Chapter Nineteen

 

“Now’s your chance to make a break for it, Christopher,” Espie announced into the shocked silence seconds before everyone began talking at once.

“Don’t even think about it,” J.X. stated clearly over the rising babble.

Reaching for my glass, I replied irritably, “Where the hell would I go?”

We weren’t in total darkness due to the candles on each table, but it was certainly very murky, and the remaining diners were gloomy outlines against the uncertain backdrop of candlelight. I could see a lot of shining eyes and shining teeth.

J.X. rose and requested that everyone stay in their seats.

“He’s very good at this kind of thing,” Espie said to me.

“Yes, he’s a real loss to the crossing guard division.”

She chortled. J.X. ignored this interchange. “Stay put. I’ll be right back,” he said, and we watched his tall shadow moving through the dining room, reassuring people as he headed for the entrance.

Espie and I abruptly ran out of things to talk about. We sat silently listening to the conversation around us—louder than usual as people instinctively raised their voices as though the darkness was a sound barrier.

“They were saying earlier that it happens out here a lot during the winter…”

“It seems kind of a coincidence…”

“This is bullshit about not being able to get a refund…”

“Maybe she tried to blackmail the wrong person…”

I glanced around, trying to see who had made that last comment, but although I could narrow it down to one of the two large round tables behind our own, I couldn’t pinpoint it. I hadn’t recognized the voice, and none of the weirdly highlighted faces at the table looked familiar.

Turning, I tried to find Rachel in the gloom, but it looked like she had already left her table.

I said to Espie, “How’s Rachel doing?”

“Fine.”

“Kit.” I started as J.X. materialized out of the shadows. “Come with me.”

I rose, excusing myself to Espie, and followed him across the assault course of chair backs and chair legs and purses. We reached the hall. It was darker here despite the sparsely placed emergency lights.

J.X. pushed my coat into my arms, and I put it on automatically. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“Come on,” he said, turning away. He had a high-powered flashlight, and the beam lasered its way down the hall to the front door. I matched J.X.’s long strides past the Indian baskets and long wood-framed mirror. As we reached the front door it swung open, and a frigid blast of icy rain gusted in with a tall figure in a cowboy hat.

Edgar Croft looked mighty cold and mighty grim.

“Someone’s been fooling with the generator,” he told J.X.

“Sabotage?”

“Looks that way.”

“Can you fix it?”

“We can try.” He ducked out into the wet darkness.

J.X. turned back to me. “I don’t want to leave you on your own. That’s why I’m dragging you out here. You understand?”

I nodded. I felt his unease plainly. If he was seriously worried about my taking off on my own, he could relax. No way was I about to brave the elements—let alone a possible stray murderer.

He stepped outside the door, and I followed, turning my collar up against the blast. Tracing Edgar down the porch, we squelched after him across the muddy yard. It was bewilderingly dark—even the lodge vanished into nothingness a few steps away from its porch—only the windblown cacophony of the chimes giving away its location.

We dodged dripping tree branches, and J.X.’s flashlight picked out a small shed like a tiny log cabin. The door stood open, and a feeble light shone from within. We crowded inside and studied the large blue and silver Yamaha generator.

Edgar was quietly but fluently swearing as he examined an empty propane bottle. “Someone’s drained the tank on the generator and emptied all the fuel storage containers.”

“Will it run on gasoline?” J.X. asked.

“It will, but even if we emptied every vehicle on the place, we’d only have a couple of hours’ worth of fuel. This little girl drinks it up like soda pop.”

“Then we better save that option until we really need it,” J.X. said.

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

“How long does the power usually stay out?” I asked.

Edgar shook his head. “It depends. Sometimes the power company gets right on it. But in a storm like this…nobody is going to be repairing lines tonight.”

“The storm can’t last forever.”

Edgar and J.X. exchanged looks. J.X. said, “There’s supposed to be another front moving in on the tail of this one. It might not materialize, but if it does, we could be cut off for another day.”

“Nobody’s going to starve, and nobody’s going to freeze,” Edgar reassured. “We’ve got food and fresh water stored, we’ve got kerosene lanterns, and we’ve got plenty of wood to burn.”

I couldn’t help pointing out, “You’ve also got a murderer running loose.”

“No one’s forgetting that,” J.X. said warningly.

Edgar took his hat off and slapped the generator with it, giving vent to more quiet but heartfelt swearing, the gist of which seemed to be That Damned Woman. I took it for granted he meant Rita—my jaded view of marital unions, I guess—but J.X. said, “Are you talking about Peaches?”

“That’s right,” Edgar said. “If that bitch hadn’t come around here, none of this would have happened.”

Not that I was exactly donning sackcloth and ashes for Peaches, but I didn’t see how the storm of the century could be blamed on her.

“That bitch was trouble from the minute she showed up,” he concluded.

I said, “She was originally a local girl, wasn’t she? Did you know her back when she was Patty Ann Stewbecki?”

