Dark Waters, page 17
When he looked up again, it wasn’t Clara. Helena stood before him, smiling crookedly. “You have great timing. Or was this on purpose?”
Ethan put down the menu. “No, I actually did hope to find her here. I just didn’t think about what happened with her sister.”
“Then you know? Oh, of course; Marty told you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
She looked around to make sure no one was listening, then said quietly, “I know it’s none of my business, but you’ve been a total wuss about this whole thing. Yeah, I know, you promised and gave your word and blah-blah-blah, but you really need to man up here, and I don’t mean that macho bullshit they teach you in the army. I mean see what needs to be done and do it. If you’re waiting for her to make the first move, it’ll never happen.”
A little offended, Ethan began, “I don’t think—”
“Yes, you do. You’re a man,” Helena shot back. “All you do is think. But if you want Rachel, you’re going to have to learn to feel. You have to feel how much she needs you.”
“I’m sure she can handle—”
“Dammit!” Helena exclaimed, and a few people looked their way. She leaned over the counter. “I’m not talking about this stuff with Becky. I’m talking about when there’s not a crisis or an emergency to distract her. I’m talking about the quiet times. That’s when she needs you, tough guy. Good God, you could feel that she needed you when she was locked in a basement in the middle of nowhere, and you can’t feel this?”
Before Ethan could answer, she turned and stormed off into the kitchen, passing Clara on her way. Clara put down the coffee and said, “Do you know Helena too?”
“Not as well as she knows me, apparently,” Ethan said.
The door opened again, and an older woman with dark, curly hair entered. She looked around, then asked Clara, “Is Rachel here?”
“Everybody wants the boss today,” Clara said. “No, she’s not here. I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
The woman held out an envelope. “Please make sure she gets this. Can I trust you?”
“Sure,” Clara said.
Ethan glanced up and caught the woman staring at him. He smiled, but she didn’t look away. That inner sense he’d developed in Iraq, where danger could be hidden in plain sight, sent warning tingles up the back of his neck. “Do we know each other?”
“No,” the woman said. “We don’t. I’m Betty.”
“Ethan,” he said but did not offer his hand.
Betty smiled. “You’re here looking for Rachel too.”
“I am?”
“You are. I have a sense about these things.”
“Well … she’s not here, so I guess I’ll be leaving.” He stood, which forced Betty to step back. He tossed some bills on the counter, then turned, only to find the woman in his path.
He clenched his fists. Whoever she was, she affected him not like an attractive woman but like another man who meant him harm.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Ethan,” she said without breaking his gaze. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
“Uh-huh. Good day, ma’am.” He went around her as quickly as he could without being rude.
JULIE SCHUTES’S GORGEOUS blue eyes opened wide with surprise. “Ms. Matre,” she said after a moment, then stood as a man might do. As Ethan did on our first date, Rachel recalled vividly.
She wondered about Julie’s first date with Ethan as she admired the woman’s taut body and impeccable style. Did they have sex that night, and if so, in his house (which she still hadn’t seen) or hers? Had she dressed for it, in slinky underthings that she peeled off sensually and slowly, or had the connection been a surprise to them both?
She managed a neutral smile. “Have you got a moment?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t shake.
Julie nodded. She was taller than Rachel—model tall, in fact—but that might just be the shoes. “Of course. Please sit down.”
Rachel did so, keeping her back straight and her hands formally in her lap. She was about to speak when she noticed a manila folder on Julie’s desk labeled “Lady of the Lakes.” She hid her true reaction, nodded at the folder, and said casually, “So are you the Lady of the Lakes?”
“Hardly,” Julie said as she sat and smoothed her skirt, “but I intend to find out who is. And what they’re up to.”
“ ‘Up to’?”
“There has to be an agenda. And where there’s an agenda, there’s money. Eventually I’ll find the money trail, and then I’ll unmask this so-called Lady.” She smiled coldly. “But that’s not why you’re here.”
