Chapter 22

When we eventually emerged from the shower Mitch laughed. “Damn, I feel like a lobster. How can you stand it?”

I shrugged as I wrapped myself in a towel. “It warms me.”

“I should hope so,” he said with a wry grin, as we went to the bedroom to dress. “It damn near parboiled me.”

I sat on the edge of the bed to brush my hair. “Let me do that,” he said and took the brush from my hand. He knelt behind me and began to brush, slowly at first, and then with harder strokes. It felt so good that I leaned back into him, contentedly. He continued for a while, then stopped abruptly, threw the brush across the room and buried his face in the mass of hair at my neck. “Oh, Deirdre,” he said, making my name into a low, passionate moan, then made a grab at the towel that covered me. He flung it to the floor and pulled me down on the bed next to him.

I looked into his eyes, so blue and intense. “I thought we had to go out,” I teased him softly.

“Later,” he said and kissed me.

The phone rang and he jumped from me. “Let it ring,” I urged, twining my arms around his neck and pulling him back.

“Shit,” he swore as he rose from me reluctantly. “I can’t just let it ring. It might be important.” He reached over, picked up the phone, then covered the receiver and took one more kiss before answering it. “Yeah,” he said brusquely into the phone, “this had better be good.”

I could hear the voice of the caller, low, urgent and somehow familiar, but did not pay attention. Instead, I occupied myself with lazily tracing the muscles in Mitch’s now tense arm until he brushed me off and sat up straight.

“Look, Hunter, I thought I made the situation plain last night. She’s with me now. I’ll take care of her. You should just leave her alone.”

“Damn,” I swore quietly and Mitch gave me a sharp look. I could hear Max’s cynical laugh and comment quite plainly. He, too, had raised his voice. “Calm down, Greer. I only want to talk to her. I know she’s there.”

Mitch put his hand over the receiver again. “It’s Max,” he snarled, handed me the phone and stalked out of the room.

“Damn it, Max. Your timing couldn’t be worse. What do you want?”

“I spoke with Victor Lange today. He said you had dinner at the Imperial last night.”

“That’s right. And?”

“It was brought to my attention that I just might have some information for Greer, if he would be interested.”

I looked up and Mitch was standing in the entrance of the door glaring at the telephone. “What the hell does he want?” he said in a voice loud enough to be heard.

“Tell him what I said, Deirdre.”

“I don’t much care to be caught in the middle of this, Max. Why don’t you just talk to Mitch, if that’s what you want? Or maybe he should listen in on the extension.” I wasn’t sure with which one of them I was most annoyed.

“An excellent idea, Deirdre,” Max agreed. “I do have something of importance to say to both of you.”

“Pick up the extension, Mitch,” I said, exasperated. He went to the kitchen and we maintained silence until we heard the click from the other phone.

“Now, isn’t that better?” Max said sarcastically. “All cozy and together again.”

“Get to the point, Hunter. We have better things to do . . .”

“I’m sure you do.” Max’s voice was smooth, insinuating. “So I’ll make it quick. I didn’t wish to interrupt your afternoon. But it was important that I talk to Deirdre. When I couldn’t find her at any of the usual places, I assumed she was with you.” I could hear an uncharacteristic sadness in his voice. Mitch must have heard it also, because he awkwardly cleared his throat. Max continued without acknowledging him. “Be that as it may, even if she weren’t there, I would have called to give you some information.” Max paused and I could hear a faint tingling of ice against a glass.

“Get on with it, Hunter,” Mitch said and Max laughed.

“He’s so abrupt, my dear. I must admit, I don’t quite understand the attraction, but it must be considerable. You don’t know how lucky you are, Greer. She’s been through hundreds of men since I’ve known her and never gone back for seconds.” He laughed again.

“You bastard . . .” Mitch started.

“It doesn’t matter, Mitch,” I cut in. “Don’t let him get to you. He does it only for the reaction. Isn’t that right, Max?”

“Just so, my love. But my advice to you, Greer, is to make hay while the sun shines. Some night she’ll fly away and you’ll never get her back.” There was still a trace of cynical laughter in his voice.

