Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 (46 page)

In late fall, pine trees lose their green tone and can look faded, washed out, and dead. Some of the beauty returned after it snowed. I wished it would snow. Maybe the blinding whiteness would perk me up too, and keep me from fading away forever.

Finally I asked, “Where are we going?”

“Home.”

“I was home.”

“Not your home. Mine.”

Guess I’d get to see his digs after all.

He hung a right on a rough gravel road —scarcely a step above a Forest Service fi retrail— that seemed to go straight up. Around a sharp curve we stopped in front of an enormous black steel gate connected to an electric fence. Whoa. Serious security measures here too.

Martinez fl ipped his sun visor and poked a garage door opener. Th

e gate opened. We inched forward. I

couldn’t see anything the forest was so thick. Once we reached a small clearing I caught sight of his house.

540

Holy shit. He’d totally been slumming with me.

His place was a sprawling Spanish grotto-style house with native stone siding, instead of stucco or adobe, and accented with rough-hewn pine timbers. Solar panels protruded from the concrete roof. A walkway, crafted from river rocks and slate, curved from the garage to the front door. It was stunning.

“Wow.”

He smiled.

Th

e inside was even better: earth-toned walls, terra cotta tiled fl oors covered with colorful rugs. An oversized chenille sofa, loveseat, and chair faced an immense rock fi replace. Th

e kitchen wasn’t huge, but the den was,

and it housed the largest fl atscreen TV I’d ever seen.

Th

e house teetered on the edge of a cliff . In the great room, fl oor to ceiling windows overlooked a spectacular canyon. Sheer rock walls in shades of shimmery silver amethyst and charcoal, hundreds of feet high, gave way to a sea of green-black pine trees and a golden, sun-kissed meadow.

His hand cupped my good shoulder and he kissed the back of my head. “You like it?”

“God, yes. It’s amazing. You have great taste, Martinez.”

“In all things.” He clasped my hand and led me down a darkened hallway. “I want to show you my bedroom.”

541

My stomach jumped.

His bedroom was a masculine space, neutral colors, brown and tan, dark wood and a king-sized bed. A sliding glass door opened off the master bathroom onto a covered redwood deck with a hot tub.

“Kinda small for all those wild biker hot tub parties.”

“Th

e only person that’s ever been in that thing is me.”

“Really?”

“Really. Very few people know about this place.”

I followed him out of the bedroom into the living room. “How few?”

“Half a dozen. Give or take.”

“I’m in the inner sanctum now?”

“Th

e inner inner sanctum since you’re the only woman I’ve ever brought out here.”

Before I could process the truth of that jarring statement, he was in my face, his dark eyes a morass of confusion.

“I know I’m not supposed to push. I’m supposed to give you time to heal and deal or whatever, but dammit, I want you to talk to me about what went on up there.”

“I can’t.”

A beat passed.

“Try.”

“Drop it, Martinez.”

“Not a chance.”

542

“I don’t have the emotional energy to deal with this right now.”

His cynical, almost inaudible laugh made me cringe.

“
You
don’t have the emotional energy? I was there, remember? I saw what she did to you. I see what she’s
still
doing to you and she’s dead.”

“Stop it.” My chin fell to my chest, allowing my hair to hide the shame coloring my face.

“Jesus, I look at you and see you are fi lled with so much . . . goddamn
remorse
, and I don’t understand why.

She killed your brother. For Chrissake, Julie, she almost killed you. How can you feel
any
guilt?”

I went rigid. “I don’t owe you any explanations.”

He waited. Calm, cool, collected.

I preferred his temper to his coolness. My temper—

my goddamn backbone—seemed to have disappeared.

It pissed me off . “What gives you the right—?”

“Th

e right? Because I laid myself fucking bare for you. You think I do that for everyone? For anyone
besides
you? You’re telling me that doesn’t matter?”

Tears clouded my vision. “It does matter. But what is it that you want from me?”

“Jesus Christ, Julie, let me help you. I want you to let me in.”

Terror fl itted in my chest. “I can’t.”

“You owe me a better answer than
I can’t
.”

543

“Goddamn you, Tony, please, don’t do this. Just drop it. Leave me alone.”

“Not on your fucking life.”

Rage, fear, aggravation, and humiliation broke free from that dark place inside me and I lost it. Frustrated, I shrieked at the top of my lungs, like a wounded animal caught in a trap. When that didn’t faze him, I pushed him away and yelled, “What don’t you understand? I always deal with this kind of shit by myself. Always. I can’t let you in because I don’t know how to let you in, okay? I just . . . don’t know how.”

