Twenty-seven
When she turned to him in the night, Xander came half awake.
“Just a dream.” He slid an arm around her, hoped she’d settle again. “You’re okay.”
“He was chasing me. Through the forest, along the beach, everywhere I went. Right behind me, but I couldn’t see him. Then I fell into a pit. But it was the cellar. And when he put the rope around my neck, it was my father.”
He lay quiet a moment. “I’m no shrink, but that’s pretty straightforward, right?”
“I dream of that cellar more than anything else. I can even smell it in the dreams. I never get out of it, in the dreams. He always comes back before I can get away, get away from him.”
“He’s not going to get out.”
“But he has an apprentice, a competitor, whatever this is. I can’t be afraid, Xander. I can’t live afraid. Before all of this, before that night, I used to dream of finding a puppy and being able to keep it, or riding the brand-new shiny bike I wanted so bad. I’ll never go back to that, that simple, that innocent, but I won’t live afraid. I did get out of the cellar. I got out. I got Ashley out. I won’t live afraid of what didn’t happen, or what’s going to happen.”
“Good. Smart. Can you go back to sleep now?”
“No.” She rolled on top of him. “And neither can you.”
Fisting her hands in his hair, she took his mouth aggressively, took her fill of it.
“I have purpose.”
“Yeah,” he managed as she ravished his mouth again. “I got that.”
“Not that.” Her laugh came low and husky. “Or not just that. Oh God, I love your hands on me, so hard and strong it feels like you could break me in half.”
Those hard, strong hands gripped her hips. “You don’t break easily.”
No, she didn’t. She’d nearly forgotten that. She didn’t break easily. She scraped her teeth along his jawline, down his throat, reveling in the taste and texture, gathering pleasure and excitement from the rapid beat of his pulse against her lips.
His heart, a quick, thick thud against the press of her breast. He’d given that heart to her. She didn’t know, not yet, couldn’t be sure, not now, what to do with it, for it. But she wouldn’t be afraid of being loved.
She wouldn’t fear the gift.
Strong, she thought. He was strong, body and mind and will. She would never be weak, never forget her own strength. His strength would remind her, even challenge her.
She rose up. Moonlight again, she thought. Here was moonlight, as it had been the first time they’d come together like this. Light, dark, shadows, living together to tint the air, to somehow sweeten it.
She took his hands, brought them to her breasts, to her own heartbeat.
“I’m what you need.”
“You are.”
For a moment, she pressed her hands to his. “Everyone should have what they need.”
She took him in, slow, slow, stretching the moment like a fine silver wire. “Oh, what being with you does inside me.”
And she began to move, a gentle, sinuous roll. Torturously arousing, a smoky, smoldering fire in the blood. He fought to let her set the pace, that slow burn of a pace, to stop himself from simply clamping around her like chains, taking her, taking his release.
Pleasure, so acute it sliced. Desire, so intense it seared. And love, so deep and yet so new it drowned him.
As if she knew, she smiled. “Wait.” Her eyes closed as she rolled her hips, kept him trapped and on the edge of torment. “Wait. And you can take what you need. Take what you want. How you want. Just wait.”
While he watched, barely able to breathe, her head fell back, her back bowed. Her arms rose to circle her head. All movement stopped. She was a statue, bathed in moonlight, made in moonlight.
She made a sound, half sob, half triumph. Then she smiled again; her eyes, opened and slumberous, met his.
His tether snapped. He had her on her back, under him, her arms still over her head, his hands clamping her wrists.
All that need, all that want, all that torment rushed together inside him. He drove into her like a man possessed; perhaps he was. Her shocked, breathless cries only added fuel.
He took what he needed, what he wanted. Took until there was nothing left for either of them.
And that was everything, for both of them.
—
In the morning Xander scowled at a tie as if deciding whether to wear it or hang himself with it.
“I don’t think Donna would care if you didn’t wear a tie.”
“No. But . . . I’m a pallbearer. Her daughter asked Kevin and me to be pallbearers.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize.” How much harder would that be for him? she wondered, and walked to her closet—which needed organizing since most of the clothes shipped from New York remained in boxes.