“Spare us the dramatics, Hunter. I heard them all the other night. Just get on with it.”

“Fine, I won’t waste your time any longer. Today in conversation with Victor Lange, I suddenly realized that I had important information on your case. If the two of you were to stop over at the club tonight, I’d be more than willing to share it.”

“What exactly is going on?” Mitch sounded angry. “You gave no indication earlier that you knew anything about this. I know you have been questioned and had nothing to say. I could charge you for withholding evidence, or . . .”

“Don’t threaten me, Greer. It will do you no good. Let’s just say that I became aware of something of importance to you and I wanted to do my civic duty.

I laughed at that comment, coming from Max. Responsibility, civic or otherwise, was never one of his strong points.

“Deirdre, you wound me.” I said nothing and he continued. “You will come, won’t you? Together?”

Mitch broke in quickly. “I’ll be there, Hunter. But I don’t see the need to drag Deirdre into this. She’ll stay here. Last time she was at your club, she was almost killed, no thanks to you.”

“Deirdre will come with you, won’t you, my dear? Otherwise the deal is off. I’ll expect you both after sundown.”

“We’ll be there, Max.”

I hung up the phone and Mitch came back into the bedroom. “What do you suppose this is all about?” he asked me and I shook my head.

“It’s hard to tell with Max. It may even be his idea of a practical joke.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Not to you, maybe or even me. But Max is different; I don’t really think he means any harm. It is just the way he is.”

“You have too high an opinion of that man, Deirdre. I could believe almost anything of him. He’s just too damn smooth.”

“Let’s not waste our time talking about Max. We’ll find out soon enough what he wants. And until then,” I checked the clock, “we have about two hours before sunset. Do you think we could pick up where we left off?”

“Absolutely,” he said, crossing the room and smiling the smile that lit his eyes.

Afterwards, we both fell asleep and the dream found me swiftly and mercilessly.

 

It begins at the side of the road; I leave the carriage and the frightened horses, I step over the body there without question to follow the dark figure that beckons just out of my reach. With every step that takes me nearer to him I grow in strength, but even that is not enough. Still he moves ahead and I struggle to catch up, to match a face to that form and voice that haunt me through dreams and wakings. I am running now, wearing the green velvet dress. It is dirty and stained, the hem sodden and thick with blood and tears. It catches around my ankles and I stumble. He turns around to watch me. His laugh is as dark and unimaginable as his face.

“Come,” he urges. “Hurry,” he calls and the words are carried on the wind as if from a long distance away. I pull myself from the ground and follow for what seems like miles, never tiring and yet always behind. Soon he leads me down a street I recognize to a house, my house, my father’s house. The air is heavy with the sweet scents of the garden but I cannot stay. I must find him.

He has entered the house, I know; the door swings slightly ajar in the wind. His footsteps echo in the upstairs hall and I ascend to meet him. The corridor is long and shadowy, but the dead are not here. “At rest,” I whisper. “Have you gone to rest?” There is no answer, all is empty and hollow.

The doorway at the end stands open and I see the starlit sky, the open field. I enter and he is not there. “Show yourself,” I scream defiantly, angrily and am answered with a wild rustling of wings, stirring the warm evening air. I feel his presence behind me, his breath is hot on my neck and my hair begins to raise. I do not turn around. “Are you here then?” I ask quietly.

“I am here.”

“I would see your face.”

“There is no need, little one. It has been before you for years and you did not see.”

“I would know who you are.”

“But you know me, Deirdre. Better than any other. We are one. Why do you deny me?”

I feel the silken touch of his wing on my neck. It is smooth as before and dark. I tremble at the touch and clench my fists in anger. With his lightly deposited kiss and my ensuing shudder there can be no doubt. For I do know him now, but as I turn around to confront him, he is already dissolving into the darkness. There is only the brief glance of confirmation: the moonlight shining off the sculptured lines of his face, the lifting of an eyebrow, the cruel twist of his mouth, a mouth that had lied and comforted, kissed and tortured, a mouth and a hunger that had killed many and destroyed me—Max’s mouth, Max’s hunger.

And then he is gone.