The Heart Has Reasons (52 page)

When
he finally arrived home six hours later, he smuggled the cat into his apartment
under cover of darkness.

This
morning he’d smuggled it back out.  The veterinarian estimated its age at
around eight months, and proclaimed that, except for some malnutrition, it was
in fair health.

Dewormed,
defleaed, and vaccinated, the little cat now lay curled on his chest, gazing at
him with amber eyes.  She seemed to fear that if she let him out of her
sight for even a moment he’d disappear again, and so she stuck to him like
glue, even to the point of having sat patiently beside the bathtub while he’d
showered.  He’d briefly considered naming her “Larissa”, but the name
would be a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

Having
read the same page again without anything written on it having registered, he
placed the book on the floor and rubbed behind the cat’s ears.  She
immediately rewarded him with a purr that vibrated through his internal organs.

The
afternoon news broadcast had announced that the FBI had released their “person
of interest” due to lack of evidence.  Chase knew he should call Cheyenne,
but kept putting it off.  When the doorbell rang, he grimaced, hoping
against all hope that it was Travis, Roach, or Mad Dog, even though none of his
friends would ever show up without first calling.

The
cat followed him to the door, where he put an eye to the peephole. 
Naturally, it was Cheyenne.  Afraid the cat would dart outside, he picked
her up and opened the door.  A bottle of wine clutched in one hand,
Cheyenne strode through the doorway and leaned in to give him a kiss. Spotting
the calico, she froze, face screwed up as if she’d bitten into a lemon.  “
What
is
that?
”

He
closed the door.  “Shall I take that question to mean you’ve never before
seen a house cat?”

A
flicker of annoyance flashed across her face.  “You know what I
mean.  What’s it doing here?”

Jesus,
the sound of her voice was like fingernails on a blackboard.  “She
lives
here.  What are
you
doing here?”

Pale-blond
brows shot toward her hairline.  “Ex
cuse
me?  I came to help
you celebrate, even though you didn’t bother calling to let me know you were
out.”  Her eyes dropped to the cat, and her face pinched into an
expression of extreme distaste.  “Put that thing down.  It’s filthy
and probably has fleas.”

The
cat was, admittedly, in dire need of a bath, which he fully intended to give
her once she’d had a few days to settle into her new life, but he bristled at
Cheyenne’s attitude. 
Larissa
hadn’t complained when he’d allowed
the cat into their motel room.  “The cat was treated for fleas this
morning.”

He
retook his seat on the sofa.  Cheyenne frowned when the cat immediately
settled back into his lap, purring.  “I brought some wine to help us
celebrate.”

“You
know I don’t drink.”

She
strode into the kitchen.  A few minutes later, she returned with a
brimming glass and took a seat as far from the cat as possible.  Just to
be mean, he considered naming the cat “Cheyenne”, but somehow it didn’t seem
fair to the cat.

Cheyenne
began chattering on and on about her several appearances on the news, and about
how the nationwide exposure would help her get a part in an upcoming television
series for which she’d auditioned.  Self-absorbed as ever, she seemed
unaffected by his three-week absence, or that he’d been jailed for a crime of
which he was ostensibly innocent.  He blocked out the annoying, incessant
sound of her voice.

Should
he risk calling Larissa?  If he did, how would she react?  Despite
what was sure to have been considerable pressure from the FBI, she hadn’t
identified him.  Under that soft-spoken southern charm resided a will of
iron, and he suddenly understood the term “steel magnolia”.  Maybe, just
maybe
,
she didn’t hate him too badly. 

“
Chase!
”

He
blinked and looked up, surprised to find Cheyenne glaring at him.  “What?”

“I
said
: What’re you smiling about?”

The
grating sound of her voice eradicated his smile and made every muscle in his
body go tense with irritation.  “I don’t know.  Nothing.”

“Nothing? 
It didn’t look like nothing.  It looked like you were thinking about
another woman.”