“You don’t have to go.”
She stopped, her hand on the black dress. “Would you rather I didn’t?”
“I don’t mean that. I mean you don’t have to. You don’t have to feel obligated.”
So much easier to stay home, she thought, to work in a quiet, empty house, as everyone in both crews would attend Donna’s funeral. And he was giving her the out.
“I didn’t know her very well, but I liked her. I know I’m not responsible for what happened, but I’m connected. I know you’ll have more friends than I can count there, but we’re together. It’s not an obligation, Xander. It’s respect.”
“I’m pissed off.” He tossed the tie on the bed, shrugged into the white dress shirt. “I’d shoved it down, but today I’m pissed off I’m going to carry a really good woman to a hole in the fucking ground.”
“I know.” She laid the dress on the bed, went to the dresser for a bra and panties. “You should be pissed off.”
While she dressed he picked up the tie again and, resigned, slid it under the collar of the shirt. “Ties are for bankers and lawyers,” he complained. “Or like Elton John said, the sons thereof.”
In her underwear, she turned to him, finished the knot herself. “Uncle Seth taught me. He said every woman should know how to tie a man’s tie, facing him. And I’d know why someday.” She smiled, smoothed the fabric down. “And now I do. Look at you, Xander Keaton, clean shaven.” She stroked a hand over his cheek. “Wearing a tie.” She angled her head. “Who are you again?”
“It won’t last.”
“And that’s fine, too.” She pressed her cheek to his. “This time I’m going to help you through. Let me.”
He let out a curse that ended on a sigh. Then put his arms around her. “Thanks. Tell me when you need to go. They closed Rinaldo’s for the day. People are supposed to go there after, but if you—”
“Just let me help you through.”
“Right. You’re half—more than—naked, and I’m not. Something off about that.”
“I’m about to be un-naked. Maybe you could let Tag out, make sure he does everything he has to do. I don’t want to leave him outside alone while we’re gone.”
“We could take him.”
“No, we’re not taking the dog to a funeral. He’ll be fine in the house as long as he has a rawhide and his stuffed cat. And a ball. I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
“You’re the first and only woman I’ve known who says that and means it. Hey!” He snapped his fingers at the dog, who instantly grabbed his ball in his jaws and body-wagged. “We’re going out the back, pal, and keeping out of that topsoil.”
Xander grabbed his suit jacket, headed out the bedroom doors to the deck with the dog flashing ahead of him. “Lock this behind me,” he told Naomi.
She did, then put on the dress she hadn’t worn in . . . she couldn’t quite remember, and finished getting ready for her second funeral in the Cove.
—
He waited just inside the forest until Naomi and the grease monkey she was doing it with drove by in her car. Then he waited five full minutes.
Sometimes people turned around and came back, forgot something. His mother did it all the time, and once nearly caught him digging in the fake coffee can she used to hide cash from thieves.
Not that she’d ever been robbed, except by her son.
So he waited, watching the road through the screen of trees before he began the hike to the house on the bluff.
He’d parked nearly a quarter mile away—in the opposite direction from town. Had even put a white handkerchief on the side-view mirror, like he’d had a breakdown.
Getting into the house would be a nice little bonus. He’d seen how she lived, what she had. He wanted to touch her things, her clothes. Smell her. Maybe take a little souvenir she wouldn’t miss, at least not right off.
He knew about the alarm system, but he’d gotten through that sort of thing before. He’d done a lot of studying, put in plenty of practice.
She might have forgotten to set it—something else people did all the time. And he should know.
More than once, he’d walked right into houses, and right into the bedroom where some dumb bitch was sleeping.
He didn’t always kill them. You had to mix things up or even brain-dead cops might start piecing things together. Like sometimes he used ketamine—a jab with that, and down she went. Chloroform took longer, but there was something so satisfying about the struggle.
Once you knocked her out, tied her up, gagged that bitch—blindfolded her if you figured on letting her live—you could rape the shit out of her. He really liked when they came out of it while he raped them.