Edgar gave me a long, grim look. “Yeah, I knew her,” he said at last. “Every boy around here knew her. And despite the fancy clothes and the fancy hairstyle and the fancy fingernails and the fancy name, she hadn’t changed any.”

He gave J.X. what they used to call “an old-fashioned look,” and J.X. said, “Hey, not guilty.”

Edgar shrugged, clearly not believing him. “Well, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.” As though he hadn’t spent eight and a half minutes cursing Peaches to Kingdom Come.

I said, “Steven Krass seemed pretty fond of her.”

Neither J.X. nor Edgar had an answer. We filed back out into the blustery wet, and Edgar locked the door behind us. Unspeaking—the wind would have swallowed our words in any case—we trekked back to the lodge.

Rita and Edgar gathered everyone in the main meeting room and doled out candles and matches and extra blankets. They reassured the conference attendees that power outages were nothing new in these parts, and that everything was under control.

“What about him?” one young woman said, pointing at me. She looked vaguely familiar. I thought she might be the one who had screamed for help after I discovered Krass’s body on the patio. She seemed, in my opinion, prone to hysterical outbursts.

J.X. said reassuringly, “Mr. Holmes will be staying out in his cabin.”

There were murmurs of approval. I opened my mouth to point out the obvious, that the generator had been sabotaged by someone who wasn’t me since I’d been locked up all day, but catching J.X.’s eye, I subsided. I understood why he didn’t want the attendees aware that the generator had been sabotaged, but I would have preferred not to star in the role of bogeyman. There were approximately fifty loudmouths in attendance who were going to leave this conference convinced that I was a homicidal maniac. Like my career wasn’t in enough jeopardy as it was.

The meeting disbanded, and the chicklets retreated to their rooms, clutching their candles like heroines in gothic novels, casting me disapproving looks as they queued past.

I made my way over to Rita. “Did you have a chance to find out anything on that earring I was asking about?”

She gave me a blank look. “What earring?”

“The earring that was in a glass on the dresser in Rachel Ving’s room.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I tried for patience, but I know I sounded agitated. “I was asking you about it this morning—right before I was dragged off to quarantine.”

“Do you know how much has happened here since this morning?”

“This was important, though. This could help prove—”

J.X.’s hand fastened around my arm. “Time to go,” he said, and despite the brisk tone, he was glowering at me. I was tempted to dig my heels in then and there, but the bitter awareness that he could put me in a headlock and drag me off—and was probably looking forward to doing so—forced me to give in with good grace.

Or at least give in.

He towed me right out of the room and down the hall to the heavy front door.

“Listen,” I gritted through my teeth, freeing myself at last. “I understand about not antagonizing this killer, but I don’t want to spend the next twenty years rotting in prison for a crime I didn’t commit. That earring is vital to my defense.”

“If you’re dead, you won’t need a defense.” He thrust my still-damp coat at me.

I shrugged it on, saying, “You’re going to great pains to make sure I can’t talk to anyone or build any kind of case that could help me.”

“So you know, I already asked the kid, Debbie, about the earring.”

“What did she say?”

He said calmly, “She said the glass was on the dresser, but it was empty.”

I stared at him. “That can’t be right.”

“I’m just telling you what she said. So you see, there’s no point going around blabbing to people that you think you’re being set up. You’re not going to get the answer you want, and you’re liable to draw the wrong attention.”

I was silent as he hauled open the door. In fact, I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say all the long trek back to my cabin. The night seemed eerily black and silent, the rain pattering steadily and the squishy thump of our boots the only sound as we walked. The perfect circle of J.X.’s flashlight beam bounced merrily ahead of us, highlighting puddles and clumps of weeds. Our breath smoked in the air. The cabins rose out of the lightless night. Dark windows and smokeless chimneys. About as uncheery a destination as could be.

J.X. unlocked my cabin door and pushed it wide.

I stepped inside and waited for him to lock me in and leave me alone in the woodsmoke warmed dark, but he stepped inside too and shut the door behind him.

Still saying nothing, he set the kerosene lantern he’d brought from the house on the table and lit it. The flame guttered and then lit, throwing crazy shadows across the rough wood interior.

“Why don’t you pour yourself a drink?” he said as he moved to the fireplace.

“I thought you said I drank too much.”

“You do, but tonight you’re entitled to have a drink. One drink,” he added. “You can pour me one too.”

I didn’t bother pointing out that this would make it my third drink of the evening; he knew as well as I did. Maybe he hoped I’d drink myself into a stupor, and anything that might shut me up for the night was worth a try. “To what do I owe this honor?” I asked bitterly, but I poured us each a slightly flat gin and tonic while he rekindled the fire in the fireplace. When the fire was crackling brightly, I handed him his drink.

He took the glass, sipped it, set it aside, and took my glass from my hand. I looked at him uncomprehending—and more uncomprehending as he put his arms around me. I stood there rigid as a plank of wood as he held me, and it gradually dawned on me that he was simply hugging me. A simple, uncomplicated hug. When was the last time that had happened to me? Against my better judgment I found myself hugging him back, taking the unexpected comfort gratefully.