“No.” Rachel looked down at her fingers. “I’m sure you know my sister’s been arrested for the murder of Garrett Bloom.”
“I wrote the story,” Julie confirmed.
She managed to gloat in a way that Rachel could not react to without seeming paranoid. “I don’t believe she’s guilty, which is probably not a surprise either.”
“Most families have a hard time accepting that. I once covered a trial where the mother of the suspect threw a Bible at the trial judge. Knocked a hole in the drywall right beside his head.”
Rachel waited, then said, “I believe I know who did kill Garrett Bloom. I thought you might like to know as well.”
“Of course. Who?”
“Kyle Stillwater.”
Julie’s forehead creased in surprise. “The Indi—I’m sorry, I mean the Native American activist who crashed the ground-breaking ceremony?”
“Yes. If he really is an activist. Or Native American. Have you found any trace of him?”
“I haven’t really tried. The police established that he used the name of a local actor, so there’s very little to go on. Besides, they seem very sure they’ve got their culprit.”
“They could be wrong. Stillwater threatened Bloom in front of an awful lot of people.”
“Even more reason to doubt he’s the actual killer.”
“Unless he’s crazy.”
“All killers are crazy. They have to be, to do what they do.” She paused. “I’m sorry. That was glib and thoughtless.”
“Yes, it was.”
Julie tapped her pen against her lips thoughtfully. “Still … you might be right. Even if he wasn’t the killer, there’s something not quite right about the whole Stillwater thing. Where did he come from that day? And where did he go? And why hasn’t anyone seen him since?”
“It sounds like a story to me,” Rachel said. She wished the woman would stop saying the name Stillwater, since each time she did, it sent an intimate jolt through her. My God, she thought in horror, it’s only been days. How can I survive years of this if I end up like Betty McNally?
Julie’s eyes narrowed, and the bitchiness returned. “Yes, it does. And one that might help get your sister off the hook, if it pans out. If it doesn’t, then it’s just my time wasted.”
“What’s your point?”
Julie sat back and crossed her arms. “I usually get paid for my time, Ms. Matre. That’s what a reporter brings to the table: time, expertise, connections. If you want me to use them …”
“Are you saying I should hire you?”
“Good Lord, no. I wasn’t talking about money. I was thinking more of … a trade. I do something for you, you do something for me.”
Rachel felt herself flush red with fury. “Let me guess. You want me to stay away from Ethan?” she asked calmly.
“Forever,” Julie hissed, suddenly so cold and vicious it made Rachel start. “I don’t ever want you to come near him or contact him again as long as you live.”
Rachel had to swallow hard in the face of this blatant rage. Icily she said, “What if he contacts me first?”
Julie flicked her hand as if swatting a fly. “Then you send him away. You work as a waitress in a dump of a diner; you know how to give men the brush-off.”
Rachel’s rage swelled to a degree she’d seldom experienced. Through clenched teeth she said, “And what kind of guarantee do you give me that you’ll genuinely try to help?”
Julie leaned back, smug and triumphant. “That would be my promise. You and I may not like each other, but ask around: I keep my word. You stay away from Ethan, and I find out the truth about Kyle Stillwater.”
Rachel wanted to scream, as the name had its usual effect. “Fine,” she said tightly.
Julie turned back to her computer screen. “Then you can go. We have nothing else to discuss.”
Rachel got to her feet and turned to leave, then paused. “I’ll be in touch, you know. A lot.”
“Oh, you can call me whenever you want,” Julie said, already typing. “Just remember your promise. Stay away from Ethan Walker.”
Rachel strode away. If she looked back and the bitch was smiling, she’d have to knock those perfect white teeth down her pale, slender throat.
