Flashpoint (28 page)

Sonora rested a hand on the chair across from him. “Hello, Keaton Daniels.”

“Sit down. I saw you on the news tonight, and I was wondering about all those developments you mentioned.”

Sonora sat and smiled sadly.

“It's all hype, isn't it?”

“It's hot breaking yet, I won't lie to you. But it's moving and picking up speed. And I
will
catch her.” She tilted her head sideways. “Provided you don't beat me to it.”

He smiled, and she liked it that he didn't try to deny it. “Am I in trouble?”

“You got a gun, Keaton?”

“Yeah, you mind?”

“Got a permit? Know how to use it?”

He nodded.

“Then no, I don't mind. Just don't take it to school with you.” She leaned back in her chair. “Been here a long time?”

“Since eight.”

“Long night.”

Chita Childers leaned across the bar, trying to get their attention. “Last call! Either of you want anything?”

“I was thinking about toast,” Sonora said. It was out of her mouth before she had time to think. Bad girl. No can do. Brother of victim. Be smart.

Keaton stood up and took the jacket from the back of his chair.

God he looked good, she thought.

Chita Childers stared at them. “Going to call it a night, huh?”

Keaton smiled at Sonora.

“I'll follow you home,” she said. See him in safely, she thought. Yeah. Right.

The streets of Mount Adams were lined with parked cars, giving the neighborhood a tight, squeezed feeling. Keaton took Sonora's hand and led her up the walk to the front porch. He fumbled with the house key, and Sonora wondered if he was nervous. She was.

“You ever get those locks changed,” Sonora asked. She looked over her shoulder. Scanned the dark streets.

Nobody, no movement, no car out of place. Selma couldn't be everywhere at once, one person couldn't do twenty-four-hour surveillance. Maybe she wasn't out there.

And maybe she was.

“Yeah, I got the locks changed. We're safe.”

The house was dark, just a light over the sink in the kitchen. Keaton headed for the lamp, but Sonora put a hand on his arm, and he left it dark. The blinds were open, and the streetlights gave the room a shimmer of illumination. Keaton closed the front door and locked it.

He took Sonora's hand and led her to the edge of the couch. “Stand close to me, like you did the other night.”

Sonora let her purse slide off her shoulder and drop to the floor. She draped her blazer over the arm of the couch, then moved toward him, not quite touching. Was she really going to do this? She studied his face, shadowed by darkness. Yes. She was.

Keaton put his arms around her, and she stood on her tiptoes and dipped her tongue into the hollow of his throat, a butterfly flick. He kissed her, swiftly and hard, and after a while she broke free.

They stood still for a moment, breathing deeply. Keaton put his hands on her hips and pulled her tight against his body. She closed her eyes, feeling his warmth, his hardness, the beat of his heart against her chest.

He traced the line of her neck and shoulder with the thick pad of his thumb. She placed a finger against his lips, parting them slowly, touching his tongue, lightly grazing the bottom edge of his teeth.

With her other hand she unbuttoned the top buttons of her shirt and unlatched the front hook of her bra. She arched her back, felt, her hair slide across her shoulders, bit her bottom lip when he bent forward and put his mouth on her breast.

They shed their clothes quickly, awkwardly. Light spilled in from the street and turned their flesh milky white.

Sonora sat on the couch and pulled him close in front of her, took him into her mouth. He wrapped a hand in her hair and said her name so softly she thought she imagined his voice.

His breath came in short gasps, and the hand tangled in her hair tightened into a fist.

“
God
.”

Sonora laughed.

“Come upstairs,” he said.

The stairs were bare wood and caught the light. Sonora's hand slid against the banister on the way up, and Keaton guided her through the open hallway toward his bedroom.

Outside, a car door slammed.

“You okay?” Keaton asked. He stroked the small of her back.

“Just jumpy.”

It was dark in the bedroom, blinds drawn tight. Sonora saw the white glow of a digital clock. Keaton put both hands on her shoulders and pressed her back against the edge of the bed. He pushed her legs back till her knees were high, then traced the inside of her thigh with his tongue.

