Honest illusions(BookZZ.org) (24 page)

“No.” She didn’t resist when Luke’s arms came around her. It wasn’t fear that was making her shake, she realized. It was a haunting sense of betrayal. She had known Gerald, she’d liked him, and he’d been prepared to force sex on her. “No, he didn’t rape me. I swear.”

“He ripped your shirt.”

This time her smile was a little steadier. “He said I broke his nose, but I think I just bloodied it.” She laughed and settled her head on Luke’s shoulder. It felt so good to be there, standing in the rain with him, feeling that hard, steady beat of his heart. Whenever things got really bad, she mused, Luke was there.

There was a comfort in that. “You should have heard him squeal. Luke, I don’t want Max or Lily to know. Please.”

“Max has a right—”

“I know.” She lifted her head again. Rain trickled down her face like tears. “It’s nothing to do with rights. It would hurt him, and frighten him. And it’s over now, so what could he do?”

“I won’t say anything. If—”

“I knew there’d be an if.”

“If,” Luke repeated, tucking a finger under her chin, “you agree to let me talk to this creep. Satisfy myself that he’s going to stay away from you.”

“Believe me, I don’t have anything to worry about. He might even take out a warrant so I won’t be able to go within five hundred feet of him.”

“I talk to him, or I talk to Max.”

“Damn it.” She sighed, considered her options, then shrugged. “Okay, I’ll tell you where to find him, if—”

“Yeah, right. If?”

“You swear it’s just talk. I don’t want or need you to go beat someone’s face in for me anymore.” She smiled again and knew they both thought of Sam Wyatt. “I did that all by myself this time.”

“Just talk,” Luke said. Unless he decided more was necessary.

“Actually, you could do me a favor.” She eased away because this was a tough one. “I’m not positive, but I think . . . from something he said when he was, well . . .”

“What?”

“I think he had a camera on somewhere. Filming the event, you know?”

Luke opened his mouth, shut it again. Perhaps it was for the best that he was stunned speechless.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s a film major,” she hurried on. “Really hung up on movies, and this video craze. That’s why I went to his apartment. To watch a couple of classic films. And he . . .” She blew out a breath that fogged in the air then washed away in the rain. “I’m pretty sure he had a camera on, so we could enjoy watching ourselves after.”

“That fucking perverted asshole.”

“Well, yeah, but I was wondering, if you insist on talking to him, if you could make him give you the film or the tape or whatever the hell it is.”

“I’ll get it. If you ever pull something like this again—”

“I pull?” She slapped her hands on her hips. “Look, peabrain, I was nearly raped. That makes me a victim, get it? I didn’t do anything to deserve that kind of treatment.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Hell with that. It’s just like a man.” She whirled away, paced two steps then spun back. “I must have been asking for it, right? I lured that poor, helpless man into my web then cried foul when things got heavy.”

“Shut up.” He pulled her against him and held tight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything like that. Christ, Roxanne, can’t you understand you scared me? I don’t know what I’d have done if he’d . . .” He pressed his mouth to her hair. “I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“All right.” Another tremor hit her, rippling down her spine. “It’s all right.”

“Okay.” He was murmuring, stroking, trying to comfort, even as his mouth sought hers. “No one’s going to hurt you again.” There was rain on her lips. He kissed it away, gently, sweetly, then went back for more. Her arms came up to wind strong and sure around his neck even as her body melted like wax against him. He gave himself a moment, one glorious moment to hold her, and pretend it could be real.

“Feeling better?” His smile was strained as he drew her away.

“I’m feeling something.” Her voice was like the fog that snaked along the ground at their feet. When she lifted a hand to his cheek, he grabbed it, pressed his lips to the center of her palm. She wondered the rain didn’t sizzle off as it struck her.

“Rox . . . we’d better—” He broke off as a man walked through the curtain of rain. Luke started to simply shift Roxanne aside, then he looked at Cobb’s face, at Cobb’s eyes, and felt his life turn upside down.

How foolish he’d been to forget even for a moment that he had his own demons to face that night.

But if he could do nothing else, he could prevent that ugliness from touching Roxanne.

“Go inside,” he ordered.

“But, Luke—”

“Go in. Now.” He pulled her toward the gate and the courtyard. “There’s something I have to do.”

“I’ll wait.”

