Dark Waters (4 page)

“Those are the best, aren’t they?” Patty agreed.

CHAPTER FOUR

E
ARLY SATURDAY MORNING
, before sunrise, Kyle Stillwater stripped down to his swim trunks and stepped into the water of Lake Wingra. Although he chose this place and time for its privacy, secretly he was always disappointed that no one was there to see.

He was twenty-three, in tremendously good shape, and handsome enough that women were the least of his problems. His long black hair and high cheekbones spoke of his Native American ancestry, while his blue eyes were so light that some people assumed he was blind when they met him. And yet his acting career refused to take off.

He’d been stuck in Madison for three years since graduating from college. He’d made forays to both coasts, but despite a flurry of auditions, his best-paying gig had been posing for a series of romance-novel covers. That is, prior to the one coming up later today—
this
gig paid more than all his other acting jobs combined.

He sliced through the water, his muscles moving with ease.
An actor’s body is his instrument
, one teacher said,
and he must keep it tuned at all times
. He reached the opposite shore and crawled out into the woods to a small clearing, where he did twenty minutes of calisthenics as the sky lightened above him. He’d be on public display for today’s job, so he wanted his body firm and tight. He went over his lines in his head, ensuring that he had the speech down properly. It wasn’t a long one, but his employer had stressed that precise wording was key.

Then he swam back. Halfway across the lake, something brushed his bare belly from below. It felt for all the world like a hand, and it brought him up short. He stopped, treading water for a moment, then decided he’d been mistaken.

Still, he felt a tingle of uncertainty deep in his belly. Lake Wingra, smaller than either Mendota or Monona, had a reputation for strangeness. He’d never experienced anything weird here before, but now the dark forests along the shoreline seemed filled with menace. Out of the corner of his eye something moved in the water, but by the time he turned it was gone.

He struck out for the shore again. He was barely ten feet from safety, in water no deeper than up to his knees, when the watery hands grabbed him and pulled him under.

THE WEATHER WAS
perfect for the ground-breaking ceremony for Garrett Bloom’s new community center: sunny, a comfortable seventy-five degrees, and a nice breeze off Lake Mendota. Olbrich Park, which abutted the old Parkside Hospital grounds, had been turned into a sixties-style hippie carnival for the day. Vendors, political booths, and street performers amused the attendees, and children played among bubbles and streamers. The resemblance to the Summer of Love was not planned; it was simply the way a certain segment of the isthmus population expressed themselves.

Mayor Joe Ciarimataro, district alderman Dora Flass, and two city court judges attended in their official capacities. The local media had turned out as well, but most of the crowd came from the neighborhood the center would ultimately serve. Longtime residents were delighted to be rid of the old eyesore of a building and to have it replaced by something that might actually help the area.

A flatbed trailer served as a stage, its unsightly parts hidden by a rippling banner that proclaimed “PBN: Progress Begins Now!” Logos of various sponsoring companies competed for space along the edges. On the trailer itself stood a lectern with a microphone and a row of empty metal folding chairs, each prominently marked “reserved.”

“Great googly-moogly,” Rachel said. She and Patty had walked the twenty or so blocks from the diner, and now stood on the sidewalk, looking down at the park. “All this just to tear down that old heap of bricks?”

“It’s not just that. It’s to break ground on a new community center,” Patty said. “All these people will benefit from that.”

“Uh-huh,” Rachel said skeptically. “And the people getting the money to build it will benefit more.”

“You’re too cynical. Garrett Bloom is behind this, and he wouldn’t do that.”

Rachel said nothing. She didn’t know Bloom, but she distrusted anyone with loads of money who tried to speak for the great unwashed.

Rachel followed Patty to the backstage area, a big plot of ground blocked off by a yellow plastic mesh fence. A serious-looking man in a crew cut checked a clipboard for Patty’s name, then nodded for them to go through. For some reason, his presence annoyed Rachel; he seemed too
much
somehow, more security than an event like this needed. Or, she revised mentally,
should
need. He wouldn’t have been out of place standing at the door of one of the Hollywood parties she saw on TV.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Patty said as they approached the green-room tent. She wore a big floppy sun hat and her usual black performance dress. “I know it’s probably going to be a bunch of boring speeches, but it’ll be nice to see at least one familiar face in the crowd.”

“Thanks for asking me,” Rachel said. Her sundress rippled in the breeze, caressing her smooth legs. She wore almost nothing under it, and her skin adored the sensation. “This is my neighborhood, too, after all. And I needed to get out of the diner.”

