Crimson Footprints lll: The Finale (7 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Tyson Klein padded into the Aruban mansion on Malmok Beach, trailing pool water along as he went. Two tours of duty in the Middle East would never get him something half as gorgeous—two hundred tours would never do it. Still, he could hardly begrudge strangers who’d given him an all-inclusive Caribbean vacation.

He’d never seen a house so big and he loved beautiful things. Treasured them, as it turned out.

A piano played something forlorn, a complicated symphony that mocked his limited understanding of music. Tyson slipped into the entrance hall and watched, as long, slender fingers shared weighty emotion with every note.

“Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata,” Tak supplied.

Mournfulness whispered what words could not say; each meter weighing in a hopeless mankind couldn’t hope to articulate. “My version’s good,” Tak said. “But my son’s can make the walls weep.”

Tyson said nothing, content with the beautiful despair he drowned in. He closed his eyes and felt the span of his emptiness, the insurmountable weight of his own shortcomings. He could never create a sound, a look, any anything as heartfelt as this. Forever, it seemed, he stood shackled to the floor by Beethoven. When notes reverberated long after the last had been played, Tyson knew, he wanted to know Tak better.

“It’s not that I mind an audience,” Tak said. “But my wife would kill you for dripping chlorine everywhere.”

“Chlo—”

Tyson looked down at himself and cursed, before Tak came over and clapped him on the back.

“Tyson, right?”

A subtle smirk illuminated the other man’s smile. Tyson knew guys like him, had served with them. Easy joy, bottomless humor, charm that rained by the bucket. Lesser knowing people took it as a defense mechanism, a mask for fear made plain on the battlefield. But men like that stood loyal, fought fierce, and found a smile even as they died. He knew. He’d seen it.

“I was about to make a drink,” Tak said. “Clean up and join me.”

They met in the billiards room fifteen minutes later. Tak stood behind the bar, changed from a blue t-shirt to a white one. He ran a hand through damp ebony hair and shook off the moisture. When their eyes met, Tyson looked away.

“What are you having?” Tak asked.

“Whatever you’re having.”

Tak fiddled behind the bar before emerging with two glasses of amber liquid.

“Scotch,” he said and slid it over.

Good. No pretense behind it.

They went on to small talk the way men do, about alcohol, college days, and sports. Tyson had been awestruck to see Kenji among the guests, but he buried that in a shrug of indifference. He talked instead about a stint on the wrestling team at the University of Southern California.

“Oh hey,” Tak said. “You were down the street from me. I was at UCLA.”

Which plummeted them to mortal enemies, bickering about every meeting in every sport, right down to men’s water polo. Tak shouted about UCLA being the greatest sports juggernaut to ever grace the planet, while Tyson insisted that they hadn’t a chance in hell of beating anyone in football. They shouted themselves into laughter and then another round of drinks. When the mania died down, a smile still plastered Tyson’s lips.

“What?” Tak said and slid a scotch his way.

“I was thinking,” Tyson admitted. “About my time in Afghanistan.”

“And that made you smile?”

Tyson looked up at him.

“There was a guy I served with named Ash. Coolest person you’d ever meet. Only thing we ever disagreed on was sports.”

Tak smiled. But it was a knowing smile, one anticipating its fall.

“He died,” Tyson said. “The wrong way.”

The scotch sat staring at him. For awhile, there was only it and his hands around the glass.

“He did two tours, like me. Only to get mugged after returning.”

Tyson threw back his liquor and winced.

“It’s a shit world we live in,” he said, feeling the heat spread through his belly. “It’s a world where the people you care about—the ones you let get close…”

He shook his head. There was no point in saying more.

“You can’t think like that,” Tak said, cutting in as Ash Kobayashi would have. “You can’t…not let people in. It’s not living. It’s not life.”

Tyson snorted.

“That’s what Ash would have said.”

Tak studied him with wide brown eyes, indecision painted his face.

