Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 03 - Insatiable

INSATIABLE

A Sydney Rye Novel, #3

Emily Kimelman

Copyright © 2012 Emily Kimelman Gilvey

All rights reserved.

Cover Illustration by Autumn Whitehurst

Books by Emily Kimelman

UNLEASHED
(A Sydney Rye Novel, #1)

DEATH IN THE DARK
(A Sydney Rye Novel, #2)

INSATIABLE
(A Sydney Rye Novel, #3)
 

STRINGS OF GLASS
(A Sydney Rye Novel, #4)

To learn more about Emily and her Sydney Rye series visit
www.emilykimelman.com
or get in touch on twitter
@ejkimelman
and
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For Nana and Poppy

“There are new words now that excuse everybody. Give me the good old days of heroes and villains. The people you can bravo or hiss. There was a truth to them that all the slick credulity of today cannot touch.”

-Bette Davis,
The Lonely Life
, 1962

SUNSHINE ON A SUNNY DAY

Carlos was the one who felt my phone vibrating; it was under one of the napkins we’d used for our picnic lunch. I found it, and glancing quickly at the “UNKNOWN” on the caller ID, picked it up. While used to calls from unknown places, I was not used to calls from this guy.

“Sydney, how are you?”

I didn’t actually recognize his voice right away. I rolled away from Carlos, sitting up. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who this is.” It was when he laughed that I recognized him. “Bobby?”

He laughed again. “I’m glad you remember me. My heart would be broken if I could be so easily forgotten.”

I stood up, Carlos looked up at me, a question in his eyes. I shook my head and stepped away from our blanket. My dog, Blue, a huge wolf-like creature with one blue eye and one brown followed me, keeping at a heel. “Forget you, Bobby Maxim? In order to do that I’d need a lobotomy.”

“With your penchant for revenge, I half expect to see you bursting through my closet doors some day, guns blazing.”

I laughed. “Who says I’m not in there right now?”

“I know exactly where you are. I’ve been keeping very good track of you.”

I looked around the park. Gentle green hills spotted with couples and groups of friends lounging on blankets dominated the landscape. On a field below me a soccer match was beginning to form. A woman ran by in a skin-tight suit, nothing on her jiggled.

“Are you here now?”

“No, no. I’m calling to ask a favor.”

“That’s rich.”

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I spun around and stepped back. Blue let out a growl. Carlos stood behind me, his hands out, palms forward in a sign of peace. “I just wanted to let you know I’m going to join some mates for a game of football.”

“Sorry, that’s great. I’ll see you in a bit,” I said, covering the mouth piece. Carlos smiled and jogged off down the hill.

“Does he know about you?” Bobby asked. I didn’t answer as I watched Carlos join a group of other men on the field below. “Sydney, are you there?”

“I’m not doing you any favors. I don’t know if you’re totally clear on the fact that you took something from me.”

“Sydney, I don’t understand this animosity. I was just doing you a favor.”

“A favor!” I heard myself yelling. Looking around I saw that I’d attracted the attention of several of the groups of Londoners trying to enjoy their first day of sun. “You bastard,” I hissed quietly. “I hope you rot in hell.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner, darling.”

“Call me darling again and I will make it my life’s mission to take your ball sack. Are we clear?”

“Anything you’d do with my ball sack would be very welcome.”

“I forgot what a sick fuck you are.”

“A sick fuck who did you a favor and is now looking for one in return.”

“You’re insane!” I heard myself yelling again. I took a deep breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Blue tapped his muzzle against my hip to let me know he was still there.

“Sydney, I didn’t know what you two had planned. I would have killed Kurt long before you showed up. Remember, I’m not the one who left my fingerprints behind; whose blood was spilled all over the floor. You took yourself down, it had nothing to do with me.” He said it in an off-hand way. Like I was being petty and missing the big picture.

“You killed him,” I whispered, trying to control my anger, but I could feel myself shaking. “That was my right. Kurt Jessup murdered my brother and I should have been the one to end him.”

“At the time I had no idea about that. Mulberry didn’t tell me what you were planning, just that we had a problem. I had no intention of stifling your little revenge act. If anyone should be pissed it’s me. At least you got the treasure.”

I stood on the green feeling lightheaded. It was like Bobby Maxim was taking the world and flipping it upside down. “What are you talking about? Mulberry told you that?”

“Oh Cher, you didn’t know?” Maxim’s voice rose an octave, teasing and dripping with syrup. A cold knowledge traveled from my toes right up to my brain, my best friend betrayed me, our relationship was built on a lie. I walked toward the shade of a tree, reaching out to rest a hand against the rough trunk. “Mulberry called me, told me about Kurt. About him killing Tate and Joseph,” Bobby paused, “about how he killed your brother, James.” I picked at the tree in front of me, breaking off a piece of the bark. I looked at the white underneath, the exposed inner branch. “Now don’t get all upset and quiet on me, dear. He only did it to save you.”