She looked up at the old mental-health hospital squatting beyond the trees, its empty windows like the eyes of some monster waiting to pounce. It was a rectangular structure built into the side of a hill, so that the second story had its own opening on the far side. Its white concrete walls were faded, cracked, and covered with gang-related graffiti. No glass remained in any of the barred windows. Local teens still used it for illicit activities, despite the fact that some of them had been found wounded or dead on its grounds. But then, that was teenagers for you. Every one of them thought themselves immortal.

“I
am
glad someone’s doing something with that place, though,” Rachel added. “It’s been empty for too long.”

Inside the backstage tent, young men and women in bow ties and tuxedo shirts, their armpits circled with sweat, dispensed drinks to the people milling about. Rachel recognized two local poets, several well-known businessmen, and at least one longtime occasional patron of her diner. Patty got herself and Rachel two bottles of water from an ice chest, and Rachel was just about to take a drink when she spotted the absolute last person she wanted to see.

“Shit,” she said aloud before she could stop herself.

A tall blond woman stood with her back to them, speaking to a pair of men in suits and ties. She wore a sleeveless summer blouse and lightweight skirt, and her hair was brushed straight and shiny. She was clearly at ease with both their professional and personal attention. In fact, one of them blatantly appraised her rear end, shaking his head in admiration and winking at a friend across the room. The friend flashed a thumbs-up.

“Oh,” Patty said. “It’s that reporter, isn’t it?”

“Julie Schutes,” Rachel almost spat. She was an unethical news reporter and, more important, a former (and for all Rachel knew, current) girlfriend of Ethan Walker. “Let’s get out of here before—”

Julie turned and spotted them. She quickly masked her moment of surprise behind cheery faux delight. “Shit,” Rachel and Patty said in unison.

Julie excused herself from her admirers and sauntered over, champagne flute in hand. The two men appreciatively watched her walk away. She stopped before Rachel and Patty, one hip cocked like the silhouette on a summer beach novel’s cover. Her press pass hung on a lanyard that dovetailed through her pushed-up cleavage. “Ms. Matre, Ms. Patilia,” she said coolly. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Yes, apparently they’ll let any old riffraff in,” Rachel said with a cold smile.

“Oh, that’s right, Ms. Patilia is on the program, performing one of her little songs,” Julie said. “And you’re here for moral support, then?”

“Is this off the record?” Rachel snapped back. “You have a problem with that, as I recall.”

Julie sipped her champagne and said, “Ms. Matre, your fifteen minutes are over, I’m afraid. There’s no longer any ‘record’ where you’re concerned. But,” she added as she turned away, “I’ll be sure to tell Ethan I ran into you.”

Rachel was glad the light in the tent hid her blush. Patty shook her head and said, “Why do all the beautiful ones turn out to be such bitches? Shouldn’t they be a little more kind and grateful? Isn’t life easy enough for them?”

“They do it because they can.” Rachel seethed quietly. She suddenly realized she’d clenched her fists so tightly that she’d crushed the water bottle, which leaked onto the grass by her sandals.

Patty took her arm. “Come on, then. Let’s go out and mingle with
our
kind of people. We may not be cover models, but you can trust us not to stab you in the back.”

Patty led Rachel out of the tent, around the stage, and into the expectant crowd milling out front. Rachel waved to Michelle, Helena’s long-term partner, who sat behind a table selling homemade cellphone holders. Michelle was thin, with sharp features and close-cropped black hair, and she and Helena had the most stable relationship Rachel had ever seen.

Patty also waved to people she knew, and introduced Rachel several times. Rachel dutifully smiled and nodded, but five seconds later couldn’t recall a single name. She was too busy fuming over Julie Schutes and the implications of her final words:
I’ll be sure to tell Ethan I ran into you
.

So in the weeks since Rachel had seen him, while she’d thought of him almost constantly yet avoided the simple act of picking up the phone, Ethan had returned to the arms of his former lover. No doubt Julie had worn him down with well-timed bait-and-switch encounters, casual “oh, look who’s here” moments at zoning meetings, fund-raisers, and whatever the hell else building contractors and reporters had in common. Perhaps she’d blithely offered to meet for coffee, or maybe a drink after work. An incautious word, a strategically undone button, and she would’ve set the hook, blissfully falling on her back as he dove in with all the enthusiasm of a kid at a toy store.

