Darkling I Listen (16 page)

"I pride myself on being an excellent lover. I'm good for four, maybe five times a night if I haven't been drinking. I can go as long as my partner needs me to. Some women want it hard and fast. Others take time. I enjoy foreplay. I'm good at it. I'm also a tease. I can do things with my fingers and tongue that will make you delirious." He blew out a stream of smoke that clouded between them. "So tell me, Aly. What do you like?"

The clock on the mantel ticked loudly, suddenly, in the silent room. He crushed out his cigarette and waited.

Finally, as the flush on her face intensified, she replied in a tight voice that quivered slightly with emotion, "This interview isn't about me, Carlyle." She flung the notebook aside and left the sofa, advanced on him, eyes glassy and teeth clenched. Leaning over him, hands braced on the chair arms and her nose nearly touching his, she said, "You're bullying me again. So you can just knock it off. You don't intimidate me in the least, and I find your blatant attempt to embarrass me infuriating and offensive."

"Yeah?" Sliding his thumb over her lower lip, he said softly, "Sweetheart, if I so much as tongued you once, you'd come."

Her eyes widened. She slapped his face—hard. He grabbed her wrist and twisted, throwing her down across his lap, took her face in his hand. Their gazes locked, hers snapping with surprise and anger, challenging him. The ache between his legs became excruciating, her weight in his lap a catalyst to the hunger that had maddened him since the instant the day before when he'd discovered the body squirming under his wasn't male, since the moment he'd buried his hands in her red thong panties that even now were burning a hole in his pocket.

"Excuse me
…
Mr. Brandon?"

The words came to him through a fog of lust so thick he couldn't breathe.

Alyson shoved his hands away and rolled off his lap, retreated to the sofa.

He redirected his focus on Betty, who stood at the door, her expression frozen in surprise, her posture rigid as a robot's. "What?" he snapped, his face burning like hot needles where Alyson had slapped him.

"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt." She pursed her lips briefly. "There's a Deputy Greene from the sheriff's office here to speak with you
…
about Miss Minger. I'm afraid something tragic has happened."

«
^
»

D
eputy Tommy Greene wore a slicker over his beige uniform,
galoshes that he wiped carefully before entering the Carlyle house, and a cowboy hat with a plastic cover. He studied the spiral notebook in his hand as if mentally rehearsing the questions he was forced to direct to
Brandon
. He licked his lips and cleared his throat before forcing a smile. Henry continued to stare into his coffee cup, Betty hovering at his side. Alyson loitered in the background with her arms crossed over her chest. Part of her wanted to bury
herself
back in the den, away from the tension mounting in the room, away from the vision of Brandon Carlyle's white face and shocked expression.

"Mr. Carlyle, I'm one of your biggest fans. I guess I've seen every movie you've made. And my wife—gosh, she thinks you're great. She was gonna name our firstborn after you if it was a boy. It was a girl, though." He cleared his throat again and shook his head. "I don't like havin' to come out here like this. I know how you like your privacy and all, and wouldn't have disturbed you this early but, well…"

"Would you like a glass of water, Deputy Greene?" Betty partially filled a glass with water from the tap and handed it to him, smiling sympathetically. "Or would you care for coffee?"

"No, ma'am." He gulped down the water and handed her the glass. He studied his notebook before focusing on Brandon, who stood in the center of the kitchen, his hands on his hips, looking as if he'd just been informed he had five minutes to live. "At approximately six-fifteen this morning Jim Benton drove out to the quarry to check his trotlines. There he found Charlotte Minger, severely beaten and unconscious. She was transported to Tyler General Emergency and is in critical condition at this time. Sir, it's been reported to us that you were with Miss Minger at the quarry last night. Is that true?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

"She picked me up here at
eight o'clock
. It was my understanding we were to grab a burger at the Dairy Queen. Instead, she drove me to the quarry for a picnic."

"And what transpired there, sir?"

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"Nothing, sir?"

He shook his head. "I didn't stay at the quarry longer than maybe forty-five minutes—an hour at the most."

"How did you leave—
"

"With me," Alyson declared.

Deputy Greene's gaze sharpened as he assessed her. "Who're you?"

"Alyson James. From
San Francisco
. I'm in town on business with Carlyle."

"Why were you at the quarry, Miss James?"

