The Trophy Hunter (12 page)

Chapter 20

He knows that the Asian started her shift at
the Buckhorn at noon that day. The Hunter didn’t expect such a
lengthy wait. Once the wicked, sleety rain begins to fall, he takes
up a position under the metal awning that shelters the Dumpsters at
the rear of the restaurant.

Though restaurants had been fertile stalking
grounds long before he learned
the process
, it still
astounds him how the volume of slop from the kitchen to the alley
can exceed the output of edibles through the dining room.

The sound of a door sends him slithering back
in the shadows. Sometimes it’s a worker taking a smoke break. More
often it’s just more disgusting shit from the Buckhorn’s asshole.
He likes things clean. Like
they
are when he finishes with
them.

He knows which car is hers. The little blue
Miata. A glance at his watch in the flash of someone’s headlights
tells him it’s 8:30.

As if on cue, he hears the rapid click of her
high heels on the wet stone walkway. She’s come out the front
entrance and is walking around to the back, staying close to the
building to keep dry. The irony. Didn’t she know he wants her
wet?

Click-clack, click clack.
She’ll soon
be within touching distance. He holds his breath while he watches
her take out her car keys ahead of time. She keeps them on a long,
red cord, so they’ll be easy to find in her little jam-packed
handbag. He’s learned a lot about her in a short time.

Her legs are long for an Asian’s and
muscular, the muscles smooth as silk, not lumpy like an athlete’s.
He doesn’t have to feel them to know this. She works hard at
keeping her perfect, golden size four body. He pictures her naked,
those long legs wrapped around him. But he knows that’s one
pleasure he’ll have to forego for the ultimate pleasure─the gift
that keeps on giving, beyond a lifetime.

Her hair, under the black fur hat, is long
and shiny. And clean. He knows her habits and her habitat. She
always turns on the fan when she showers, unlike the redhead who is
beginning to annoy him. Maybe he’ll change the position of
that
camera. Or at least change the position of the receptor
to where he can retrieve it from the outside. He’ll do it tonight,
he decides. With the Asian in the truck. He shivers in
anticipation.

Click-clack. Don’t step on a crack.
To
calm his racing pulse, he thinks of practical things. Like the
redhead, this one lives alone, too. No current boyfriend to stir up
things when she doesn’t come home tonight.

She stops in front of the driver’s side of
her little car.
Clack.
He hears the lock release and smiles
as he replays his other knowledge. Tomorrow there’ll be no anxious
boss checking up on her. It’s her day off.

He smiles as he turns words around in his
head. He’ll do her before he does her, but he doubts he’ll get much
response. Those killer legs will be limp and passive. Some things
are best imagined.

Crunch.
The door handle. Metal on
metal. Soundlessly, the Hunter steps out of the shadows. Rain turns
to slushy snow as she steps back at the sight of him, brushing snow
drips from her eyes to clear her vision.

He’s pulled the baseball cap low over his
face so he’s sure that what she sees is mostly smiling mouth. He
tries to make the smile reassuring as his large hand curls around
the dissecting knife─the same one he used on Larry.
Wrong place,
wrong time. Too bad, Larry.
At this moment, its job is only to
intimidate, not to mar his perfect Asian specimen. And the smile is
to keep her from screaming until the chloroform-soaked rag can
quiet her. Hopefully, the knife is just an extra prop. This one, he
knows is not a fighter.

She peers at him through the wet, stinking
darkness of the alley, her expression more curious than afraid. “Do
I know you?” she asks.

Chapter 21

Restless dreams wrapped their tendrils around
Diana’s psyche, making an enemy of sleep. Rogart’s eyes hovered
above her bed, unattached to any body. Then he occupied her bed,
fully clothed. The turquoise belt buckle he wore cut into her flesh
as he tried to embrace her.

She turned away to come face-to-face with
Jess on the other side of a huge bed that suddenly morphed into a
restaurant booth.
Jessie, I didn’t mean it. Nothing happened. It
was just lunch.

Slowly Diana drifted back into her own bed,
alone. A cleansing shower of relief sloshed over her. For a moment
she considered phoning Jess. Then a glance at the illumined clock
dial told her this was not the hour. She’d call Jess in the morning
and find out what was really going on with her and Rogart.