Against my ear J.X. said gruffly, “Hey. I know you’re scared. I give you my word I won’t let you go to jail for something you didn’t do. Okay? Can you trust me a little?”

I couldn’t rely on my voice, so I settled for nodding, resting my forehead on his shoulder. He was that disconcerting bit taller than me. David had been two inches shorter, so this unexpected dynamic threw me.

He said, still husky-voiced, “First and foremost, I want to keep you alive.”

I nodded again and then pulled away, keeping my head ducked so he couldn’t see my face because it really was too ridiculous getting choked up over the idea that someone cared if I lived or died. Not that there were people lining up, exactly.

He picked his glass up, staring at the fireplace. The fire threw shadows across his bearded face. I sat down and pulled my boots off.

Tossing the rest of his drink off, J.X. said, “I should let you get some sleep.”

He set the glass on the desk and headed for the door. “Don’t drink any more tonight.”

“Are you going back to the lodge?”

“For a while. But I’ll sleep down at my cabin.”

I had the impression that was supposed to reassure me. And I suppose it did on one level. It’s not like I relished the idea of being the only living soul this far from help. If the killer did come after me, J.X. had already demonstrated what a jam I’d be in.

He scrutinized me. He dug in his pocket. “I won’t lock you in tonight, but for Christ’s sake keep the door barred. Don’t leave this cabin unless it’s actually on fire. Do you understand me?”

“Ya voll, mein commandant.” I saluted, then grabbed hastily at the key he tossed my way.

He opened the door, and I said, “Was it something I said or something I didn’t say?”

“What’s that?”

“Someone waiting for you in your cabin? You’re in quite a hurry.”

He didn’t move a muscle.

“Did I really break your heart?”

J.X. said, “I was pretty stupid back then. I probably deserved to have my heart broken.”

“Come here,” I murmured. “Let me kiss it better.”

 

* * * * *

 

I didn’t want to be alone, that was all. This wasn’t about anything but expediency, but I was already getting to know the taste of him, the texture of his skin, the sounds he made. I liked that he was calm and quiet in the face of my hunger, giving what I needed, giving generously, and taking without greed, appreciating as he went.

The light from the fireplace cast an arc over him, an old-gold nimbus behind his head as he bent over me, and he was so beautiful it took my breath away. My hands shook, sliding up beneath the warm cotton of his shirt, pulling him down till our mouths met.

Yes, he’d learned a lot over the years. His lips were sweet and coaxing and wicked all at the same time, and though I had told myself I was in control here, I opened right up to him, murmuring acquiescence, liking the taste of his desire.

He pushed up on his arms, the ropes of muscle delineated by the shifting shadows, and he was smiling, but it was a knowledgeable smile—the vulnerable boy was long gone, and I felt regret for that. Regret that I hadn’t cherished that boy.

“You’re very beautiful,” I said.

His lips—well-shaped and rather sensual—curled cynically.

“You do talk too much, that’s a fact.” His mouth covered my own again. So many kisses after scarcity.

I rested my hand against the side of his face, feeling the silk of beard and hair, the smoothness of his bare skin. My tongue prodded his mouth and he let me in, his tongue lazily pushing and then twining with my own. I’d forgotten how pleasurable kissing—just kissing—was.

And how pleasurable it was to be naked with someone again, to feel warm skin gliding on warm skin, the different textures of bone and muscle and hair. Our hips moved together, cocks rubbing against each other, thrusting with urgent playfulness that gradually gave way to something less playful but still unselfish, ungrudging. His mouth closed on my left nipple and sucked, and I arched up against him, fingers sinking into his back muscles.

“That’s…nice,” I got out.

J.X. raised his head. “Nice?”

“Nice is highly underrated.”

He chuckled. He lowered his head again, licking and then teething very gently, and his dark, shining head moved to my other nipple. I moaned, and he smiled against my chest. It was too good to bear. I tugged at him, and his mouth reluctantly loosed the oversensitive nub. He resettled against me as though we were locking into place. Lock and load…

Oh God, the feel of bare skin from belly to thigh as we rocked against each other, harder, faster, fiercer—I could feel that heat shivering through me like wind shaking dry grass, setting it alight…setting a match to me…all that energy coalescing into—

What if we did it for real? Fucked for real?

Would he let me? Or would I have to—? The idea of letting him was unexpectedly…tempting.

But I let the thought go because that was getting complicated, and the last thing I wanted was complications. Simple, quick, warm relief. That’s what this was about.

His skin was gleaming with sweat, tinted amber, and his heart was banging hard against my own as we thrust and tussled our way to a sudden, pumping, slick release…desperate friction giving way to the slip and slide relief.

There it was…there…that spate of wet heat and snapping energy, a fireball blazing through nerves and muscles and razing everything in its path, setting the fields of gold on fire. Summer once more.