Geography of Murder (27 page)

"Why?" he spoke so softly I almost didn't hear. "Why did you run away?"

"I had to." My voice broke.

"Why?"

"Because I need you too much."

That silenced him. Which was good since I was too confused to explain what I meant.

He fired up the engine and pulled out of the lot. He drove toward his place up in the foothills. Panic set in. He must have seen something because he ran us into a parking lot and slammed on the brakes. He turned to face me, his arm braced beside my head, his smell invading my mind again.

"What is it, Jason?"

I took a deep breath. I had to rally my will power. It was now or never. God, I didn't want to do this. I squeezed my 262

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hands into fists in my lap when all I wanted to do was crawl into him and lose myself in there.

Which was the problem, wasn't it? I was in danger of losing myself. I moaned and shut my eyes, blocking out the sight of him, but not his scent. Not his presence.

"Jason?"

"I can't do this. I can't let you destroy me."

"I never wanted to do that."

"But you are doing it." I stared into my lap. "Every fiber of my being wants to be yours."

"You are mine." Alex put his hand over mine. "Didn't I tell you I'd never hurt you?"

"But you did, didn't you?" I wrenched my hand away from his touch and ripped my shirt open, displaying the thick red welts covering my chest. "Are you going to deny you did this?" I jerked the shirt back over my hairless body. Then I touched my scalp. "And this. Why? I didn't do anything. I haven't touched another man since our first time. I didn't want another man. But that wasn't good enough for you, was it? You fucked me without protection? How could you?"

"I never—"

"But you did," I was shouting now. "What will you do next time? Are you going to keep fucking me like that until we're both infected? Maybe you'll fuck a few other people too, so we can all chase the bug together. Is that how you want to die?"

Alex slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "No. I wouldn't. I—" He shook his head and I wondered what he had refused to say. "Don't do this, Jason."

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"I have to go to work."

"When will you be off?"

"I don't know." I took a shuddering breath. "But I won't be coming—" I was going to say 'home,' instead I said, "to your place. I have to go home. It's time."

"I don't want you to."

Neither did I, but I couldn't tell him that. "I have to."

He let me off in the parking lot of the Vault to retrieve my car. He waited until I headed out toward the marina.

Checking to make sure I wasn't going to go into the bar? The next time I looked in the rear view his Toyota was gone.

I checked in with Phil and he put me to work. He made a passing comment on my new look, but either didn't see the marks or he didn't feel like mentioning them.

I worked hard, just like I had at Alex's. The physical exertion made my muscles ache anew, but I ignored the pain.

But the time I crawled up on deck again, I was filthy and exhausted. All I wanted to do was climb into Alex's bed and let him make me forget the last nightmarish day. I didn't want to be alone in my own.

I was doing the right thing. I had the right to save my sanity—something I didn't have around Alex.

Phil met me topside. I wiped my hands on a rag and stuffed it in my back pocket.

"What time tomorrow?"

"Seven-thirty."

"Where are we going?"

"Dropping four students on Anacapa for the day—weather permitting." We both looked up at the sky, which now showed 264

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a few stars breaking through the cloud cover. "We'll anchor off the coast and wait for them. Donny will be along. They want to do some kayaking." The
Weeping Lady
carried a pair of two-man sea kayaks along with a pair of Zodiacs for emergencies.

It would be a long day. That was good. Less time to think about what I lost today. "I'm going home then."

My apartment seemed smaller and shoddier than ever.

Stale air washed over me when I opened the door. It smelled of dust and mildew. The Murphy bed remained unmade.

I didn't care. I didn't bother taking a shower. I would have one in the morning. I was asleep almost the minute my head hit my pillow.

The next morning I was up so early the birds hadn't even stumbled out of bed. I showered and made some instant coffee. It was even more disgusting than usual, but then I'd gotten spoiled over the last few days drinking good fresh roast. I veered away from those thoughts. Leave them in the black place I had relegated them to. All they were going to do was haunt me.

There was still a lot to do on the
Weeping Lady
before our student clients arrived. The weather held out. The sky east and west was cloud free and the last weather report I had heard was for a calm marine-perfect day. Our students might be in for a good day.

I liked taking students out. It was a reminder there was more to life than the shallow existence I had fallen into. That there might have been another path I could have taken. I 265

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wasn't going there, but it was nice to talk to someone who had.

Besides, it beat talking to 'old salty dog' Phil who had a mind like a sink trap and rarely had anything good to say about anyone.

I spent the morning going through the checklist to ensure the boat was seaworthy. At the last minute I loaded up the box lunches we had ordered for the students. Donny checked in and stowed his gear. He was a gangly twenty-five year old who had held his ABS papers a year longer than me and had worked for Phil for two years. We checked over the pair of kayaks loaded on the foredeck and the two gray and black Zodiacs in the stern. Once we agreed everything was good to go we signaled Phil and cast off the mooring lines while he powered up
Weeping Lady
and motored us out into open water.

Donny and I worked to unfurl the sails and stored the boom clutch. Once the jib and mainsail were catching the wind we picked up speed, sending a spray from our bow.

Overhead a host of seabirds followed us.

Once in open water I took the wheel and Phil went below.

Our passenger's clustered on the salon deck, standing below the rack of deer antlers Phil had fixed over the transom as a joke. At least it wasn't a singing bass.

Radio chatter played in the background. I listened to it with half an ear. Phil reappeared on deck and waved me off the wheel.

"They're all yours. Keep 'em happy and keep—"

"Keep 'em hungry," I finished for him. His usual refrain.

