Chapter Ten

The next morning, after a breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon which she’d prepared while Beck followed her around the kitchen doing cleanup, Alex retired to the den to organize her notes from the past week. The task took her less than half an hour since she kept things organized as she went along. When the organization was finished, she spent the rest of the morning on researching the legendary Native American couple. Once, when Beck came in, she looked up briefly but went quickly back to her notes, only to discover she’d lost her focus.

She had a hard time concentrating with him sitting in the chair she would always think of as his from now on, his fingers thumbing through her latest issue of an archaeology magazine.

From time to time, he looked up and watched her for a while.

She pretended not to notice, when what she wanted to do was run to him, jump into his lap, and finish what they’d started the night before. Go figure. Everything she had blocked out for the past five years returned in just one, short week. Feelings, desires, and fears all bundled into one stomach-knotting, heart-pounding sensation. All of them deep and powerful.

All of them centered on this big, beautiful, brown-eyed almost-stranger she expected to exit her life as quickly as he entered, once the strange sense of responsibility he felt had finally been satisfied.

Her eyes needed a rest, but she didn’t dare look up without a conscious plan to focus them someplace other than where she’d like them to be. She reached for the calendar on her desk and removed the pages of dates already passed. Like a clap of thunder, she was suddenly struck by the realization that less than three weeks remained to the last day of the month.

When that day arrived, so many things would change. So many decisions would have to be made. So much of the past would have to be examined.

“Any new developments?” Beck asked from across the room.

His question broke into her thoughts. “A few, and thankfully all of them shoring up my original premise. Jeremy will love it, not to mention the descendants of the tribe and the Bureau of Indian Affairs who’ll add them to their other documentation.” She stood and stretched then walked around the desk.

Beck set aside the magazine, stood, and started across the room.

He looked like he belonged here, and she couldn’t imagine a time when he hadn’t been.

They both reached the front of the desk at the same moment.

Beck frowned. “Who’s Jeremy?”

“A friend and colleague. The one I was supposed to spend the summer with.”

“How well do you know him?”

Eyes wide, she jerked back her head. “Very well. Why?”

“Just curious.” He picked up the photo of her and her parents from the desk but put it down a second later without having looked closely. “Do you usually spend that much time with someone you work with?”

The biting edge to his words was impossible to ignore. “Not as much as I’d like. Especially where Jeremy’s concerned. He’s special.”

A deep frown creased Beck’s brow. “How so?”

“How so, what?”

“You said he was special.”

“Oh.” She remembered a memo she needed to make for future reference, walked back behind the desk, and scribbled a quick reminder on a pad. Without looking up, she said, “Jeremy’s a brilliant forensic anthropologist. One of the best in the country. He’s also one of the best, if not the best, scholar of Southeastern Native American culture. That’s why I can’t wait to share what I’ve discovered so far. I really should have called him already.”

“What time is that meeting today?”

His gruff tone was reminiscent of the confrontational stance he had taken on their first encounter. She bit back an equally gruff answer and forced herself to keep an even voice. “Two o’clock. We’ve plenty of time. Are you sure you still want to go?”

“I don’t recall ever saying I wanted to. Just that I would,” he snapped.

Something was irritating him. She was sure she knew what it was. “You know,” she said, “that prowler my neighbor saw might have had nothing to do with all the other things that have happened. I received a copy of the police report and doubt this incident is connected.”

“Maybe.” He shifted from one leg to the other.

“You seem restless. Probably from baby-sitting me. You should go out for a while by yourself. I promise I won’t run off.”

He looked at her, shook his head a couple of times, picked up another magazine, and returned to the chair. “You want lunch before or after the meeting?”

While he sounded less irritable, he still sounded far from happy. He clearly wouldn’t change his mind about leaving her. As the old saying went, if she couldn’t beat him, she may as well join him. “After is good for me. How about you?”

“After is good for me, too.” He hiked up the magazine to cover the bottom part of his face and lowered his head.

She got the message. End of conversation. After a trip to the kitchen for a glass of water, Alex returned to the desk to continue her work. Beck kept up the silent treatment until they were in the truck two hours later and pulled off the main highway onto a narrow road.