Then you mixed it up. You killed them, or you didn’t. He liked the kill even more than the rape, but sometimes you had to resist. You beat the crap out of them, or you didn’t. Cut them up some, or didn’t.
And you kept your mouth shut unless you were going to shut theirs, permanently. No DNA when you wore a raincoat, no voice to remember, no face.
When the time came to do Naomi—and that time was coming right up—he’d take his sweet, sweet time. Maybe even keep her a couple weeks.
Stupid bitch got lucky, got rich enough to buy herself a big house. And was dumb enough to buy one this remote.
He could’ve taken her before, and he’d thought about it, oh, he’d thought about it so many times. But the wait, the long wait was better. And now he was—Christ—an aficionado. Oh, the things he’d do to her.
But not today. Today was a little opportunity.
Who knew he’d end up killing the fricking town sweetheart? He’d heard the buzz—he always made sure he heard the buzz. Everybody was going to her send-off. He’d never have a better chance to get in the house, get a solid lay of the land.
He could take her there, he was nearly sure of it. Just had to get the grease monkey out of the way for a few hours—or altogether. Make sure her asshole little brother was off playing Special Agent.
But he wanted the lay of the land first.
He strolled right up the drive.
He had lock picks and knew how to use them. If she’d set the alarm, he had a reader that should break her code before the alarm sounded.
If not, he just locked up again, moved off. They’d figure it was a glitch, nothing more. But the reader rarely failed him. He’d paid good money for it.
He glanced at the pots of flowers on the front porch, thought Home sweet home, and wished he’d thought to bring a little weed killer or salt. Wouldn’t she wonder what the fuck when her posies croaked?
He heard the dog bark as he got out the picks, didn’t worry about it. He had a couple of dog biscuits in his pocket—and he’d seen the stupid dog playing around with the yard crew, the carpenters. He’d even seen Naomi walking around town with him, and how the dog let anybody who came along pet him.
But as he went to work on the locks the barks grew louder, sharper, and made way for throaty growls and wet snarls.
He had a knife—Don’t leave home without it—but if he had to kill the damn dog it would spoil the surprise. And he didn’t relish the idea of having the dog try to rip a chunk out of him.
He reconsidered.
He’d go around the back first, to the glass doors. Let the dog see him—and the dog biscuit. Make friends through the glass. She may have left them unlocked on top of it.
He circled around, making note of windows on this far side—ones he hadn’t been able to study up close before. And the trees, the potential cover.
He took the stairs to the deck. More pots of flowers. Yeah, he might just come back with weed killer, give her plants a good dose for the fun of it.
Then, slapping on a big, friendly smile, he pulled out a dog biscuit and walked to the big glass doors.
The dog wasn’t even there. Some guard dog, he thought with a snort, and pulled on thin latex gloves to check if the doors were locked.
The dog—bigger than he’d remembered—flew at the glass, barking, snarling, even snapping. Shocked panic had him stumbling back, throwing up his hands as if to protect his face. His heart banged in his throat, his mouth went dry. Infuriated him even as he trembled.
“Fucker. Fucker.” Breathless, he tried the big smile again, though his eyes transmitted pure hate even as he showed the dog the biscuit. “Yeah, asshole,” he said in a friendly singsong. “See what I got. Should’ve poisoned it, you ugly fuck.”
But no matter the tone, no matter the bribe, the dog’s relentless barking increased. When he made a testing move toward the door, the dog peeled back those canine lips and showed his fangs.
“Maybe I’ll stick this down your throat instead.” He pulled the knife, stabbed out with it.
Rather than cowering back, the dog leaped at the glass and stood on his hind legs, barking madly with eyes creepy blue and feral.
“Screw this.” His hand shook as he shoved the knife back in its sheath. “I’ll be back, you fuck, I’ll be back. I’ll gut you like a trout and make her watch.”
Furious, shaken, hot tears, hot rage burning behind his eyes, he stormed off the deck. Hands fisted, he hurried around the side of the house, stomped back to the drive and down.
He’d be back. And she and that fucking dog would pay for ruining his day.
