Chapter Twenty-One

I’VE SLEPT FOR HOURS. I blink in amazement at the time displayed on my cell phone. Normally, I can never sleep during the day. I check my messages. I missed two calls for jobs that I slept through and one call from Pamela Jameson.

She answers her cell on the first ring.

“Jamie has cancelled our dinner for tonight.”

Relief rushes through me. Shannon’s alive and well enough to make a phone call, but that still tells me nothing about the baby.

“When did you talk to her?”

“A couple of hours ago. She says there’s no reason for us to meet. She’s already come to her decision. She says we can have the baby for one hundred thousand dollars. The figure is non-negotiable.”

“Wow. What are you going to do?”

“Pay it, of course.”

“Wow,” I say again. “And your husband is cool with this?”

“My husband wants a child as badly as I do,” she answers me with an edge creeping into her voice.

“No offense. It’s just a lot of money.”

“The money is a problem, but it’s not the biggest problem. She’s made some requests of me that are making me nervous.”

I get up off the couch and walk into my bedroom, where I check my reflection in the mirror on my dresser. My head is feeling a little better, my stomach, too. The cut above my eye is not so glaring now. I examine the bruising. It’s on the far side of my face so I can cover most of it with my hair.

“Such as?”

“She says she won’t go back to New York. I don’t blame her for that. She shouldn’t be traveling, which means she’s going to have the baby here. She says she’s going to have it tomorrow.”

“How does she know that?”

“She doesn’t. She can’t. Her due date isn’t for four more days but she insists it will be tomorrow. She won’t let me be involved, but she expects me to stay here until the baby is born. Then she says she’ll contact me. She wants to have the adoption handled here. She won’t go back to New York for any reason.”

“What if the baby’s late? You could be hanging out at the Holiday Inn for awhile.”

I open my closet door and start looking for something more fitting for a meeting with Cam Jack. Something funereal but with a lot of boob and leg action going on so he won’t be able to concentrate.

It’s been a long time since I’ve conversed with him, but I doubt he’s changed much in that area. I doubt he’s changed much in any area.

“She wants to be paid in cash,” Pamela tells me.

“Cash? Are you kidding me? She wants you to give her a hundred grand in bills? You don’t find this a little suspicious?”

“It’s unorthodox.”

“Unorthodox? I’ll say. How do these deals usually go down?”

“They’re not deals, and they don’t go down.”

“How are the mothers usually paid?”

“By check or wire transfer, of course. Through a lawyer.”

“Whose lawyer?”

“In this case, our lawyer is handling it.”

“Does Jamie have a lawyer?”

“No.”

I choose a plain, long-sleeved black dress, tasteful except for the plunging neckline and the thigh-high hemline.

“Do you mind if I ask how you found her?”

“There are certain discreet ways of advertising for this type of situation.”

“Unwed Mother Weekly?”

“I don’t appreciate your humor.”

“So she basically answered an ad?”

“Something like that.”

“So she came to you. No one told you about her?”

“No.”

“You told me you provided her with an apartment.”

“A lovely loft apartment. Six thousand a month.”

I’m struck temporarily speechless by the amount of money she just mentioned.

“Whose name was the lease under?” I’m finally able to ask.

“Hers.”

“You didn’t rent an apartment and let her live there?”

“No.”

“How did you pay her?”

“Deposits into her bank account.”

“An account under the name of Jamie Ruddock?”

“Yes. It’s all legitimate. I’ve seen her driver’s license.”

“Fake ID. Big deal. Basically, you don’t know if the money you gave her for the apartment and for food and baby things and incidentals actually went to pay for those things?”

“If they didn’t, how did she get them? Who was paying for them?”

I give her a moment to think it over while I pull on a pair of black lace-top stockings and zip up a pair of black faux leather boots with a four-inch stiletto heel.

“You think this other couple she mentioned…?” she says slowly.

“I think she’s been playing you like a fiddle. I think she’s been letting this other couple support her, and she’s been keeping the money you gave her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s going to try and get both of you to pay for a baby only one of you is going to get.”

I don’t tell her that I also happen to know there might even be a third couple involved who’s employed a thug to make sure they get the baby.

“And I’m willing to bet the couple that’s not going to get the baby is the one who’s going to pay her in cash.”

“But surely she has to realize I’m not going to hand her a suitcase full of money without having the baby and legal adoption papers in hand first.”

“No, I don’t think she does. I think she thinks she has you right where she wants you, and you’ll do anything she says and take any risk no matter how stupid. What if she calls you and tells you she’s had the baby? Come and see your beautiful new baby, but only if you bring a hundred grand in cash with you. You say no. She doesn’t care. Her swindle didn’t work, but she hasn’t lost anything. She has another couple lined up to adopt. And she already managed to cheat tens of thousands of dollars out of you while she was pregnant. If you say yes, I guarantee she’ll take the money and the baby and run. Either way she has no intention of giving you this baby.”

“What can I do?”

I hear the first serious note of panic in her voice.

“Walk away.”

“Walk away? After all I’ve been through? After all we’ve already spent on her? After all the time I’ve spent planning on this baby?”