She drifted off again, but the dreams didn’t
give her any peace. That half-waking state, where the insane seemed
everyday normal, kept tangling her in its folds, denying her any
genuine rest. She slogged through a marshland behind a faceless
man.
No, no. Wait!
But she didn’t know for what.

As she twisted in damp sheets, horned heads
of game animals burgeoned from her bedroom walls. One head didn’t
seem to belong with the rest. An ibex hovered over her, its face
melting, then coalescing into the face of a beautiful Asian woman.
Something familiar about the face pierced Diana’s dream veil. Then
a loud crash splintered the vision.

Diana sat up in bed, breathing rapidly. Had
the sound been real or part of her dream? She sat motionless,
holding her breath, goose bumps stealing down her bare arms.
Hearing nothing further, she got out of bed and slowly edged into
the bathroom, wrapping her green robe around her like a security
blanket.

“Mau.” Tigger looked up at her, his tail
twitching vigorously. “Mau.” He looked down at the bathroom floor
where the empty L’Air du Temps bottle lay shattered on the
tiles.

Chapter 22

It was no big deal. It wasn’t a date.

What about the kiss?

A friendly kiss? No big deal.

A friendly kiss doesn’t have a tongue in
it.

In the safety of daylight, Diana argued
unsuccessfully with herself. Ultimately, she knew she’d have to
make the call.

“How’s your schedule today, Jessie?” she
asked, bypassing the usual Edwards-is-a-flake joke.

“Not too crowded. My nights are busier than
my days,” replied Jess. “What’s up?”

“I’d rather not say on the phone. Can you
meet me for lunch at the Chinook?”

“Sure,” replied Jess without hesitation. “Now
you’ve got me all curious. About 11:30? Beat the lunch crowd
rush?”

* * * * *

Now they sat on bar stools at a round
glass-top table in the Chinook’s lounge. Jess, hungry as usual,
devoured the menu with her eyes. “How’s the steak tartare?” she
asked the young waiter.

The youth rolled his eyes dramatically. “It
should be outlawed,” he replied in a whisper. “Don’t you know what
lurks in rare meat? Exactly. You
don’t
. That’s my
point.”

Diana couldn’t tell if he was kidding or
serious.

“Shame on you,” scolded Jess, picking it up
as a joke. “I’ll tell Manuel.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll personally vouch
for the linguine with marinara sauce,” replied the waiter. “It,
too, is one of his favorite creations.”

Jess ordered the steak tartare anyway, with a
side of onion rings. Diana opted for the linguine, giving the
flustered waiter a smile as she did so.

“A vegetarian if I ever saw one,” muttered
Jess when the waiter had left. “They’re everywhere these days.” She
shot Diana a fake frown.

Diana laughed half-heartedly.

“So what’s the big secret?” asked Jess.

Better just get it out and over with.
“I had lunch with Darren Rogart yesterday.”

“Damn! He hasn’t called me in over two
weeks.” Jess looked thoughtful, but not angry. “Not since I left
him the message about finding a witness who’d seen Patty. That was
before Christmas. He never called back.”

“Did you tell him you were going out of
town?”

“Why should I? He never even asked about my
Christmas plans.”

“My point is maybe he called. Some people
don’t like to leave messages.”

“Darren is not the shy type. He’d leave a
message,” said Jess. “I’ve left at least three for him.”

“Hey, you never did tell me what you found
out about the dead guy’s truck.”

“What’s to tell? If Darren wasn’t interested
enough to call me back, why should I waste my time? One thing for
sure, I’m not playing Colfax whore again anytime soon.”

Lunch arrived and Jess dove into her steak
tartare with gusto─or a vengeance. Diana wasn’t sure which.

“I thought you two had something going. So
did Winston,” Diana probed.

Jess shrugged and took another bite. Diana
waited, barely touching her own food, noting Jess wasn’t looking at
her as she swallowed before finally replying, “Ever get the feeling
you’re being used? Something just doesn’t feel right?”

The picture of Rogart in the restaurant,
pulling out his wife’s trust instrument, flashed in Diana’s mind.
She suppressed a knee-jerk remark and instead asked, “Like what? I
thought you two … did you actually …?”

Still not looking at Diana, Jess nodded
slowly. “We did. Actually.”