That had to be what happened. Because the alternative—that Ethan had sought out Julie because Rachel brushed him off—was too much to bear. She knew the lake spirits wouldn’t abandon her, so once again her conscience demanded to know: What was she
really
afraid of?

“Let’s go back to the tent,” Rachel said suddenly.

Patty looked surprised. “Why?”

“Because that’s where the free booze is, and I need a real drink.”

Patty shrugged. “Okay.”

Just before they reached the crew-cut sentinel, Patty spotted another friend, a tall girl with a ring through her nose and a tiny stud beneath her lower lip. Her name was Skyler something. Rachel dutifully shook hands and accepted the obligatory “Wow, you were the lady on TV, weren’t you?” Then she rather rudely grabbed Patty’s arm and turned to pull her out of the crowd. This was not getting her closer to the alcohol.

As she did so, she ran smack into Ethan Walker.

CHAPTER FIVE

E
THAN EMERGED FROM
the backstage tent. He was oblivious to the admiring looks from the women in his immediate area. Clad in a suit and tie that fit his muscular body like they had been molded to it, he was a lone beacon of no-nonsense masculinity among the paunchy or effeminate elite.

He nodded at the crew cut–sporting guard, wondering anew at the need for his presence. Normally a scruffy college kid would do fine, and be much cheaper than this sort of muscle. Ethan recognized the body language as ex-military, and the hard little eyes as indicative of someone who enjoyed inspiring fear. But if the guard noticed anything about Ethan, he gave nothing away.

“Ethan!” a voice called, and he turned as Garrett Bloom approached. Even in the summer heat, he looked cool and perfectly groomed.

Ethan shook his dry hand and said, “Quite a soirée you’ve put together here, Garrett. Must’ve cost a fair bit of change, for a charity event.”

“Not so much as you would think. Most of it’s donated or provided at cost. Besides, it’s important to use occasions like this to foster a sense of community. We’re all so tied in to our iPhones and PCs that we forget what human contact is like. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I never thought that hard about it,” Ethan said honestly.

Another man joined them, and Bloom said, “Ethan, have you met James Red Bird?”

Red Bird was short and dark, and wore his long black hair tied back in a ponytail.

Ethan held out a hand. “Mr. Red Bird.”

“Please, call me Jim,” the man said as they shook. “Mr. Red Bird was my venerable ancestor.” He winked, then smiled.

“You’ll see a lot of Jim over the next few months,” Bloom said. “He’s going to be my contact person for this project.”

“The Lo-Stahzi, ancestors of my own Karlamiks people, once lived on this land,” Red Bird said with a sweep of his arm. “We can’t get it back, but if we’re involved with what happens to it, perhaps we can renew a bit of our identity. This community center is a good thing.”

“I thought you said there were no Native American ties to this land,” Ethan said.

“No, I said I could get around it in a way that benefits everyone. Jim isn’t a flunky; he’s a tribal representative and has a Ph.D. in Native American history.”

“And I bowl two-seventy,” Red Bird deadpanned.

“He can handle any heat from the Native American troublemakers.”

“ ‘Troublemakers’?” Ethan repeated.

“We have our own Al Sharptons and Gloria Allreds,” Red Bird said. “They like to jump in front of cameras. The truth doesn’t much concern them.”

Bloom noticed someone else inside the green-room tent and said, “Ethan, if you’ll excuse us, there’s someone else I’d like Jim to meet.”

As Ethan watched the two men depart, he recalled Ambika’s suspicions. There was no reason both Red Bird and Bloom couldn’t be sincere, but when someone claimed to work for the common good, their
own
good was often a big part of the equation. But did that really matter to him? He was just the damn builder, after all.

Lost in thought, he walked past the security point, anxious for some fresh, nonpolitical air. He bumped into someone coming backstage and said “Excuse me” out of reflex. Then he froze as he recognized Rachel Matre.

RACHEL STARED UP
at Ethan openmouthed, as if some deity had appeared from the skies. He was certainly handsome enough for it, and the instant of contact, even cushioned by their clothing, was enough to send a jolt of excitement through her body. “Ethan,” she said needlessly. Her voice sounded ragged inside her head.

He looked as flummoxed as she felt. “I, uh … Hi, Rachel,” he said, and turned to the girl beside her. “Patty.”

“Mr. Walker,” Patty acknowledged.

Ethan turned back to Rachel. “Um … how are you?”

