by Lois Greiman
He watched me in silence, making me wonder if he had any idea what I was talking about. Perhaps he hadn’t had a mother either. Maybe he’d been chiseled out of granite.
“Not our mom,” I said. “She didn’t favor anyone. Maybe that’s why Pete’s been married about forty-seven times. Maybe that’s why none of us have any idea how to build a decent relationship.” I drank again and leaned back in my chair. “I guess if I were honest I’d have to say that I’d like to marry someday.” I glanced at him. His fingers, artist pretty, were loose on the handle of his cup. “It might be nice to have a man who would…” I shrugged.
“Be there when you need him?” he asked.
I glanced up. Maybe there was pain on his face, but I was a little too immersed in my own angst to figure him out. “I thought Dr. Hawkins would be.”
He remained silent, letting me find my verbal path.
I cleared my throat. “But in the end, he tried to kill me with a fillet knife. He might have gotten away with it, except for Rivera.” I nodded at the realization, remembering how the lieutenant had looked in badass cop mode before I had passed out. Remembering how he had held me, gentle as a saint, when I’d awakened. “Then there was Peachtree. He tried to kill me with poison…and a poker…and a chair. Mean old bastard. Rivera…” I swallowed. “Saved me from him and Adams and…” I exhaled contemplatively. “I guess he’s been there when I need him. But maybe it would be nice to have somewhere there when I want him.”
“Lieutenant Rivera is not that man?”
Was it odd that I was discussing past relationships with a man whom I had recently convinced to allow me a few more hours of life? Quite possibly, but the sound of Rivera’s name made it impossible for me to care. “He’s got demons of his own.”
“Cops…” he said, and shook his head.
“Right?” I put a lot of feeling into that single word. “They’re a pain in the ass…all hardnosed and tougher than hell and impossible to talk to. Kind of like you.”
He didn’t mention that I seemed to be doing all right on the talking front.
“Still…” I said. My voice had gone soft.
“You love him.”
“Y— No!” I snapped my gaze to his. “No. I don’t love him. He’s just so…” I curled my hand into a fist.
“Irritating?” he guessed.
“Yeah, irritating, but he’s…” I searched wildly for the right word.
“Sexually alluring?”
“I didn’t say that!”
He gave me an almost smile. “Is that the extent of his appeal?”
“Well…he’s not exactly the kind you discuss Tolstoy with, but…” I shrugged. “He adores his mother…and dogs.” I missed Harlequin with a fierce pang.
“Harlequin?”
“He brought me a Great Dane a while back…a Great Dane crossed with”—I shook my head—“a yeti, maybe.” I swallowed, hoping to hell he was all right.
Not a sound disturbed the silence.
“He’s, um…” I cleared my throat and turned my attention to the devil hound that was probably resting up so as to fully enjoy her meal of therapist incognito. Her silvery gaze had not left me for a moment. “It’s not like he’s a watch dog or anything.” I hiccupped a laugh at the thought. “At first, I tried to get him to sleep by the front door. You know, like a last line of defense.”
“Against…”
“I’ve had…I’ve had a few incidences, and I thought that his bark would probably be enough to scare off your average murderer-slash-rapist. But now…” I shrugged. “He ate a Brillo pad once.”
He raised a questioning brow.
“The scraper thingie for cleaning dishes.”
“Ahhh.”
“Ate it whole. Got really sick. Sicker than a dog.” I laughed at myself. “Dr. Kemah, his favorite vet, was afraid we were going to lose him after the surgery. She said he was slipping away, didn’t have the will to…” I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “But when I rushed in to see him, he lifted his head and whapped his tail…just once. One single whap.” I swallowed. “I took him home that night even though they worried about damage to his sutures. It took four of us to carry him out. It had to hurt. But he never even whined. And then once we got home…well, I could hardly make him sleep on the floor. Not after I almost lost…” I caught myself and tried to reel back the sappy. “Not after spending two grand to get him patched up. He’s my most valuable asset…probably the real reason Rivera installed a security system.”
“He got you a dog and a security system? And some say romance is dead.”
I gave him a scowl. “He worries about me.”
He said nothing.
“He does!”
“I did not suggest otherwise.”
“You were thinking it. You were wondering why I’m here at the mercy of the numbfuck twins…and you…if he cares about my well-being.”
“I am certain he cares,” he said.
“Then why am I here?” I leaned across the table toward him.
“It was not to keep you safe?”
Insecurities were circling my head like sewage down a rusty toilet, but I quashed them. “Of course it was.” I huffed a laugh. “What else?”
He didn’t answer.
“I mean, it’s not like he would have staged it.”
“You are speaking of the attack on his house.”
“Yeah, the attack!” I was up suddenly. Up and pacing. Shikoku rose slowly, watching me, but I was past caring. “If it was an attack.” Let me just say at this juncture that when I let the crazy in, I don’t just crack the window. I throw open the front door and invite its friends: paranoia, psychosis, and neurosis. “Maybe he just wanted to get rid of me.”
“Does that not seem a bit dramatic?”
I swung toward him. “Not compared to staging his own death.”
