Body of Lies (24 page)

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Authors: Deirdre Savoy

Tags: #Romance

BOOK: Body of Lies
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He leaned over and laid her down on the sofa, wanting to rid himself of his clothing. He stood to do so, his eyes riveted to her as she rasped down the zipper on her shorts. She pushed them down her body to reveal she wore nothing underneath. His breath came out on a ragged groan.
Next came her T-shirt. She pulled it over her head and tossed it to the carpet. Her hands captured her own breasts, squeezing them in a way that she seemed to be offering them to him. They skimmed lower, over her rib cage, down her belly, to between her parted thighs.
All the while he fumbled with his clothing, his fingers not seeming to work properly. He trembled with the need to be inside her, a part of her. Then finally he was free. He got the condom from his wallet and rolled it on. He knelt on the floor and pushed her legs wider apart and lowered his head. Rather than push her hands away, he used his tongue to delve between her fingers, to delve inside her, lapping at the sweet juices that flowed between her thighs.
He could feel the tension mounting in her. Her legs trembled and her breathing became shallow. She wrapped her legs around his shoulders and her hips rocked against him. She called his name as her body contracted with the force of her climax.
She called his name again. Something in that one word made him look up at her. Her hands reached for him and he didn't hesitate. He covered her with his own body and thrust into her. His body shivered and a grunt of pure pleasure tightened his jaw.
He lifted himself up on his elbows to look down at her. The rapturous expression on her face enflamed him. He leaned down to claim her mouth for a wild kiss as he thrust into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, taking him deeper, deeper.
He was sinking into a fiery abyss. Perspiration coated his skin and it was an effort to drag in the slightest bit of air. She broke the kiss and pulled him down to her with her arms around his neck. She whispered in his ear, “Come for me, Zach.”
It was too much. He lost it then, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. He pumped into her, his control forgotten, his mind and body consumed with the wash of pure pleasure that flooded through him.
After a moment he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, wishing he had something with which to cover them. He stroked his hands over her back to warm her as their bodies cooled. He could have stayed like that forever with her snuggled up to him, her body still restless with the aftermath of sex, but she started to shiver. He found her T-shirt and helped her put it on. She settled back against him with a sigh.
Again, he was tempted to question her as to what they were doing together. She'd brushed his concern aside before, but it hadn't gone away. Was sex all she really wanted from him? If so, it wouldn't be the first time, nor would it be the first time that's all he wanted from a woman.
He couldn't believe that, though. She'd greeted him at the door with genuine concern in her eyes. She'd stroked his face with a tenderness he hadn't experienced in a long time, if ever. No, she felt something for him, maybe not what she once had, but still something. He hadn't killed every gentler feeling she had toward him. He had to be thankful for that.
 
 
The first rule was that you didn't tell. No matter what she did, you didn't tell, not even the old lady, though the old lady already knew. The Mirror knew that, but he had been ready to break the rule. He had been about to tell, and that couldn't be allowed.
Even though she was dead, she still whispered to him sometimes. She reminded him of how useless The Mirror had been. If it had been olden times they could have left him on a mountain to rot, but as things were they had to keep him.
After all they'd been through, The Mirror had been ready to tell every sordid little secret. He regretted killing him, not because he was dead, but because the connection was gone. Even all those years they'd been separated, he'd still felt the bond, frail and tenuous, but there. Once he'd killed The Mirror, he was alone, all alone for the first time in his life, and he hated it. He couldn't live like this, so totally unconnected.
He'd known what he was going to do almost immediately. He was almost at the end of it now. He was going to tell now, himself, but it didn't matter. She wouldn't live long enough to pass it on. But she'd been good to him and deserved to know why she was about to die.
He looked at her and smiled—all that dark delicious hair and a slender body, not sloppy, neat. She surveyed the photos on the wall, all of them pictures from his youth. He and his brother, tumbling around the backyard like two puppies. There were others, but these seemed to fascinate her.
She pointed to the girl in one photograph. “Is that your sister?”
He smiled, his lips drawn back, feral. “No.”
She looked puzzled, what he expected.
“Mother always wanted a girl. Walter couldn't do it. He was too weak. He nearly died. No use to anyone. There was only me.”