Ah,
Jesus.  Why had he ever gotten involved with such a whining, insecure
narcissist?

The
phone rang and, relieved at the interruption, he removed the cat from his lap
and got to his feet.

* * * * *

Larissa had nearly fainted with relief
when Agent Jarvis had called to tell her they’d dropped the charges against
Chase.  This morning she’d gone on line and Googled his name.  Not
expecting to find him, she had.

Now,
she stood by the phone in her kitchen, staring at the notepad scrawled with his
number.  Should she call him?  What would she say if he answered?

I
heard they let you out of jail, and I just wanted to see how you were doing?

Too
lame.

I
just wanted to thank you again for coming back and saving me from being
tortured to death by a serial killer?

Too
dramatic.

Heart
pounding, she picked up the phone and punched in the numbers.  What would
she say if Cheyenne answered?

Chase
answered on the third ring, and her nipples immediately contracted at the sound
of his “Hello?”  She tried to say hello back, but her throat squeezed shut
and no sound would come out.

As
he repeated, “Hello?” his voice was a warm, comfortable bed inviting her to
climb in.

Oh,
god, she shouldn’t have called.  Only a pathetic wacko would phone the
very man who’d kidnapped her.

“Hello?”

The
small, hard stone in her chest ached unbearably as she dropped the receiver
back into its cradle.  Tears spilled down her cheeks as a terrible
loneliness overcame her.

* * * * *

“Hello?”  Chase could hear someone
breathing on the other end of the line.  Just as he whispered, “Larissa?”
the line went dead.

Cheyenne’s
gaze was full of suspicion.  “Who was that?”

“They
hung up without saying anything.  Wrong number, I guess.”

Now
that he was feline free, she crossed the room to him and slid her free hand up
under his shirt.  At six feet, she could almost look him straight in the
eye.  “Take off your clothes and fuck me.”

After
more than two weeks of celibacy, he was horny as hell but, since he was about
to end their relationship, it would
not
be a good idea to fuck her
beforehand.  He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation but, the
sooner he got it over with, the better.  “Cheyenne, I think we should stop
seeing each other.”

She
took a step back, her mouth suddenly bracketed in hard little lines. 
“What the fuck did you just say?”

“I’m
fond of you, but I’m not in love with you.”

She
waved one perfectly manicured hand in a dismissive motion.  “
And?
 
Love’s overrated.  We make a good couple.  People stare at us
wherever we go.”

“And
you consider that the basis for a relationship?”

“That,
and the fact that the sex is great.”

For
her, maybe.  She was as selfish
in
bed as she was out of it. 
“I’m sorry, Cheyenne, but I’m in love with someone else.

Her
artificially inflated lips clamped in a straight line.  “You’ve got to be
fucking joking.”

“I
didn’t mean for it to happen.” 
Jesus, what an understatement
.

“Did
you meet this slut while you were in jail?”

“I
met her before, and she’s
not
a slut.”

Her
face rearranged itself into harder lines.  “Well, for your information, I
haven’t exactly been sitting at home crying.  I’ve been fucking Jordan.”

He
refrained from rolling his eyes.  “Jordan’s gay.”

“He
is not!  He’s as straight as you.”

“He
has his body hair waxed.”

“All
male models do that.  It’s part of the job.”

“And
he wears makeup.  When he’s
not
working.”  He quickly raised a
hand to forestall any further protests.  “To be honest, I don’t
care.”  Surprisingly, it was true.  After Michelle, he would have
expected to be angry, but her admission actually served to relieve him of any
guilt.  “Cheyenne, go home.”

When
he started to turn away, she clutched at him.  “So who is this slut? 
A model?  An actress?  Somebody I know?”

“None
of the above.”

“Chase,
don’t do this.”  Almost as an afterthought, she added, “I love you.”

“Really? 
Just a moment ago, you were saying that love was overrated.  And, if you
love me, why’d you fuck Jordan?”

