Gone Too Far (39 page)

Gina had said her farewells to the guys in the band. She’d thanked the wait staff and the bartender, and she’d gathered up her jacket and her leather bag with her sticks and brushes. The drum kit belonged to the drummer she’d replaced, and he was coming by the club to pick it up some time next week. It was, without a doubt, the easiest gig she’d ever done.

As well as the hardest. The shadow had been back again, in the dark corner by the rest rooms, for the last set of the evening. It
had
been Max. She was sure of it. And knowing him, he was probably still watching her right now. As she was talking to Ric Alvarado in the parking lot.

“I’m walking back to my motel,” she told Ric. “It’s not far.”

He had his key ring on his finger, and he flipped it so that his keys landed in the palm of his hand with a smack. “Can I give you a lift?”

He was a nice guy. He was an incredibly nice guy. In a different lifetime, Gina would have really liked him.

“Or, if you want, I could walk you,” he said. He was trying so hard to be casual about the fact that he was hoping to go home with her.

“How much did Max tell you?” she asked.

“How much did . . . what?” He pretended not to know what she was talking about. It was an Oscar-worthy performance.

“Max,” she said, resisting the urge to applaud. “He asked you to come here tonight, right?”

“Max
Bhagat
?” Ric said. “From the FBI?” He shook his head. “No. Are you . . . Is he . . .” He stopped and started over. “Did I make a mistake, Gina? I thought maybe there was something going on with you two the other night, but then he wasn’t here at the club, and you were being so, um, friendly. . . .”

Oh, he
was
good. “Max didn’t call you and ask you to let me pick you up here tonight?”

Ric laughed. “Did you pick me up? Because I thought I was trying to pick you up.”

“Is that what he told you to do?” Gina asked.

“Nobody called me and told me to do anything.” He was definitely getting uncomfortable with this conversation. “I came here because it was my night off and I love jazz. Do you have something kinky going with this guy? Because I’m absolutely not into that.”

“No!” Gina said. “God, no!”

Ric was serious and had been from the start. Max
hadn’t
contacted him. But that still didn’t mean that Max hadn’t somehow manipulated him into being here tonight.

Gina caught herself. Come on. Max was powerful and an extremely magnetic leader, but he wasn’t Obi-Wan Kenobi. He couldn’t use mind control or the Force or whatever to make Ric bend to his will.
You want to go to Fandangos. . . .
That was ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

She sat down on the curb, definitely feeling every ounce of wine she’d had tonight. “Max saved my life a couple of years ago. I was on a plane that was hijacked by terrorists and . . .” She shrugged.

“Oh, man. Really?” He sat down next to her.

“Really.” She sighed, chin on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs. “I’m in love with him.” She turned her head so that she could look up at him. “Want to sleep with me?”

Ric laughed. But then he looked at her closely. “Are you really drunk?”

Gina sighed again. “No.”

“Did you maybe take something mind altering tonight that I don’t know about?”

She sat up straight, indignant. “No!”

Ric held up both hands in a gesture that said
easy there
. “Hey, I’m not asking you this as Detective Alvarado. I’m asking as a man who likes you. You’re not going to get in trouble or anything. I just want to know the truth.”

“The truth is I don’t do drugs,” Gina told him. “And I’m really not drunk. I’m just . . .” She rolled her eyes. “Pathetic.”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic,” he said. “I think you’re really hot and . . . yeah, I really want to sleep with you. Your being in love with this other guy is probably going to make it suck, but, you know, I’ll suffer through somehow.”

Gina looked up at him and laughed.

He was looking at her with half-closed eyes and a crooked smile on his handsome face. He reached up to push her hair back, and his fingers were warm against her face. “I bet I can make you forget about him tonight.”

Wouldn’t that be nice—if she really
could
forget
every
thing. Max, the airplane, the way it had felt to be so certain she was going to die . . .

Ric leaned toward her as he pulled her chin up to meet him. His lips were soft and his mouth tasted sweet, like Fandangos’s coffee, rich and strong and laced with cinnamon. His hand was in her hair. Gina closed her eyes and let him kiss her and tried to imagine his hands all over her, his body on top of hers, and . . . She pulled away, scrambling to her feet.

“Hey!” He followed, catching her as she tripped in her haste to get away. “Whoa, whoa! You okay?”

“I can’t do this,” she said. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” She tried to pull free. “Please let go of me.”

He didn’t. “Gina—”

“I
said
, let
go
of me!”

He let her go, both hands in the air. “Okay, now you’re
really
freaking me out.”

She walked away from him, toward her motel, as fast as she could without it being called running. But when she got to the corner, she stopped. And turned and went back. Because she owed him at least an explanation.

