Let Me Go (28 page)

Jack shrugged, but Henry could tell the gesture was forced. “Leo? He's at the club,” Jack said.

“Well, you might want to get advice from counsel before you conspire to commit murder,” Henry said. “You know, for next time.”

Claire had almost reached them.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Jack said.

Claire angled the flashlight to Henry's right, and he stepped away from Jack and walked over so that they could speak privately.

“You make a new friend?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Henry said. “Terrific guy. I've asked him to be the godfather.”

Claire sniffed the air. “You smell like a cigar bar,” she said.

“It's all right,” Henry said. “It's Cuban. What's the story?”

“There's nothing,” Claire said. “Landscapers worked all day, cleaning up after the party. They used a leaf blower on the beach. If there was any evidence, it's gone now. And of course there's no sign of Gretchen.”

“What about in the house?”

The warrant specified that they were looking for Gretchen Lowell. That meant they could only look for Gretchen Lowell. Anything hinky in plain sight was fair game, but they couldn't open any drawers that Gretchen couldn't fit in.

“She's not hiding in the house,” Claire said. “And your friend didn't leave a pound of heroin and some cash sitting out.”

Henry looked back at Jack. Jack raised his glass in a toast. Behind him, another pair of cops exited the Tudor. No wonder Jack seemed so relaxed. There was nothing to incriminate him. Was the house always this tidy, or had Sanchez given Jack a heads-up while they were waiting for the warrant to go through?

Claire leaned forward and laid her head against Henry's shoulder. “I actually like the smell of cigars,” she said.

Jack turned and started walking back toward the house. Henry didn't know what Jack was up to. He didn't know what Gretchen was up to. The one person who might be able to help wasn't there. But if this involved Archie, Henry wasn't going to rest until he got some answers.

“Want to go to a strip club with me?” Henry asked Claire.

Claire lifted her face to look up at him. “I thought you'd never ask,” she said.

 

CHAPTER

35

 

It was almost
midnight and Archie had untucked his shirt and was sitting on the couch with Ginger, his shoes off and his socked feet on the coffee table. The remnants of his own peanut butter sandwich were on a paper towel in front of him, along with an empty beer bottle, his service revolver, and the bloodstained Band-Aid he'd recently peeled off the crook of his elbow. He was considering having another beer when he heard someone knock.

Archie reached for his gun and followed Ginger to the door.

He expected it to be a cop—maybe someone from the unit Sanchez had stationed out front, or some other member of Sanchez's team sent to grill Archie again. He just hoped it wasn't Gary coming back for more pubic hair.

“Who is it?” Archie called through the door.

“It's me,” Rachel answered.

Archie looked for a place to put his gun down, settled on the mail table, and opened the door.

A smile spread across his face. Rachel stood in the hallway with a hand on her hip. Her poppy-red coat was tied tight at the waist and showed a lot of cleavage and leg. It was short enough that he could see that the black stockings she was wearing came only to her upper thighs. The black pumps she wore had four-inch heels, raising her to his height and lengthening her legs. Her long blond hair was loose and tousled. Her eyelashes looked thicker than usual. She smiled back at him and batted her eyes. She clearly hadn't seen the news. Archie thought about telling her; she'd find out sooner or later and wonder why he hadn't. But the prospect of having one last ordinary night without the albatross of Gretchen Lowell around his neck was too attractive for Archie to resist. Once Rachel knew that Gretchen was back, she would look at him the way the others did.

“Is that your costume?” Archie asked.

She stepped forward and touched one of his shirt buttons. “Part of it,” she said. “You know, it will be Halloween in a few minutes.”

Archie moved his hand to her thigh, feeling the smooth stockings give way to warm bare flesh. His detective skills were leading him to believe that whatever she was wearing under that coat, it wasn't much. He had a feeling he was going to find out for sure. “Well, you better come in, then,” he said.

She swept past him, her hips swinging, and the red coat lifted to expose the backs of her thighs above the stockings.