JULIE WATCHED RACHEL leave. The woman was attractive, in a hippie sort of way, and she could imagine Ethan’s desire to get his hands on that tight ass. Certainly he’d once had a hard time keeping them off her own, which she kept as firm as a high school senior’s. And now that he’d overcome the performance issues caused by his stint in Iraq, she looked forward with renewed excitement to behaving like a cat in heat for him. He was strong enough, physically and otherwise, to make her do things she normally wouldn’t consider, and she loved it when he gave in to that impulse to dominate her.
She picked up the phone and dialed his office. She wanted to strike while the iron of Rachel’s promise was hot. She got his voice mail, but that was okay. This was the campaign’s opening salvo, not its final battle.
“Ethan?” she said in her sweetest voice, careful not to lay it on too thick. “It’s Julie. Oh, but I guess you know that. Anyway, I … Oh, hell, I just wanted to see you and talk to you. Why don’t we meet for dinner tonight? Call me back and let me know. Oh, and you can tell me to go to hell again if you want, but really, I just miss spending time with you. I miss your company. That’s all.”
She hung up quickly before she tipped her hand. She was good at faking sincerity, and this wasn’t even all faking. She did want to see him.
Ethan would do one of two things. He would call her back when he was sure he’d get her voice mail and tell her to leave him alone, or he’d grudgingly accept. Either response was fine, actually. What she mainly wanted to do was provoke him into calling Rachel, so that the little diner whore could break his heart. Then Julie could swoop in with the dustpan and the super-glue, and put it back together again her way.
But she hadn’t lied when she said her word was honorable. The mystery of Kyle Stillwater, and the memory of his delectable body emerging from the lake, did actually intrigue her, so it wasn’t a hard promise to keep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WHEN RACHEL GOT back to the diner she was twitchy and damp, and her clothing felt unbearable. She walked past the folks at the counter, completely missing Helena’s wave from across the dining room. Instead, she climbed the stairs to her apartment, stripped naked, and flopped on her bed.
She was not aroused in any normal way; it was more like being stuck on a low-wattage setting where her body tingled and pulsed but never developed into any full-blown feelings. It was more upsetting, really, than being simply turned on with no outlet.
Worse, she felt she’d betrayed something fundamental about herself in her deal with Julie Schutes. Before, there had been hope that perhaps she and Ethan would again be together. Now she’d killed even that.
But that was the least of her problems, she thought, as she put her feet flat on the bed and idly rubbed her hands up and down her raised thighs. She had to help Becky. She had to help her lake spirits. And she had to survive whatever this feeling was that threatened to overwhelm her.
Tainter emerged from under the bed with a confused yowl. He jumped up on the covers beside her, then backed slowly away. He did not hiss, but clearly there was some change in his mistress, of which he did not approve.
Rachel took slow, measured breaths, trying to slow her skittery heartbeat. She flexed her fingers and toes, stretching them tight to give the energy somewhere to go. She had too much to do, too many responsibilities, to endure this right now. But her hands rose, almost of their own volition, to her breasts and squeezed them. Her nipples, already tight, seemed to tighten even more.
Slowly her back arched and her knees drew up. She squeezed her thighs together, sending demanding tingles up from the area where they met. In her mind, she saw Ethan above her—the muscles of his bare shoulders working as he rose, then fell, rose, then fell—his face drawn tight with the effort to reach his own completion.…
She sat up at the firm knock on the door.
JULIE SCHUTES PICKED her way around the back of Kyle Stillwater’s apartment building and peered through the patio door. No lights were on inside, and from the detritus of fast food and soda cans, it was obvious that no one had cleaned it for a while. She was still looking when a voice said, “Looking for Kyle?”
She turned. An elderly black man in a robe and slippers stood on the patio next door. His creased face was unreadable, but his eyes were suspicious.
Julie smiled. “If he’s the actor Kyle Stillwater, then yes.”
“He is. Are you a cop?”
“No, I’m a reporter. Julie Schutes, with the Cap Jo. And you are—”
The man sipped his coffee and said at last, “A neighbor.”
“Have you seen Kyle lately?”
“You asking about that thing at the park?”