He was still standing there looking at her as if she was insane. She was. She was definitely insane.

“You don’t really want to sleep with me,” she told him, trying her hardest not to cry. “You don’t know this yet, but I do. So I’m just skipping ahead to the part where you say, ‘Oh, gee, Gina, all your baggage is a little too heavy for me. I mean, wow, the responsibility’s just too intense. I think we should just be friends.’ ”

“All what baggage?” he asked. His eyes were open a little wider now, and his smile was gone.

Gina couldn’t bear to watch his warm brown eyes change from wary to horrified to filled with embarrassed discomfort. So she closed her own eyes and told him. “I haven’t had sex since before I was gang raped on that hijacked plane.”

“Oh, shit, you were . . .?” Like most people, he couldn’t say the R-word. “Oh, Gina, oh, baby . . .”

Ric put his arms around her and held her tightly, but it wasn’t with passion anymore, it was only with kindness, and she wanted to cry.

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” she said, “but that’s not fair to you, because I really don’t know if I’m going to flip out, or if I’m going to need to slow down or even stop, and it’s just not fair
not
to tell. But as soon as I tell, no one wants to touch me!”

“Shh,” he said. “It’s all right. It’s okay, baby. It’s going to be okay.”

She smacked his arms, pushing him away from her. “That’s such a stupid thing to say! Maybe it’s going to be okay for you, but it’s not going to be okay for me!”

He took a step toward her. “Gina—”

She took a step back. “Just go home!”

He kept coming. “I’d rather go with you. Back to your place.”

Yeah, right.

“Don’t touch me,” she warned him. He probably thought she wouldn’t know that he was lying.

He held out his hand to her. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

Gina looked at him. It had finally happened. She’d finally met a guy who was too nice to say no. But she suddenly knew that rejection really hadn’t been her problem all these months. She had actually been relieved that Elliot hadn’t wanted to sleep with her.

Because she wasn’t ready for this. It was possible that she’d never be ready for this kind of casual “I like you, let’s do it” sex again.

Her body had been used. Viciously, brutally. Sex had been forced on her as an expression of terrible violence and hatred. She’d told Max that she wanted that part of her life back, but she really didn’t. She didn’t want to experience sex ever again as anything less than a meaningful demonstration of real, deep love. And as nice as Ric was, she didn’t love him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really am.” And she turned and ran away.

And say what?

Please, I don’t want to be alone tonight. I keep thinking about kind-hearted Donny burning to death in that fire, and Tom losing Kelly, and Janine on the kitchen floor, and how terrified Haley must’ve been right before she died. . . .

No. Haley wasn’t dead and he wasn’t going to call Alyssa. Because if he called her, she might come over. And if she came over, they’d end up in bed together and . . .

And Sam wasn’t going to sleep with her. He’d made that decision today while they were talking about love, about the differences between “I want you” and “I love you.” He’d realized, with remarkable clarity considering how tired he was, that sex—as much as he desperately wanted it—would only complicate the shit out of their relationship.

Their relationship. Sam found himself smiling wanly at the ceiling. As bad as this situation was, it
had
brought about something good. Whether she liked it or not, he and Alyssa Locke
were
in a relationship again. Yes, it was freaking mixed up and about the farthest thing from normal that a relationship could be, but it
was
a relationship.

True, neither one of them had completely figured out how Mary Lou and Haley and, yeah, even Max Bhagat fit into the equation, but what the hell.

Sam was determined to take this embryonic, misshapen, ugly lump of a relationship and grow it into something beautiful. Something honest. Something permanent. Something real. Something like the relationship Walt had shared with Dot.

That
one had started out nearly as screwed up as this was. Well, maybe not quite. Because Walt and Dot had been careful to keep sex out of things until their feelings for each other had grown into real, rock-solid love.

Sam looked at the phone again. Don’t do it, idiot. Don’t call her again.

Of course, there were definitely a lot of missing steps in the dance that would start with his picking up the phone and end with her over here, in his bed. Assuming it would automatically go there was arrogant and egotistical. She could say no. She
would
say no.

But then Sam closed his eyes, remembering the way Alyssa had kissed him in the back hallway of the Wal-Mart. Holy, holy Jesus. She was fire in his arms. For a few minutes there, he’d been convinced that she was going to come. Just from a dry hump in a public corridor. He’d almost lost it himself, but his excuse was that he’d been celibate now for nearly a year.

Sam squinted at the ceiling. Was it possible . . .? Nah. He’d seen the way she’d kissed Max. The fucker. Still . . . Maybe it meant that Max wasn’t so great in bed after all.

