We Will Always Have the Closet (11 page)

“I’ll be okay,” she assured him, yet she looked slightly disappointed. “You could use my help, you know?” she added without much conviction.

A small piece of egg had gathered in a corner of her mouth and he stretched his finger to flick it off absentmindedly. “You still have a little to go before you can go out in the world,” he said, distracted by her moist lips.

“You make it sound like I’m a newborn bird about to fall from the nest,” she protested. “But okay, I guess I need a few more days, but then…” There was a poorly concealed threat in that pause. Sam glanced at her sideways and grinned. He had no doubts she would be flying out of her so-called nest as soon as she felt her legs could carry her. “While you are out maybe you would like to pick up some new clothes? Those are smelling a little ripe by now,” she said with a malicious smirk and a twist of her tiny button nose.

Sam wanted to hold her and let her help him get rid of the offensive clothes, but he knew that if he took even one step closer to her at that moment, he would never be able to leave. Now or ever. So, he took a step back, smiled at her, wiggled his fingers in the air in a funny goodbye wave and turned to leave. “Bring me something good,” she yelled after him.

“Why? I’m not enough anymore?” he yelled back, grabbing his coat on the way to the door. “I am deeply hurt.”

“Chocolate,” she yelled as he closed the door behind him. He shook his head half amused, half annoyed, and left.

Alone in his car, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. His lungs were working better and his heart was beating at a normal pace. Being around Petra was like being high, living in a constant haze, sometimes feeling ten feet high, other times like a bug about to be crushed under someone’s thumb. It was both stifling and exhilarating. Vexing little vixen had him under a powerful spell. Now, his head was clearing as he approached the city and he could focus on more mundane things, nothing that involved setting his body on fire or feeling like he could explode at any time.

On his way back from the city later, Sam felt refreshed and renewed, the way he imagined—since he hadn’t ever actually done it—he would have felt after a hatha yoga practice. All the hours without once having thought of Petra had certainly done the trick better than a day at the spa. Driving the winding roads toward her house, he even whistled a tune along with the music on the radio. It was early afternoon and he planned to cook Petra the best macaroni and cheese she had ever tasted and then spend the rest of the day walking along the waters of the Sound, talking and relaxing. They both shared a love for art and reading. Their tastes in literature didn’t always necessarily match, but the discussion was always invigorating. He hadn’t met many women who could discuss the intricacies of the male-dominated mystery literature of the 60s and 70s. Petra could, and would, enthusiastically embark in discussions of Miss Marple versus horrible Mike Hammer or suave Perry Mason or Philip Marlowe. Beautiful she was, but there were several more layers to her that he couldn’t wait to uncover.

The red sports car in the driveway gave Sam a start. Who was here? He didn’t recognize the car, and in the week that Petra had been healing only a couple friends had made their way to visit her. None of them drove expensive sporty cars, he was sure. In fact, the only people in her life who had that kind of cash were from her “married” side. That was a muscle car, a car driven by a male. Hell, was her husband visiting? He flew out of the car and crossed the few remaining yards at top speed. The door was unlocked. Were those palpitations he was feeling? He crossed the small hallway into the living room where he could hear a male voice mingling with Petra’s. Standing by the small fireplace, there was a stranger. He was just as tall as Sam was, but, he admitted to himself, much more handsome. A blond mop of hair artistically disheveled, with perfect skin and a body frame that would make any Chippendale stripper feel inadequate. At his clumsy entrance, both the god-like male and Petra turned their attention to him. Self-conscious now of his looks, Sam hastily combed his dark hair with his fingers and hoped he was not still sporting the bread crumbs from the sandwich he had eaten on the way there.

“Hey, Sam,” Petra exclaimed, getting up from her perch on the sofa’s arm. “This is my friend, Liam,” she introduced with a big grin. “Liam, this is Sam, my savior.” Liam took a prompt step toward him with his right hand outstretched in front of him.