"To get him." She pointed to Brandon, who didn't look at her.

"Because
…
?"

What was she supposed to say? The truth? That Brandon had naively believed Charlotte when she told him she was twenty; that Alyson had driven to the quarry to stop him from making one of the biggest mistakes of his life—or, rather, another one? Or that Dillman had used
Charlotte
to set up Carlyle in hopes of sending him back to prison? It all sounded far-fetched, even to her.

"There were others there as well," she said, avoiding the question. "A truck full of carnies. They were drinking and didn't hang around long. Then there was Sheriff Dillman."

The deputy's brows drew together. "Why was Sheriff Dillman there?"

"I shouldn't speculate as to Dillman's motives, Deputy."

Deputy Greene jotted notes before focusing again on
Brandon
. "Did you return home immediately, sir?"

Brandon
looked at Henry, whose face was pale, his expression, concerned. Henry turned away to refill his cup with fresh coffee.

Something like dread seeped through Alyson, and fear, as the realization closed around her throat that Carlyle had no alibi from the moment she had driven away and left him standing beside the highway. How had he gotten home? And when? She thought of herself sitting in her car at the entry to the quarry, engine idling, speculating on Carlyle's having returned to catch a ride with Charlotte—had convinced herself that he wouldn't be that stupid, not a second time.

"I didn't bring him home," she heard herself explain as her face warmed and her heartbeat quickened. This time
Brandon
's head slowly turned, and he skewered her with his eyes. "He stayed with me," she lied. "At the motel."

Oh, my God! What had she done? She could hear Alan yelling in her mind:
Are you crazy, A.J.? What the hell were you thinking? I'll send you a care package while you're spending five to seven in San Quentin for aiding and abetting.

If Deputy Greene doubted her, he didn't show it, just scrawled on the notepad, flipped it closed, and tucked it into his pocket. He smiled his apologies. "With any luck the victim will regain consciousness soon. Hopefully she'll be able to give us a description, if not the identity, of her attacker. We have a crime unit on the scene now, working the area for evidence. The perpetrator had a hell of a grudge against Miss Minger. He scrawled a note on the windshield with her lipstick,
Back off Bitch,
then
used the same lipstick to paint teardrops on her cheeks. Damn creepy." He smiled toward Henry and Betty. "Sorry to trouble you folks."

"Not at all," Betty said. "I'll show you out, Deputy."

As Betty and Deputy Greene left the room, Henry looked at Alyson and pointed to the chair she had occupied at breakfast. Then he turned on
Brandon
, and said in a stern voice, "Sit your tail down, boy."

"Henry,"
Brandon
began.

"Shut up and sit."

They sat. Alyson felt that any moment Henry would throw a switch and send several thousand volts through her for lying.
Brandon
slouched in his chair like a recalcitrant juvenile who'd been caught smoking behind the barn.

Henry walked to the door through which Betty and Deputy Greene had left the kitchen, waited until Betty closed the front door behind the officer,
then
turned on
Brandon
. Pointing one finger at Alyson, he said, "Did you spend the entire night with this woman, Brandon?"

"No, sir."
Brandon
flashed Alyson a look. "Apparently I was an ass to Miz James and she dumped me out on
59
.
I walked home."

Henry's eyebrows
raised
. "You walked? From the quarry?"

Brandon
nodded.

"What was Al doing there in the first place?"

"Saving my neck. Seems Betty was right about Miss Yamboree. She's one week shy of being legal."

"So you have no alibi once Al deposited you on the highway. Did you go back to the quarry,
Brandon
? You look me right in the eye, boy, and tell me the truth."

"Come on, Henry. I don't beat up little girls."

"You didn't think she was such a little girl when you left here with her, did you? God almighty,
Brandon
, you didn't fool with her, did you?"

"No." He shook his head. "Henry, I told you; I walked home. I took the back road, the one I used to bike on when I
rode to the
quarry to
swim.
I can't
believe we're having this conversation. I can't believe you'd question me about this."

Henry dropped into his chair and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Brandon
stood and moved around the table, stooped beside his uncle, took Henry's hand and held it. "Don't do this, Henry, get yourself worked up over nothing—"

"Nothing!" Henry's voice cracked, and he turned his face away, refusing to look at
Brandon
. "If you're sent back to prison, it'll kill me. You're all I've got, you and Bernie
…
I won't have her for much longer. If I lose you, too, it'll be the end of me. I wouldn't want to go on."