She took a step back from him, incredulity and indignation on her face. “You're telling me your mother used to dress you like a girl?”
“It wasn't so bad really. Except for the men. She'd give me to them sometimes. Sometimes it didn't matter, but sometimes when they found out I wasn't what they thought I was they'd kick both our asses.”
He saw it in her eyes now—revulsion, disgust, and a burgeoning sense of fear. “Why are you telling me this?”
“So that you understand. Life tricked her. All she asked for was that the baby she carried would be a girl. God gave her two boys instead. Me and The Mirror.” That's how he'd come to think of them. She used to say they were a reflection of each other: The Mirror weak and him strong, The Mirror useless and him mommy's little helper. They were the same, yet different. Opposites. Although she'd trained him otherwise, he'd started in the world left-handed,
sinestre
. Sinister.
To her he said, “She couldn't stand for that.”
He'd thought he would be able to tell her all of it, but he'd miscalculated. She wouldn't be able to accept it. He wanted to tell her how powerful he was, what he'd done. But all that was left was to show her. Such a waste, but it couldn't be helped. If he hadn't gotten her away before the news hit she would have known. She would have told. And that might have ruined everything. He was in the process of telling himself, in the biggest way he knew how. Then it would be over. But not yet.
He reached for her, wanting it over quick, but she fought him, striking him, using her feet and elbows to wound him. She was strong and her blows hurt, but he was beyond that now. He managed to knock her to the floor, and then he was on her, unfurling the cord he'd kept in his pocket for this purpose. She wouldn't die like the others. If she cooperated, it would be quick. He owed her that. She fought him as the cord tightened around her neck, choking her. Six minutes, that's all it would take for her brain to shut down and die. He had a special place picked out for her, in the center of the orchard outside, waiting. He would put her there and go back to the city in the morning. He still had work to do.
Her body went slack, but he kept the cord tight, mentally counting off the minutes until it was done. He let her body slide bonelessly to the floor and stood.
Twenty-two
The three-hour drive up to Granville, New York, proved uneventful, mostly because Alex spent most of that time drifting in and out of sleep. They'd left the highway a bit ago, traveling a backwoods route. He had to admit this was beautiful country, though the trees hadn't yet started to bud and grass still showed winter pallor. It was the sort of place families came for apple and pumpkin picking in the fall.
Alex stirred beside him. She wore her hair in a single braid down her back, but several wisps had escaped to frame her face. She brushed them back as she sat up. “Are we there yet?”
He chuckled. “We should make town in a couple of minutes. I'll need directions out to Thorpe's sister's place.”
He'd stop by the sheriff's office in town, partly as a professional courtesy since he had no jurisdiction here and partly to find out what he knew about the sister. The sheriff's office was in the center of town, a one-story office building that looked freshly painted.
Zach parked in front of the building. It was barely nine thirty, but the street was busy in a small-town sort of way. Very peaceful. Living here would drive him stir-crazy in a week. He collected Alex from the other side of the car and went inside.
Sheriff Harrold Bates was standing at the front desk when they walked in. Agewise, Zach would put him in his midforties. He had a full head of dark hair that had started to go white at the temples and a belly that had started to strain against the dark blue fabric of his uniform. But his blue eyes assessed them with a shrewdness Zach wouldn't have expected in a small-town cop. “What can I help you people with?”
Zach introduced himself and Alex, but he had the feeling such introductions were unnecessary. “We were heading out to Ginnie Thorpe's place and needed directions.”
“I'll take you people, if you don't mind. Ms. Thorpe appreciates her privacy.”
In other words, he didn't mind them going out there but wanted to be along in case the big city people started some trouble. “That's not a problem.”
“Linda, I'm going out for a while,” Bates called. A pretty blonde came to take over his spot at the desk. Bates gestured for them to precede him out the door. “The regular girl's on maternity leave, so we're all taking turns,” he said.
Outside they climbed into the sheriff's car, Zach in front with Bates, Alex in back. As they drove he looked back at her. She'd been uncharacteristically silent since they got to the sheriff's office. True, there hadn't been much for her to say, but she seemed pensive in a way that bothered him. He wondered what he was thinking, but Bates spoke, claiming his attention.