“I should go check on the family. But if you ever need to talk—about Ash or your trashy alma mater,” he rose and gave Tyson’s shoulder a squeeze. “Come find me. I’ll make sure I’m available.”

Tyson promised he would before watching him go. How long he sat there afterward, he couldn’t say.

Chapter Eighteen

Deena closed herself in the study the second she saw the incoming call screen on her cell. Briefly, she considered rejecting it as she had a few others, but she knew that eventually they’d have to talk.

She answered.

“Collect call from Homestead Correctional Institution. Do you accept the charges?”

Deena took a deep breath.

“Yes.”

The call chimed through.

“Deena? It’s Keisha.”

She found a chair and sat.

“What’s happened? Did something happen to my mom?”

A muffled shout distorted whatever her cousin meant to say. In it, Deena felt a stab of fear.

“No. Only, she needs you to get back with her. She says you told her never to call the house, but when she calls your cell, you never answer.”

“Keisha—”

Another shout was followed by a rumble of commotion. Deena’s cousin spat a rude retort.

“Listen. I’m only calling because your mother asked. She’s looked out for me since I’ve got here. Protected me. Helped me to adjust. I told her I’d get an answer from you.”

“Well you told her wrong, didn’t you?” Deena snapped. “Because I haven’t made up my mind yet. Now excuse me.”

She disconnected the call, stood, and faced her husband.

It was like the steep drop of a rollercoaster.

“Who was that?” he said.

“No one. Just business.”

“It sounded personal.”

“Fine. Then, it was personal.”

He watched her as she sauntered for the door.

“Tell me what’s going on, Dee.”

Going on, she thought. Her mother was going on. Wasn’t that always the case?

She opened her mouth.

“Don’t,” he said. “If it’s gonna be a lie.”

She hesitated and his eyes went black with anger.

“Fine,” he said. “Keep your goddamned secrets,” before turning and heading for the door.

“Tak!”

She grabbed his arm without knowing what she’d say. He pulled away just enough to give her a polluted once over.

“Going after someone only works when you mean it, Dee.”

“I do mean it!” She flung her hands in exasperation. Everything was always so clear to her husband, right and wrong, black and white, neat as the lines on paper. Hadn’t he ever felt conflicted before? Uncertain? Even his love for her, he swears, he’d known from the start. She’d never been instantly sure about anything, ever.

“Look at me,” Deena said. “Look at my face.” She felt the desperation creeping in, the nasty voice that said no good things, especially not this man, were truly meant for her. Funny, that the voice should sound like her grandfather.

“I love you. And I will talk to you. I’m just…sorting feelings out for myself.”

He stared at her, the hardness of his features seeping into softness.

“I could help you.”

She shook her head, then drew up to him, pressing her lips to his. But instead of the familiar warmth she craved, a cold voice crept in instead. Here is where he slips away. Here is where you lose him, because you can’t love without controlling.

He kissed her back.

A brush of butterfly wings was what it was. A whiff of fallen snowflakes just there. A whisper of a kiss, swept away by winds of a weak current.

She pressed closer and he swept her into his arms. Solid against her, steady, he was lips and touch and certainty all over.

She had words trapped in her head and oxygen didn’t matter. Her hands raked under his shirt, trailing the hardness of his back.

“Upstairs,” Tak groaned and snatched her by the hand.

They scurried up, shut the door and locked it behind them.

Tak pulled her in by the waist and kissed, open mouthed, fierce, devouring.

She knew his strength, felt it as he lifted her, and experienced crushing weight when they dropped to the bed . Chest to chest, heart beating against hers.

He dominated her with his kisses, each harder, deeper, and hungrier than the last. They could tangle no more, press one to the other no more, already they were all heat and roaming hands, a single knot of pulsing need.

Clothes came away in hurried snatches, both aiding the other in the need for skin against skin. When Tak pulled away to discard his jeans, it was her who pulled him back, body shaking.