As the sound of rain filled up the silence, the image of Carlyle on one knee, holding the old man's hand, rattled Alyson, made her feel alien again. She wanted to go to her knees beside
Brandon
and comfort Henry, too. He'd welcomed her into his home and his confidence like a long-lost member of his family, a family that was eroding around him. His love for
Brandon
showed in every seam of his face, as did his fear of losing him; suddenly she didn't care that she'd lied to Deputy Greene if it meant
Brandon
wouldn't be hauled off to jail again, breaking Henry's heart.

She returned to the den and collected her recorder and notes, mentally reminding herself that her reasons for coming to Ticky Creek did not include becoming emotionally involved with an infuriating bad boy with a kiss that could melt iron and an old man who epitomized the ideal parent.

"Miss James."

Alyson turned.

Betty stood near, her eyes friendly for a change, and a faint smile on her lips. "That was a very brave thing you did for Mr. Brandon, although not very wise."

"You can say that again." She slid the camera strap over her shoulder.

"I'm certain Henry and
Brandon
will be indebted to you."

"That's not necessary, Betty.
Brandon
wouldn't be in this pickle
if
I hadn't driven off and left him by the highway. It's the least I can do."

Betty regarded her closely. "I couldn't help but notice earlier, when Deputy Greene arrived
…
and I found the two of you…
"
Her voice dropped
off
,
and she averted her eyes.

Alyson tried not to think about what might have happened if Betty hadn't made her entrance when she had. Carlyle had been on the verge of either breaking her neck for slapping him
…
or something else altogether. The something else would have been more likely, because his assessment of her heightened sexual state had been right on the money.

"It was nothing, Betty. There's a power struggle going on between us. Carlyle is accustomed to getting his way with women, and I'm not
…
interested."

Betty's eyebrows
raised
. "That'll be a first. He came to Ticky Creek to get away from the bimbos who constantly made themselves
…
available, like that dreadful Marcella person. That Mr. Brandon has had to endure the shame of that catastrophe is a crime, but I suspect it taught him a valuable lesson. He'll be more discriminating about the company he keeps."

"I don't call Charlotte Minger discriminating, do you?"

Betty's smile widened. "Touché, Miss James."

*

The wind whipped rain through the pines as
Brandon
sat on
the porch swing, smoking and shivering but unwilling to go inside and face the fear and disappointment on Henry's face. The front door opened and Alyson stepped out, burdened by purse and camera bag. She looked surprised to see him there, as if she were attempting to make a quick getaway before he noticed.

"Leaving so soon?" He gave her a cryptic smile.

"Henry's upset. I shouldn't be here now. Besides, I get the impression you aren't serious about this book. Unless you're ready to talk about something other than your five-star sex life, we're not going to get very far."

"In case you haven't noticed, sex is what I'm about." He shook his head and looked away. "It's all I'm good for, isn't it? All I've ever been good for. I won an Oscar for my acting in
Jericho
,
yet all the producers, directors, and moviegoers are interested in is my bare ass and how many gratuitous sex scenes they can get for their money. Let's face
it,
I'm a piece of meat, Aly. I'm a commodity. Or was." He laughed and tapped the ashes off his cigarette. "I ceased being worth a plugged nickel the instant Emerald Marcella went through that guardrail."

She crossed the porch and sat down beside him, camera bag and purse on her lap. They swung back and forth while the swing chains creaked with their weight and thunder rumbled in the distance.

Brandon
took a deep drag on his cigarette and thought of the panties in his pocket. Thought about how good Alyson had felt in his lap earlier. Thought about how badly he wanted to take her in his arms right now, not for sex but for human contact, just to feel another's arms around him, as if that would assure him that the Minger issue would disappear along with the fear of his being hauled back to California and buried in a prison cell.

"Henry's pissed," he said in a tight voice.

"He's afraid."

"Sometimes I get the impression that he isn't very confident of my innocence regarding the Marcella accident. Now this deal with
Charlotte
." He glanced at her. "You shouldn't have lied for me, Aly. The last thing I need on my conscience is for you to get involved in my problems. Maybe you should leave town, get out before this thing gets ugly."