“How long do these meetings last?” he asked.

“Usually a couple of hours,” Alex replied as she turned into the parking lot of the church where the weekly meetings were held. A dozen cars were already parked on either side of the simple but well-maintained white brick building. “But no one’s forced to stay. Some people stay just a few minutes and others stay longer, depending on their circumstances. Open meetings are meant to be relaxed and less focused than closed ones.”

Beck turned to face her. “Open meetings?”

“On the second Saturday of every month, we have a meeting open to the general public. That’s when friends, family, or people thinking about kicking the habit come to get a lay of the land, so to speak. On the other Saturdays, only those still addicted and those recovering are allowed.” She studied his reaction to her explanation. He seemed interested. “Of course, anonymity is always expected from everyone regardless of the type of meeting, since the privacy of the individual is sacred.”

They exited the car together, and once they were inside, she saw a few of her closer acquaintances, waved, then took Beck’s hand and brought him over to the group. After the introductions were completed, she went to get coffee for them both.

When she returned, Beck was deep in conversation with a man she knew was also in the construction business, so she handed Beck the coffee, gave him an approving smile, and left to find another group with which to spend a few minutes.

An hour later, they pulled up to the restaurant for lunch when Beck’s cell phone rang.

He eased the truck into an open parking space with one hand and with the other unclipped the phone from his belt. After he cut the engine, he answered the call and fell silent.

The voice on the other end came through loud but indistinct.

Beck darted a glance at Alex.

She looked away. She couldn’t make out a word that was said, but without a doubt a woman was on the other end of the line. A woman who didn’t sound too happy.

Beck pressed his mouth as close to the phone as possible, his gaze fastened on his side window. “Let me call you later.”

Alex alternated between getting out of the car and giving him privacy, or staying and pretending to be unconcerned with the conversation. She looked sideways at Beck, one hand already on the door handle. “I’ll meet you inside,” she mouthed, in an attempt to appear politely uninterested.

Beck nodded, averting his gaze.

A swell of satisfaction filled her chest at his discomfort, although a twinge of guilt quickly replaced the satisfied feeling. He had a right to privacy.

Lowering the phone, he covered the mouthpiece with his free hand. “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time.” She opened the door, slid off the seat, and lowered herself to the ground. The door wasn’t yet closed and the phone not yet back to Beck’s ear when the garbled chatter from the other end of the line resumed.

“I know today is Saturday,” he interrupted. “I’ve been busy…”

The rest of what he said was lost as she stepped away from the truck and hurried toward the entrance to the restaurant. Who Beck was talking to was none of her business. He no doubt had a woman in his life. And he’d probably left her stranded while he convinced himself he had an obligation to see to poor Alex’s safety.

She didn’t need a caretaker, damn it. She could take care of herself. And as soon as they returned home, she’d put an end to this charade and send him back to the pack of females that were probably part of his harem. She’d gotten along just fine before she met Becker St. Romaine, and she’d get along just as well when he was gone.

****

Beck stepped inside the restaurant and found Alex waiting near the hostess’s podium.

As soon as Alex saw him, she smiled and nodded to the hostess who promptly directed them to a booth near the back of the room. The best place to be seated, since the back of the restaurant was much quieter and the air less heavy with the smell of food.

“Sorry about that,” Beck opened the menu the hostess left.

“About what?”

He cocked his head in the direction of the window behind them. “The phone call. Just someone I forgot to contact.”

“No problem,” she assured him.

Beck ignored her curt response and scanned the menu without interest. What he ate wasn’t important. Any old steak would do. He’d choose one when the waitress came for their order. He closed the menu and laid it on the table. While they drove, he’d done some deep thinking, and he wanted to get Alex’s feelings on his conclusion without scaring the hell out of her. “I think”—he hurried on before he changed his mind—“since we don’t have Ned to worry about, maybe we should let the police know about your car and the prowler.”

She looked away from the menu and stared in silence for a few moments. “I know. I was thinking the very same thing.” She snapped the menu closed and laid it on the table.

“Since each of the incidents is isolated and in different states, do you really think the police will give them any real credence?”

“You’ve got a point.”

