The Recruiter (A Thriller) (14 page)

After a lot of thought, Peter Forbes has come to a simple conclusion regarding the unfortunate scene in which Beth discovered him with Vanessa.

It’s Beth’s fault.

It hasn’t been an easy decision for him to reach, but like a dogged investigator, he has followed the clues and the answers have led him to the doorstep of that ultimate responsibility.

It’s Beth’s fault. It really is.

First of all, it was Beth who didn’t want to take their relationship to the next level. Lord knows, he’d tried to get there, but she always said no. Once, they’d come very, very close, but again, Beth’s wishes prevailed. She had absolutely refused to consummate their relationship.

No sex. No way.

Why she felt that way, Peter never understood. She usually claimed she just wasn’t ready. Other times it was about not wanting to jeopardize either of their basketball futures with a baby, even though Peter had said he’d wear a condom. Once in a while, she’d say she didn’t want to be a slut.

That one always stuck with him. Beth isn’t old-fashioned. She parties, she swears, she’s with it.

So what was the deal with the sex thing? What was the real truth?

Christ.
Beth and the ugly chick who hangs out in the library were probably the only two virgins in their entire class. And rumor had it that the ugly chick and a nerd from the AV club were getting ready to take the plunge.

So the crux of the problem, the focus of the blame has to be with Beth. Peter is confident in this; if he and Beth had been sleeping together before her knee injury, he never would have picked up Vanessa and gone for it with her. In essence, Peter had given Beth every opportunity to be the girl in the Explorer with him, going at it like rutting dogs.

Beth hadn’t taken the opportunity.

So whose fault is it,
really?

Admittedly, he was already feeling like the relationship with Beth wasn’t going anywhere, and once he left for Marquette, it would be all over anyway. But still, he couldn’t get around the fact that it was probably Beth’s fault he ended up enjoying those glorious minutes with Vanessa.

Vanessa. Wow. Despite the guilt, the pain over what he’d done, every time he thinks of what she’d done to him, he gets excited all over again.

Peter tries to forget about Vanessa.

He has a conscience, after all. And that’s why he has decided to come and talk to Beth. He can’t just leave it like this.

Now, standing at her front door, he knocks firmly. It’s time to face this thing.

It’s the right thing to do.

He rings the doorbell and waits, thinking. It was bad too. The indignity of having to walk back to the Explorer with his pants down, his feet all cold, and there was Vanessa, sitting there in all her naked pride, completely comfortable with being unclad—judging by her obvious experience, it shouldn’t’ have surprised him. But he remembers the look of scorn on her face. Like she couldn’t believe he went chasing after Beth even though they were
in flagrante delicto
.

Peter’s face flushes at the memory. To be completely honest, it pisses him off. And it’s Beth’s fault. In a way, she completely humiliated him, as much as she probably feels like it’s the other way around.

The door opens, and Beth is standing there, her arms folded.

She steps back and starts to close the door, but Peter is faster. He gets his hand inside and steps into the house. Beth, her face indifferent, limps away, back toward the living room.

“Beth.”

She lowers herself into a chair and props her leg up on the ottoman. Pain registers on her face from the effort.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Peter says. And he is, but he doesn’t like the way she’s trying to blame him entirely for what happened. She has to take some responsibility too.

“Sure you are.”

“I am.”

“Did you finish?”

“Finish?”

“Did you finish fucking her or was that it for the night? When you chased me, did you get back in and do her right?”

Peter, standing in the middle of the living room, suddenly feels foolish. He feels like a defendant being cross-examined by a ruthless prosecutor. He sits down on the sagging couch.

“Come on, Beth. It’s my fault.”

Suddenly, she screams at him.
“Of course it’s your fault! How could you do that to me? With her? Her! Why her? And there! You asshole!”

Peter watches Beth’s face crumple into tears.

“It didn’t…” But he’s at a loss for words. He can’t explain it. And why should he? Beth’s partially to blame too. Granted, not as much as he is, but still, she should take some responsibility. He’d told himself before he got here that he wasn’t going to articulate that he blames her. He has to stick to that now. It would be a terrible thing to say to Beth.

“Maybe if we had…” he begins.

“I knew it! I knew you were going to try to blame me for it. She mocks him, ‘Maybe if we had…’ As in, maybe if I’d let you fuck me, you wouldn’t have been fucking Vanessa? So now it’s my fault?”