“Save me?”

“From becoming a killer.”

“You think someone can be saved from that?” I heard sadness in my voice and hated myself for it.

“No, I don’t. I think you are what you are, Sydney. And I think it’s amazing. I want you on my team.” He sounded upbeat and excited about our future together.

I didn’t answer.

“Aren’t you even curious about the case?” Bobby continued.

“No.”

“It’s a good friend of mine in Mexico, his daughter has disappeared. The reason I’m hoping you’ll help is she’s a fan of yours.”

“What?”

“She’s on that site about Joy.” I felt nausea creep up my throat. Mulberry told me about the website but I had yet to visit it. I couldn’t face whatever kind of madness I had spawned. The basic principle, that Joy Humbolt murdered the Mayor of New York to revenge her brother’s killing, was off by a couple of heartbeats. The member’s fanatical agreement that Joy was a hero was just sick. “You had a real effect on that Jackie,” Bobby continued. “Starting that site about you really turned her life around. She’s a serious nut bag. You should be proud.”

“Jacquelyn Saperstein is suffering under a false impression of who I was. All the people on that site are deluded. I’m not a god damn hero.”

“Come work for me.”

“No.”

“What if I could pardon you?”

I realized I should hang up the phone. This guy was so deep under my skin I practically felt like a puppet. “Ha,” I said, “you’re going to pardon me for something you did?”

“I could make the charges go away. You could be Joy Humbolt again.”

I hung up the phone. Turned it off. Sat back down on my blanket, refilled my wine glass and spent the rest of the afternoon watching Carlos play a hot game of soccer while Blue napped peacefully by my side.

Carlos was surprised when I said I wanted to spend the night at his place. He didn’t say anything but I saw the jump of his eyebrows and a sweet smile cross his lips. I felt a stab of guilt. He thought I wanted to get closer but I was just using him to avoid my place.

I woke up around 3 a.m. in Carlos’s darkened bedroom. I lay there and watched shadows cast by the curtains move across the ceiling as car’s headlights passed by. The shadows looked like opaque, transforming African masks.

When I stood, Blue raised his head and then followed me out into the living room. Wrapping myself in a blanket I found on the couch, I wandered into the kitchen. The fridge was full but I didn’t want anything.

My phone was in my bag, still turned off. A deep, sharp pain in my chest stopped me from calling Mulberry. If it was true that he had conspired with Bobby Maxim, I didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t want to lose him.

Mulberry helped me when no one else would. I never could have made it out of New York alive, let alone a millionaire, without him. If he hadn’t come to Mexico and pulled me out of my self-pitying spiral of alcoholism, I’d probably still be there. He gave me the name Sydney Rye. More than a name, he gave me a purpose. I’d always thought his help came from friendship. But now it all had a shadow over it. What did Mulberry really want from me?

Blue hopped up on the couch and rested his massive head between his paws. He watched me pace around the living room, eventually closing his eyes and snoring softly. Over the last three years, Blue had changed as much as me. When I first adopted Blue he was underweight, a chronic chewer with separation anxiety, and a penchant for trying to attack strangers on the street.

Now he was thick and strong; besides the slight limp where Kurt Jessup’s bullet ripped through him, Blue was the picture of canine health. His coat would have looked at home on a wolf; it was glossy and shone in the gentle light from the street lamps that filtered through the living room windows. Blue was gigantic, the height of a Great Dane, the long snout of a Collie, and he took up most of the couch.

The bullet that shattered Blue’s shoulder blade left a scar, thick and pink, hidden under his fur. My scars from that fight included a streak of ruined skin under my left eye that tingles with damaged nerves. Above that same eye the ghost of another wound lingers. Not as deep, it is a gentle reminder that runs above my eyebrow fading into my hairline, of what madmen will do if you don’t stop them.

I grew bangs to cover the damage I could and cut the rest of my long blonde hair into a neat bob, the ends just grazing my shoulders. Being a fugitive you’d think I would need more of a disguise but there are no pictures of me with the scars and besides, I know how to disappear. Most people don’t want to see a killer so they don’t see me.

Carlos’s computer sat in the corner of the living room on a white desk whispering to me. I pulled up the chair and woke it up.

I stared at the blank Google page for a moment and then typed in “Joy Humbolt.” Jackie’s site was the first to pop up. Amazing to think that my history was being told by a woman I barely knew. True, I’d proven her innocence and chased away the specter of incarceration. She said I’d saved her life. What had she done for me? Turned me into a goddamn folk hero.

I clicked on the link and held my breath while the page loaded. I didn’t know what to expect but I was shocked to see a scanned copy of the letter I wrote Jackie three years ago on the landing page. It was written on hotel stationery from the Excelsior where I’d exiled myself. It was written in Joy’s neat, angry, black letters. I remembered writing that letter in sudden vivid detail. I thought I knew everything that had happened and everything that would happen. I had a plan; God must have been laughing his ass off.