The Farther I Fall (8 page)

“No, in my shoulder.” Something soft and square hit her in the face. “Thank you,” she said with a grin, and propped the newly acquired pillow behind her head. Some of the tension between them dissolved. “I was a disaster after that. What about you? What were you doing a few months ago? I spent September in hospital.”

Lucas laughed, a low, unhappy sound. “So did I. Only I didn't get a morphine pump.”

“Right. Are you—how are you coping?”

The silence went on long enough she didn't think he'd answer. Finally he said, “Some days, the only thing that keeps me from going back is the thought of going through withdrawal again.”

“Bad?”

“Not like the poor bastards coming off heroin. Bad enough, though.”

Gwen didn't know what to say. Finally, she formed the question she really wanted to ask. “You'd done rehab before, yeah?” She'd watched Sam try to quit drinking so many times, but something in that last time clicked. “What made this time different?”

“I don't think I really
did
rehab those other times.” She stole a glance at him and found him still focusing on the ceiling. “I think I sat through it because it was the thing to do, or because someone told me to. This time felt different.”

“How so?”

He heaved a sigh. “It just—it was. I met this guy, older. His name was Tom. Must've been pushing seventy. He said he'd been in rehab eight or nine times before, but he kept winding up back there. I don't want to be him.”

“You won't be,” she said, softly.

“No, I won't, because at the rate I was going, I would have died first.” His voice was full of broken edges, and it was as if she could hear something seeping in through the cracks. “He used to be a musician too, turns out. He knew—well, it doesn't matter who he knew, but she didn't get a second chance. Said I reminded him of her.”

“I'm glad you decided to change.”

“I had to change or die.”

She didn't know what to say to that.

After a moment, Lucas said, “I need to know something.”

“Okay,” Gwen said cautiously.

“Is that why you keep pushing me away?”

“The drugs?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, I'm not exactly proposing here. I've never been boyfriend material,” he said, then grinned at her, vulnerability hidden once again, “but I'm excellent one-night-stand material. Or, you know, a couple of weeks.”

“What about Maggie?”

“Maggie? And
me
?” Lucas chuckled. “God, not in years.”

“But I thought—the other night—”

“You were
jealous
,” Lucas said.

“No, I wasn't.”

“Yes, you were. You thought I spent the night with her—”

“—you did spend the night with her—”

“—and that's why you haven't talked to me for three days.” Lucas snorted breath out. “Gwen, nothing happened. We were both tired and I fell asleep while we were talking.”

“What about that guy?”

“She ditched him before I got to her room. If you want to know what happened before that, you'll have to ask her. Yeah, definitely no jealousy happening,” he added with a smirk.

“I'm not jealous. Besides, you're one to talk.”

“Liar.” His voice, softer than she'd ever heard it, sounded much too close. Gwen rolled her head to the right against the pillow, and there he was, crouched next to the sofa, eye to eye with her. “Come on. What are you afraid of?”

Shit shit shit.
She swallowed and rolled over onto her side, propped up on one elbow. “Not you,” she finally said. “You're a wreck.” The words were harsh, but the tone of her voice wasn't. “We'd be a nightmare together.”

“We'd be
amazing
together, and you know it,” he said. With a flex of his knees, he closed the gap between them and covered her mouth with his own.

She pulled away at first, then parted her lips and slid her hand around the back of his head to pull him closer. His mouth opened against hers, his tongue teasing its way between her lips, tasting faintly of toothpaste. He nudged her onto her back and crawled up next to her, giving her a moment to war with her better judgment. This was a terrible idea, but God, his mouth was positively criminal.

She broke the kiss, heat rising in her cheeks. His hands to either side of her head, he crouched over her and lowered his mouth to one of her cheekbones, tickling his hair across her face. She reached up to brush it away, and instead tangled her fingers in the long strands, pulling his mouth back to hers, arching up off the sofa to get closer. The skin of her belly tingled as his hands trailed under her T-shirt. She collapsed back and he followed her, licking and biting up the side of her neck while he pushed the thin cotton of her shirt upward.

“We shouldn't,” she said, the last word cut off as he bit at her collarbone through her shirt.

“Stop thinking.”

She laughed, breath catching. Hand trapped beneath her T-shirt, his long fingers dragged over her skin under the band of her bra. Their mouths met again in a slow, easy slide. She pushed her hands into his hair and tugged. With each tug she felt a corresponding twitch in his cock where it pressed against her thigh.

“And here I thought you were angry with me all this time,” he murmured against her mouth.

“I was.” It was hard to talk and kiss at the same time. “You've been a brat for a week now. Tempted to find a way to punish you—”

His sharp intake of breath told her everything she needed to know. “Please?”