Martinez said, “Finally,” and reached for me.

After my hysterics subsided, I tried to squirm away.

“Don’t. Just let me go.”

“No.” His arms were steel bands. “Look at me.”

I locked my gaze to his, reluctantly, afraid of what he’d see in my eyes.

“Don’t let the choice she forced you to make in a split second change who you are. You have the strongest sense of self of anyone I know.”

His hand shook as he gently brushed my hair from my tear-stained face. “I didn’t know how to let you in either. Let me show you, like you showed me.”

Stunned, and wary, I watched him.

“I need this as much as you do, Julie. I gave you a chance to walk out on me once. You didn’t take it. And 544

I sure as hell am not walking out on you.”

Martinez knew how to ground me, knew how to get through to me when no one else could. As the truth of how he felt about me stared me in the face, I realized that needing him didn’t make me weak; it strengthened us both. At another time in my life I might’ve made tracks for the closest exit. Not now. Probably not ever.

Th

ose dark eyes watched me. He didn’t move.

I disentangled from him, turned and stopped in front of the windows. I basked in the sun’s warmth, needing the heat to drive away the coldness inside me.

Needing the beautiful scenery as a focal point away from the ugliness inside me.

Martinez didn’t allow the distance, emotional or physical. He circled his arms around me and held tight.

If I wanted to heal, I had to let go. So I did.

I took a deep breath. “For all those years, as tough as I talked, planning, scheming on the ways I’d torture the person who’d killed Ben, the cold reality is it wasn’t easy. Even as she came at me, I hesitated. Even as I hated everything about her and what she’d done, I hated killing her. Yet, I’m so goddamn glad she’s dead.” I paused.

“Does that make me a monster? Does that make me a liar? Am I just a fake? A tough girl poseur?”

“Jesus, no.” He squeezed me tightly. “Come on, let it all out. I’ve got you.”

545

I sagged against him and I didn’t fl inch in the rest of the retelling of what had happened with Leticia. Within my brutal honesty and Martinez’ unconditional acceptance of it—of me—I found strength. I found concord.

I found myself again.

When my storm of emotions subsided, he was

strangely quiet.

And still I spoke in vague generalities. “Don’t you feel guilty? After the fact? Even if your action or reaction was justifi ed at the time?”

“Not as often as I used to. Maybe that’s why I don’t understand your guilt, blondie. But I’m gonna try like hell to change that.”

Try to change not feeling guilty? Or try to change the behavior? I knew he’d explain the comment to me sometime, and I could live with that.

We existed in easy silence. A fi rst, I hoped, of many.

After a time, I angled my head and rubbed my cheek along his smooth jaw. “What now?”

“You should probably rest.” He nuzzled the side of my neck. His cool lips trilled a path down my throat.

“But?”

Martinez sighed against my damp skin, sending a delicious shiver through me. “But if I get you in my bed, the last thing I’m gonna let you do is sleep.”

I smiled. I could live with that too.

546

After a few days of R&R with Martinez, I returned home. In the last few weeks he’d actually hung a couple of changes of clothing in my closet, and stored some tools in the spare bedroom. Th

at almost qualifi ed

as a declaration of love from him.

When I fi nished physical therapy, I tried to resume my normal life. Working with Kevin. Listening to Kim detail the horrors of morning sickness. Knocking back a beer or two with Jimmer. Accompanying Martinez to Hombres functions. And most importantly, attempting to establish a relationship with Brittney without the self-pressure of immediately becoming to her what Ben had been to me.

I still have nightmares about Leticia. I expect I always will. Th

e bottom line is: Killing another human

547

being changes you, regardless if the killing was justifi ed.

Th

e hardest part of letting go of Ben and moving on was coming to terms with Jericho’s permanent departure from my life. I hope at some point, when he’s older, he’ll contact me.

But I realized I couldn’t live on hope any more than I could dwell on the past.

Come spring, after the snow melts and when the chokecherry trees burst with sweet-scented buds, I’ll take my little sister on a long overdue hike up Bear Butte.

We’ll talk about Ben, hang Ben’s prayer bundle, and create a new family bond. I may not ever make my peace with
Mato Paha
; but hopefully, by then, I’ll have made peace with myself.

J

548

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