“Yes. I’d like to talk with him about it.”
“Wasn’t him. It was some guy using his name. The cops already cleared that up.”
“I just want to ask him what he thinks about it.”
He shrugged. “Too bad for you, then. People in hell want ice water too.”
Julie kept the smile. “Does he live here by himself?”
“Far as I know. His last girlfriend moved out a month ago. Got tired of cleaning up after him.”
She held out a card. “I left one of these in his mail slot, but could you pass this to him if you see him?”
The man looked at the card, then at Julie, then back at the card. “You for real, then, huh?”
“I am.”
“I’m going to tell you something, then. You don’t quote me on it, understand? But I’m going to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“There’s something wrong with that boy. He walked out of here in the middle of the night with a long white wig on. Like the news says that fella at the park wore.”
“So it was him, then?”
“I don’t know. About half the time lately he ain’t been himself. I think he might be on drugs or something.”
Julie nodded encouragingly. “Did he say where he was going?”
“Naw. He said for a swim. And that he wasn’t coming back.”
Julie felt a chill. “Was he suicidal?”
“Seemed happy as a clam.”
“Listen, please, if he does come back, please let me know. Maybe I can help.” Which was a lie, but if it got her a story, it served its purpose.
THERE WAS ANOTHER firm knock at the door. Hard, firm, Rachel repeated in her head. Ethan?
“Hey, Rache?” Helena’s voice called. “Are you all right?”
Rachel swallowed and got unsteadily to her feet. Her knees were weak, and her belly fluttered. She let Helena in and closed the door behind her.
It took a moment for Helena’s wide-eyed expression to register. Rachel said, “What?”
“Um,” Helena said, and gestured in her direction. “Your fly is open.”
Rachel looked down at herself and softly laughed. She should have been embarrassed standing there stark naked, but instead it seemed like nothing to be concerned about. She had nothing Helena didn’t also have, and they’d been like sisters for years. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Just felt a little … overheated. Needed to cool off.”
Helena continued to stare. At last she said, “That tattoo removal is impressive. I mean, your skin’s not even red.”
Rachel flushed. “I’ve always been a quick healer; you know that.”
“Yeah. Well, anyway, someone left this for you.” Helena held out a manila envelope with the name “Rachel” scrawled on it in big letters.
Rachel tossed the envelope on the couch without looking at it. “I guess I should come downstairs and help, huh?”
Helena continued to stare. “Not like that.”
Rachel looked down at herself, and shame suddenly penetrated her hazy thoughts. She covered her breasts with her arms. What was she doing? “I’m sorry, I was about to take a quick shower,” she said. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“I can see that,” Helena said. She looked everywhere but directly at Rachel. “I’ll just … go, then.” She left quickly, and her footsteps pattered rapidly down the stairs.
Rachel shook her head. What the hell? Helena was her best friend, but she was also gay, and this little scene could’ve easily been taken the wrong way. Yet the burning embarrassment left almost as soon as it started, and the heavy, heated sense of her own arousal returned. She rather calmly thought, Why not? We’re adults, we’re already friends.…
As if he could read her thoughts, Tainter hissed from the bedroom doorway.
She slapped herself hard. Stop it! The fog in her brain cleared, and she quickly dressed for work.
AT THE BOTTOM of the stairs, Helena paused before going back into the diner. She took a few deep breaths and tried a mental calming exercise she’d learned at a seminar.
She’d seen Rachel nude before but never like that. It was as if, after all these years of friendship, Rachel was suddenly daring Helena to think of her sexually. It hadn’t worked—and never would, Helena thought ironically—but it had rattled her. Rachel’s ex-husband, Don, claimed Rachel had mental problems. Was he right after all? Had the whole Arlin Korbus thing brought them to the surface?
Helena looked back up the stairs toward the closed apartment door. She’d been so startled that she hadn’t mentioned Ethan’s visit, and she wasn’t about to go back up there now. Maybe it was for the best. Ethan was a normal, decent guy who probably didn’t deserve a crazy girlfriend.