“No, don’t.” When he turned, she had one glimpse of his eyes, and the torment in them.

Luke walked through the rain to confront an old nightmare.

“Been awhile, kid.” Al Cobb sat in the dingy Bourbon Street strip joint smoking a Camel. It was his kind of setting, the women with tired eyes bumping hips and twirling pasties, the smell of stale drunks and impersonal sex. He’d known Luke would follow him in.

Luke had draped one arm over the back of his chair. He was forcing himself to relax, using every ounce of will to prevent those nasty flashbacks from sneaking into his mind. “What do you want?”

“A drink, a little conversation.” Cobb let his eyes crawl over the cocktail waitress’s breasts and roam down to her crotch. “Bourbon, a double.”

“Black Jack,” Luke told her, knowing his usual beer wouldn’t have the fire to purge.

“A man’s drink.” Cobb grinned, showing tobacco-stained teeth. Years of hefting the bottle hadn’t been kind to him. Even in the dim light Luke could see the maze of broken capillaries in his face, those twisted red banners of the dedicated drunk. He’d put on too much weight around the middle so that his knit shirt stretched and strained over the girth.

“I asked you what you wanted.”

Cobb said nothing as their drinks were set down. He lifted his, took a deep swallow and watched the stage. An improbably built redhead was peeling away a French maid’s uniform. She was down to her G-string and a pair of feather dusters.

“Je-sus, look at the tits on that bitch.” Cobb downed his drink and signaled for another. He grinned over at Luke. “What’s the matter, boy, don’t you like looking at boobs?”

“What are you doing in New Orleans?”

“Having me a little holiday.” Cobb licked his lips while the dancer bounced her abundant breasts and squeezed them together. “Figured since I was in the neighborhood, I’d look you up. Ain’t you going to ask about your mother?”

Luke sipped carefully at the whiskey, letting the heat slide down into his gut and thaw frozen muscles.

“No.”

“That’s unnatural.” Cobb clucked his tongue. “She’s living in Portland now. We still get together from time to time. She started to charge for it, you know?” He gave Luke a lascivious wink, pleased when he saw the muscles in his jaw clench. “But old Maggie, she’s sentimental enough to give me a free pop when I come knocking. Want I should give her your best?”

“I don’t want you to give her anything from me.”

“You got a shitty attitude.” Cobb tossed back more bourbon while the music grew louder, more raucous. One of the men tried to climb onstage and was tossed out. “Always did. You’d stayed around a little longer, I’d have beaten some respect into you.”

Luke leaned forward, eyes glittering. “Or you’d have turned me into a whore.”

“You had a roof over your head, food in your belly.” Cobb shrugged and continued to drink. “I just expected you to pay for it.” It didn’t occur to him to be afraid of Luke. His memory was keen enough to recall how easily he’d cowed the boy with a few solid whacks of the belt. “But that’s behind us now, ain’t it? You’re a big fucking deal these days. Coulda knocked me over with a whiff of gin when I saw you on the TV.” He snorted into his bourbon. “Doing magic tricks for chrissake. Learned how to wave your magic wand, did you, Luke?” He roared with laughter at his own joke until tears sparkled in his eyes. “You and that old man got yourself a couple of prime pieces of ass out of it.”

The laughter died into choking when Luke grabbed him by the collar. Their faces were close now, close enough for Luke to smell the whiskey on Cobb’s breath over the barroom stink of liquor and smoke.

“What do you want?” he repeated, spacing each word.

“You want to take me on, boy?” Always ready to brawl, he wrapped his meaty fingers around Luke’s wrists. He was surprised by the strength he found there, but never doubted his own superiority. “Want to go head-to-head with me?”

He did, so badly his body shook with a need as basic as sex. But there was a part of him, buried deep, that was still a terrified little boy who remembered the snap of a leather belt, and the sear of it against tender flesh. “I don’t want to be in the same state with you.”

“It’s a free country.” Because he was smart enough to know that a fight wouldn’t get him what he’d come for, Cobb jerked away and ordered another drink. “Problem with that is you got to pay for every damn thing. You’re making good money with your magic tricks.”

“Is that what you want?” Luke would have laughed if disgust hadn’t blocked his throat. “You want me to give you money?”

“Helped raise you, didn’t I? I’m the closest thing to a father you had.”

Now he did laugh. There was enough fury in the sound to have the people nearby glance over warily.