“Walk away. She already succeeded at half her game. Don’t let her succeed at the other half. She’s not going to give you this baby.”

“You don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“No, I guess I don’t. I can’t put myself in your shoes for a lot of reasons.”

The main reason being that I think your shoes are really ugly, I add silently.

“Maybe I can reason with her? Maybe I can threaten her? I’ll tell her I’m onto her. I’ll go to the police.”

“She hasn’t done anything illegal.”

“Maybe she’ll take pity on me.”

“I think she already has.”

This comment is met with silence, followed by the click of a hang-up.

My next call is to Kozlowski.

I think very carefully about how I should play him after what Vlad told me about him. I now know why he wants Shannon. Her baby is worth a lot of money to him. I think Shannon set up the Jameson adoption on her own and he doesn’t know anything about it, but he probably arranged the other adoption and has involved Vlad’s employer as well.

He’s also not above physically threatening or intimidating her in order to get the baby, since he had no qualms about putting Vlad on her trail. And apparently, he’s a real slimeball in general. Not that I believe every word out of the Russian’s mouth, but Vlad had no reason to lie about Kozlowski, and what he said made some sense.

Kozlowski obviously hasn’t found her or he wouldn’t have called the hospital looking for her.

In other words, he wants Shannon bad and I know he does. My knowledge of her whereabouts will make an irresistible piece of bait.

But if I’ve found Shannon, he has to wonder what she would have told me about him. He has to wonder why I would be willing to give up my long-lost sister to the man she’s running away from.

I leave messages for him on his cell and at his room at the Comfort Inn, telling him I know where Shannon is and I’ll be willing to lead him to her for a cut of the money.

Once I’ve taken care of my phone calls and finished dressing, I check the time. I still have about four hours before meeting Cam Jack. I don’t have any jobs lined up for the rest of the day, but that can change at a moment’s notice.

I think about driving to Centresburg where there’s usually more business, but I’m not eager to get any closer to my final destination.

My stomach’s upset and my hands are clammy over the thought of seeing him again. I need something to calm my nerves and build my confidence. There’s only one thing that works consistently for me; the problem is I can’t always find it when I need it, although I constantly come across it when I don’t want it.

I rack my brain trying to think of someone to screw. I haven’t had a serious relationship in years, and I usually cross county lines if I feel like pursuing a casual one. I don’t have time to do that now.

I finally come up with an idea. I check the time again. I’m pretty sure I know where I can find him.

I drive to the high school.

The Marine is alone, like he was this morning, sitting inside the same white Honda Civic I recognize from the mall with a Corps bumper sticker pasted on the trunk lid and a blue lace garter hanging from the rearview mirror.

He’s jerking his head around, moving his lips, and hitting the steering wheel with his white-gloved hands in time to some music I can’t hear.

I park a few spaces away from him and get out of my car. As soon as he notices me heading toward him, he switches the music off and puts the hat on.

He watches my approach across the blacktop and rolls down his window.

“What can I do for you, ma’am?” he calls out to me.

I don’t answer him until I arrive at the side of his car and lean inside the window, giving him a good shot of cleavage.

“You can not call me ma’am for starters, although I understand it’s meant as a term of respect. I was a cop for twelve years. I’m familiar with the philosophy. Good manners. It’s the only thing that separates us from the animals.”

He smiles. It’s a good smile. A recruiter’s smile. He probably practices it in front of a mirror every morning. He even knows to make eye contact, but he’s not good enough yet to fake with his eyes. There’s no warmth in them. They’re flat and bored: the eyes of a man who spends all his time hustling strangers and already knows before he asks a personal question that he could care less about the answer.

“Where were you a cop?” he asks.

“Here in Centresburg most recently. Before that I was a Capitol police officer.”

“What kind of training you do for that?”

“Eight weeks at FLETC.”

Some interest rises to the surface of his stagnant eyes, along with a mild admiration.

“So you’re a hard-ass?” he asks, smiling.

“Something like that.”

The interest grows deeper and he lets his eyes flick up and down my body, lingering on my legs and the boots.

He’s young, not much older than Clay. Not bad looking, although I’ve never been fond of buzz cuts. The body is nice. Broad shoulders. No sign of a paunch.

“What are you doing now?” he asks, looking past me at my car. “Working for some kind of cab company?”

“It’s my own company, but it’s not much.”

“If you don’t mind my saying, you don’t look like a cop, and you don’t look like a cab driver.”

“That’s part of my charm.”

“Why’d you leave the job?”

“Got tired of cleaning up other people’s messes.”

“I hear that.”

“I have a lot of down time at my job.” I decide to come right to the point. “I figure you do, too. I saw you this morning, and I’m a sucker for a guy in uniform. I thought maybe we could have a little fun.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, soldier,” I say, smiling. “I’m not.”

He looks all around him inside his car as if he might find the answer to my proposition written out for him on a Post-it stuck to the dashboard or the floorboards.

He looks at his watch. He looks over at the empty courtyard in front of the high school that will be milling with hundreds of kids in about ten minutes.

“School’s about to let out. I’ve got to work right now. How about later?”