Peter shuts his mouth. She was all over that one in a hurry. Why is he handling this so badly?

“No,” he says.

“But that’s what you think. You’re blaming me. Get out of my house. And stay out of my life.”

The finality of it shocks Peter.

Out of her life? She can’t be serious.

“Beth—”

“Out!”

Peter knows there’s no sense in staying. She’s hysterical. She’ll come to her senses later, when the anger has passed. She’ll be able to see things more clearly, including how much of a role she unwittingly played in what happened.

He gets up, walks to the front door. He opens it and comes face to face with a man he’s never seen before.

“Hi,” the man says. “I’m Samuel.”

Samuel is sick of surprises.

On the drive to Beth Fischer’s house, he’s gone over how the scenario should play out, tried to think of all the variables that could come into play.

Samuel laughs at the recruiter training he had in Florida. Somehow, he can’t recall any lessons on how to deal with the absolute bullshit the real world presented to the recruiter. And, naturally, they said absolutely nothing about the kind of pressure a recruiter can be under. Jesus Christ, to be told to get two new recruits in ninety days or get a bad mark in your file! It’s a pathetic situation, but one he has to deal with.

He checks the street number on the sheet of paper Paul Rodgers had given him, and turns down a quiet street packed with teeny little homes, glorified ice shanties by the size of them, until he pulls up in front of a little white house with overgrown grass and a sagging front door.

He retrieves his briefcase from the car and walks to the front door. It’s a chilly, gray-sky kind of day, and the stiff breeze bends back the branches of a leafless maple sapling buttressing the end of the house.

Samuel shudders. The place has
low-life Lake Orion scum
written all over it.

He knocks and the door and it’s opened by a guy who looks like the personification of one of the Hardy boys. Samuel can’t help but stifle a groan. Surprise number one.

Samuel introduces himself, but the big kid blows past him and heads for a Ford Explorer parked on the street. Samuel, watching him go, is startled by a voice from the door.

“You’re the recruiter, I take it?”

Samuel turns and is knocked low by surprise number two.

She’s gorgeous.

He’s momentarily at a loss for words. He was expecting a butt-ugly, trailer-trash biker chick with tattoos and maybe even a kid or two. Plus, after the near Neanderthal features of Julie Giacalone, he’s simply transfixed by the fine nose, the delicate jaw, the petite but sensual lips. And the eyes. The combination of blue and gray is equally startling. They also seem familiar somehow.

“Are you okay?” she asks again, and Samuel snaps out of his reverie.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “Just thinking…do I know you? Have we met?”

She looks at him oddly for a second, and he realizes he hasn’t introduced himself. He holds out his hand. “I’m Samuel Ackerman.”

“Samuel Ackerman. The name seems familiar,” she says. “Where’d you go to school?”

“Lake Orion.”

She shakes her head after a moment’s hesitation. “Doesn’t ring a bell,” she says. Then she steps aside and says, “Come in. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No thank you.”

He walks into the living room, is shocked by how small and plain it is. It has a strange smell too. Sort of musty, and then he realizes that there’s not even a hint of food smells.
They must eat out a lot,
he thinks. There’s something else, though. A faint smell of something. He breathes in again and thinks,
yes…it smells sort of like booze.

He already feels claustrophobic. It reminds him of his own childhood home. The thought is depressing enough to make Samuel’s head start to throb. Being back in this godforsaken town…he knew it would stir up a lot of bad memories for him. It has stirred them up, and they keep coming at him.

He catches himself, realizes Beth is watching him, waiting.

“Who—?” Samuel starts to ask as he gestures toward the Explorer, which moments ago roared away down the street.

“Nobody,” Beth says sharply before he can even finish the question.

Samuel recognizes the implicit warning and simply nods his head.

“Where would you like to set up?” she asks.

He looks around the small house, and almost laughs at her question. There’s nowhere to go except the teeny kitchen or the teeny living room.

“Wherever you’re comfortable.”

“Here is fine,” she says.

She gestures to the wing chair, and she moves to the couch. He notices that she’s limping. She’s wearing a pretty thick brace around her left knee. He has to ask. If it’s a permanent injury, polio or something like that, she’ll never be able to join the Navy and he’s wasting his time. On the far wall, he’s spotted a picture or two of Beth Fischer in basketball action shots. A few newspaper articles featuring her name in the headline.