Yeah, wouldn’t
that
be nice? Sam wasn’t any closer to sleep, but thinking about Max being unable to keep it up, or maybe just boring Alyssa to tears, was definitely better than thinking about Donny burning to death or Mary Lou and Haley jammed into some trunk.

But even better than the thought of Max, impotent, was the idea of Alyssa maybe being as desperate for Sam’s touch as he was for hers, not because she missed great sex, but because she missed
him
. In which case, if he called her on that phone, she might say yes.

Which was why he couldn’t call. Because if she said yes, then in order to stick to his plan about growing something real, Sam would have to be the one to say no. And he did not have a good history with that particular word. At least not when it came to Alyssa Locke and sexual intercourse.

Sam heard Alyssa’s cell phone ringing through the thin motel walls. He sat up. Was that Jules calling her? Or Max? Either way, it was probably news. He could hear the murmur of her voice through the wall, but try as he might, he couldn’t make out the words. Probably because his heart was pounding too freaking loudly.

Please God, let her come hammering on his door to tell him that those bodies in the trunk were definitely not Mary Lou and Haley.

He heard her stop talking, heard only silence. Then the sound of water running, a toilet flushing. Then nothing. Until she knocked, softly, on his door.

Oh, no.

That was not a jubilant knock, and Sam knew that the news was not going to be good.

Please God . . .

“Still nothing absolutely conclusive,” she said before he even got the door all the way open. “Jules said they’re having some trouble with the dental records. The fire was . . . apparently very hot.”

Sam nodded, just looking at her.

She’d had an overnight bag in the back of her car, and unlike him, she had a change of clothes. She either slept naked or her pajamas were too revealing, because she’d thrown her jeans and that baggy T-shirt back on.

She’d splashed water on her face before coming over here—part of her hair was still wet—but despite that, her eyes looked red, as if she’d just been crying. As she looked back at him, tears welled in her eyes. She covered her mouth with her hand as, Jesus, her face contorted and she started to cry.

Nothing
absolutely
conclusive, she’d said.

Sam’s ears roared as he pulled her into the room, into his arms, closing the door behind her.

“What did Jules tell you?” Sam asked, even though he knew. Mary Lou’s driver’s license or something else that could identify them had been found near the car.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she cried into his chest, this tough-as-nails woman who fought so hard never to be seen as weak.

He clung to her as tightly as she was holding him. God, give him the strength to endure this. “Please, Lys, tell me.”

She looked up at him. “They were killed by a shotgun, at close range, same as Janine.”

That was it?
That
was the bad news? Sam nearly fainted from the relief.

“I’m so sorry,” Alyssa said, holding him even tighter.

It was beyond nice that she was in his arms. And he was definitely blown away by her tears, but . . .

“You do know that you can’t match slugs from a shotgun,” he told her. “Forensics can’t know for sure it was the same weapon. That’s why people use shotguns to kill other people. And come on, Lys, there must be thousands of shotguns in this part of Florida alone.”

She lifted her head to look at him again, wonder in her eyes. “You still don’t think it’s them.”

“I’m trying hard not to,” he told her. “I’m scared to death that it is, but . . . What you just told me isn’t good news, yeah, but it’s not bad enough to make me quit hoping.”

She was so beautiful, gazing up at him with streaks of tears on her face and such emotion in her eyes. It was hard to believe he’d once thought she was cold and unfeeling.

“You stopped hoping they were still alive as soon as the news came out that those bodies were found, didn’t you?” he asked her gently.

She nodded, fresh tears escaping. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Sam said. “Don’t. Don’t apologize.” He touched her face, but trying to wipe her tears away was futile because they were still pouring down her face. God, she was crying and she wasn’t trying to hide it from him. “It’s just . . . I don’t get it. I mean, maybe I’m the one who’s being overly optimistic, but—”

“Bad things happen,” she told him earnestly. “It’s just part of life. I guess I think it’s easier to assume that when the . . . the
piano
falls from the sky, it’s going to fall on
you
. Otherwise, you’re blindsided. And if that happens, you may never get back up.”

When
the piano falls, not
if
. Oh, Alyssa. What a way to live. With potential pain and heartbreak lurking around every corner. And the only way to effectively counter it was to prepare for the worst to happen. Or maybe even to run away from the good things—like love. If you didn’t let yourself love someone, you couldn’t lose them.

No wonder Alyssa had fought so hard for so long to keep Sam out of her life. And when she’d finally opened up, finally agreed to give him a chance, to give their relationship a try, he’d gone and dropped a piano named Mary Lou squarely on top of her.