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So I went astern and leaned against the taffrail and talked about the islands we were visiting today. The Anacapas were my favorite of the Channel Islands. They were by far the smallest and had never had much of a population, being considered inaccessible and having no free standing water or shelter. A lighthouse and small settlement had been built there and Coast Guard families still kept them. But the manned lighthouse had been phased out and now resided mostly in memory. The third-party Fresnell lens was still there, on display in the island museum. That was Donny's expertise and he could talk for hours about the history of the islands. My love was the hordes of birds and other wildlife that made this place home.

We were in luck. As we approached the eastern shore and were almost in sight of the lighthouse, a pod of dolphins broke the surface and played in our bow wake for several seconds before vanishing back into the depths. That enchanted everyone. Even Phil smiled.

We circled north to the Cathedral Cove and Donny talked to them about the dozens of sea caves and arches the area was riddled with. They could visit them once they put their kayaks in the water. Then we swung back south to the eastern shore.

We reefed the sails and docked in the safe harbor there, in sight of the few buildings that were maintained by the Coast Guard. The small, red-roofed structures huddled below the cylindrical lighthouse. Donny and I lugged the few pieces of gear the landing party was allowed to bring ashore then Phil and I retreated back to the
Weeping Lady
. I would have liked 267

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to have stayed behind, but Donny was the better guide for this trip, plus at the last minute Phil wanted me to look at the Raytheon radar and he didn't trust Donny's mechanical skills half as much as mine. Donny didn't like being dumped with the tourists, but he knew Phil as well as I did, and when Phil said do something it could get ugly if you argued. Donny and his students had their GPSs and the ship-to-shore radio, so it wasn't like we'd be out of touch.

Phil motored us back out to the channel, anchoring us off shore and told me to go below and check the radar system.

He sat up top, feet up on the gunwale, morosely staring out at the rollers making their way toward the distant shore.

He turned to stare at me under his beetling brows. "Get on with it, then. We only got a few hours before that lot is back on board. I want to be ready to leave when they are."

I nodded and hurried into the pilot house.

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It was all going wrong. How the hell did that happen
so fast? Jason was happy, he'd been as enamored of
the game as I was. Had found ways to set up our play.

When had that changed? When had he become afraid of
me?

Jason feared losing his identity in mine. Losing his soul. I wasn't some devil incarnate. I only wanted what was best for him. What was best for both of us.

Had I misread his signals? How could I have been so wrong?

In growing frustration I sped back to the station and made my way to my locker where I changed out of my wet clothes and pulled on the spare suit I kept there, mostly for visits to the morgue, which leave a stink on your clothes that nothing short of a heavy wash could remove.

Something on my face warned Nancy not to ask questions.

She gestured at my cluttered desk. "Tox reports came back on Dutton. No sign of anything but what he was already taking."

"Killer didn't think he needed to immobilize a guy who was already bedridden and helpless. Brave soul."

"Takes a big set to be that cold." Nancy picked up her phone. "Garcia came by. He wants to bump the federal warrant up the ladder."

"So we won't be getting that any time soon. Our esteemed leader is the one who should grow a set."

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"Let's dig a little deeper into the Chavez woman. I want to know what she had for breakfast two weeks ago. More important than that, I want the name of her daughter's father. Let me write up a warrant for those hospital records.

See if I can't convince a judge to let us take a look."

I put my nose to the grindstone, my pedal to the metal, buried myself in work so I wouldn't have to answer any of Nancy's hundred and one questions, or to allow myself to think about Jason. Because whenever I did, it was worse than the last time I thought of him.

I couldn't believe he wasn't going to be waiting for me when I got home tonight. Or maybe any other night. So, had I screwed up so monumentally, or had he? And how much did it really matter?

I finished the warrant for the hospital search and gave it to Nancy to read. She was good at the nuances of legalese needed for a search like I wanted. You had to spell everything out so minutely. Nancy told me once she had considered a career in law. Before she switched to criminal justice she had done a year of pre-law. It helped her in times like this.

Once we were satisfied with the warrant I grabbed my jacket and headed over to the justice building where I would find the judge of the day and hope he would sign it. Then it would be road trip time and a drive into L.A. for the day. I wasn't looking forward to it. I hated L.A. and only went there when I had to. Though if I had to be in town for more than a day, I always enjoyed touring the seedier clubs to see what staid Santa Barbara didn't offer.

Not this time. Not without Jason.

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Dinner was a small pot of coffee and a toasted bagel. I couldn't stomach any more than that. I worked well into the night, only going home when a grainy headache turned my thought processes into sludge and I started making stupid mistakes on the computer—once you've had to rewrite the same line five times because you can't spell 'integrity' is a sure sign it's time to call it a day.

Back home I refused to dwell on how empty the place felt.

Jason had left a mess in the kitchen, another sign of his anger, I guess, but I left it for another day. I crawled into bed and tried to capture a few hours sleep, without much luck.

I was on the road early the next morning, hoping to miss the worse of the freeway traffic. Good luck with that. I wondered if Los Angeles traffic was ever light. I could envision it at three in the morning, still clogged with streaming vehicles, all going nowhere in a place that epitomized nothing. Did I mention I don't like L.A.? But St.

Anne's was easy to find. Just off the 101, I didn't even have to change freeways. SBPD hadn't quite entered the twenty-first century with its antiquated car pool so I had to rely on a printout from MapQuest to guide me instead of a GPS. The sprawling white stucco edifice set on an emerald green lawn was awash in sunshine when I finally secured parking in the lot across the street. I was looking for a Donna Pierce—Sister Donna Pierce, I reminded myself—in the administration wing.

I found her within ten minutes then had to cool my heels while she finished up a meeting.

She met me in the corridor outside a suite of offices.