“What happened to your knee?”

She colors slightly. “I blew it out, literally. I’m in rehab and should be back to eighty percent or so in a year.”

Samuel considers this.

“Will that be a problem?” she asks.

“Not as long as you can jog three to six miles at a moment’s notice.”

She nods. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Good,” Samuel says. He’s thinking back to his Professional Sales Skills training: open, probe, support, meet needs, close and figure out next steps. He takes her through the process. Asking questions gently, getting permission from her to probe further, and then carefully supplying all of the support, showing her how the Navy can meet every one of her needs.

She tells him openly and honestly that she wants out of Lake Orion, about her basketball injury, about her scholarship falling through.

Samuel, in turn, answers her points quietly and without a hard sell. He lies through his teeth about how great the Navy is, that it will help her get money for college and valuable training, as well as letting her see the world. A total load of bullshit, but he says it all with a straight face.

Samuel is impressed with her. She’s beautiful, but his first impression is that she seems smart, focused and he senses an underlying toughness about her. The way she answered his question about the guy in the Explorer. “He’s nobody,” she’d said. Well, Samuel knows he is somebody, but that in her mind right now, she’s pissed at him and so considers him a nobody.

Samuel admires that.

He truly appreciates his luck right now. She’s perfect. Her looks and his personal interest in her aside. She’s perfect for what he needs—talk about a high-quality recruit. She’s got officer written all over her.

“Samuel?” she asks. He realizes he hasn’t been listening. The shock of his drifting off gets to him, and suddenly a throbbing erupts in his temple, and he massages it. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, I just had a late night last night,” he says and flashes her a grin he hopes she takes as sort of a devil-may-care expression.

She does. “I was just wondering if I could talk to my mom a little bit and get back to you.”

“Absolutely,” Samuel says immediately. “Perhaps you’d like me to be present so I can answer any questions she might have…” he begins, thinking that with him here, he’ll be able to steer her mother into making the right decision for all of them.

“Would you? That’d be great,” she says, and Samuel feels like he’s hitting on all cylinders. This is great. She’s perfect.

“Okay, so next steps,” he says. “You’ll call me and let me know when your mother is available for the three of us to sit down and talk about your future.”

“I’ll call you later today or early tomorrow,” she says, standing.

Samuel gets to his feet, not wanting to push things any more than he needs to.

“Thank you so much for taking the time to talk with me, Beth. If there’s anything else I can do…”

“I’m sure there is,” she says, a smile on her face. They shake hands, and Samuel feels an undercurrent of electricity as he touches her. Her skin is soft, her hand delicate but strong.

His heart skips a beat.

Samuel tells himself to get a grip, to get focused. He’s not about to change his plan, to alter his dream for some Lake Orion high school girl who just happens to have a beautiful face.

He walks back to his car, his mind already planning the next steps.

He glances back at the house, sees Beth in the window watching him.

Still,
he thinks…

…
she is perfect.

Julie Giacalone is not a happy camper.

After Samuel left last night, she stayed in bed, feeling emotions she never thought she would feel. A strong woman, both physically and emotionally, she felt as if she’d been preyed upon. She felt like a victim. True, the logical portion of her mind is able to see how her job status, her rank over Samuel, may have coerced him into thinking he had to sleep with her.

But the emotional side of her brain told her that was bullshit. If he’d truly not been interested, he could have found a way out of it. Could have begged off with some bogus claim of previous obligations. But no, he came right into her bedroom and made love to her but was so turned off by the whole thing that he had to turn his head the other way, a sour expression on his face. One of undisguised revulsion.

And now she’s going to get even with him.

She turns to her computer and accesses the database of leads that catalogues every point of contact every recruiter in District Three has had in the last five years.

Her mind flashes on the image of Samuel’s face in her mirror. The memory deadens her, creates a brick-like weight in her gut. Will she ever forget it? Will she ever forget the sight: his face as he’s inside her, as her legs are wrapped around his body, the expression one of sheer unpleasant duty?

No, she doesn’t suppose she will.

The computer beeps, and she turns back to the monitor.

“Good morning.”

The voice is quiet from the doorway. Julie jumps.

She turns and Samuel is there.

But he’s not looking at her.

He’s looking at her computer screen.