Archie glanced down the hall as he closed the door, wondering if the unit Sanchez had charged with protecting Archie from a beautiful blonde had noticed this particular beautiful blonde. But if Rachel had been in all evening, and just come upstairs, there'd be no way for his protection detail to spot her. They were monitoring traffic into his building, not people already here.

When Archie turned back to the room, Rachel was standing in front of his laptop, typing something on the keyboard. Archie felt a flash of panic, before he remembered that Ngyun had taken the flash drive with the boathouse footage. Rachel's eyes were on the screen. She typed something into an open field.

“What are you doing?” Archie asked Rachel.

Rachel looked at him and winked. “Putting some music on,” she said. She hit another button and music started playing through his laptop speakers. It was some sort of seventies-era funk, which only served to remind Archie that the song had been recorded before Rachel was born.

Ginger threw an annoyed glance at the laptop and then put her ears back and trotted over to the couch.

Rachel walked to Archie's desk and wheeled his desk chair to the middle of the room.

Archie stood with his hands in his pockets, watching as she adjusted the position of the chair slightly and then twirled to face him. He could feel the beat of the funk through the floor.

Rachel unbuttoned the top button of her coat and pulled at the collar, exposing more of her breasts, and then she started to parade toward him, hips swaying in time to the music. She glowed. She was Technicolor.

Archie felt a pressure in his groin.

The high heels enhanced the sway of her hips. She led with her pelvis as she walked to him, as if it were pulling her to him. The bottom of the coat flapped open, exposing a garter over bare thigh. He could physically feel her getting closer, the pressure building with each step. He imagined her arms around his neck, her fingers unbuttoning his shirt, her mouth on his.

But when she was just an arm's length away, she stopped. Archie's body clenched with thwarted desire. He wanted to touch her. He needed to touch her. His skin felt prickly with heat. He took his hands out of his pockets and stepped toward her.

A coy smile played across Rachel's lips. She reached for his wrist and led him to the chair she had positioned in the center of the room.

God, she was beautiful. But it wasn't just her features and curves. She was lit up from within; she glowed with youth and health. It was still unbelievable to Archie that she wanted him.

Rachel sat Archie down and then opened his legs and stepped between his knees. “Don't move,” she said. And she leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. Her hands traveled through his hair as her tongue moved around his mouth. Her fingers traced his earlobes, his jaw, the back of his neck, then she curled her fingers and drew her fingernails over his scalp. It felt good. She increased the pressure, digging her nails into his skin, and it felt even better, waves of pain heightening the pleasure. Archie's head swam. He was trembling. He lifted his hands to her hips.

She withdrew as soon as he'd touched her. She pulled away and stepped back, leaving him helpless with longing, his mouth open dumbly.

Rachel laughed. Her cheeks were rosy, a sheen of sweat sparkled on her collarbone. Archie wondered when she was going to take off that coat. Rachel wagged a finger at him and then reached into one of her pockets. Her grin widened as she pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Don't worry,” she said, dangling the cuffs in front of him. “I brought backup in case you couldn't control yourself.”

The cuffs were police-issue nickel handcuffs with a double lock. Smith & Wesson. Archie recognized them right away. “Those are my handcuffs,” he said.

She pressed her knee against the inside of his thigh and gave him another wink. “I found them in your bedside table,” she said.

She said it like it was something naughty, but that's just where he kept them. He'd never given it a second thought. It was a drawer. He also kept his gun in there sometimes.

Archie was trying not to ruin the mood, but it was tough. “Did you happen to find the key that was with them?” he asked.

Rachel reached back into the coat pocket and came up with a small silver key. “I'll put it somewhere safe,” she said. She unbuttoned her coat and slipped the key into what Archie could only presume was the cup of her bra. “There,” she said. Her eyes were bright. She opened her mouth slightly and knelt between his legs.

Archie wanted more than anything to unzip his pants. He looked at the ceiling. He didn't know what to do. What was he supposed to do?

Rachel put her hand on his wrist and started to guide it behind his back.