She had to lick her lips, which had gone dry. “Fine,” she said. “And you?”

Patty leaned close to her and said, “I’m going over by the T-shirt booth.” Rachel clumsily reached to stop her, but the girl disappeared into the crowd, leaving her alone—or as alone as she could be under the circumstances—with Ethan.

“I’m doing pretty well,” Ethan said in response to her question. “I got the contract to build this new community center.”

Okay
, Rachel thought with relief,
we can talk about work. That’s a safe topic
. “Not a bad score in this economy.”

“No. A lot of people are out of work, that’s for sure.”

“And a lot more will be before the country recovers.”

“That’s what they say.”

The conversation trailed to a halt, but they continued to gaze at each other.
I wonder what Julie sees in those big blue eyes when he looks at her
, Rachel thought.

Finally he said, “So how’s business at the diner?”

“Doing great. Had to hire two part-time waitresses, in fact. And another cook.”

“That’s great news. Do you ever hear from those other girls?” He meant, of course, the two surviving college students who, like Rachel and Patty, had been kidnapped by Arlin Korbus.

“No. We’re not a sorority, and we don’t have reunions. Last I heard they were all doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”

He smiled and nodded. After another awkward silence, he said, “Well, I should go. I have to round up the shovels for the ground-breaking ceremony.” He held out his hand. “Nice to see you, though.”

She took it reflexively. “Likewise.”

It had been a shock when they’d bumped into each other before. Now the moment their bare skin touched, it was as if it flipped a bank of switches inside her. Her knees grew weak, the bottom of her stomach dropped, and her nipples strained against the sheer sundress. The world around them paused, and she felt the tingles that signaled the buildup to her body’s most intimate response.

Then he walked away and she stared after him, mouth open once again, glad that he couldn’t hear the unmistakably throaty gasp that escaped her.

She looked around for Patty. Now she
really
needed a drink.

ETHAN’S FACE BURNED
bright red and he feared his sudden, unexpected erection was visible to everyone he passed. He left the backstage area and hurried through the crowd, uncomfortably aware of all the other women dressed for summer around him. He kept his eyes straight ahead and his suit jacket closed until he found a clear space at the water’s edge away from the frolickers. He closed his eyes and tried to think the most unerotic thoughts possible, desperate to deflate his urgent manhood. A visible bulge in the day’s news photos would not send the right message to future potential employers.

The soft lapping of the water at his feet had the opposite effect, though. It vividly brought back his first (and so far only) night with Rachel, when she’d told him the story of her lake spirit lovers. It had been his idea for the two of them to go into the water together, and now he remembered the way she had clung to him, legs locked around his waist and arms wrapping his shoulders as she thrust wantonly against him. He stood waist-deep on the silty bottom, precariously balanced yet certain somehow that he wouldn’t fall. She’d come then, loud and emotional and overwhelming, in what she told him was the first time ever with a man inside her. And he’d come into her as well, without protection but again secure in the inexplicable knowledge that there was no danger. He no longer needed porn; that encounter had fueled his masturbatory fantasies ever since.

He wiped his sweaty face with his handkerchief. This was
so
not the time for this, but the memories wouldn’t stop. And now, after seeing her again, Ethan realized two important things.

First, he was in love with her. The real thing. The kind all the songs were about.

And second, since she’d never bothered to make contact with him since, she must feel differently. Hell, all she even wanted to talk about was work. If that wasn’t a polite brush-off, then what was?

With that, his erection faded, and he closed his eyes against the despair that washed over him.

“Penny for your thoughts,” a familiar voice said.

He turned to see Julie Schutes. “What are you doing here?”

She gestured with her champagne flute at the crowd behind them. “Working, what else? This is a big above-the-fold kind of story. A positive message about the power of neighborhoods and families, blah, blah, blah.” She smiled—a dazzling display that would’ve brought a lesser man to his knees—and did a little turn for him that made her skirt flare just enough to flash her thighs. “And it gives me a chance to dress up.”

He knew she was beautiful, so it wasn’t a surprise. He also knew how her mind worked, which negated any of the beauty’s effect. “If you went to all that trouble, shouldn’t you get to it?”

She leaned against a tree, arching her back slightly so that her formidable breasts were on prominent display. The breeze rustled the branches above them, making patches of sunlight sparkle on her golden hair. “Ah, I can write this sort of thing in my sleep. I’m more concerned about you.” Her voice grew serious. “How are you doing these days?”