“Rivera staged—”
“Not Rivera! Geez. Try to keep up. K…” I stopped myself, felt the air leave my lungs in a hard whoosh. “No. No one did.”
I shifted my gaze from him to the dog. Even her eyes were calling me a liar.
“Someone else probably paid for Kurt’s obituary,” I said. “And the coffin…and the roses. And…Anyway…” I waved a dismissive hand. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I’m being ridiculous. Laney thinks Rivera cares about me. Says he’s going to dig me a moat next to keep me safe. But maybe that’s just the cop in him. You know? That whole serve-and-protect thing again.”
“Laney?”
“Yeah. E—” I froze. Being nuts was all well and good, but when the crazy compromised Elaine, it had gone too far.
“The friend whose name you cannot divulge?” he asked.
“No. Laney, she’s…she’s just an acquaintance.”
“Short for Elaine?” he asked.
I shook my head, feeling manic. “Short for…Lane. Lane Osterburg.”
“That is long,” he said.
“What?”
“Laney.” He canted his head. “It is longer than Lane.”
I tried to think of a plausible response, but panic had set in, full force and bat-shit crazy. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this.” My voice was a growl.
“Because she is nothing but an acquaintance.”
“That’s right.”
He nodded, seemingly unconcerned, but something inside me had snapped.
“You won’t touch her,” I snarled, and rose jerkily to my feet. “You won’t.”
“And if I did?” His eyes were dead steady. Not a shred of human kindness shone in them.
“I’d kill you,” I breathed, but he shook his head once, disavowing my ability.
“Then I’d die trying,” I said.
“How would you do it, Christina? Knives? Guns?” And like some sort of black magic, he produced a short-nosed pistol from out of thin air.
I sucked in a breath, sure it was my last, but the gun had already disappeared.
“Pepper shaker?” he asked.
“Pepper…?”
“It can be done. Do you wish to see how?”
“Not…” I swallowed. “Not right now.”
“You should not make threats you cannot keep.”
“It was the stir-fry talking,” I said, and backed away.
“And you should keep those threats you make.”
I came to a stumbling halt as my back struck the wall behind me. “What?”
The silence was tense enough to kill. Almost.
He took a step toward me. “You should not say it if you do not mean it. It makes you appear weak.”
I raised my chin. “I’m not weak.”
His eyes suggested mild skepticism and a little bit of are-you-fucking-kidding-me incredulity.
“I’ve scared off Thing One and Thing Two,” I said.
“Perhaps they are not as determined as the Carver.”
The reminder of rumored atrocities made bile swirl in my stomach.
“Or perhaps the Things simply do not find you attractive enough to make the effort.”
I drew myself up. “Rape is not about—”
“Like Eddie,” he said.
“Eddie’s gay.”
“Or Ben.”
“Ben’s…” The memory of his “roomie’s” spank-me attire made me pause a second. “Gay, too.”
“Maybe your countless failed relationships explain your unusual affection for your dog. In truth—” he began, but just then I lost my mind and slapped him across the face.
We both halted. Then I scrambled like a wild monkey for the door.
Chapter 21
Generally, it’s not until a mosquito lands on a man’s nuts that he considers diplomacy.
—Lily Schultz, Chrissy’s former employer and lifetime mentor
I didn’t make it three feet before Danshov dragged me down. I tried to scream, but my back struck the floor, forcing the breath from my lungs.
I swiveled wildly, trying to knee him in the groin. He blocked it with a thigh. Then his hands were on my throat.
I bucked then I saw the firewood from the corner of my eye. Grappling to my right, I grabbed a log and swung. Blood spurted from his nose. He fell to his shoulder. I scrambled onto all fours, but before I could gain my feet, he was on me again. His weight pressed me to the floor. But it was the cold, sharp tip of a knife against my neck that made me freeze.
“I do not like to be touched.” His voice was low, emotionless.
Mine was not quite so detached. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“You will be,” he said, and stabbed.
Pain shot through me. I jerked, gasping at the flaring intensity of it. My eyelids flickered shut. Unconsciousness tugged at me, pulling me down, rolling me under. I fought against it, then…
“You must be the aggressor,” he said, and pulled his knife from the floor beside my ear.
It took me a moment to realize he was no longer on my back, a lifetime to understand that he was beside me, voice as casual as dawn. I blinked and twitched. My fingers worked. My legs moved. Still, I was certain there must be blood pooling beside my head. I lifted a hand to the tiny scratch beneath my right ear lobe.
“Get up,” he said. “We shall try again.”
I can’t tell you how long it took for me to understand that I was basically uninjured. It took longer still to roll onto my back.
He stood over me, face impassive, body relaxed.
I drew a noisy breath. My lungs still worked. My muscles still flexed. I sat up and realized that even my bladder had done its job. Yay, bladder.
My legs felt wobbly as I pushed onto my feet.
“You are predictable,” he said. “If you wish to survive you must learn to change that.”
“That was…” I pressed my palms against my thighs. They shook like windsocks. “That was a test?”
“You said you wished to learn. Did you not?”