—
In Xander’s opinion no one had ever wanted to get out of a suit as badly as he wanted out of his. And once he had, he decided, he intended to toss it into Naomi’s closet, leave it there, and forget it for as long as humanly possible.
“I appreciate your staying,” he told her as he turned up her drive. “I know it was long.”
“People really loved her. I think when you hear as much laughter as you see tears it’s a testament to that. People loved her, and won’t forget her. I wanted to stay, which isn’t something I say often about any sort of event that involves so many people, but I did want to stay. And I didn’t realize until I did that I’ve become part of the community. Or at least crossed that careful border into the edges of the community.”
He parked, then just sat a moment. “You bought this place, and nobody else was willing to put the time, money, and vision into it. You shop local, you hire local, and that counts a whole hell of a lot. You put your art at Krista’s, and it’s something people notice, take stock of. You’re hooked up with me, and people notice and take stock of that, too.”
“I bet they do. New York Naomi and Our Own Xander.” She smiled now. “I’ve heard myself referred to that way, which is why it surprised me to realize I’d crossed that border.”
“You might always be New York Naomi. It has a ring. God, I’ve got to get out of this suit.”
“And I’ve got to let that poor dog out. We were longer than I thought we’d be. Where’s Lelo?” she wondered.
Xander glanced over at his friend’s truck. “Around somewhere. The rest will be coming along, get a few hours in yet.”
He waited while she unlocked the door and deactivated the alarm—and the dog raced in from the back of the house to wiggle and wag and lick and lean.
“Okay, okay, I know we were forever.” But when she started to open the front door, Xander stopped her.
“He’ll be all over the dirt. He should go out the back.”
Though he intended to go straight up and ditch the suit, he went with instinct when Tag raced toward the back of the house, ran back a few feet, raced back again.
Something’s up.
“I’ll let him out,” Naomi began as Xander started back. “I know you want to change and get to work.”
“I’ll go up the back.”
He relaxed when he saw the reason for Tag’s actions. Lelo—already out of dress clothes and into work mode—stood on the other side of the glass doors, pouring potting soil into the first of two containers.
Grinning, Lelo shifted the bag, gave a thumbs-up.
“Hey,” he said when Xander opened the door. “You’re sprung!” He laughed, setting the bag down to rub the dog all over. “I’d’ve broken him out, but the door was locked. He was pretty upset at first. Weren’tcha, yeah. Shaky and whining, but he settled down pretty quick when he saw I was sticking around. Sorry about the nose prints on the glass.”
“Yours or his?” Xander asked.
“Har. I couldn’t stay anymore at the, you know, thing after the thing. The first time I’ve ever seen Loo cry, and that just . . . wow. The other guys’ll be along, I guess, since you are. I got a jump.”
“Yes, you did.” Naomi studied the planters. Lelo had been exactly right. They might have grown out of the house, and were the perfect size for her needs, just steps from the kitchen. “They’re perfect, Lelo. They’re wonderful. I love them.”
“Turned out pretty good. I’ve got some herbs and tomatoes, peppers, like that, out in the truck. I can plant them up for you.”
“You got all that?”
Shuffling, he adjusted his battered straw cowboy hat. “I was going right by the nursery anyway. Anything you don’t want, I’ll take home. My mom will plug it in somewhere.”
“Can I take a look? I’d like to change and plant them myself. It’d be nice to balance out the day making something grow.”
“I hear that. These’ll be ready for planting by the time you’re ready. Oh, and Xander? It’s been a while since you’ve put in time on my dad’s crew, but you oughta know not to go stomping around on dirt just seeded.”
“I didn’t.”
“Well, somebody did since we knocked off yesterday. No big. I’ll have it raked out.”
“Where?”
“Around the front side. No big, like I said. I was just ragging on you.”
“Let’s have a look. Naomi, keep the dog back.”
“We’re not going to put you—or whoever—in jail for tromping over the topsoil,” Lelo said, but led the way down. “I’ll get those plants while we’re out there. You can carry a flat unless you’re worried about getting dirt on your suit.”
“I may burn this suit.”
It took some doing, but Naomi managed to stop the dog from racing after them, pulled him inside long enough to clip on the leash.