Ethan put down the menu. “No, I actually did hope to find her here. I just didn’t think about what happened with her sister.”
“Then you know? Oh, of course; Marty told you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
She looked around to make sure no one was listening, then said quietly, “I know it’s none of my business, but you’ve been a total wuss about this whole thing. Yeah, I know, you promised and gave your word and blah-blah-blah, but you really need to man up here, and I don’t mean that macho bullshit they teach you in the army. I mean see what needs to be done and do it. If you’re waiting for her to make the first move, it’ll never happen.”
A little offended, Ethan began, “I don’t think—”
“Yes, you do. You’re a man,” Helena shot back. “All you do is think. But if you want Rachel, you’re going to have to learn to feel. You have to feel how much she needs you.”
“I’m sure she can handle—”
“Dammit!” Helena exclaimed, and a few people looked their way. She leaned over the counter. “I’m not talking about this stuff with Becky. I’m talking about when there’s not a crisis or an emergency to distract her. I’m talking about the quiet times. That’s when she needs you, tough guy. Good God, you could feel that she needed you when she was locked in a basement in the middle of nowhere, and you can’t feel this?”
Before Ethan could answer, she turned and stormed off into the kitchen, passing Clara on her way. Clara put down the coffee and said, “Do you know Helena too?”
“Not as well as she knows me, apparently,” Ethan said.
The door opened again, and an older woman with dark, curly hair entered. She looked around, then asked Clara, “Is Rachel here?”
“Everybody wants the boss today,” Clara said. “No, she’s not here. I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
The woman held out an envelope. “Please make sure she gets this. Can I trust you?”
“Sure,” Clara said.
Ethan glanced up and caught the woman staring at him. He smiled, but she didn’t look away. That inner sense he’d developed in Iraq, where danger could be hidden in plain sight, sent warning tingles up the back of his neck. “Do we know each other?”
“No,” the woman said. “We don’t. I’m Betty.”
“Ethan,” he said but did not offer his hand.
Betty smiled. “You’re here looking for Rachel too.”
“I am?”
“You are. I have a sense about these things.”
“Well … she’s not here, so I guess I’ll be leaving.” He stood, which forced Betty to step back. He tossed some bills on the counter, then turned, only to find the woman in his path.
He clenched his fists. Whoever she was, she affected him not like an attractive woman but like another man who meant him harm.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Ethan,” she said without breaking his gaze. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
“Uh-huh. Good day, ma’am.” He went around her as quickly as he could without being rude.
JULIE SCHUTES’S GORGEOUS blue eyes opened wide with surprise. “Ms. Matre,” she said after a moment, then stood as a man might do. As Ethan did on our first date, Rachel recalled vividly.
She wondered about Julie’s first date with Ethan as she admired the woman’s taut body and impeccable style. Did they have sex that night, and if so, in his house (which she still hadn’t seen) or hers? Had she dressed for it, in slinky underthings that she peeled off sensually and slowly, or had the connection been a surprise to them both?
She managed a neutral smile. “Have you got a moment?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t shake.
Julie nodded. She was taller than Rachel—model tall, in fact—but that might just be the shoes. “Of course. Please sit down.”
Rachel did so, keeping her back straight and her hands formally in her lap. She was about to speak when she noticed a manila folder on Julie’s desk labeled “Lady of the Lakes.” She hid her true reaction, nodded at the folder, and said casually, “So are you the Lady of the Lakes?”
“Hardly,” Julie said as she sat and smoothed her skirt, “but I intend to find out who is. And what they’re up to.”
“ ‘Up to’?”
“There has to be an agenda. And where there’s an agenda, there’s money. Eventually I’ll find the money trail, and then I’ll unmask this so-called Lady.” She smiled coldly. “But that’s not why you’re here.”
“No.” Rachel looked down at her fingers. “I’m sure you know my sister’s been arrested for the murder of Garrett Bloom.”