He clamored on top, grabbed her hips and thrust, arching her back violently with the force of his entry. He’d pierced her to the core and kept going, going roughshod till she moaned pitifully.

Words won’t come, only air, air that her hands couldn’t clench. Deena groped at the bed, wild, bunching sheets in her fist and quivering as her husband rammed tidal waves of pleasure right through her.

Every thrust came with a grunt, every pound a measure of punishment, as he dug fingers into her hips and drilled wrath to her core.

She flooded in spastic pleasure, mouthing his name, hissing nonsense, far beyond the point of done. He lifted her legs and pinned each back, so that knee touched shoulder on each side.

Impaled, she gave up on not screaming.

He burrowed in punctuated fashion, strokes ragged and hammering to a finish.

She couldn’t hold on, couldn’t hope to hold on, not when he bucked like a bronco off a cliff. Harder and more emphatic he grew, as if to core her out, till he slammed with a groan of surrender. Liquid heat flooded her, earning a gasp of pleasure from Deena.

Her gaze drifted skyward, ever conscious of the strumming of Tak’s heart. In the rawest, most torturous moment of her life, that heart had stopped beating, ceasing hers right along with it. She knew but one thing at the time: that after finding his love, she couldn’t bare being without it.

He rolled away from her, sat up, and slipped into his clothes.

“Tak?” Deena said as alarm sliced through her. “Tak, don’t just—”

The door shut on her words. Of course, she thought. Of course sex hadn’t solved any of their problems.

Chapter Nineteen

Finally, the loons had calmed down. A full day of Hammonds and Tanakas meant the full range of manic depression insofar as Tony was concerned. From Aunt June, Mike, John, and Lauren’s mom, who squealed and clapped at the slightest joys—to Aunt Caroline, with scowls enough to curdle milk in its breakfast bowl. They had crazy on tap in that household and could conjure up every variety on demand.

Grandma Emma spent her time snoozing in her chair. Even then, she wore the painted smile of a woman with good dreams, or good jokes at the least. It made Tony think of the stories she’d told him, of chickens in the yard and dirt on the face, and soon he was strumming out chords reminiscent of a life he’d never had. Tony imagined that Grandma Emma’s heaven, when she reached it, would be something like Eufaula, Alabama, the place of childhood.

Heaven. Funny thing that heaven was. All different to every person and not there at all to some. As a Hammond, he knew that God demonstrated His awesomeness by smiting fornicators, burning down cities, and drowning every living creature when His temper flared. Tony sometimes wondered how many Hammonds He had a mind to smite at the moment.

On the other hand, the Tanakas were cleaved at the center, half Christian, half Buddhist and seemingly uncommitted to it all.

Interesting beliefs Buddhists had. They shied away from questions other religions proved desperate to answer, forgoing the temptation to explain the world’s creation or purpose, the afterlife, or whether God even existed. Four Noble Truths, they said, held the key to a life without suffering. They embraced wisdom, patience, love, and tolerance on a quest toward Enlightenment, instead of communion with an omnipotent God.

Both religions had their merits. With Christianity, he couldn’t deny the lure of forgiveness no matter how terrible the act. It meant a kid like him, who once rummaged through garbage for a meal, who stole what he couldn’t afford to buy, was still worthwhile, was still someone. It meant that Old Tony, sleeping on sidewalks with newspapers, was just as treasured as new Tony, convertible Porsche and all.

For New Tony, nothing had been denied. Not the Porsche, gifted to him for mastering three instruments to his father’s specifications, not the weekender yacht parked next to his father’s after finishing a series of sailing classes. There were credit cards in his name and a bank account for expenses, though the bulk of his money sat in a trust fund, contingent on his completion of college. When that day came, Tony cleared five million from his parents and another two from his grandparents. On completing an advanced degree, he could get another three, possibly more. These were the things promised and delivered to New Tony, a kid who had the leisure of seeking out wisdom and patience, now that hunger and fear had abated.

