A High Heels Haunting (10 page)

His eyebrows drew together in confusion.  “No.  Never.”

Liar.  Who never had a fight with their girlfriend?  After date number three, Ex-slimeball and I had fought like cats and dogs.  

But instead, I said, “Hmm.  That’s nice.” 

I took a small sip of wine.  This was going to be harder than I thought.  How did those guys on
Law & Order
do it? 

“So, working together and dating was never a strain?  I mean, that’s a lot of together time.”

He grinned.  “You and I work together, you know.”

I bit my lip.  Touche.

“Did she stay here a lot?  At your place?”

Blake cocked his head to the side.  “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.  Just, curious about her I guess.”

He paused, staring at me for a moment.  “Yeah, I guess she did.  Especially in the summer.  She…”  He trailed off, his eyes cutting to the swimming pool outside.  “She loved the water.”

“Odd that she couldn’t stay afloat that night then.”

Blake’s face froze.  Absolute granite.  His eyes went deadly flat, their dark chocolate depths turning black. 

Great, so much for my couth.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked, his voice low.

I’d pushed it too far.  I felt my heart racing, adrenalin pumping through my veins.  “Nothing,” I said, doing some serious backpedaling.  “Nothing.  Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring her up.”  I held up my glass.  “I get a little funny when I drink sometimes.”

He stared at me with unreadable black eyes for what seemed like an eternity.  Then his features slowly relaxed.  “No,” he said, “it’s all right.  I’m just… it’s been hard.  I’m not really ready to talk about her, you know?”

I nodded, relief flooding through me.  “Right.  No problem.”

“Listen, it’s been a long day.  I’m gonna get some sleep.”  Blake rose, setting his glass down on the coffee table.  Then he gestured toward mine.  “I think you better stay here tonight, huh?”

Only there was no hint of seductiveness in his voice.   

I nodded.  Grateful.  I didn’t want to leave until I got what I’d come here for, but the thought of sleeping with him again churned my stomach.  No way could I do it, not after knowing what he really was.

Instead, I borrowed an old T-shirt from his closet and slipped into the other side of his bed, trying to make myself as small as possible. 

No such luck.

Blake rolled over, laying an arm across my stomach.  Despite my disgust at what he’d done to Angel, my body instantly responded to his touch, going warm and soft beneath his hands.

I closed my eyes, telling myself my body was a traitor of the worst kind.

*   *   *

I waited until I heard the deep, even sounds of Blake’s breath before slipping out of the bed.  I tiptoed out of the room in the dark, afraid to turn on a light.  It wasn’t until I made it to the living room that I let the tension drain out of my muscles. 

I blinked, letting my eyes get used to the dark as I scanned the room.  Somewhere here there had to be evidence of why Blake had done it.  Some email, some note, something that told a different story than the one Blake had spun about their perfect relationship.    

I started with his laptop, holding my breath as the welcome screen lit up the room.  With one eye on the bedroom door, I quickly opened his email program.  Luckily, he didn’t take advantage of all his browser’s security features and his password was still in the system, showing up as a neat little row of asterisks.  I hit “log in” and quickly scanned the contents of his inbox.  The oldest message was dated three weeks ago.  Damn.  I tried to do a word search through his archived messages, but without knowing what I was searching for, came up with nothing.  If he’d had emails from Angel, they were long gone now. 

I moved on to his hard drive, checking for recently deleted files.  I came up with only a couple of old bank statements.  His personal files were just as mundane.  A few financial records, a note to his aunt thanking her for the sweater she’d knitted for his birthday, some photos of him and his buddies in Stanford T-shirts somewhere warm and tropical, a couple of letters to R.J.  Nothing that even hinted at Angel. 

I checked his browser cache to see what websites he’d been visiting recently.  Most related to modeling, though I was surprised to see World of WarCraft listed.  I couldn’t help it.  I clicked on the link and sure enough, his password was stored there as well.  I smirked as I saw his character.  He was a night elf hunter, just barely at rank seventy.  I could so kick his butt.               

Resisting the urge to mess with his character, I closed the site, instead scanning his hard drive again for anything that gave any indication that he and Angel might have been on the outs.  I came up with nada.  And I knew my way around a computer.  If it had been there, I would have found it.  Admitting defeat, I turned the laptop off, plunging the room into darkness again.

I waited a couple of beats for my eyes to readjust, then set to work on his desk. 

I pulled open the first two drawers, coming up with the usual fare – pens, rubber bands, loose change, stamps. 
I closed it, then tried the next drawer, finding files that might hold some
promise.  I flipped quickly through the tabs marked “Bank Accounts” and “Insurance” until I got to one marked “Contracts”.  Maybe it wasn’t a personal issue that had led Blake to kill.  What about professional jealousy?  I pulled out the folder, scanning the contents.  It held contracts from the previous year, all of them in the same legal mumbo jumbo mine had been.  All I could really tell from them was that Blake made way more than a beginner like myself.  Like a couple
of
zeros more.  No wonder he could afford vintage merlot. 

But nothing to suggest a grudge against Angel. 

I put the folder back, pausing to listen at the bedroom door.  No signs of movement, just the even sounds of his breathing. 

I tiptoed back to the living room, desperation starting to bubble up in my throat.  What if there really wasn’t any evidence?  What if the police were right
,
and Blake had truly committed the perfect crime?  It wasn’t fair.  Angel deserved better.

I slid open the glass doors and stepped out onto the patio.  The night was still, a rarity off the bay.  The air was cool, but without a breeze, it almost felt like summer again.  The valley twinkled below, lights winking back at me, reflecting off the calm, glassy surface of the swimming pool. 

I hugged my arms around myself.  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to the night.  “I tried.” 

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Angel.  To feel her.  Come on, girl, tell me where to look.  What to look for. 