“I wrote the story,” Julie confirmed.
She managed to gloat in a way that Rachel could not react to without seeming paranoid. “I don’t believe she’s guilty, which is probably not a surprise either.”
“Most families have a hard time accepting that. I once covered a trial where the mother of the suspect threw a Bible at the trial judge. Knocked a hole in the drywall right beside his head.”
Rachel waited, then said, “I believe I know who did kill Garrett Bloom. I thought you might like to know as well.”
“Of course. Who?”
“Kyle Stillwater.”
Julie’s forehead creased in surprise. “The Indi—I’m sorry, I mean the Native American activist who crashed the ground-breaking ceremony?”
“Yes. If he really is an activist. Or Native American. Have you found any trace of him?”
“I haven’t really tried. The police established that he used the name of a local actor, so there’s very little to go on. Besides, they seem very sure they’ve got their culprit.”
“They could be wrong. Stillwater threatened Bloom in front of an awful lot of people.”
“Even more reason to doubt he’s the actual killer.”
“Unless he’s crazy.”
“All killers are crazy. They have to be, to do what they do.” She paused. “I’m sorry. That was glib and thoughtless.”
“Yes, it was.”
Julie tapped her pen against her lips thoughtfully. “Still … you might be right. Even if he wasn’t the killer, there’s something not quite right about the whole Stillwater thing. Where did he come from that day? And where did he go? And why hasn’t anyone seen him since?”
“It sounds like a story to me,” Rachel said. She wished the woman would stop saying the name Stillwater, since each time she did, it sent an intimate jolt through her. My God, she thought in horror, it’s only been days. How can I survive years of this if I end up like Betty McNally?
Julie’s eyes narrowed, and the bitchiness returned. “Yes, it does. And one that might help get your sister off the hook, if it pans out. If it doesn’t, then it’s just my time wasted.”
“What’s your point?”
Julie sat back and crossed her arms. “I usually get paid for my time, Ms. Matre. That’s what a reporter brings to the table: time, expertise, connections. If you want me to use them …”
“Are you saying I should hire you?”
“Good Lord, no. I wasn’t talking about money. I was thinking more of … a trade. I do something for you, you do something for me.”
Rachel felt herself flush red with fury. “Let me guess. You want me to stay away from Ethan?” she asked calmly.
“Forever,” Julie hissed, suddenly so cold and vicious it made Rachel start. “I don’t ever want you to come near him or contact him again as long as you live.”
Rachel had to swallow hard in the face of this blatant rage. Icily she said, “What if he contacts me first?”
Julie flicked her hand as if swatting a fly. “Then you send him away. You work as a waitress in a dump of a diner; you know how to give men the brush-off.”
Rachel’s rage swelled to a degree she’d seldom experienced. Through clenched teeth she said, “And what kind of guarantee do you give me that you’ll genuinely try to help?”
Julie leaned back, smug and triumphant. “That would be my promise. You and I may not like each other, but ask around: I keep my word. You stay away from Ethan, and I find out the truth about Kyle Stillwater.”
Rachel wanted to scream, as the name had its usual effect. “Fine,” she said tightly.
Julie turned back to her computer screen. “Then you can go. We have nothing else to discuss.”
Rachel got to her feet and turned to leave, then paused. “I’ll be in touch, you know. A lot.”
“Oh, you can call me whenever you want,” Julie said, already typing. “Just remember your promise. Stay away from Ethan Walker.”
Rachel strode away. If she looked back and the bitch was smiling, she’d have to knock those perfect white teeth down her pale, slender throat.
JULIE WATCHED RACHEL leave. The woman was attractive, in a hippie sort of way, and she could imagine Ethan’s desire to get his hands on that tight ass. Certainly he’d once had a hard time keeping them off her own, which she kept as firm as a high school senior’s. And now that he’d overcome the performance issues caused by his stint in Iraq, she looked forward with renewed excitement to behaving like a cat in heat for him. He was strong enough, physically and otherwise, to make her do things she normally wouldn’t consider, and she loved it when he gave in to that impulse to dominate her.