She grabbed the headboard and shut her eyes. His touch made her jerk, and he paused for a moment before he resumed, relentless and slow. He moved on top of her, his mouth over hers. She grabbed his shoulders.

“Keaton.”

She shut her eyes and tried to hold him back. Now was probably a bad time to tell him she wasn't on the pill. She relaxed and let him resume, just once or twice more, and then she thought of pregnancy and babies and how easily she got caught.

“Keaton, I can't—”

He kissed her neck. “Yes, you can. Yes, you can.”

“Keaton, I get pregnant at the drop of a hat.” The words came out in a strangled rush. He stopped moving inside of her and raised up on his arms. “So to speak,” she said.

“Sorry. Should have asked.”

The bed creaked when he got up. She heard a drawer open and close, the crinkle of a foil packet. He climbed back into bed and stretched out beside her, kissing her again. She swung her legs over his hips and sat on top of him. He put a hand on her belly, and then he was inside again, and now it was safe, and she rocked on top of him, slow and sure.

And then she was overwhelmed, suddenly, and closed her eyes, lost just before his soft groan.

Sonora sank slowly to Keaton's chest. He put his arms around her, scratching her back lightly, making her shiver and smile.

“You hungry?” He sounded sleepy and peaceful. Kind.

“Starved, how'd you know?”

“Your stomach's growling.” He turned a lamp on beside the bed. The room was all dark wood and masculinity. He opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a large white sweatshirt. “Put this on if you're cold.”

She slid the shirt over her head. The cuffs hung past her wrists.

“Be right back.” He went into the bathroom. Shut the door.

Sonora went to the dresser, checked her hair in the mirror, noticed a newspaper clipping with her picture. Next to the clipping was a hardbound notebook that had
JOURNAL OF INVESTIGATION
printed in bold black letters on the front.

Private, of course. She turned the cover.

My brother is dead now, the police are tracking the killer. The detective in charge is a woman. She strikes me as tough and capable. She has a smart mouth, but underneath I think she is kind
.

Sonora grimaced, then smiled. Interesting to get those first impressions.

I will be dogging her every footstep. I want Mark's killer caught. But I am getting ahead of myself. I think this all started with phone calls, right around Easter, when Ashley and I began falling apart
.

Sonora heard the toilet flush. She closed the journal and moved away.

Keaton came out of the bathroom wearing a dark blue bathrobe. He took her hand, leading her down the stairs through the dark silent house, and they laughed for no particular reason. Sonora felt like a child who was getting away with something.

He turned on the lights. Darkness was thick against the windows, and Sonora blinked at the harsh, cheery brightness of his kitchen.

“I was hoping you would come, so just in case.” He opened the refrigerator and waved an arm.

Chocolate-covered strawberries, frozen yogurt, egg rolls. Classic Coke in bright red cans.

Keaton Daniels smiled proudly. “Girl food.”

42

Sonora left Keaton's town house well before dawn, with a full stomach, a sleepy ulcer, and a long hard kiss.

“You really go to work this early?” he asked as she hunted through the living room for her clothes.

“Umm. Where is my … oh, there it is. Here's your towel back, and thanks for the use of the shower.”

“Can I talk you into some breakfast? You said last night you wanted toast.”

“I lied.”

The phone rang. Keaton frowned, looked at her. “Think it's for you, some cop thing? Nobody calls me this early.”

Sonora shook her head. “I didn't give your number out. Nobody knows I'm—answer it, why don't you?”

He took the extension in the living room. Said hello. Listened.

She knew who it was by the sudden set of his shoulders, the hand by his side closing into a fist.

He hung up.

“It was her,” Sonora said.

“Yeah.” His voice was tight, so different from the way he'd sounded minutes before.

Sonora yanked her boot over her foot. “What, Keaton? What'd she say?”

“She said she'd pay me back. She'd pay both of us back good.”

Sonora drove through the dark streets—it was garbage day again, and plastic bags clogged the curbs. She had called home, of course. All was well. She cruised out of the Mount Adams area and wound down to Broadway onto the bridge, just as the sky got lighter. She glanced over her right shoulder, saw the mountains were fogged in. A train whistled. Three large road locomotives strained at the upgrade, pulling a fully loaded unit train—Kentucky coal, headed north.