By the time she came out the front door both Xander and Lelo had hunkered down to study the ground. And her nerves began to fray.
“Not only didn’t I walk across here, but my foot’s bigger than that, Lelo. Buy a clue.”
“Yeah, I guess I see that, but I just figured since it’s coming and going toward the back. I guess one of Kevin’s guys.”
“They knocked off before you did yesterday, haven’t been back today.” He looked up to where Naomi fought to keep the heroically straining dog from pulling her forward.
“Sit!” He snapped it out, and to Naomi’s—and probably to Tag’s—surprise, Tag sat.
“Your brother’s got about an inch on me,” Xander said. “I can’t say I noticed his feet, but I’m betting they’re close to my size. I take a thirteen.”
“Yes. I know his size because he hit it in high school. It’s not easy to find that size off the rack.”
“Tell me about it. Give him a call, Naomi. Somebody’s been out here, snooping around.”
“Well fuck, Xan.” Lelo pushed to his feet. “I never figured that. Maybe that’s why the big guy was so upset when I got here.”
Xander circled around, took the curving path of recently set pavers. “He’s on here, right?” Taking the phone out of her hand, Xander pulled up her speed dial list. “Go ahead and take the dog around the back, but don’t— Never mind. Lelo, take this dog around back and keep him away from that dirt.”
“Sure. The back door was locked,” he said as he took the same path as Xander. “Front, too, because I’m going to admit I tried it, thinking to let Tag out since he was so upset at first. The house was locked up, Naomi. I don’t think anybody got in. Probably somebody just wanted to look and see what you’re doing up here.”
“Maybe.” She surrendered the dog. “Thanks.”
When she turned to go in the house, Xander gripped her arm.
“I need to see if anything’s been taken or—”
He just shook his head, kept talking to Mason. “Yeah, they’re pretty clear. Enough to see size and tread. Yeah. Yeah, we’ll be here.”
He handed Naomi the phone. “Just wait here. I’m going to check inside.”
“It’s my house, Xander. My things. I’m not going to stand here wringing my hands while you go look under the damn bed for me.”
He’d have cursed if it wouldn’t have been a waste of breath. “Fine. We’ll go check inside.”
They went upstairs first, and she turned straight into her studio. Even the relief of seeing, at a glance, that nothing had been touched didn’t ease the anger.
Still, Xander checked the closet, the powder room, and began going systematically room to room.
“Nothing’s been taken or moved,” she told him. “I know where things are. When you’re in the middle of deciding what you want where, and where to keep it until, you know.”
“I’m going to check the basement.” When she gave him that look, he did curse. “I’m not riding the white horse, okay? Nobody got in here past the locks, alarm, the dog, but I need to check.”
He stripped off the suit coat, the tie. “Mason’s going to be here any minute. I just want to go down, take a quick look. You can change out of that dress or not, but if you want to walk around outside, see what the hell, you’re going to want to get out of those skyscrapers.”
She stepped out of the classic black pumps. “I’m out, but you’re right. No one got in here, and I appreciate your being thorough and checking the basement. I’ll change.”
“Good.” He hesitated. “You know, Lelo’s not as stupid as he looks.”
“He doesn’t look stupid—and yes, he’s going to start putting things together when the police and the FBI come out here because somebody walked across the fresh dirt that’s my lawn.” She drew a breath. “You can tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
“Whatever you think he should know. I’m going to tell Jenny and Kevin. I’m going to tell them all of it.”
“Good.” He took her face in a firm grip. “You crossed that border, Naomi, because you wanted to. This is part of being on the other side. I won’t be long.”
Alone, she changed into knee-length jeans, a T-shirt. She still intended to plant. Goddamn it, she’d plant her new containers. Maybe she was afraid—she wasn’t stupid either. But over that fear ran a strong, hard line of anger.
And that she’d hold on to.
She went out on the deck, saw Lelo and the dog playing throw it/fetch it, and stood, just for a moment, looking out at the blue and the green she’d made her own.
She didn’t have to tell herself she’d do whatever she had to do to keep it. She already knew.