Archie was trying to be a good sport about this. But as the cold metal brushed against his skin, he twisted his hand and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Hold on,” he said.

She looked up at him, her face inches below his. He could see the tops of her breasts, the black lace of a bra strap. “It's a lap dance, Archie,” she said. “Hands-free. This keeps you honest. It will be worth it. I promise.”

Archie didn't let go of her wrist. This was a line he didn't want to cross. He knew where it headed. But his body ached for her and he didn't feel strong.

“Trust me,” Rachel said.

Trust her? He barely knew her. But he felt his grip loosen and then Rachel took his hand again and pulled it behind the chair.

“Wait…,” Archie said. She looked up. The tip of her pink tongue pushed against the inside of her lower lip. It was a birthday present. It would be rude to refuse it. Besides, Archie really wanted to see what was under that coat. “Close the blinds first,” Archie said.

Rachel's smile widened and she stood up and walked quickly to the window. Archie exhaled slowly. He heard the sound of the blinds closing, but he didn't turn his head. He stared straight ahead, trying to gather his wits. He heard another blind close. The music was loud, but there was no one to complain—Rachel was his only neighbor. He glanced around for Ginger, and saw only her nose poking out from under the coffee table. The third blind closed. Then the fourth. Rachel's stilettos clicked against the wood floor as she came up behind him. Archie took a long, slow breath and tried to relax. He caught a whiff of vanilla again as she leaned over his shoulder, her cheek against his, and reached down his chest with her hands. Her touch was full of promise and the pleasure it brought dissolved the last willpower he had. He let her take each of his hands and pull them around behind the chair.

Her head slid away from his, and she sank onto her knees behind him. Archie flinched as the metal handcuffs snapped around one wrist, and then the other.

When Rachel appeared in front of him again, she'd dropped the coat. Archie's breathing was audible now and he could feel sweat forming on his upper lip. The black bra and thong were lace; the corset she wore over them was black satin with a row of tiny metal hooks and eyes up the front. The corset nipped her waist and accentuated her hips, exaggerating her hourglass shape. The shoulder straps of the corset pushed her breasts together and forward. Her pink nipples, visible under the black lace, hardened under Archie's gaze.

Archie had always thought women looked best naturally, in the comfort of their own skin and nothing else. All the extraneous bedroom garments seemed too constrictive, too contrived. Now he realized that he'd been completely wrong.

Rachel pivoted one of her knees to the side. Her black thigh-high stockings were attached with garters to the corset, leaving the tan flesh of her upper thigh bare. Archie's scalp itched with sweat. The inside of Rachel's thigh hollowed slightly where it met her pelvis. Without thinking, Archie moved to touch her there, his hands straining uselessly against the cuffs.

“There's more,” Rachel said. “Don't look.” She picked up her purse from the floor behind him. He could hear her digging around for something, and then pulling something out of her purse, and he caught a whiff of latex. He heard the sound of rubber against skin.

Then Rachel walked back around and stood in front of him.

Archie was so startled by what he saw that it took him a moment to process it.

Rachel was wearing a latex Halloween mask. It was the kind of mask you pull over your entire head, with eyes cut out and a slit at the mouth and two holes at the nostrils. The hair was molded onto the rubber and painted yellow. The skin of the rubber face was painted light peach, and the thing had a smirking red mouth and painted-on movie star eyebrows and eyelashes.

But Archie knew who it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be Gretchen Lowell.

The arousal Archie had felt a moment before evaporated, replaced by revulsion.

“Take it off,” Archie spat.

Rachel just stood there, head cocked, the horrible Halloween mask obscuring her features. Archie could hear her breathing under the rubber. “Why?” she asked, sounding hurt. Her stance shifted. She dropped her hands from her hips.

She'd done this for him, Archie realized. It hadn't been some bad joke. She'd thought he'd
like
it. “It's not funny,” Archie said. The mask was grotesque. His eyes went to the floor, his knees, anywhere else. “It doesn't even look like her,” Archie said. “You look more like her without it.”