She picked up the phone and dialed his office. She wanted to strike while the iron of Rachel’s promise was hot. She got his voice mail, but that was okay. This was the campaign’s opening salvo, not its final battle.
“Ethan?” she said in her sweetest voice, careful not to lay it on too thick. “It’s Julie. Oh, but I guess you know that. Anyway, I … Oh, hell, I just wanted to see you and talk to you. Why don’t we meet for dinner tonight? Call me back and let me know. Oh, and you can tell me to go to hell again if you want, but really, I just miss spending time with you. I miss your company. That’s all.”
She hung up quickly before she tipped her hand. She was good at faking sincerity, and this wasn’t even all faking. She did want to see him.
Ethan would do one of two things. He would call her back when he was sure he’d get her voice mail and tell her to leave him alone, or he’d grudgingly accept. Either response was fine, actually. What she mainly wanted to do was provoke him into calling Rachel, so that the little diner whore could break his heart. Then Julie could swoop in with the dustpan and the super-glue, and put it back together again her way.
But she hadn’t lied when she said her word was honorable. The mystery of Kyle Stillwater, and the memory of his delectable body emerging from the lake, did actually intrigue her, so it wasn’t a hard promise to keep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WHEN RACHEL GOT back to the diner she was twitchy and damp, and her clothing felt unbearable. She walked past the folks at the counter, completely missing Helena’s wave from across the dining room. Instead, she climbed the stairs to her apartment, stripped naked, and flopped on her bed.
She was not aroused in any normal way; it was more like being stuck on a low-wattage setting where her body tingled and pulsed but never developed into any full-blown feelings. It was more upsetting, really, than being simply turned on with no outlet.
Worse, she felt she’d betrayed something fundamental about herself in her deal with Julie Schutes. Before, there had been hope that perhaps she and Ethan would again be together. Now she’d killed even that.
But that was the least of her problems, she thought, as she put her feet flat on the bed and idly rubbed her hands up and down her raised thighs. She had to help Becky. She had to help her lake spirits. And she had to survive whatever this feeling was that threatened to overwhelm her.
Tainter emerged from under the bed with a confused yowl. He jumped up on the covers beside her, then backed slowly away. He did not hiss, but clearly there was some change in his mistress, of which he did not approve.
Rachel took slow, measured breaths, trying to slow her skittery heartbeat. She flexed her fingers and toes, stretching them tight to give the energy somewhere to go. She had too much to do, too many responsibilities, to endure this right now. But her hands rose, almost of their own volition, to her breasts and squeezed them. Her nipples, already tight, seemed to tighten even more.
Slowly her back arched and her knees drew up. She squeezed her thighs together, sending demanding tingles up from the area where they met. In her mind, she saw Ethan above her—the muscles of his bare shoulders working as he rose, then fell, rose, then fell—his face drawn tight with the effort to reach his own completion.…
She sat up at the firm knock on the door.
JULIE SCHUTES PICKED her way around the back of Kyle Stillwater’s apartment building and peered through the patio door. No lights were on inside, and from the detritus of fast food and soda cans, it was obvious that no one had cleaned it for a while. She was still looking when a voice said, “Looking for Kyle?”
She turned. An elderly black man in a robe and slippers stood on the patio next door. His creased face was unreadable, but his eyes were suspicious.
Julie smiled. “If he’s the actor Kyle Stillwater, then yes.”
“He is. Are you a cop?”
“No, I’m a reporter. Julie Schutes, with the Cap Jo. And you are—”
The man sipped his coffee and said at last, “A neighbor.”
“Have you seen Kyle lately?”
“You asking about that thing at the park?”
“Yes. I’d like to talk with him about it.”
“Wasn’t him. It was some guy using his name. The cops already cleared that up.”