“You gonna keep up that racket?” Tony’s cousin, Lloyd, snapped from his bed on the other side of the room.

Before he could answer, Tony’s cell phone rang. He snatched it up, knowing it would be Wendy.

“You’re late,” he said.

Wendy snorted.

“I know and I love you, too.”

Lloyd’s long lean figure rolled over and batted lashes at the sight of his cousin.

“Ready to propose yet?” he said.

Tony gave him the finger.

“OK,” Wendy said. “Saints over Cowboys, 17 to 10. Jets over Browns, 3 to 0.”

“You sure? Cause—”

“Tony!”

“Alright, alright.”

She read off a few more scores for the NFL games he cared about before switching to college football. When done, he cursed.

“Lizard says you have to wash his car,” Wendy said. “Topless in the teacher’s parking lot.”

Tony groaned. Sometimes these games between him and the guys went too far.

“So, what’s the deal? You were supposed to call me hours ago. I call you a half dozen times and you don’t even answer.”

She hesitated.

“Gage came over for a little while. We watched M*A*S*H.”

Tony felt his jaw set. His lips thinned out in annoyance.

“That all you do?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t act like you can’t figure it out.” He got up, feet pacing without his approval. “Don’t act like you don’t know what a guy like Gage would want.”

“A guy like Gage or a guy like you?”

“Me! What have I got to do with this?”

“Why don’t you ask your Jezebel next time you fall into her?”

Tony measured out an exhale.

“You’re being silly. I’m just trying to protect you. Gage—”

“Isn’t half as bad as that girl you chase after.”

“Whatever. I know he doesn’t like M*A*S*H.”

“What do you care? Anyway, I thought you’d be glad I found someone else to watch it with. All these years, all you’ve done is complain about it.”

Tony dropped back on the bed, mouth thinned in irritation.

He didn’t even know why he boiled; it was as she said. He hated M*A*S*H.

“I should go,” Tony said. After all, he had to meet Lila.

He jumped in the shower, pulled on a tee and jeans, and slid down the banister. Out front, he handed a fifty to the driver and sat back for the ride.

Fifteen minutes to Oranjestad, to Lila Dahl and her perfect smile.

Except the smile wasn’t what he was there for, and he was reminded of that the second she put her arms around him. Oh yeah, he thought as he kissed her. This was what he liked about her.

“Alright,” Lila said. “Where to?”

Tony pulled away from her in breathlessness.

“My house,” he said and couldn’t believe himself, even if he was the one to have said it.

****

As far as bad ideas went, this was possibly the worst. Not only was there but one place to take Lila without fear of discovery, that one place happened to be the easiest to get caught. In a house stuffed with people, no place in the house was safe. So, he’d made up his mind on the ride that they’d never actually enter the house.

“Wow,” Lila said when the house came into view. She careened her neck for a glimpse through Tony’s window, pressing mounds of curls into his face.

He understood her awe and had known it for himself once. After hitchhiking from Bismarck to Miami to find family, he’d stumbled into a world of wealth. Lila wore the face he used to.

“We’re going to the gardens,” Tony said the second the car stopped.

“Good idea,” the driver commented.

Tony scowled. Apparently, on bribing him, a shut mouth hadn’t been part of his purchase.

They maneuvered around the side of the house, taking the long way, the safe way to the gardens. Once there, Tony pulled her into a thicket of Kibra Hacha trees, akin to the African acacias they saw on a safari tour a few months back. He pressed her back to the trunk and kissed her mouth hard, hands everywhere.

It wasn’t long before her shirt went up for him, baring full breasts without a bra. Tony pulled her tee away and dropped it. This was it. They would go all the way.

There’d been a close call at a party during the summer they’d met. They’d spent most of it making out, but when his moment came; scoring with a drunk girl who might not remember had felt predatory. So, he took her home in a cab instead.

But he wouldn’t be calling any cabs that night.