“I can’t later. Besides, I like to have spontaneous encounters. More exciting that way. You ever have any spontaneous encounters?”

“You mean like picking up a girl in a bar…?”

“No. That’s a mating ritual.”

I lean into his open window and glance down at his crotch. I can see the outline of his erection straining against the fabric of his perfectly pressed pants. He watches me.

“I mean like having a beautiful stranger approach you in a parking lot and offer to fuck your ears off in the backseat of her cab.”

“Are you kidding me?” he asks again but this time his voice almost cracks.

He coughs to cover it up.

“Come on,” I say and start to move away from his car.

“I gotta work,” he says again but with little conviction.

I pretend I suddenly need to bend down and adjust the zipper on my boot, making sure my dress hikes up enough for him to see the lace tops of my stockings.

“There’s a back road not far from here where we can park and have some privacy. You can be back as quick as you’d like.”

I don’t wait for an answer. I start walking to my car, listening for the sound of his car door opening and closing. I don’t hear it and I wonder if I’m beginning to lose my appeal when the slam of a door reaches my ears. I don’t look behind me.

He joins me in the front seat of my car.

“Shit. I shouldn’t do this,” he says.

“That’s exactly why you should.”

It takes about five minutes to drive to the nameless dirt and gravel power company road that leads up a wooded hill to a humming generator enclosed in concrete and surrounded by a chain-link fence.

For as long as I can remember, kids have been coming up here to park in the small clearing.

It’s empty now and completely silent except for the occasional far-off rumble of a truck and the insect whine of electricity leaving the generator and traveling up through the cables.

He looks over at me, not sure what he’s supposed to do. Should we make small talk? Should he kiss me? Should he wait for me to do something?

I solve the problem for him by getting out of the car and doing a little bump and grind for him.

I pull my dress up to my hips while I gyrate, then slide my black lace thong down over my legs and kick it off the toe of one boot.

“You’re crazy,” he tells me, grinning. “What if somebody comes up here?”

I crook my finger at him, and he gets out of the car.

“Take your gloves off,” I tell him. “And the hat. I don’t want to be responsible for getting them dirty.”

He does what he’s told.

He comes at me, hungrily at first, his hands and eyes roaming my body, then a fleeting expression of embarrassment passes over his face as if he’s suddenly remembered something he’s obligated to do. He gives me a hard, fast kiss with too much tongue, but I don’t mind; it will be our first and last kiss.

I back him up against the car while I unzip his fly. He moans when I take him out of his pants, and his hands grip the hood of my car as I begin to kneel in front of him.

“What are you?” I ask him. “A staff sergeant?”

“Yeah.”

The word comes out like a gasp of pain.

“You want to be a general someday?”

I feel the moist ground grinding into my knees too late and realize I’m probably ruining my stockings.

“I’m hoping to be a civilian someday,” he manages to tell me before his ability to form complex sentences is temporarily suspended as I take him in my mouth.

I play with him, licking him and taking him deep in my throat, until he starts to get serious. He grabs my head and begins thrusting with a definite rhythm.

I realize he’s going to come soon so I pull away and lead him to the backseat of the car, sit him down, pull my dress off over my head, and crawl on top of him, clamping my thighs around his hips. He slides inside me easily.

He starts to fumble with my bra, and I unhook it for him. His style lacks finesse. It’s mostly grab and rub. But he gets an A for enthusiasm, and I enjoy his enjoyment.

He cups my breasts and takes one in his mouth. The feel of his tongue against my nipple sends a raw current of pleasure directly to my pussy. My thighs spread wider, and I ride him.

Afterward, I lay my head on his shoulder and my hand against his chest. His heart thuds rapidly beneath the decorations pinned to the heavy material.

I wanted him to strip, too. I wanted to feel flesh on flesh, but I knew that would have been asking a lot. I know what a pain in the ass it is to take a uniform off and put it back on again.

A couple dozen teachers’ cars are all that remain in the parking lot by the time we return. The last bus has left, too.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Looks like you missed your chance.”

“That’s okay,” he says. “I’ll hit the mall later.”

I pull up and park beside his Honda. We both glance over at it.

“A friend of yours get married recently?” I ask, looking at the garter hanging on the rearview mirror.

“Yeah. A buddy of mine. Last weekend. Before he shipped out to Iraq.”

“And you caught the garter?”

“Yeah, I caught the garter.”

“Did you want to catch the garter?”

“I was pretty drunk. All I know is they rounded up all us guys and somebody threw something into the crowd. It was pretty much instinct that made me fight for it.”

He puts his hat and gloves and recruiter’s smile back on.

“I guess I should get going,” he says.

“Yeah. Me too.”

He gets out of my car and starts moving away from me in a Marine’s smooth, stiff-legged glide.

“Hey,” I call after him. “I noticed earlier the tread on your tires is pretty worn. You might think about replacing them. And your rear left one really needs some air.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I sit back in my seat and take a deep breath. I feel good. I feel ready to deal with Cam Jack.

The Marine gets in his car and sits alone in the vacant parking lot staring at the empty school.

As I drive away, it crosses my mind that I may have saved someone’s son.