“And?”

“It was great. At least I thought so. Maybe
he
was faking it.” Humor crept back into Jess’s eyes.
“Diana, he’s got the biggest─”

“Jessie, stop!”

“Biceps. What did you think I was going to
say?”

The women laughed, but Diana still felt
something was out of kilter with her friend as she watched the
sparkle fade from Jess’s expression.

“So tell me about this lunch,” Jess
continued, looking up at Diana with flat eyes.

Diana’s turn to look away as she picked at
her linguine that smelled wonderful, but suddenly didn’t appeal to
her. “As it turned out, he wanted me to check out his wife’s trust,
to see if he could squeeze any money out of it. So, you see, I do
know about that used feeling.”

Jess’s eyes widened, the expression flowing
back. “You didn’t agree to that?”

“Umm ….”

Jess slammed down her fork. “Diana, isn’t
that exactly the kind of thing you chewed my ass out for? Read my
lips.
Conflict of interest.
You suddenly develop a double
standard or what?”

“Don’t vent at me. I haven’t done anything
with his damn trust.”

“But you took it with you, didn’t you? You’re
going to do something with it.”

“Hey, I just wanted to give you a heads-up
that maybe your boyfriend has a wandering eye.” Diana felt anger
merge with her guilt.

“He’s not my boyfriend, and fucking him does
not make a relationship.” Jess’s angry eyes and quivering lower lip
were out of synch with her words. “I wasn’t looking for long-term.
I just got out of one of those, remember?”

Diana’s waning appetite vanished completely
as she watched her friend’s discomfort. “I’m sorry. I never
should’ve gone to lunch with him.”

“No biggie,” replied Jess coldly, glancing at
her watch. “Hey, I gotta go.” She slammed down a twenty dollar bill
as she slid off the bar stool. “This should cover my half.”

Chapter 23

In the weeks that followed Diana’s lunch with
Jess and the ensuing quarrel, Diana had been swamped with work.
Besides her billable hours, she chaired the upcoming annual benefit
for the local battered women’s shelter, an event that had always
given her immense satisfaction. Seeing women take control of their
own destinies was even bigger than taking down enemies in court and
garnering hefty fees.

None of it was enough to dim the hurt she
felt at the estrangement from her best friend. Each time the phone
rang, at home or the office, her eyes darted to the caller I.D.,
hoping it was Jess.

Several times she picked up the phone and
started to call Jess. Each time she stopped, afraid to face the
verbal slap she thought might be coming from Jess. One more
rejection was more than she wanted to face.

She even analyzed just what it was about Jess
that she missed, in an effort to minimize the emptiness she felt.
The words that jumped to mind were skewed to reflect Jess’s faults:
Caustic, brazen, foul-mouthed on occasion, takes unnecessary
risks, immature, can’t seem to finish what she takes on, especially
when distracted by an attractive man.
What’s to
miss?

Oh, yeah.
Loyal, quick-witted, witty,
forthright to the point of tactlessness. Who’d miss that?

I would. Life without Jess is like … deviled
eggs without a dash of vinegar.

* * * * *

Winston and Diana warmed up on a racquetball
court at the Body Works. She’d arranged the evening match with a
two-fold purpose. First, Winston might help her heal her wounded
friendship with Jess. Although Winston and Jess had broken up, it
wasn’t the first time. Diana doubted that the former couple had
severed all ties.

Thwack!
They played in silence, except
for the sound of the ball striking the back wall. Still warming up,
Diana felt outclassed after her weeks away from strenuous
activity.

The equally pressing problem of Rogart’s
wife’s trust was eroding Diana’s powers of concentration both on
the racquetball court and in the office. The papers sat untouched
on her credenza, where she’d put them after returning from the
fateful lunch.
The tongue-in-cheek lunch. Jess would like that
one. Hmm, maybe not.
She missed the ball.

Winston eyed her with a raised eyebrow. “You
okay?” he asked.

“Just a little rusty.”

Rogart had called twice, but she’d instructed
Tamara to say she was out of the office. Bottom line was Jess was
right. It would be a conflict of interest for her to represent him.
Then he’d sent flowers with a note:
I hope Joe hasn’t scared you
away from me. Darren.