A rattling pounding on the door made them both jump. “Gwen! Are you in there?” Craig sounded strange. “Answer your goddamn cell phone!”

“Shit.” She rolled out from under Lucas, pulling her shirt down as she went. She had a second to hope he hadn't left a bite mark on her neck before she opened the door. “What's going on?”

Craig's hand combed through his hair—not for the first time, to judge by the way it was standing up. “What the hell, Gwen. I've been calling you for ten minutes.”

“Yeah, sorry, it's in my jacket . . .” She didn't turn, but she knew Lucas was standing over her shoulder, close enough for her to feel his body heat.

“We need you. Someone broke into Maggie's hotel room.”

“Shit,” she said again, swinging back into the room to grab her phone and keys. “What did they take? Did you notify the hotel yet? The police?”

“Gwen.” Something in Craig's voice made her stop. “Whoever did this . . . It's completely trashed. You—you need to come see.”

Gwen wanted to tell Lucas to stay in the room and lock the door. The prickle at the base of her skull—something she hadn't felt since combat—said something horrible had happened. Her fingers itched for the heavy comfort of steel and ammunition, her shoulders for the weight of body armor. She turned back to Lucas, who was already pulling on shoes. “Lucas, you should stay here.”

“And miss this? Not a chance.”

Gwen sighed. “Fine. Just . . . stick close.”

Maggie's room was on the other side of the hotel on the same floor. Before they got there, the smell of perfume, chokingly thick, assaulted their noses, getting stronger as they got closer. Through the open room door, Gwen heard Cathy murmuring comfortingly.

Clothing lay everywhere in the room, most of it torn to rags. Broken glass on the dresser proved to be the source of the smell. Written on the mirror in Maggie's distinctive blood-red lipstick:
TOUCH HIM AGAIN AND YOU'RE DEAD.

The words on the mirror reflected the mess in Maggie's room. Lucas stood in the doorway at a loss, covering his face against the overpowering perfume. Cathy stood with her arm around Maggie, who stood with her hands clasped in front of her, eyes darting from one ruined pile of belongings to another. Gwen knocked the bathroom door open wide—had it been closed, no doubt she would have kicked it open—then checked the small closet by the bathroom. She even crouched to check under the bed. The way she carried herself and the crispness in her movements meant—he got it then—she'd cleared the room. If he squinted, he could half-see a rifle in her hands. Medic or no, she'd been through the same training as the rest of her unit. There was no logical reason for the sudden beat of his pulse in his throat.

She didn't have a rifle though; only her cell phone. Before dialing, she said to Craig, “You left them alone to come and find me? What were you thinking? Did you even check to see if whoever did this was gone?” She didn't give him a chance to answer; instead she dialed and left out of the room. As she passed Maggie and Cathy, she laid a hand on Maggie's shoulder briefly before her call connected. “Sam. Listen. We have a problem.” She stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her.

Lucas tried to piece together what had happened. At first glance, the room appeared to have been vandalized, but aside from the writing on the mirror, no actual hotel property had been damaged. The destruction was limited to Maggie's belongings: clothing, shoes, toiletries, nothing left untouched. How long would it take to be so targeted and thorough? He studied the words on the mirror, trying to determine if the writing looked familiar. Mirror writing wasn't the same as on paper, but . . . he'd need to compare with the originals to be certain. He headed for the door.

“Right,” Gwen was saying, out in the hall, “I should have guessed you'd have a plan for everything. Hang on.” She reached out and snagged Lucas by the sleeve. “Where are you going?”

“To my room. I need to get something.”

“Not by yourself, you're not. Take Craig.”

Lucas rolled his eyes, but ducked back into the room. “I'm not to go anywhere without an escort, according to the sergeant,” he said.

“Right,” said Craig. “I'll come.”

***

The two of them returned to find Cathy and Sally in the hallway outside of the hotel room, standing to either side of Maggie. Gwen spoke to someone from inside the room. “The police are on their way then?”

“Yes, ma'am.” The voice was respectful, but not subservient. Lucas leaned through the doorway to find Gwen facing a man perhaps ten years her senior. Despite her torn jeans with a T-shirt and his decently tailored suit, there was enough similarity in their mannerisms that Lucas suspected the man was ex-military too—probably hotel security.

“When can we move Ms. Creighton to her new room?” Gwen asked.

“Right away, Ms. Tennison.” The man looked around the room. “The evidence will have to stay here for the police, but we can make Ms. Creighton comfortable. Contact the concierge for anything she might need help replacing.”

Craig elbowed Lucas in the ribs. “Stop staring.”