I nodded. Managing that much took Amazonian effort. “Yes. Yes, I did.” I nodded again. Seemingly, my neck was also still functional. “You’re a very good teacher,” I began, but then the real me kicked in. “You fucking son of a bitch!” I snarled, and threw myself at him.
We went down in a tangle of limbs, me on top. My knee ended up somewhere in his midsection. I clubbed him on the side of the face with every ounce of enraged strength that was in me. His head struck the floor with a satisfying thump. But it was the look of surprise on his face that made life worth living. In the next second, however, he was gone, disappeared from beneath me. In the time it would have taken me to consider gloating, I was facedown on the floor again, staring at the hardwood from one rapidly swelling eye.
“That was somewhat better,” he admitted. His voice was perfectly modulated. I was panting like a greyhound. My right arm was twisted up behind my back and my hipbones were being ground into the floorboards.
He stood up. It took me even longer to roll onto my back this time. My entire right side was numb and my left cheek was throbbing. Come to think of it, both left cheeks were throbbing.
I stared at his dispassionate face and wanted nothing so much as to kick him in the eye.
“You have a great deal of anger,” he said.
“Yeah? Well…” I was still panting. “I get a little cranky when people stab me.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but I snarled over him. “Or pretend to stab me.”
“You must harness that rage,” he said. “To compensate for your weakness.”
I scrabbled to my feet, already missing the numbness with throbbing intensity. “I’m not—”
“And be rid of the fat,” he said, gaze sweeping over me.
I huffed in outrage. “I’m not—“
Reaching out, he curled his fingers around my upper arm.
I swatted his hand away.
“If I am going to help you, you must become fit.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. I hated getting fit. It was entirely possible that I’d rather get killed. “How?” I asked.
“Running to improve your cardiovascular system.”
“I already run.”
Dubious might describe his expression. No fucking way would have summed it up better. “How far?”
“Six miles.” It was an out-and-out lie. I couldn’t run six miles if a bear was biting at my ass.
“How often?”
I cleared my throat. “Two, maybe three times a week.”
“You must learn to lie better.”
“I’m not lying.”
“That was even worse.” He honestly sounded disappointed. “Deception must become your ally.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then shrugged. Actually, lying was something I could get behind. “All right.”
“And improve your speed. Your reflexes are all but nonexistent.”
“They are not—” I began, but he slapped me across the face. Swear to God, I never even saw his hand move.
“You distracted me,” I said.
His eyes were steady on mine. “I am going to slap you now,” he said.
“What? Don’t—” I began, but he had already tapped my opposite cheek.
“Quit—”
He slapped me again.
At which time I kicked him in the shin. Or at least I tried.
He stepped back with a scowl. I righted my balance and glared at him.
“Go to Chicago,” he said.
“I’d rather be dead.”
“Being dead is not the hard part,” he said. “It is the dying that can be somewhat trying.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. Still…“I can’t.” I whispered the words.
He stared at me, then shook his head and turned away. I’ll never know exactly why I threw myself at him. But suddenly I was ripping forward, ready to tear his head from his body. He was, unfortunately, already gone. Simply out of my line of vision, and yet my body kept moving, circling wildly upward to land with shuddering impact on the hardwood.
My lungs exploded
. My heart ceased to beat. I gasped for breath, body convulsing, until I was finally able to pull a scant molecule of oxygen into my bruised lungs.
It wasn’t until then that I realized he was straddling me. And lo and behold, there was an expression on his face. I think it was contempt.
“Meet me at dawn,” he said.
I was still struggling to get my wind back when he jerked me off the floor with a hand to my shirtfront. “What?”
“Near the black boulder by the lake,” he said, and pushed me out the door. It closed silently behind me.
“Thanks,” I told it, and turning, limped through the darkness toward the tree that led to my room.
Chapter 22
It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s whether or not the mutt has an Uzi.
—Dagwood Dean Daly, ever practical but not particularly familiar with the canine species
I didn’t have an alarm to wake me on the following morning. Nor did I have a phone, a roommate, or one of those often-sought-after husbands. But I had something far more reliable. Pain. It radiated from every joint, throbbed in every muscle, bitched on every inch of skin. I opened my eyes. Or rather, I opened my eye. The other one was a little slow on the uptake and not fully functional. I glanced toward the window. The first gray glimmer of light was just beginning to brighten the world. I closed my eye. Even that hurt. I took a couple careful inhalations, then held my breath and sat up slowly. New and interesting aches shot off in every direction, like fireworks on the Fourth of July. But it was too late to lie back down. That would hurt too. I was sure of it, so I levered myself out of bed and stood swaying on my feet. I was both pleased and disgusted to realize I had never changed clothes. One shoe, however, seemed to be AWOL.
I searched lethargically for a while, then finally struggled down the hall and limped along the trail toward the lake.
By the time I reached the water’s edge, the sun had crested the eastern horizon and shone with foolish optimism on the glassy surface. It was a beautiful sight, even through one eye, but I was in no mood to appreciate the splendor of nature. I was more in the mood to kick some Asian ass…if only I could see.