“Fuck off.” Before he could rise, Cobb took hold of his sleeve.

“I can make trouble for you, and for that old man you’re tangled up with. All I got to do is make a couple of calls to some of them reporters. What do you think the TV producers would think once they read about you? Callahan—that’s what you call yourself now, ain’t it? Just plain Callahan. Escape artist and male prostitute.”

“That’s a lie.” But he’d paled, and Cobb saw it. All those memories flooded back, the fat hands pawing, groping, the sweat and heavy breathing. “I didn’t let him touch me.”

“You don’t know what happened after I kicked you senseless.” Cobb was pleased to see the bluff take root. He fed on the horror, the doubt, the revulsion in Luke’s eyes. “One way or the other, people’d wonder, wouldn’t they? People like that hot little number you were making time with a little while ago.

You think she’d let you dip your wick once she found out you were blowing freaking fags when you were twelve?” He grinned, with hate in his eyes. “Don’t matter if it’s a lie or the God’s truth, boy, not once it’s in print.”

“I’ll kill you.” Nausea weakened Luke’s voice and had sweat pearling on his forehead.

“Be easier to pay me.” Confident he could run the show, Cobb took out another cigarette. “I don’t need much. Couple thousand to start.” He blew smoke in Luke’s direction. “Starting tomorrow. Then I’ll drop you a line now and then, telling you how much I want and where to send it. Otherwise . . . I go to the press. I’d have to tell them how you sold yourself to perverts, how you took off from your poor, grieving mother, how you got tangled up with that Nouvelle. Seems to me he broke a law or two taking in a runaway. Then again, it might sound like he had other uses for you. You know.” He smiled again, satisfied with the revulsion on Luke’s face. “I could make people wonder if he didn’t get for free what you sold to others.”

“Keep Max out of it.”

“Be glad to.” Cobb spread his hands in cooperation. “You bring me two thousand tomorrow night, right

here. That’s a show of good faith. Then I’ll be on my way. You don’t show, I’ll just have to make me a call to the
National Enquirer.
I don’t guess all the little boys and girls, and their mommies and daddies, would have much use for a magician who had a taste for young meat? Nope.” He took another drag.

“Can’t see you doing another performance for the Queen of England when you’re accused of buggery.

That’s what those limeys call it. Buggery.” Cobb laughed again as he rose. “Tomorrow night. I’ll be waiting.”

Luke sat where he was, fighting just to breathe. Lies, fucking lies. He could prove it, couldn’t he? His hand shook as he reached for his glass. No one would believe, could possibly believe that Max had . . .

Sickened, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Cobb was right, once it was in print, once people started to question and whisper, it wouldn’t matter.

The stain would be there, the shame and the horror.

If he could stand it for himself, he couldn’t bear the thought of any of it touching Max or Lily. Or Roxanne. Sweet God, Roxanne. He squeezed his eyes shut as he downed the rest of his whiskey. He ordered another and settled down to get miserably drunk.

She was waiting for him. Roxanne had gone inside and slipped into her room unnoticed. A long, hot bath had soothed most of the aches, and some of the frustrations. Then she’d settled herself on the balcony to wait.

She saw him stumble through the drizzle and fog. Watched him weave and stop, and start again with the exaggerated care of a drunk. Her worry and confusion vanished in a white-hot rage.

He had left her and her humming nerve ends standing in the rain, and had gone off to find a bottle. Or several bottles by the look of him. Roxanne stood, jerked the robe of her belt tight—like a soldier gearing for battle, then rushed down to intercept Luke in the courtyard.

“You imbecile.”

He teetered back, tried to maintain balance on the suddenly slanting bricks and grinned stupidly. “Babe, whatcha doing out in the rain? Catch cold.” He took a staggering step forward. “Christ you look pretty, Roxy. Drives me nuts.”

“Obviously.” It didn’t seem like much of a compliment when the words were slurred almost beyond recognition. She reached out to grab his arm in reflex when he swayed. “I hope you pay for this in the morning.”

“T’morrow night,” he muttered while his head went round and round on his shoulders. “Gotta pay tomorrow night.”

“You should live so long.” She sighed, but took his weight, draping one of his arms over her shoulders.

“Come on, Callahan, let’s see if we can get a drunk Irishman to bed without waking up the house.”