“I
don’t know.  I was lonely.  And you hardly ever tell me I’m
beautiful.”

“I
shouldn’t have to tell you fifty times a day what you already know. 
You’re a world-famous model.  How can you be so insecure?”

“How
can you blame me for fucking someone else when you did the same thing?”

“I
was unfaithful because I fell in love.  You fucked someone out of
boredom.  If you can’t see a discrepancy there, then I feel sorry for
you.”

She
had the grace to look unhappy.  “The whole country saw me on the news
talking about you.  If we break up now, people might suspect you dumped me
for another woman.”

“Jesus. 
Is that what’s bothering you?”  When she gave a faint nod, he said, “Just
tell everyone you dumped me.  I’ll back up your story.”

Her
eyes lit up with sudden hope.  “You’d really do that for me?”

“My
word of honor.” 
Anything to put an end to this travesty
.

CHAPTER
37

Travell Parnes blew out a sigh of relief
as the door of the after-hours club closed behind him, thankful to escape the
choking cigarette smoke that burned his eyes, the hip-hop booming from the
speakers, the whoops of drunken laughter.

There
was no ramp in front of the club, so he and Andre manhandled Malik’s wheelchair
down the two steps.  Once Malik was on the sidewalk, Travell stepped aside
to let Andre push him.  He’d been Malik’s bitch long enough.

The
neighboring storefronts were grimy and decorated with gang graffiti.  At
five in the morning, rolled-down steel grates shielded entrances and
plate-glass windows.  Huddled in one of the recessed doorways and
clutching a paper-bagged bottle, an old wino nodded warily as they
passed.  At the corner, a pair of tired chain-smoking ‘ho’s were staked
out, hoping for one last trick before heading back to their cribs.  The
three men crossed the street and, halfway down the block, entered an alley,
taking a short cut to Malik’s mom’s apartment.

Malik’s
lighter flared as he lit a cigarette.  “I’m goin’ back to the feds. 
Gonna tell ‘em the truth ‘bout that bitch bein’ in that vehicle.”

Travell
and Andre exchanged a horrified glance.  “Man, what the fuck you talkin’
‘bout?” Andre demanded as he circled Malik’s wheelchair around a pothole. 
“Ain’t you remember what them motherfuckers done said?  They said if
one
of us don’t do what we’s s’posed to, they gonna take
all three
o’ us
back out there in the desert and bury us.

“And
what they gonna do
‘fo
they kills us?” Travell put in.  “Man, I
don’t want no ‘nother ass-whuppin’.  It been five days, and my ass
still
hurt so bad I cain’t hardly sit down.”

From
his chair, Malik snarled, “Yo, at least you niggers can stand up.  I
cain’t do nuthin’ but sit.  You both need to man-up and stop actin’ like
bitches.”

Normally,
Travell wouldn’t dare dis Malik to his face, but fear of another ass-whupping
and/or a premature burial in the desert made him reckless.  “Man-up? 
Muh-fucker, I ain’t see’d you man-up when those muh-fuckers was beatin’ yo’
ass.  All I see’d was you screamin’ like a little bitch and pissin’ yo’
self.”

“Bitch,
you pissed yo’self too.  And don’ forget, I got twice as much as you.”

“And
that ain’t enough?  Now you’s wantin’ mo’?”

“Fuck,
no, I don’ want no mo’.  But, yo, my parole officer done said that ‘cause
I confessed to breakin’ in that motherfucker’s van, I’s goin’ hafta finish my
sentence.  Man, I don’t wanna go back inside fo’ two mo’ years.”

“Inside
better’n unnerground,” Andre mumbled.

“It
ain’t gonna be like that.  Now that we knows ‘bout them three
motherfuckers—”

“Four,”
said Andre.  “You’s forgettin’ the motherfucker what broke your legs is on
the street now.”

Malik
twisted around in his chair and shot Andre an evil look.  “Now that we
knows ‘bout them
four
, we gonna be ready fo’ ‘em.”