Always Love a Villain on San Juan Island (33 page)

“Why's he an anarchist?” Spider, returning.

“He thinks now that he's mastered creative writing, he can create stories all over the place.”

Jordan giggled. “Raina, that's pretty good.”

Thor reached the table. “Come on, kiddies, time for bed. Out you go.”

Jordan finished the last of his beer and stood. “I know when I'm not wanted.”

“Come back any time.” Thor walked Jordan to the door. “Bring your bank card.”

Spider and Raina followed. “Great night, Jordan, thanks. And big huge congratulations.” Spider gave Jordan a small hug.

Raina gave him a larger one. “I may consider your advice.”

Noel felt better after Kyra's call. A door locked from the inside, a second-floor window without balcony, curtains over. She'd be fine.

Peter, with Noel's help, had made up the bed in the study, then took all the wet clothes and threw them into the washing machine. He'd found hangers for Noel's shirt, slacks and jacket, and hung them under cover on the patio. He left the sneakers outside as well. Back in the kitchen, he asked Noel, “A nightcap? It's been a heavy evening.”

“Good. Something strong but not much of it.”

“A small snifter of cognac.” Peter headed for the living room.

Noel sat at the kitchen table. He felt good about his reaction to the fire. He'd been on top of it, hadn't panicked. He did feel bad about the damage. Oh well, there'd be insurance; this was a university.

Someone he cared for . . . Surely no one would suspect Peter of being that person. First, he didn't know if he did care for Peter. Much. And second, if he did, this soon, who would know? But if someone did suspect Peter, had he, Noel, put Peter in danger by agreeing to spend the night?

“Remy Martin. VSOP.” He handed Noel a large snifter with two ounces of deep brown liquid at the bottom.

“Great.” Noel cupped it, stem between middle and ring finger. He swirled the liquid for a few seconds, raised it. “Your health, Peter.”

“And yours.” Peter sat at the table sideways, facing him. “May it remain good.”

They both sipped. Peter clapped his arm on Noel's shoulder. “Curious how circumstance can create unexpected futures. All I needed was someone to help resolve a small academic situation. You show up and do that. And you're still here.” He grinned and patted Noel's other shoulder. “I'm lucky.”

Noel met Peter's eyes. “I'm lucky too. Lucky not to have been in that room when the firebomb went through the window. Lucky that Kyra was upstairs. Lucky that we're on another case so quickly. And it's been very good meeting you, Peter.” Saying too much too quickly?

They sat silently, inspecting each other's faces. Peter smiled, hugged Noel's shoulder and took his arm away. Both switched glasses to their other hands. Peter looked away. “So what do we do with our luck?”

“Wait and see, I guess.” But not tonight. His attraction to Peter had to be considered—literally—in the light of day.

It'd taken a couple of weeks, half a dozen dates, before he'd known enough about Brendan to know he wanted to have sex with him. And when decision time came, he felt right about his judgment. Even after several good nights in Brendan's bed or his, he didn't feel certain about their living together. That took another six months. Well, this evening wasn't about his and Peter's moving in together. But it could be the first step toward complicated circumstances. His smile went sad, “I think we should sleep on that question.”

“Together?”

Too far too fast. His body was telling him one truth, his brain another. He sighed. “Peter, I'm as responsible as you are for letting us get this far. There's too much to think about here. And right now I'm beat, not much good for anything but sleep. It's been a long day.”

Peter leaned over and touched his lips to Noel's. “I understand.” He sipped his cognac. “It's a beautiful liquid, isn't it?”

Noel finished his last sip. “Lovely.” He stood. “Thank you for all this, Peter. I'm grateful and happy we met.” He set the snifter on the table. “This has been lovely. Please excuse me before I fall over.”

Peter placed his snifter beside Noel's, touching. He opened his arms, stepped toward Noel and held him close. “Get some sleep.”

Noel embraced Peter, let his hands drop. “Not even enough energy for a decent hug. Good night.”

JORDAN BECK GLANCED
at the clock as he reached for the pounding phone beside his bed. Shit, light out already. “Hello?”

“It's Peter Langley. Sorry to call so early.”

“Uh, fine. What's up?”

“Our going to see Professor Rossini. It's off. I've had a meeting called on me.”

“Oh, all right, but—”

“I'll see what I can learn on my own. He might be at the meeting.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks Pro—uh, Peter.”

A chuckle. “Now go back to sleep.”

And the line went dead.

Damn, thought Jordan. His head—much too late at Thor's. A little sleep . . . 

Noel dressed, long-sleeved shirt with cuffs turned up, tan pants, runners. Not quite 7:00. If Rossini stayed true to form, they'd catch him. He grabbed his toilet kit and opened the study door. To the bathroom down the hall. From the kitchen, sounds of breakfast bustling. He called, “Morning, Peter!”

“Hey. Noel. Want eggs or cereal or both?”

Brendan had sometimes gotten breakfast ready before Noel had wakened. He stepped into the kitchen. “We need to catch Rossini.”

“I called him. He's expecting us at nine.”

