight crappy years you’ve been through.” She shoved her plate to the side. “Look, Tawny, you’re not being unfaithful to Dwight. He’s gone. Besides, he’d want you to enjoy life. He told me that.”

  So Virgie and Dwight had talked about her future. Not surprising. They both loved her and were concerned about her being alone.

  Virgie leaned forward. “You’re here and you’re still young.” She winked. “Although not so young you have to worry about getting pregnant.”

  “Thank goodness for menopause.”

  “As long as you’re practicing safe sex, and I assume you were.”

  Tawny nodded. Kahlil had been prepared with condoms. He’d known beforehand that they’d make love that day. To be honest, so did she, she thought with another tweak of guilt.

  Virgie continued, “Then who’s getting hurt? He isn’t married, is he?”