“She's pretty good at this though, isn't she?” Lucas felt an odd rush of possessiveness, as if Gwen's easy manner in the wake of the unexpected and the frightening were something that belonged to him.

“She is,” Craig conceded. He pulled Lucas away from the room door. “Jesus. What's gotten into you?”

“I'm keeping an eye on a potentially difficult situation.”

Craig smirked. “Yeah, there's a situation, all right.”

“What situation?” Cathy asked, stepping over with Maggie in tow.

“Lucas's situation,” said Craig, “with our tour manager.”

“Oh, for God's sake,” Lucas said.

“Lucas, if you drive this one off too, I swear I will erase every goddamn sample loop you brought with you. I'd rather tour with her than with you at this point,” Cathy said.

“Now what has he done?” Maggie asked.

“I don't know,” Cathy said, “but apparently there's a situation.”

Lucas scowled at Craig, who was on the verge of laughter. “God, you're a bunch of gossipy old women.” He turned to Maggie. “How are you doing?”

“Honestly, I'm more mad than afraid right now.” Maggie shrugged. “What do you think? Are you the one I'm not supposed to be touching?”

“I think so,” he said.

Before he could say anything more, Gwen called his name. “Did you get what you needed?” she asked, coming out of the destroyed room.

Lucas paused. “Yeah. You should probably see something before the police get here.”

“Oh Christ,” said Gwen. “We're not going to be flushing anything illegal down the toilets, are we? I mean, you're not—”

“No, nothing like that.” He lay his hand on her elbow and guided her away from the others. “There was a second note in D.C. After we went to the club.” He handed her the piece of paper, which read,
You made quite a spectacle of yourself tonight. Don't let it become a habit.

Her expression darkened. “And you didn't think I might need to know about this?”

“No.” That earned him a grim look. “We already knew someone was out there. It didn't seem important.”
And you weren't talking to me,
he didn't say.

“Right. I'll be sure to let Maggie know that.” A muscle in her jaw twitched; the pulse spoke volumes louder than her actual speech.

“I thought—” Lucas lowered his voice. “I thought they might be harmless. A crank.”

“Harmless. Right, I've been sleeping in your suite because we thought these might be harmless.”

“You're angry with me.”

“Clever boy.” She studied the notes again.

“Gwen, I—” She turned away before he could finish his sentence. Damn it, he was just trying to—what? He seemed destined to do the wrong thing where she was concerned.

Two uniformed police officers strode down the hallway toward them, trailing the security head.

“Were you able to check the security cameras?” Gwen asked.

Mr. Security actually looked sheepish. “The one in this hallway seems to be broken.”

“Great. That's fantastic.” Her voice had a harsh bite to it. Lucas felt sorry for the man facing her. Gwen nodded at the uniformed pair. “Evening, officers.”

“Ms. Tennison, we'd like to ask a few questions of each of you.”

***

The police interviewed each of the crew individually, and Gwen fought the urge to pace, hands jammed into her pockets. She'd brought the notes to the officers' attention first thing—unlike someone she might mention, she understood their importance. They'd all been moved to Maggie's new room so the crime scene techs could examine the old one. Lot of good it'd likely do, given how many people had wandered through. Cathy was the last to be interviewed. She came back with red eyes and the officer's hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “Ms. Martinez needs to come down to the station with us.”

Gwen couldn't have been more shocked if the officer had declared herself a stripper and pulled off the uniform hat. “Cathy?”

“I might know who it was, Gwen.” Cathy's voice quavered. “The guy from the club in D.C. Said he was going to be in Detroit and asked where we were staying. I thought—well, he was f-flirting with me, maybe to get to see Maggie again.” She gave Maggie a helpless look. “I'm sorry, I thought you guys had—”

“It's okay,” Maggie said.

Gwen stepped in and hugged Cathy, giving the officer a questioning look.

“We'd like her to talk to our sketch artist,” Officer Fawaz—according to her name badge—said. “Nothing more than that.” She gave a reassuring smile. Gwen didn't feel reassured.

“Can someone go with her?”

“Of course.”

“I'm going,” a voice said from behind her. Craig.

“Thanks.” Gwen checked with Cathy. “All right?” She nodded and leaned into Craig when he put an arm around her.

“We'll make it as quick as we can,” Officer Fawaz said. “We're almost done here.”

“What do you recommend we do for now?” Gwen asked.

“Well, it seems Ms. Creighton is the current focus for . . . whoever this is. I'd recommend she not go anywhere alone for the time being. None of you should, but especially not her.”