“I guess that makes me a pessimist, huh?” she told him, pulling out of his arms. As he watched, she crossed the room, heading to the mirror and sink by the bathroom, pulling several tissues from the slot in the counter. “I wish I wasn’t. It’s not something I particularly like about myself. But—” She blew her nose. “I was only thirteen when my mother died. I think a lot of kids who lose a parent become pessimistic. And those numbers probably increase among the kids who lose a parent to violent crime.”

“Oh, man.” Sam sat on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t realize . . .”

“I don’t talk about it much,” she admitted. “It’s still . . .” She looked around the room. Anywhere but directly into his eyes. But then she did. She made herself hold his gaze. “It’s hard to talk about. I still miss her so much.”

Sam nodded. “I’d really like you to tell me,” he said quietly. “I want to know you, Alyssa.”

She started to cry again. “Shit,” she swore. “I’m a mess tonight.” She got another tissue from the counter, and then came over and sat down on the bed, next to Sam.

Not right next to him, but close enough.

She looked at him, and her eyes were watery and her nose was red, and she said, “You know, I think that was probably the nicest thing any man has ever said to me—that you want to know me. So if you just said it because you were looking for some play—”

“No.” Sam cut her off. “I said it because I meant it.” He moved back, away from her. “And I’m not sleeping with you again until you really get to know
me
.”

She laughed at that. “Yeah, like you wouldn’t be all over me if I gave you the least little encouragement.”

“You sat on the bed, and I just backed away,” he pointed out.

He watched her realize that that was true.

“You said something day before yesterday about hiding in a closet,” he told her. “Did you actually see your mother get killed?” He braced himself for her answer, praying that he’d gotten it wrong.

“No,” she said. “It was . . .” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “It was Lanora in the closet.”

Lanora, her niece? No, Lanora was also Alyssa’s youngest sister’s name. Lanora, who had died several years ago from complications from a pregnancy.

And how often did
that
happen in these modern times? Talk about pianos falling from the sky . . .

“Can you tell me about it?” Sam asked her.

Alyssa nodded. “I’d like to,” she said quietly—three little words that filled his heart with so much hope he was sure for a minute that he was going to start to cry, too.

But she didn’t notice. She was back to looking at the floor.

“I was at school,” she told him. “My mother stayed home from work that day because Lanora had a stomach virus. I guess my mother was tired because Lanora had been up all night. They were both taking a nap when someone broke in. You know, any other day, the apartment would have been empty.” Her voice shook.

“Aw, Jesus,” Sam said.

She glanced back at him. “Yeah. Lanora told me that Mommy woke her up by putting her hand over her mouth. She told her to get in the bedroom closet, to hide. I guess they were lying down together, in our bedroom, and my mother heard a noise out in the other room. We didn’t have a phone in there—she had to get to her room to call 911. I don’t really know exactly what happened. She must’ve surprised whoever was in there—some addict looking for things to sell for drugs. They caught him when he sold our stereo to a pawn shop for ten dollars.” She made a sound that was something like laughter but had nothing to do with humor.

“He killed my mother for ten
dollars
,” Alyssa told him. The tears that were now in her eyes were from anger, and she brusquely pushed them away.

Sam didn’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry.”

“The police report said she was struck in the head with a blunt instrument,” she continued. “The injury wasn’t bad enough to kill her, except it did. There was swelling and hemorrhaging, and she never regained consciousness.”

Alyssa had been only thirteen. “Where was your father?” Sam asked. She hadn’t mentioned her father before today.

“He and my mother split up when I was eight—after Lanora was born. He just dropped off the map. He completely disappeared, except he sent a check every month. And then the checks stopped coming, and we found out he’d died in a car accident.” She looked at him. “I think right until then my mother hadn’t given up hope that he’d come back.”

Sam nodded. “Hope can be a pretty powerful thing.” He knew all about that.

Alyssa nodded, too. “We had a rough couple of years. But things were actually starting to turn around. We had plans to move out of that neighborhood.”

She was silent for a moment, and then she looked at him again and said, “To this day, I do not understand why she didn’t just hide in the closet with Lanora.”

“She wanted to protect her,” Sam said. “She had no idea that whoever was out there wasn’t going to harm your sister, that he wasn’t going to search the closets and—”

“I know,” she said. “I just wish . . .” She shook her head, wiping her eyes again. “I came home from school and the street was crawling with emergency vehicles. Tyra—my other sister—had gone over to a friend’s house after school. I remember being glad about that when I realized the ambulance was there for Mommy. Oh, God, Sam, all that blood on the kitchen floor . . .”