“Fine. Busy. Making it. Why?”

“Because I
miss
you.” She lowered her chin just enough to emphasize her blue eyes as she added, “Don’t you miss me at all?”

“Sure. But you’re always there in the papers, aren’t you?”

She raised her hands. “Okay, okay, I can take a hint. I’ll leave you alone. But seriously, Ethan, if you ever need to talk or … anything else … just let me know. My feelings for you haven’t changed, and I’m beginning to think they never will.”

She gave him a tiny pout—so small she could deny it if he tried to turn it against her—and walked back into the crowd. She swung her hips with an extra bit of emphasis, and he couldn’t help recalling other times when she’d moved them with equal skill.

And yet he felt nothing. His heart, and his body, belonged completely to Rachel Matre—as doomed as such dedication might be.

No, dammit
, he thought.
I’m not just accepting this. I’ve got to talk to her about it
.

BEHIND THE STAGE
, Garrett Bloom rattled off instructions to his assistant. She was tall and slender, yet her eyes radiated intense seriousness behind wire-framed glasses. She nodded along as he spoke.

“…  and make sure that Councilman Hawthorne is sober enough to get up the stairs. I don’t want him falling down and making a scene like he did that time at the Mallards game.”

“Already under control,” Rebecca Matre said. “I had the waiter cut him off after one beer, and then sent that pretty little intern, the brunette with the big rack, over to talk to him. That seems to have kept him distracted,” she added with wry distaste.

Bloom grinned and kissed her cheek. “Becky, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Call the employment agency,” she said simply.

“Not possible. You’re irreplaceable.”

“And you’re late to start the show.”

He looked at the clock on his BlackBerry. “Shit! I’ve got to hit the Porta Potti before we start.” And he rushed off without another word.

JAMES RED BIRD
sipped bottled water and watched Garrett Bloom’s blond assistant. She showed enviable legs beneath the hem of her skirt, and a fine, firm bosom. She wouldn’t likely turn to fat after childbirth the way his own wife had, he mused. Of course, she also probably wouldn’t be as gullible as Helen Red Bird; few women, of any race, were. Or perhaps, since he was always traveling, Helen was just too tired from rearing three kids essentially as a single parent to put up much of a fight. He considered himself a reasonably faithful husband, but when the right morsel crossed his path, he wasn’t above sampling the fare. And Bloom’s assistant looked delectable.

Bloom emerged from one of the blue portable toilets and walked over to Red Bird. Red Bird nodded toward the blonde and asked, even though he knew, “Who’s that again?”

“My assistant, Becky,” Bloom said. “You’ve met her before.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s very pretty.”

“She is that. And I can trust her, which is worth a lot more.”

“But ‘very pretty’ isn’t bad.…”

Bloom caught his tone. “Do not turn your Great Plains charm on that one, Jim, I mean it. I need her close to
me
, not distracted by the noble savage. Don’t make me open a can of Great Spirit Whoop-Ass on you.”

Red Bird grinned. “I cannot begin to tell you how many actionable offensive statements you just uttered, but I bet my tribal lawyer can.”

“I’ll see you in court, then. Now make yourself available for photo ops, will you? People need to remember you if our plan is going to work. In the meantime, I have to get this show on the road.”

Red Bird bumped fists with Bloom, and the activist went off to coax the mayor to the lectern. Red Bird continued to mingle, but kept a surreptitious eye on Becky as she spoke into her Bluetooth and worked her iPhone’s touch screen. He wondered if her skin was as smooth everywhere as it seemed to be on her calves.

BECKY FINISHED SENDING
an email on her iPhone, then turned and let out a little yelp of shock. Her older sister, Rachel, stood right behind her. They both froze; neither had expected to see the other here.

Finally Rachel said, “This is a surprise.”

“An unpleasant one for you, I’m sure,” Becky snapped.

Rachel patiently ignored her tone and turned to the girl beside her. “Becky, this is my friend Patty Patilia. Patty, this is my sister, Rebecca.”

“Nice to meet you,” Patty said with a nod. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“No doubt,” Becky said disdainfully.

“All good, I promise,” Patty said with a forced laugh.

Becky suddenly recognized Patty’s name. “Wait, you were another victim of that crazy tattoo artist, weren’t you?”

Patty nodded. “Your sister saved my life.”

“Oh, she’s always trying to save people,” Becky said bitterly.

Rachel forced a smile. “Well, good to see you, Becky. We’ll let you get back to work.”