The waitress came by just then to take their drink orders. Alex ordered ice tea, and he did the same.

“Wouldn’t you prefer a glass of wine, or maybe a beer?” Alex said quickly before the waitress left.

Would he ever. But he felt awkward ordering alcohol knowing her problem. “Tea will be fine,” he said.

Alex waited until the waitress was several tables away before she spoke. “I really would prefer you have whatever refreshment you want. I’ve gone beyond being tempted by someone enjoying a drink.”

He was certain she had, but suddenly not having a glass of wine or a bottle of beer wasn’t so much of a sacrifice. Not when he was with her. She went to his head like the finest bourbon. Damned if he didn’t wish the feeling weren’t so. He still wanted her and still planned to have her. But he also still planned not to let himself get too close emotionally.

The waitress arrived with their teas.

They added sugar and lemon in silence.

Alex stirred her tea. “I’ve probably kept you from your usual Saturday routine. If I did inform the police of the other incidents, they might spend a little time on patrol tonight if you have some place to go.”

So, that was it. Female instinct probably told her he was speaking to a woman on the phone. Covering her hand on the table, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m not leaving, so let’s not spend good conversation time on something that’s a lost cause. I have no place to go tonight except where you go. Case closed.”

He kept his hand pressed to hers. “Now, tomorrow is something else. Unless you have a special reason for staying here, maybe we could leave late morning or early afternoon. I have a few things to attend to back home. Of course, first I need to find a safe place to stash you for a couple of hours while I’m gone.”

She let out a sound between a whistle and a hiss. “Now, that suggestion is darn ridiculous. Let’s be rational about this. If we look at everything that’s happened, I’ve never been in any real danger. Even that car problem caused me nothing more than a giant inconvenience.”

He leaned forward. “What about the prowler at the cabin and the one here at your home? Don’t tell me you haven’t taken them seriously. I had to stay with you the other night, remember? If I hadn’t, you’d have been in as big a mess as you were the night before when you never slept.”

She clamped her lips together and stared at him in silence.

The waitress arrived and set a basket of hot rolls on the table.

They both drew in a deep whiff of the luscious aroma and made a grab for a roll at the same time. The laugh they shared was the first either had in a long time. After he’d practically drowned a roll in butter, Beck laid his knife on the plate and set down the roll beside it. “I have to do something tomorrow that can’t wait. Family business.” He picked up the roll and was about to take a bite when she lowered her gaze.

“I’m sure it can’t.”

“So help me, I’m telling the truth. But even if I wasn’t, I would still be here. You may not think all of this is serious, but I sure as hell do. And until this puzzle is solved…”

“I know. You’re sticking to me like glue.”

“Like very strong glue.”

“Where do you propose I stay while you take care of family business?”

A few seconds passed.

“I have an idea. If you agree, that is.”

She raised her head and met his gaze. “So, all of a sudden I have a say in all of this?”

He shook his head. “Don’t be smart. My grandmother lives not far from where I’m going. You’ll like her. The two of you should get along great. Vinegar and salt.”

She lifted a brow. “Oh. Which of us is which?”

“Haven’t decided. Might not even make a difference. You could probably trade off very easily.”

She spread butter on her roll. “I suppose I should be insulted. I would be if I hadn’t heard your fondness for your grandmother in your voice when you mentioned her.”

“True grit was coined for her, I’m sure.”

“I suppose that makes me gritty, too.”

He waved to the waitress who was already heading his way. “Babe, I’m too hungry now to keep up this tiresome conversation, so I say we order, eat, and get the hell out of here.” She never gave him any more back talk for the rest of their stay. When the meal was over and they headed to the truck, he turned to her. “What’s next? A movie or a quiet evening at home?”

“Thanks, but no movie. I’m eager to return to my research. I can get a good couple of hours work in tonight.”

After he settled her in the truck’s passenger seat, he walked to the other side of the vehicle, and slid behind the wheel.

Alex turned toward him and shook her head. “After spending so many hours with a boring academic, you’ll probably be very glad to get back to your interesting life.”