“Good. Just got to brush my teeth and so on.”

“I spoke with Beck too, told him he wasn't going with us. Call Kyra, ask her over for breakfast.”

“Good idea.” And why did Peter want to talk with him and Kyra together before meeting with Rossini?

“Use the phone on the wall.” He pointed.

So no private chat with Kyra before heading out. He called. She'd be there in forty minutes. To Peter: “Okay to take a shower?”

“Big towels in the closet.”

Also no need to figure what to say to Peter before she got here. He took half an hour for ablutions. Kyra arrived. They traded overnight experiences.

Kyra said, “The hotel wanted to know how long I'll be staying. I said at least tonight.”

“We'll see what the day brings,” Noel said.

They agreed on eggs, so Peter did the scrambling, made toast, fried up some tomatoes, brought full plates to the table. “Bon appétit.”

“Great,” said Kyra.

“So.” Peter looked at Noel, then Kyra, then back. “About not bringing Jordan along to see Larry. What's that about?”

Noel said, “Interview subjects are more likely to talk to two or three questioners. Also, Rossini doesn't know Beck.” Even three's too many, but . . .

“I don't understand how—”

Kyra said, “It's our job to talk with people to find things out. You'll have trust us.”

“Yeah, that's like, How do you say ‘Fuck you' in Hollywood? ‘Trust me.'”

Noel chuckled. Kyra said, “This isn't Hollywood, so ‘Trust us' means
Trust us.
”

Peter shrugged. “Do I have a choice? So I trust you.” He started to clear the table. Kyra leapt up to help, but Peter said, “You better let me do this. There's an order to it.” Kyra sat.

Ah, thought Noel. Peter has a pouty side.

Peter did have an order. But Noel knew he could've figured it out.

Kyra had returned Noel's keys. She hadn't dinted the car. Peter would have to stay on campus till mid-afternoon, so they drove out to the university in two cars.

Larry Rossini greeted them and guided them to the large kitchen. Breakfast dishes in the sink, Kyra noted. Seated at a table with only coffee cups remaining, the woman they'd met last night, Antoinette deBourg, dressed in a chic cobalt-blue suit, which, when she stood, showed off her elegant curves. Also a beautiful face, more makeup than yesterday, highlighting sparkling gray eyes. Around the table, six chairs. Rossini introduced Toni to the three of them. She made noises about having met last evening. “Ah. Good. Care for coffee? I'll have another cup and can brew it fresh.”

Noel and Peter yes, Kyra no.

“Toni?” Rossini looked at the woman and smiled.

“No thanks, Larry, I'm fine.”

And Larry's gaze at her told Kyra he agreed.

Rossini poured beans into a grinder. “So what can I do for the three of you?” And immediately began to grind, drowning out any response. The grinding stopped. Larry busied himself with brushing the ground coffee into a filter, humming as he went. Water into the coffee maker,
click
and the brewing began.

A performance, thought Kyra. “Peter has a question for you,” she said.

Pushy, thought Noel. Good.

Peter cleared his throat. “Well, people have been wondering. Worrying, really. About Susanna.”

“She's away for a while,” said Rossini.

“For one young man, she's been away an unusually long time. She's normally in contact with him at least twice a week. He hasn't heard from her in nearly three.”

Larry shrugged. “Off in the mountains. Makes communications difficult.”

Noel watched deBourg watching Rossini with troubled intensity: scowl on brow, lips tight, eyes unblinking.

“This young man, Jordan, thinks she might be in some kind of trouble.”

“She's not in trouble! I told you, she's off with friends!”

Toni and Peter stared at Larry. Peter said, “Sorry, pal, just asking. I wouldn't have, except that Jordan is worried—”

“Worry? Worry! What right does he have to be worried?” He glared at Peter.

Toni said, “Is the coffee ready?”

Larry glanced at the machine. Everyone could tell by the ongoing gurgle and the barely filled glass pot that it wasn't close. “Soon,” he said, more calmly.

Silence in the room till Kyra said, “Is there nothing else you can give Peter to tell his student?”

“Nothing!” Rossini grabbed the back of an empty chair. “Nothing.”

Was he holding on to the chair for support or in an attempt to get control of his anger? Time for Kyra to push harder, not for Noel to enter kindly.

“What do you want, Peter?” Rossini was shouting. “Tell me!”

Toni stood and took his right arm. “Gently,” she said. “Gently.”

Kyra said, “If Jordan Beck wants to help find her, he could be useful.”

“He won't. He can't!” Rossini's face had gone purple.

Toni spoke quietly. “Please. Larry's upset. You should all go.”

Peter looked up. “Larry. I don't know what gives with Susanna, but you better figure out what to do. This has been going on for weeks. Maybe for the three weeks that Jordan hasn't had contact with Susanna. Sit down, old friend. Sit.”

Larry sat, sighed, and shook his head. “Peter, I've been trying to hold it in. I can't any more. I don't go berserk, I don't shout at people, I don't do that. You might as well know. Everybody else in the room knows.” He let his head droop, then pulled it back.