“Right,” Gwen said. “Craig, when you get back, you're rooming with Lucas. I'll stay with Maggie. Until then, we all stick with someone, yeah?” She spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. There was general assent, except from Lucas.

“I'd like to go along to the station,” he said, drawing Gwen's eyes to him in surprise. “If that's all right.” He glanced at her with a hint of challenge and a sardonic smile.

“Fine,” said Fawaz. “Yes. Maybe you know this guy too.”

“Oh, I think you could say I got a good look at him,” Lucas said.

***

“Well, I suppose I have an excuse to go shopping for a new wardrobe now.” Maggie looked at what little remained of her belongings. Sally had loaned her a few things, and the hotel had provided missing toiletries. “My manager said she'd have some of my clothes delivered tomorrow. This is just—” she laughed, a bit shakily. “I never expected anything like this on tour.”

Gwen had grabbed only what she needed from the suite: some clothes, her shower bag, the terrible spy novel she'd bought at the last airport. She was settling them into the corner when Maggie had started speaking. “You're sure you're okay?” Gwen asked. When Maggie didn't answer right away, Gwen gently took her by the arm. “Sit down.” Maggie let her guide her to the edge of the bed and sit her down. Gwen grabbed a glass from the desk and filled it with water from the tap. “Drink.”

She did. “No, I'm okay. I just—I had an ex once. Who used similar tactics.” Gwen sat down next to her and made a sympathetic noise. “It was . . . unsettling, is all.”

“Of course,” Gwen said.

“Lucas said he thought the message on the mirror was about him.”

Gwen huffed a short laugh. “Everything's about him, isn't it?”

Maggie's lips twitched at the corners into what might be the start of a smile. “Usually.”

“In this case though, I think he's right. With the notes he's been getting.”

“It could just as easily have been your room,” Maggie said.

“What?” Gwen raised her eyebrows.

“When I got back to my room tonight, do you know what my first thought was? I thought they'd gotten the wrong room, or they didn't know about you.”

Gwen shook her head. “He spent the night with you—what else did you want?” She did her best to keep her tone even and level.

Maggie laughed. “He came by right about the time I was kicking that kid out. Who was a little more interested in Lucas than me, I think.” She stopped and frowned. “Maybe too interested, if he came looking for us like Cathy said.”

Gwen felt queasy. The guy had walked right up to Lucas. Had kissed him. Some job she was doing keeping an eye on him.

“Lucas fell asleep talking about you. After he spent the evening staring daggers at his brother,” Maggie said. “He's never been good at sharing his toys.”

Something went dark in Gwen's mind, a tingle of pleasure down her spine at war with a rush of anger. “Oh no. I am not anyone's ‘toy.'”

“I know you're not.” Maggie leveled her eyes on Gwen's. “That's why I'm telling you all this. So you can decide for yourself.”

“Decide what?”

“If you want to keep making him jealous or not.”

Gwen snorted. “I don't do that sort of thing.”

“Oh? Is that why you made sure he saw you kissing his brother?” She leaned back on her hands and watched Gwen expectantly.

“I didn't plan that,” Gwen said. “It just sort of . . . happened. Besides, he kissed that guy too.”

Maggie rolled her eyes but grinned. “Who wouldn't have? Did you see him? Crazy bastard or no, he was hot. Are you saying you're more interested in Lee?”

She couldn't tell if Maggie wanted to be a confidante or just wanted the latest dirt. “That's a little personal, don't you think?”

“Lucas is my best friend. I don't want him to get hurt.”

“That's premature.” Gwen tried not to blush, tried not to think about the interrupted kiss in her room and where that might have led.

Maggie laughed, kicking herself backward until she was resting against the headboard. “I've known Lucas since he was fourteen, and I've never seen him act this way over anybody.”

Needing to move, Gwen stood and went to poke around in her bag before throwing herself into the room's armchair. “I just . . . can't see this as anything other than a very bad idea,” she finally said.

“How come?”

“Oh come on. Surely you of all people can figure that out,” Gwen said. “I've already got people here muttering because my sister got me this job. What do you think the reaction would be if I started sleeping with the star?”

“Fuck 'em,” Maggie said. “It's none of their business.” She rolled off the bed and raided the minibar, pulling out a beer and tossing it to Gwen before retrieving another one.

Gwen twisted off the cap and took a swallow. “That's easy for you to say. You're the talent. I've had two venue managers try to screw us over thinking I wouldn't notice, and I've been called every variety of ‘sweetie' and ‘honey' you can think of.”

“You think I don't get the same thing?” Maggie flopped back down with her beer, somehow managing not to spill it.

“No, but you're not—” Gwen started, then realized she was about to say something rude, faltered, and managed, “trying to give orders.”