Divine Evil (31 page)

She began rummaging through drawers for a loose cigarette. “I don't like getting swept off my feet. It makes me nervous.”

“How about that? And here I thought it was the other way around.”

She looked up then, and saw something in his eyes. Her hands froze as the bubble of panic worked its way toward her throat. “Don't say it,” she managed. “Don't. I'm not ready to hear it.”

He rocked back on his heels, struggling for patience. “If telling you how I feel about you is going to make you bolt for the door, I'll wait.”

She didn't move away when he walked toward her, when he took her hand and drew her close. With a sigh, she settled into his arms, her cheek against his, her eyes closed.

“That feels a lot better,” he murmured.

“Yes. Yes, it does.”

“Listen. Remember this one?”

From the radio outside she heard the slow, shuffling music. “‘Under the Boardwalk.’ The Drifters.”

“Summer's almost here.” He swayed her into a dance, and they were both reminded of the first time they had made love, there in that same room. “I've missed you, Slim.”

“I've missed you, too.” Content to let him lead, she twined her arms around his neck. He nipped lightly at her earlobe and made her shudder. Maybe it could be simple, she thought. If she would just let it. “I heard you were playing pool with Sarah Hewitt last night, and I imagined how it would feel to cut her eyes out with my metal snips.”

Brows lifted, he drew back to study her face. She wore a
very small, very smug smile. “You're a dangerous woman with a revolting imagination.”

“You bet. I'd imagined using my snips somewhere else too, on an entirely different part of your anatomy. You wouldn't have liked it.”

He pulled her back. “Do you know the penalty for threatening an officer?”

“Nope.”

“Come home with me, and I'll show you.”

T
HE STRONG MOONLIGHT
streamed over the bed. Cold and silver, it bathed their heated bodies. They hadn't tumbled right into sex but had shared another dance, gliding slowly, silently together in the moonglow. He'd liked the way she had stood on tiptoe so that their eyes and mouths lined up. The way she slid her body against his and smiled. Or laughed when he spun her out and pulled her back, in the teasingly sexual way dances were meant for.

Still linked, they had swayed from the deck to the bedroom, the music playing.

Undressing lazily, kissing long and deep, touching gently. Patient now, with the night around them and ahead of them. Sighs and whispers to add to the music.

Their loving had been a continuation of the dance.

Smooth, sinuous rhythms.

Step, counterstep.

A bold, sensuous beat.

Turns.

Bodies brushing, parting, teasing.

Break.

Hands clasping.

That final sighing note.

Now, though the dance was over, Clare listened to the music that vibrated through the air and through her blood. “I should have threatened you several days ago.”

“I wish you had.”

I was scared.

“I know. Me, too.”

The mattress gave, the sheets whispered as she shifted to look down at him. And smiled. “But I'm feeling much better now.”

“Yeah?” He tugged her hair to bring her mouth close enough to kiss. “Me, too.”

“I like your face.” Eyes narrowed, she traced a fingertip over his jawline, up to his cheekbones, along his nose and down to his mouth. “I'd really like to sculpt your face.”

He only laughed and bit down gently on her finger.

“I mean it. It's a good face. Very strong bones. How about it?”

Vaguely embarrassed, he shrugged. “I don't know.”

“And your hands,” she said, more to herself than him as she turned them over, examining the palms, the ridges of callus, the length of the fingers. “Nothing delicate here,” she mused. “They're all business.”

“You ought to know.”

She chuckled but shook her head. “From an artist's viewpoint, peasant! Then there's the rest of you. You've got a terrific body. Elegantly masculine. Lean through the hips, good shoulders, nicely defined pecs, tight abdominals, excellent thighs and calves.”

Embarrassment became acute. “Come on, Clare.”

“I was really considering asking you to pose nude, before we became so … intimately acquainted.”

“Nude?” With a half laugh, he put his hands on her shoulders and drew her back. The rest of the laugh didn't surface because he could see she was dead serious. “No way am I posing naked.”

“Nude,” she corrected. “Naked's for sex and showers, nude's for art.”

“I'm not posing naked or nude.”

“Why not?” Warming to the idea, she scooted up, straddling him. Ah, yes, she thought, truly excellent abs. “I've already seen you naked, from a variety of angles. Nude's entirely impersonal.”

“Nude's entirely undressed.”

“You'd look great in copper, Cam.”

“Not even for you.”

She only smiled. “Okay, I'll just do the sketches from memory. Maybe I should just measure …” She slid a hand down, between their bodies.

“Cut it out.”

She collapsed with laughter. “Who would have thought Cameron Rafferty, bad boy turned lawman, would be shy.”

“I'm not shy, I'm just—discreet.”

“My ass.”

“I thought we were talking about mine.”