“What do you folks want with Ginnie Thorpe, anyway? I was just out there yesterday afternoon to let her know about her brother.”
Zach focused on Bates. Wasn't that a question better asked before he'd agreed to bring them out here? “How did she react when you told her?”
“She wasn't there. That's not unusual. She doesn't stay up here too much, except in the winter.”
So now Zach understood. Bates would give the city slickers the chance to do the dirty work. “Where is she the rest of the time?”
Bates shrugged. “Don't know. She's not the friendliest girl, if you know what I mean. Likes to be by herself. She comes into town every so often wearing one of those smocks. She's a painter, you know.”
Zach nodded for want of a better reaction. “But you think she's there now?”
“One of the deputies noticed her car in the drive this morning. Here's the road to her place.”
The sheriff made a left turn onto a dirt road. Soon two buildings came into view, a large clapboard house and another building that was either a garage or a storage shed. What struck Zach was how isolated these two buildings looked, how drab, without even a garden to brighten up the gray of the house. Then again, it was a bit early for any flowers to have bloomed, but there didn't seem to be any beds in which said flowers might grow. Wouldn't an artist appreciate color?
Bates pulled to a stop in front of the house behind what Zach presumed was Ginnie's car, a black Ford Taurus, and got out. He walked up to the house, leaving Zach to let Alex out of the car. He did, noticing how Bates approached the house, calling Ginnie Thorpe's name.
Zach and Alex reached the front door just as Bates began to rap on the door. “Ms. Thorpe,” he called. “You've got visitors.”
The door slid open a way with the force of Bates's knock. “Ms. Thorpe,” he called again. “You in here?” Bates pushed the door open farther. “Ms. Thorpe?”
Bates glanced back at him. “Folks around here don't have much use for locks, but they don't leave their doors open.” Bates said that almost to himself, as if it were an excuse for what he was about to do. He eased inside the house, looking around. The expression in his eyes showed more curiosity about this woman who lived on the outskirts of town and had no use for the people in it, than concern for her welfare. For all they knew, the woman was out back and couldn't hear them. Bates turned into a room on the right. “Well, I'll be.”
There was more wonderment than alarm in Bates's voice. Zach pulled Alex behind him. “Stay close to me,” he said, though he doubted such a warning was necessary. He eased in behind Bates, who stood at the center of the room, craning his neck around.
The only way Zach could describe what he found was a shrine. Photo after photo, all elaborately framed, hung from the walls, sat on every surface in the room. There must have been hundreds of them. Each one featured the same pair of children, a boy and a girl, depicting their passage from infancy to eight or nine. Thorpe and his sister, no doubt. Zach's first thought was, who could have taken so many pictures? His second thought was to wonder why anyone would keep so many of them preserved in this way.
He gazed at Alex for her take on this. She was staring at one picture in particular. “Oh my God,” she whispered.
She turned to look at him, but before she could say a word a crash sounded at the back of the property. Zach looked at Bates, who didn't appear to be in any hurry to find out the source of the noise. “Stay put,” Zach said to Alex. He went to the back of the house and looked outside the kitchen window to the building out back. The door was open when it hadn't been when they drove out. He eased his weapon from its holster and let himself out the back door.
How could she not have seen it before? Now that the answer was crystal clear in her mind she wondered why it hadn't come to her before. She remembered the conversation with Thorpe's “sister.” She'd told her to look elsewhere for who killed the girls, to someone who hated him. That hadn't been an attempt to clear Walter's name, but a clue. She'd known it the moment she saw a picture of that girl standing behind her brother, a rock in her hand, poised to throw it at the back of her brother's head. Alex wondered what had stopped her—perhaps the act of someone catching it on film. It was the kind of thing a little girl might explain away saying she hadn't really intended to do it, but there was a blackness in that child's eyes that couldn't be explained that easily.
And there was something else. If Ginnie Thorpe were older, that difference must be able to be measured in minutes. These children were the same age. Ginnie had said it herself.
My mother died when we were ten years old.
They were twins who shared every feature. Identical. Which meant Ginnie Thorpe couldn't be a woman at all.