She wondered how adults—herself in particular—expected teenagers to be sensible about sex, when they were dumb themselves. Do as I say, not as I do.

It started to rain, and Sonora turned on her windshield wipers, squinting through the gray haze and drizzle. The river was greenish at the edge, brown toward the middle. The local access bridge was brightly lit, and Sonora passed through the stone crossing. Lights from the parking lots at Riverfront Stadium made reflections that looked like torches coming up from the water. The roar of trucks on the interstate sounded lonesome.

Sonora glanced at her brother's saloon, snug in its berth on the waterfront. She had no regrets about investing Zack's death benefits in Stuart's business, but had lately been wondering what she was going to do about sending the kids to college. Surely by the time Tim was out of high school, she and Stuart would have enough return on investment to send Tim to Harvard. Provided he passed algebra.

Sonora took the exit to Covington. The steep hilly streets were quiet. She drove past tall narrow houses, packed close together, painted in an astonishing range of colors—stately red brick to lime green. All of them looked dingy in the gloom. There were high-rise hotels, the big clock tower, Super America, Big Boy Burgers, Mainstrasse Village, and the sign for the visitors center. Cincinnati kept its sin on this side of the river, and Covington was a small town, big-city-satellite mix of stately churches, dingy houses, motels, and bars that featured
GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS
and
XXX MOVIES
.

Sonora passed Smith Muffler shop
(Free Installation)
, KFC
(Finger-Lickin' Good)
, and Kwik Drive-in
(Kools, Camels & Savanna Lights)
. She breezed past Senior Citizens of Northern Kentucky and turned into the empty parking lot that served the legal offices of McGowan, Spanner & Karpfinger—uncomfortably located across from Red & Orange Liquor Shoppe and Angel's Bar, featuring
GIRLS DAY
&
NITE
.

Sonora saw a hunched figure in a black leather jacket through the glass of a brightly lit booth. The lawyers were not pulling all-nighters, but if they had been, their BMWs would be safe. Ruby was on shift.

Sonora walked across the freshly patched asphalt, finding nothing much and everything in particular of interest. Cop attitude. Ruby, as always, had her head bent over a book.

A tiny CD player spewed jazz with a state-of-the-art quality that had cost thousands in speakers and amps just ten years ago. A pink-and-white box of Dunkin' Donuts was open and empty, and Ruby was sipping Evian water and scoring notes on blank sheets. Ruby acknowledged Sonora with a nod and put out her cigarette.

Sonora opened the door of the booth and leaned her shoulder against the edge. “Hey, girl. Have I come at a bad time?”

Ruby gave her a sideways sloppy smile. “The great composer at work. I'd offer you a doughnut, but I ate them already.”

Sonora had never been able to pinpoint Ruby's age—somewhere between twenty-eight and forty-eight. She was big boned and fleshy, skin a deep blue black, and her hair was thick, abundant, and rigid with tight curls some women paid big bucks to achieve. She was deft with makeup, and wore purple lipstick and a nightstick on her belt as if the two always went together.

“Ruby, you ought to be studying.”

“I know. What you smiling about, you just get laid or something?”

“I've been over there at girls girls girls, dancing on tables all night.”

“I have to say it agrees with you.”

“Speaking of dancing. You know a working girl named Shonelle?”

“Shonelle, hmmm. She danced at the Sapphire, didn't she? The one jacked up her knee?”

“Jacked up?”

“
Messed
up. Sonora, you are so
white
.”

“Yeah, yeah, be a bigot. How about Sheree La Fontaine, you know her?”

Ruby shut her eyes. “Skinny little girl with fake blond hair that she doesn't wash good more 'n once a week?”

“That's the one.”

“What's going on? I've seen that evangelist cop hanging around, what's his name, Molliter?”

“Molliter.”

“I hear he has an AK-47 stashed in his basement in the burbs. Cincinnati's finest. Who protects us from you guys?”

“You need protecting, Ruby?”

Ruby patted her nightstick and the huge revolver on her hip.

Sonora flipped open the lid of the Dunkin' Donuts box and scooped up a crumb of chocolate frosting.