Giving a snort, she shifted again, bundling pillows under her head. Where had all this energy come from? she wondered. Ten minutes ago she hadn't been certain she would ever move again. Now she felt like … well, dancing.

“I guess we could use a loincloth. You could pin your star to it if it made you feel better. I could title it
The Long Arm of the Law.”

“I'm going to slug you in a minute.”

After a long, contented sigh, she turned her head to look at him. “I might as well tell you, I'm really stubborn
when it comes to my work. I once hounded a bag lady for two weeks so I could sketch her hands. What are you smiling at?”

You're pretty.

“You're trying to change the subject.”

“Yeah. But you are pretty. You've got these freckles on your nose. They're just about the same color as your eyes.”

“Okay, you can sculpt me if you want, but I get to do you first.”

He pushed a pillow into her face.

“You know.” She slid it off and stuck it with the others under her head. “If we were in New York, I'd make you get dressed so we could go out. To a club.” Smiling, she closed her eyes. “Hot music, too many people, overpriced drinks served by rude waitresses.”

He picked up her hand to play with her fingers. “Do you miss it?”

“Hmmm?” She lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I haven't thought about it much. It's tough not having a bakery across the street, but the market has pretty good doughnuts.”

He was frowning now, studying her fingers instead of toying with them. They were long, slender and artistic, like her. “Where do you live up there?”

“I've got a loft in SoHo.”

A loft in SoHo. That, too, was like her. Exotic and funky.

“Have you ever been to New York?”

“Couple of times.” He looked from her hand to her face. She was utterly relaxed, eyes closed, lips just parted, skin faintly flushed in the afterglow of sex. She hadn't bothered to pull up the sheet as some women would have, but lay over it, comfortably naked. He slid a hand over her
breast, down her rib cage, more to reassure himself than to arouse.

“Did you like it?”

“Like what?”

She smiled again. “New York.”

“It was okay. Like a fast ride in a crowded and overpriced amusement park.”

His description made her smile widen. “A long way from the Emmitsboro annual carnival.”

“Yeah. A long way. It's funny the way things work out—that you and I would both come back here and end up together.” He reached over to stroke her cheek. “I don't want you to go back to New York, Clare.” She opened her eyes again, and they were wary. “Don't tell me I'm moving too fast, because I feel like my life's on the line here.”

“I wasn't going to say that. I don't know what to say.”

“I don't want to lose you, and if you went back to New York, I couldn't go with you. I can't go back on the force.”

“You're doing police work here.”

“Yeah.” He sat up, reached for a cigarette. She wouldn't settle for half-truths or ultimatums. Why should she? he thought. He was going to have to tell her everything. “Nice, quiet little town. Or at least it was, and that's what I wanted.” He struck a match. That, too, was quiet, even harmless, with just the right friction. He watched the flame flare before he shook it out. “What I had to have. I came back here because I couldn't function as a cop in the city. I couldn't trust myself to go through the door with anyone again.”

“Through the door?”

“With a partner,” he said. “I couldn't trust myself to back up a partner.”

She put a hand over his. “Why?”

“I had a partner. We worked together for over three years. He was a good cop. And a good friend.”

“Was?” she said and brought his hand to her lips. “I'm sorry. What happened?”

“I fucked up, and he died.”

“Nothing's that simple.” Suddenly cold, she picked up his shirt and pushed her arms through it. She knew what it was like to hold tight to hidden hurts, grow proprietary over them, nurse them inside like a miser with a dark, secret treasure. “Can you tell me?”

“It's more like I have to.” But he was silent for a moment while a whippoorwill joined its song to the music of Johnnie Ray. “We were out doing some legwork on a case, and a call came through for a unit to respond to a disturbance.” He could hear the squawk of the radio, Jake's good-natured oath.

Looks like you and me, Tonto.

“An armed man taking potshots at parked cars and apartment windows in South East. We were only a couple of blocks away, so we took it. When we got there, the guy had some woman around the neck with a forty-five to her head. She was screaming.”

He paused to take a pull on his cigarette. The moonlight flashed into high summer sun. Hazy heat. The stink of garbage.

He could see it clearly, much too clearly. The color of the woman's shirt, the wild look in the gunman's eyes, the glitter of glass on the sidewalk.

“He was on PCP, really raving. He dragged her into this building. It was abandoned, slated for demolition. We called for backup, and we went in. Jake didn't come out.”

“Oh, Cam.”

“The guy was pulling her up the steps. She'd lost a shoe,” he said softly. “Funny what you remember. She'd
lost a shoe, and her heels were thudding on the steps as he dragged her up. Her eyes …” She had looked right at him, dark, dark eyes filled with terror and hope and pleading. “She wasn't screaming anymore, just crying. Begging. But he was screaming.