“I just want to ask him what he thinks about it.”
He shrugged. “Too bad for you, then. People in hell want ice water too.”
Julie kept the smile. “Does he live here by himself?”
“Far as I know. His last girlfriend moved out a month ago. Got tired of cleaning up after him.”
She held out a card. “I left one of these in his mail slot, but could you pass this to him if you see him?”
The man looked at the card, then at Julie, then back at the card. “You for real, then, huh?”
“I am.”
“I’m going to tell you something, then. You don’t quote me on it, understand? But I’m going to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“There’s something wrong with that boy. He walked out of here in the middle of the night with a long white wig on. Like the news says that fella at the park wore.”
“So it was him, then?”
“I don’t know. About half the time lately he ain’t been himself. I think he might be on drugs or something.”
Julie nodded encouragingly. “Did he say where he was going?”
“Naw. He said for a swim. And that he wasn’t coming back.”
Julie felt a chill. “Was he suicidal?”
“Seemed happy as a clam.”
“Listen, please, if he does come back, please let me know. Maybe I can help.” Which was a lie, but if it got her a story, it served its purpose.
THERE WAS ANOTHER firm knock at the door. Hard, firm, Rachel repeated in her head. Ethan?
“Hey, Rache?” Helena’s voice called. “Are you all right?”
Rachel swallowed and got unsteadily to her feet. Her knees were weak, and her belly fluttered. She let Helena in and closed the door behind her.
It took a moment for Helena’s wide-eyed expression to register. Rachel said, “What?”
“Um,” Helena said, and gestured in her direction. “Your fly is open.”
Rachel looked down at herself and softly laughed. She should have been embarrassed standing there stark naked, but instead it seemed like nothing to be concerned about. She had nothing Helena didn’t also have, and they’d been like sisters for years. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Just felt a little … overheated. Needed to cool off.”
Helena continued to stare. At last she said, “That tattoo removal is impressive. I mean, your skin’s not even red.”
Rachel flushed. “I’ve always been a quick healer; you know that.”
“Yeah. Well, anyway, someone left this for you.” Helena held out a manila envelope with the name “Rachel” scrawled on it in big letters.
Rachel tossed the envelope on the couch without looking at it. “I guess I should come downstairs and help, huh?”
Helena continued to stare. “Not like that.”
Rachel looked down at herself, and shame suddenly penetrated her hazy thoughts. She covered her breasts with her arms. What was she doing? “I’m sorry, I was about to take a quick shower,” she said. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“I can see that,” Helena said. She looked everywhere but directly at Rachel. “I’ll just … go, then.” She left quickly, and her footsteps pattered rapidly down the stairs.
Rachel shook her head. What the hell? Helena was her best friend, but she was also gay, and this little scene could’ve easily been taken the wrong way. Yet the burning embarrassment left almost as soon as it started, and the heavy, heated sense of her own arousal returned. She rather calmly thought, Why not? We’re adults, we’re already friends.…
As if he could read her thoughts, Tainter hissed from the bedroom doorway.
She slapped herself hard. Stop it! The fog in her brain cleared, and she quickly dressed for work.
AT THE BOTTOM of the stairs, Helena paused before going back into the diner. She took a few deep breaths and tried a mental calming exercise she’d learned at a seminar.
She’d seen Rachel nude before but never like that. It was as if, after all these years of friendship, Rachel was suddenly daring Helena to think of her sexually. It hadn’t worked—and never would, Helena thought ironically—but it had rattled her. Rachel’s ex-husband, Don, claimed Rachel had mental problems. Was he right after all? Had the whole Arlin Korbus thing brought them to the surface?
Helena looked back up the stairs toward the closed apartment door. She’d been so startled that she hadn’t mentioned Ethan’s visit, and she wasn’t about to go back up there now. Maybe it was for the best. Ethan was a normal, decent guy who probably didn’t deserve a crazy girlfriend.