She might be testing him, encouraging him to reveal something about his life or about the way he usually spent his time. But his past wasn’t of interest to him right then. What occupied his thoughts now were the next few hours he was destined to spend alone while she pieced together the life of two, long-gone Indian lovers.

As he entered the highway, he cleared his thoughts, but before long he resumed his earlier contemplation. He had a good idea of the way he’d like to spend those hours, and he’d bet his expensive boots she had the same idea. He was also willing to bet that without too much encouragement, he could have her in his arms and in bed with little thought to those other young lovers.

If it did happen, he’d want to kick himself in the ass. Hard. Real hard. He had to keep the proper perspective in this situation. If he couldn’t, then he damned well had no business being here at all.

****

With a swipe of his elbow, Kent knocked the alarm clock to the floor. He’d been asleep for six hours, but he felt like he had slept for only six minutes. Slinging an arm over his eyes to shut out the late morning sun filtering through the dozen tiny holes in the weathered window shade, he groaned. One of these days he wouldn’t have to get up on a Saturday except when he damn well wanted to.

His stomach growled at its emptiness, even as it heaved at the mere thought of food. A fly landed on the remnants of a day-old ham sandwich on the table next to the bed, circled above his head, and came to rest on the side of his mouth. He slapped, spit, and spewed curses that took his mind off the turbulence in his stomach.

Keeping down his food had suddenly become a big problem. Until recently, he had only the nausea to deal with, and he had always kept it under control. Even Alex had never suspected anything. But now, the time he spent in the bathroom was increasing daily.

Last night had been worse than usual. Now that he thought about it, he had felt increasingly worse day after day for the past month. He needed more and more drugs to keep his pain at the level it was a year ago, where he could bear it. The street prices of the fucking drugs were steadily going up, but his bank account wasn’t. Not yet, anyway.

He eased himself to a sitting position and waited, head in his hands, for the bed to stop swaying. He reached for the glass of water that had been on the table as long as the sandwich and took a few sips, clenched a fistful of sheet in his hands, and let his stomach adjust to the first liquid of the day. Idly, he rubbed the scar on his cheek. Something he did every morning when he awoke. As if he needed the reminder of what he’d been through.

Iraq. Just television battles to most Americans. But the beginning of the end for all the unlucky bastards like himself who lived through the hell of them.

To make it through frontline battles and then be trapped in a fiery barracks was pure irony. That his injury was not battlefield related didn’t make what lay ahead any easier to accept. Actually, being injured off the field made the adjustment to civilian life harder. He had become just a paper hero. Only he and the other losers in their bunks really knew or cared about the horror they’d been through. He’d been shipped to the hospital with the rest of the poor bastards who had lived through the inferno and patched up as best the army could, or cared to, do.

He’d been left with the pain and a need for anything that could take it away. A need that finally ate away any promise of his chance at the great American dream. Again, he passed his hand over the scar on his face, and his stomach knotted from more than the sickness in his gut. He’d never been particularly handsome. Girls hadn’t fallen all over him as a kid or waited breathlessly for his phone call as a teenager. But they hadn’t turned away in revulsion, like they did now.

They hadn’t even seen the scars on the right side of his body that zigzagged down his arm and torso to his knee. He kept them covered with long sleeves and long pants.

He took a few more sips of water and stood. When he felt strong enough, he made his way to the bathroom, wondering as he walked what the rest of his life would be like after everything was over.

Strange how easy the deeds had been so far. First, Cindy. Then, that old crone French. He’d killed before. But the killing hadn’t been personal. He hadn’t known, seen, or touched the enemy. Now was different. He’d actually slept with the enemy. Once, anyway.

In the kitchen, he took the pot out of the refrigerator and set it on the stove, lit the burner, and waited for what remained of the day-old soup to heat. He’d force himself to eat slowly, chipping off the time from something else. Like a shower. He needed nourishment more than he needed to be clean.

He couldn’t afford to be late for work again. He desperately needed the pittance he made. Soon, he’d have enough money to see him through graduation and a decent job, at least. Maybe even beyond.

But for now, he had other things to think about. Other plans to make. Other people to get rid of. People like the arrogant bastard who had become her shadow.

Then, after the shadow disappeared, he’d have her all to himself again.