I AM THE WAY, THE TRUTH AND THE LIGHT! I AM SALVATION! IF THINE EYE OFFENDS THEE, THEN PLUCK THE FUCKER O UT!

“We went up the first landing.” He could hear the screams and sobs echoing off the scarred and crumbling walls. The smell of dust, the fetid, sweaty stench of terror. “It was at the top of the second floor. A step broke. I went through it, up to my goddamn knee.” The unexpected give, the flash of pain and frustration. And fear. “Jake was three steps ahead of me. Three steps. I hauled myself out of the damn hole.

THE WHORE OF BABYLON! WHO'S GONNA CAST THE FIRST STONE? WHO'S GOT THE GUTS? WHO'S GOT THE GLORY?

“The crazy bastard shot the woman. I'm on my fucking hands and knees scrambling up, and he shot her. She bounced off the wall like a doll, and before she hit he'd already pumped three bullets into Jake. I killed him.”

The scream as the bullets slapped into flesh. Blood blossoming on a torn T-shirt.

“I killed him,” Cam repeated. “Just a couple of seconds too late. I was still on my knees, and Jake was tumbling down those steps when I did it. If I hadn't been three steps behind, he'd be alive.”

“You can't know that.”

“I can know that. He was my partner, and he died at the bottom of those steps because I wasn't there to back him up.”

“He died because a maniac killed him and an innocent
woman.” She put her arms around him, folding herself around his rigid body. “Maybe if the steps hadn't been rotted, maybe if your partner had fallen through them instead of you, maybe if that man had gone crazy in another part of town—maybe then, it wouldn't have happened. There was nothing you could have done to change it.”

“I've replayed it in my mind hundreds of times, thousands.” He pressed his lips against her neck, taking comfort in the taste and scent of her skin. “And I'm never in time. Afterwards, I got into the bottle.” He pulled away again because he wanted her to look at him. “Real deep into the bottle. I'd still be there if it had helped any. I turned in my shield and my gun, and I came back here because I figured I wouldn't have to do anything more than give out citations and break up a few bar fights.”

“You do a good job here.” She sat back to take his hands. “You belong here. Whatever happened to bring you back doesn't change the truth of that.” Grieving for him, she pressed his fingers to her lips. “I know what it's like to lose someone important to you, what it is to wonder if you could have done something, anything to stop it from happening. I wish I could tell you that it goes away, but I'm not sure it does. All I know is that you have to forgive yourself and go on.”

“Maybe I'd started to do that. Maybe. Then in the last few weeks, with everything that's been happening to this town, I've wondered if I'm the one who should be handling it. No. No, I guess I've wondered if I can handle it.”

She smiled a little, hoping it would help. “I can tell you that you sounded like a pretty tough cop when you interrogated me.”

“I didn't mean to be rough on you.”

“You weren't. I think the word is ‘thorough.’ ” She combed a hand through his hair. Yes, she liked his face, she
thought. All the more now that she could see the vulnerability. “I remember you, Rafferty, ten, twelve years ago, strutting through Emmitsboro with a chip on your shoulder the size of a redwood. Nobody messed with you. I also remember you giving Annie rides on your bike. Talking to her. Being kind to her. It was a hell of a combination then, and it still is. This town needs you, and whatever's wrong with it, there's nobody better suited to fixing it than you.”

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “You're good for me.”

“Yeah.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “I think I am.” She kissed him again. “I think I love you.”

“Hold it.” He gripped her arms tighter and pulled her back. “Run that by me again.”

“I think—”

“No, leave that part out.”

She looked at him, saw what he wanted, and let out a long breath. “Okay. I love you.”

“That's good.” His lips curved when they met hers. “That's real good, Slim. I love you, too.”

She framed his face, drawing away enough to see his eyes. “I know. I want to believe we've got a shot at this, Cam.”

“We've got more than a shot.” He settled her against his shoulder. She fit, just as the pieces of his life seemed to fit now that she had been added. “I've got to think that sometimes things happen because they just have to happen. After ten years we both end up back where we started. You came here because you needed to find some answers. And I was running away.”

Her eyes closed, and she smiled. “So the reasons why don't matter so much as the result.”

“That's the way I figure it.”

“I still think you've got one point wrong. You were running to, not away.” Her eyes shot open. “Oh, my God.”

“What is it?” he asked as she struggled out of his arms.

“Running away. The girl you were looking for when I first came to town. The runaway from—”

“Harrisburg?”

“Yes, from Harrisburg. What was her name?”

“Jamison,” he said. “Carly Jamison. Why?”

“Jesus.” She shut her eyes again. It couldn't be a coincidence. “Spelled how?”

“C-a-r-1-y. Clare, what is it?”