I was concentrating so hard, I could swear I almost felt her as I stood there at the edge of the water.  A presence.  Someone else on the patio with me.

O
nly
, I didn’t realize it wasn’t Angel until I felt a pair of strong hands grab my shoulders and push me into the pool.

The cold water hit me like a punch in the gut, knocking the wind out of me as I went under.  Instinctively, I kicked upward, my body surging toward the glassy surface above me.  But I never got there.  Two strong hands clamped down on my shoulders, stopping my progress just below the surface. 

I panicked, felt my arms flailing, legs kicking, my body thrashing side to side using up precious oxygen.  None of which did any good.  He only tightened his grip on me, his long fingers digging into my shoulders, pinching as my lungs began to burn. 

I tried to twist around to face him, but he held fast.  I reached up, ineffectually pawing at his hands.  My throat stung, my head started to fill with a thick fog as my lungs begged for the air I could see right above me.  So close yet an eternity away.  I felt tears sting the back of my eyes even through the strong chlorine. 

Irrationally I wondered, was this it?  Was I going to die here?  God, I wished I’d never seen those shoes.  Angel’s life hadn’t been all that great.  And I could tell you first hand that her death had sucked big time.  What was so wrong with my life anyway?  I had a good job, good friends, a damn good cat. 

Poor Tabby!  How long would he be cooped up in my apartment alone before someone found him?  Then what?  The pound?  I’d be leaving him an orphan.

And that’s when I got mad.  No one did that to my cat.

With my lungs on fire, my limbs heavy and numb with cold, I summoned up what strength I had left, turned my head to the right and bit the hand on my right shoulder as hard as I could. 

I heard a muffled yell and his grip loosened.  I quickly wiggled free, kicking up toward the surface.  I almost cried out
,
the relief was so great when I felt the cool night air on my face.  I dragged in one deep breath after another. 

But it was short lived.  His hands were back, grabbing for my throat this time.  I thrashed to the left, feeling his fingers graze my neck, water splashing in front of my eyes, blurring my already clouded vision.  I tried to swim for the side, but I was disoriented
. 
I didn’t know where it was.  Where I was.  All I knew were those hands grasping for me again.  They seemed to be touching me everywhere, dozens of them.  Finally they caught hold, fisting in my hair, yanking me backward, under the water again.  I fought back a cry as pain erupted on my scalp.  Instead I reached up with both hands, grabbed hold of one of his wrists, and kicked forward as hard as I could.  I must have thrown him off balance because the next thing I heard was a loud splash as his grip loosened again. 

I pushed off from the bottom of the pool, hitting the surface once again.  I sucked in air as I swam forward, trying to put distance between us.  I got two good strokes in before I felt his hand wrap around my ankle, pulling me back under again.  I kicked hard with the other foot, colliding with something soft and heard an answering grunt.  But he didn’t let go.  Instead he grabbed me by the throat, pushing himself up to the surface as I watched it grow farther and farther away.

I clawed at his hands, feeling myself break the skin, but he didn’t budge.  I thrashed, kicked, squirmed, but it only made his fingers tighten.  Bubbles poured out of my nose and mouth as my last bit of air floated to the surface.  I watched them break the glassy calm through blurry eyes, feeling my arms and legs grow heavy, my eyelids start to close.  My entire body beg for sleep. 

Was this how Angel had felt?  So tired.  So heavy.  Had she fought?  Or had she been caught off guard, never had a chance?  Had she been grateful when her eyes had finally closed?  Not to feel the pain in her lungs, in her limbs, in her head? 

I wondered if she was with me now, watching as I slipped out of this world and into the next. 

And then it happened.  A loud boom, like a cannon going off, and the grip on my throat disappeared.  It took a second before my foggy brain registered my freedom, but as soon as it did I kicked toward the surface with an energy I didn’t know I still had, breaking it with a grateful gasp.  I took a second breath, then another, my lungs burning with each one, my throat on fire, as I kicked toward the side of the pool, twisting to see if Blake was following me. 

I t
urned
around. 

And let out a scream. 

Instead of Blake chasing after me, I saw a body laying face down in the center of the pool, a large red stain slowly spreading out from beneath it, coloring the water a murky pink.  I thrashed wildly, splashing, kicking, trying to get away from the macabre pink water.

A pair of strong hands reached down and lifted me from the water.  On instinct, I pulled away, twisting out of their grasp before focusing my eyes on the person they belonged to.

Blake.

I blinked.  He was standing at the edge of the pool, skin white as a ghost, eyes dilated to an unhealthy size.  A gun in one hand.

My eyes shot to the body.  If Blake was standing here, then who was…?

  I forced myself to look more closely, fighting off nausea as I took in the man floating in the pool.  Blonde hair, weathered skin, lean build.  I sucked in a breath. 

Alec. 

“Kya?” Blake asked, taking a tentative step toward me.  “Are you okay?”

I shook my head, my fuzzy brain trying to make sense of it all. 

“Y-y-y-you shot Alec,” I said.  My teeth were chattering, my words slurred.

Blake ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.  “Christ, Kya, he had you by the throat.  I thought… God, I thought he was going to kill you.  Tell me you’re okay?”

I licked my shivering lips.  Then finally nodded. 

Blake dropped the gun on the patio with a clatter, closing the gap between us and crushing me to him in a fierce hug.  Which was a good thing.  Because as the adrenalin wore off, I felt my legs give out completely, my body sagging into his embrace.

*   *   *

It was dawn before the police left.  As soon as he’d gotten me inside and out of my wet clothes, Blake had called 911.  I wasn’t totally sure what he’d told them made sense, both of us bordering on hysteria by that point, but a uniformed officer arrived ten minutes later, followed by a whole posse of others as soon as he called in the body.