His handshake was strong and genuine, and in spite of himself, Sam found himself drawn to him. “Nice to meet you, Sam,” the demi-god said in a deep British-accented voice. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Meanwhile, Sam knew nothing about the smooth Brit who seemed on very friendly terms with Petra.

“Liam is Jonas’ right arm when it comes to art,” Petra revealed with a telling rise of an eyebrow. So, that was her game. She probably had called him so she could unwisely stick her nose where it was dangerous. This was what she called being helpful? He rather thought of it as being stupid and careless.

“I have known him for a long time,” she continued.

Sam was positively livid. What kind of game did she think she was playing? These art criminals, as soft and harmless as they may sound, were serious crooks with illegal businesses and millions of dollars at risk. They were dangerous, smart, and they had the almost inexhaustible resources that came with the fortunes available to them. On the other hand, Petra was obviously excited. Her twinkling eyes belied the sling that supported her arm and her smile was…she never smiled at him that way. What was it about this model wanna-be that made her smile like that? Sam narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt.

Like old friends they all sat, Petra and Liam on the sofa, Sam on the chair, conversing amiably in spite of the private eye’s strong inclination to murder the other man. Petra was positively radiant and that just added fuel to Sam’s growing anger. They had just spent a whole week together in close quarters, keeping each other company, eating, drinking, and even on occasion sleeping together platonically. Never once had he seen her looking so alive, so full of light. Her glow almost blinded him, and half of him wanted to strangle her, the other half wanted to hug her.

Sam went back to the kitchen several times with the excuse of brewing more coffee, but in reality he was researching the man in the living room. Training had taught him to never underestimate the enemy and always dig up as much intel as possible on your foe. Phone in hand, he navigated his usual sources for information online. Liam was a British-born American citizen who had established himself in Seattle over ten years ago and had earned the accolades of art critics and the respect of his fellow artists. His connection to Linden was a bit more obscure. They had possibly met in college, since they had attended the same school, and forged a friendship that eventually turned into a business partnership, such as it was. Liam didn’t seem to make much out of that partnership other than exposure to the world of art, a fringe benefit at best. Linden, on the other hand, got more out of it for sure. Liam was his art adviser and had often served as a go-between that resulted in either big pay-offs for art he owned or advantageous purchases that made Linden a true maverick in the world of privately owned masterpieces.

Leaving the phone behind in the kitchen, he joined the other two in the living room. Liam was explaining how his latest work of art had already found a buyer abroad. Sam was a little out of his depth here. Even though he loved art and had taken some classes in college, he lacked the knowledge these two had. Frustrated and angry, he threw himself down on the chair a little harder than required and the two friends stopped their chatter to stare at him. “Something wrong, Sam?” Petra asked with those annoyingly innocent eyes glued on him.

“I’m fine,” he said in what sounded more like a groan. Then, deciding to take advantage of his own ignorance, he asked, “So, how do you go about selling an unfinished work of art to a buyer abroad?”

Liam revealed in a long, animated account everything that such a venture entailed from the possibility of a commissioned work to international internet markets. Sam listened attentively. Who knows? He may find this information useful in his investigation. From the corner of his eye, he also watched Petra, who seemed to be transfixed by the conversation, never taking her eyes away from the gorgeous artist sitting next to her. A little too closely, Sam decided. “How did you two meet?” The question came out before he could stop himself. S
tupid,
stupid, stupid…

“We dated for a little while,” Liam confessed with a grin.

“I wouldn’t call it dating,” Petra protested, looking a little embarrassed. “We went out a couple times, but then we decided that we were better together as friends.”

Liam laughed loudly at that. “She decided it, not
we
,” he said, looking at Sam conspiratorially. “The truth is that she had her eye on Jonas already. Who can compete with a good-looking smart guy, with a fortune to boot?” He was now talking directly to Sam, as if he expected him to totally understand his predicament. Which, of course, he kind of did considering that he felt he was losing her to this bright-eyed model of a man.