She was so engrossed in the pictures that when she heard a sound behind her, she jumped. She caught a glimpse of Sheriff Bates sliding to the floor before a pair of hands closed around her, one around her waist, trapping her arms against her body, the other hand clamped painfully around her mouth. She could feel his face next to hers, his breath, smelling of whiskey, fanning her skin. “Hello, Alex,” he whispered against her ear.
She knew that voice. It wasn't the breathy voice of Ginnie Thorpe but one identical to Walter's. Panic rose in her, making her heartbeat treble and her stomach cramp into a tight knot. If he was here, where was Zach? She hadn't heard a gunshot or any sounds of struggle to indicate he'd met up with Zach at all, but she feared for him anyway. She struggled against his hold, but the fingers at her waist dug into the flesh at her side.
“Keep still,” he warned. “I don't have much time. I see you figured it out. Finally. I thought you were smarter than that, Doctor.”
She managed to jab her elbow into his solar plexus, but not with enough force to do much damage.
His hold on her tightened painfully. “Quiet, Doctor. I have a little secret to share with you. You know all those naughty rapes my brother was convicted of? That was me, too. I just thought about what the little bastard would do if he ever got up the nerve to stick his dick into a woman. The semen in the last victim was a nice touch, don't you think? Nobody knew about me so they went after him.”
“Why?” She managed to get that one word out.
“He was going to tell you everything. Even when he got out of prison he called you. He just couldn't get up the nerve to talk to you. I had to shut him up. But none of that matters anymore. See you around, Doctor.”
He pushed her forward toward the wall with such force that she cracked her head on one of the pictures. She fell to the floor, dazed, landing on her purse. She grabbed it, searching inside for the .22. She found it, slid onto her stomach, and turned to aim, but Thorpe was already gone.
Outside, a car engine roared to life. Thorpe planned on getting away. “Zach,” she screamed. She scrambled to her feet. If she made it to the doorway, she'd at least be able to tell in the direction he'd left. He pulled out the opposite way they'd come, traveling toward a grove of bare trees in the distance.
“Alex.”
She jumped before she realized the soft voice calling to her belonged to Zach. She turned and buried her face against his chest. She couldn't seem to stop trembling. If he'd wanted her dead she would have been gone by now. Or he would have taken her with him if he could.
“It's all right, baby,” Zach said against her ear. He eased the gun from her fingers and tucked it in his waistband.
She lifted her head. “We should go after him.”
Zach shook his head. “Look at the tires.”
She looked over her shoulder at the police car. Both tires on the passenger side had been slashed.
When she turned back, Zach tilted her head up with a hand under her chin. “What happened there?”
She touched her fingertips to the spot at her temple. “He pushed me and I cracked my head on one of the pictures. What about the sheriff?”
Keeping an arm around her waist he led her back into the room. Bates was just coming to. He lifted himself into a sitting position and shook his head, then groaned. “What the hell happened?”
“That's what I'd like to know,” Zach said. “He was in here. Weren't you watching her?”
Alex could feel the anger radiating off Zach. If she guessed correctly, he was more angry with himself for leaving her alone than with anything the sheriff had done. She tightened her grasp on him. The last thing they needed was for these two men to go at each other.
“How's your head?” she asked.
Bates touched his head to the back of his neck and his fingertips came back bloody. He shook his head again and rose to his feet with Zach's help. “I better get my people out here, plus somebody to take a look at that. How are you doing, young lady?”
“I'm fine.”
Bates nodded. He used the radio at his belt to call into his office.
“In the meantime,” Zach said, “you should see what's out back.”
The smaller building was an art studio. One side was dedicated to the sort of landscapes that sold well to casual art buyers, which was probably how Thorpe's twin supported himself. It was the type of occupation that afforded great mobility and didn't tie him down to one place of business.
But along one wall was another type of painting, comprising deep purples, blacks, and stark crimsons, depictions of death and dismemberment so graphically painted bile rose in her throat. There was one painting left on an easel, the acrylic used so fresh that its scent filled the air. In it, a young woman with long dark hair rested underground with her arms crossed over her chest. Aboveground was a headstone with the words
REST IN PEACE
spelled out. Beside the grave was the figure of a blond man whose grotesque features mocked the handsomeness the Thorpe twins had shared.

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