“That’s not true,” she protested, but there was no conviction in her voice. Liam was telling the truth, that much was obvious. So, Jonas had won over this? Sam was impressed. Linden must be a lot more charismatic that he had given him credit for. “Anyway, we are better as friends, don’t you agree, Liam?”

Liam reached out with his arm and grabbed her in a tight hug. “Sorry, honey,” he said with a little chuckle. “I would still love to date you. You are my muse, you know that.”

Fighting the instinct to reach across the room and sit between them, Sam coughed softly. “How do you mean, she’s your muse?” he asked. “In what way?”

The artist let go of her and Sam sighed in relief. “I created some of my best art inspired by this imp of a girl,” he said, reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone. “Here, I have some pictures of some of the work she inspired.”

Petra had turned scarlet, which made Sam even more curious about these works of art. He leaned forward to look at the pictures Liam was showing him and almost fell off the chair. They were all pictures of naked women. With Petra’s face! No wonder she was as red as a beet. Had she posed for all of these? Who needed dating when the girl in question posed stark naked for you? “Did you model for these?” he asked, voice betraying his anger.

Liam replied instead of her. “Oh, no,” he said, pocketing the incriminating photos. “She wouldn’t hear of it. That was all my imagination and lust for her.” He said that as if it was a common thing to do or say. Sam wanted to slap or throw him out the window. “I’m still hoping she’ll do it someday.”

“Will you, Petra?” Sam asked, staring intently at her. Still lobster-red, she looked up at him and smiled coyly while violently shaking her head. He didn’t believe her. Not completely, anyway. He just knew she was planning to use this weird relationship of hers to dig up something on the investigation, and he hated that. Suddenly, it became a major emergency for him to get rid of the man sitting next to her. “You look a little tired. Maybe you should rest for a while,” he suggested.

You couldn’t fault Liam for his courtesy. He immediately jumped up from the sofa, getting ready to leave. “Yes, of course, you must rest, Petra,” he said. “I have overstayed my welcome.”

Petra was about to protest, but Sam beat her to it. “Yes, thank you so much for coming,” he declared, standing up and offering his hand for a shake. “Very nice to meet you.”

Liam shook his hand and turned to wrap Petra in a tight embrace. “Love you, girly,” he said, loud enough for Sam to hear. “I’ll come again later this week, if that’s okay.”

They followed him out and Sam put an arm possessively over Petra’s shoulders while they waved at him. They watched him as he drove away in his sleek red car. With his arm still around her shoulders, Sam asked, “So, are you still in love with him?”

Petra almost jumped out of his hold. “What?” she exclaimed in surprise. “I have never been in love with him. Never, ever.” She looked so sexy when she was mad, he felt the now-familiar stirrings, but just as he was about to hold her, she turned around and stomped away into the house. “I can’t believe you.”

The evening was approaching fast and the light of the sleepy sun was diminishing by the minute. In the horizon, the sky was a canvas streaked with oranges and reds, mimicking what he was feeling inside at that moment. Conflicted and frustrated, Sam stood there for a few minutes waiting to cool down before following her inside. He didn’t want to fight with her, and yes, he was being slightly unreasonable. They were not a couple and he had absolutely no claim on her affections. She was free to love and date whomever she wanted and he had no authority or rights over that. Then why was it so hard to swallow that she may be contemplating a relationship of sorts with this other man? Why was it eating him inside that someone other than himself had imagined her without clothes, resplendent in her nakedness? He had no reason to believe that Liam had actually ever seen her in the nude, and she was a grown woman. Other men had seen her naked before—he knew that. But he had this irrational desire to be the first, to be the only one.

Shaking all these thoughts away, he walked inside and prepared to face whatever awaited him. To his surprise—and a little dismay—Petra was lying on the couch, half covered with a throw and reading a book as if nothing had happened. “Are we going to talk about it?” he asked, riled up by her nonchalant attitude.