Jericho Point (32 page)

Shaun looked at himself dead-eyed in the mirror. ‘‘Now who’s sweating? Huh?’’

She knew he wouldn’t get stage fright. The problem would be holding him back.

He wiped his forehead. ‘‘No way I have time for a shower, is there?’’

Maybe this wasn’t going to work.

No. No. If she did this, Mom would never have to know about any of it. Things would be all right. Mom would protect her. Except for those other two—P.J. and Evan Delaney.

‘‘And no mess,’’ she said.

‘‘No guarantees.’’

She pinched his chin between her fingers and turned his face to hers. ‘‘Brittany was all the mess you can afford. A second one, and they start looking at us. It has to be an accident.’’

He nodded. His breath tingled on her fingers. Jesus, this was it, the real deal. She tried to identify what she felt. Yes. Excited.

‘‘We should film it,’’ Shaun said.

‘‘No. This is business, not theater.’’

‘‘But this is completion. He killed me on live television. Now the circle’s closing.’’

What an unbelievable dumbshit. ‘‘Baby, we can’t. No time.’’

‘‘Fine.’’ He turned to the mirror. ‘‘Who’s sweaty now, fucker?’’

Hearing a sound from the other side of the house, Sinsa pushed him toward the patio doors. They had to get out of sight in the bushes past the pool.

Shaun cracked his knuckles. ‘‘Yeah. That’s the line.’’

She tensed, eager. She recognized the sound she’d heard. It was the TV.
Magnum
. This was going to run like clockwork.

The deputy held his nightstick against the door. ‘‘Please, ma’am. Outside, now.’’

‘‘We have to find the man who lives here. The one who called you,’’ I said.

Behind me, I heard, ‘‘Ev, what’s wrong?’’

I turned and saw Jesse wheeling out of the bedroom. I crossed the room in four strides, fell to his side, and threw my arms around his chest.

‘‘Sir?’’ the deputy said.

Jesse put his hands on my shoulders. ‘‘Evan.’’

Their voices warped into a hiss. I couldn’t bring my arms to let go, but I was aware of Jesse untangling me from him, and him going outside with the deputy to explain about the break-in that wasn’t. I knelt on the floor staring out the plate-glass windows. The wind was raising chop on the ocean. I heard the deputy start his cruiser, and Jesse close the front door. I stood up.

‘‘Where’s the Glock?’’ I said.

He came toward me, his face solemn. ‘‘I put it in the bedroom. Cops get twitchy if they see firearms lying around. What’s wrong?’’

‘‘Give it to me.’’

I went to the bedroom. He followed.

‘‘Evan.’’ He caught me and locked a hand around my wrist. ‘‘What the hell—’’ He stared at my arm, snagged under his grip. ‘‘You’re shaking.’’

He looked up, eyes questioning.

‘‘Don’t do it,’’ I said.

And he understood what I was talking about. He didn’t try to hide it. His hand fell to his lap.

‘‘Please, God, Jesse. Don’t.’’ I couldn’t stand up anymore. I dropped onto the bed. ‘‘I can see how much pain you’re in. But suicide isn’t the answer.’’

‘‘Evan, stop.’’

‘‘No. Please, babe, we’ll find some way.’’

He rubbed his fingers across his forehead.

I clasped his arm. ‘‘Look at me.’’

He did.

‘‘Your death would not even the books,’’ I said. ‘‘And the Sandovals are not beckoning for you to join them.’’

He froze. I held on to him.

‘‘Isaac and Adam—do you know how angry they’d be if you cut your life short because they died? They’d be horrified.’’

His gaze dropped to the floor. As if he’d been socked in the gut, he leaned forward, hands on his knees.

I covered his hand with mine. ‘‘I love you. Let me help you get through this.’’

‘‘Ev, don’t do this.’’ He sat bone still, staring at nothing.

‘‘No. I won’t let you.’’

He closed his eyes. ‘‘Stop.’’

‘‘I will not stop. If you die, I will hunt you down. From here to kingdom come, and I will whip your ragged ass until there’s nothing left. You will experience pain unlike anything you imagined possible. I will ride you until the goddamned universe burns out.’’

He squeezed his eyes shut.

‘‘Do you understand? I know you’re fearless, but you should be afraid of me.’’ I shook him. ‘‘Do you get it?’’

‘‘I get it.’’ He held still for a long count. He opened his eyes and looked at me. ‘‘I told you, nobody’s going to get you while I’m alive. I meant that. I’m not going anywhere.’’

‘‘Truth, Blackburn.’’

‘‘Truth.’’

I held his gaze until my vision swam and I had to wipe away the tears that were falling down my face. And then he was swinging over from the wheelchair to sit next to me on the bed, and his arm was around my shoulders.

I tightened my grip on him. ‘‘I’m so sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own stupid problems that I didn’t see what was happening to you. I know it’s the pain and the grief. If I’m not the one who can help you, let’s find somebody who can.’’

‘‘Evan, you can stop. You already got through to me.’’

‘‘I want to reinforce my point.’’

‘‘Days ago. When I spun the car.’’

‘‘Jesus. When I said you were going to kill yourself, I wanted to shock you. I was not giving you permission to die.’’

‘‘You did shock me. You forced me to choose.’’

I thought of the specter sweeping over me in the hospital, my sense that death was close. I tightened my arms around him.

‘‘And when Lily Rodriguez called and said you were missing, I went nuts. I had to find you. You mattered more than anything.’’ He held on to me. ‘‘I’m staying. I want it to be with you.’’

‘‘I want that too.’’

He looked so far into me that I knew I couldn’t fake it. ‘‘Nothing happened with Marc Dupree. Nothing’s going to.’’ I held his eyes. ‘‘Forgive me.’’

‘‘There’s nothing to forgive. I’ve been a miserable son of a bitch. I’ll think I’m all right, and then it comes out of the dark and grabs me by the throat.’’

‘‘Tell me when it does. You don’t have to carry it alone.’’

He crushed me to his chest and buried his head against my neck. We held each other.

Without more words, I took him. I pulled him down on top of me. I needed his heat, was desperate for the taste of his mouth, the feel of his skin. It had been so long. Suspending thought, wanting only sensation, closeness, and the knowledge of carrying each other. I wanted to give myself to him completely, so that he could let go in me. His mouth was on mine. And on my throat, and pulling open my blouse, kissing my breast, and I made a low sound and arched my back. He pulled himself farther onto the bed, and I fought with his shirt and tore it off, kissed his chest, his shoulder, his hand, his palm, sucked his fingers, licked his wrists and the inside of his arms, and pulled down the zipper on his trousers, slid my hand down and found him, held him, stroked him, hard, because he could feel that. I climbed out from under him and pulled his shoes and socks off, pulled his pants and boxers off, while he was trying to get my jeans down, unzipping me, slipping his hand down the back and under my panties onto my ass. We were tangled, but I didn’t want to stop or think or let anything interrupt, not after so long, and break the moment. I pulled my jeans off and fell on top of him. He pushed my legs apart. Everything else was light and sensation.

Ricky turned up the volume with the remote. He hadn’t missed too much—Magnum was up in T.C.’s helicopter. He loved episodes with the helicopter. Magnum always ended up hanging from the skids. Maybe this episode would cheer him up.

The house was quiet and the four-by-four was gone. Sin must have taken off. His heart felt bruised, and wouldn’t stop racing. His eyes were blurry. Like the Jackson Browne song—maybe he’d kept them open too long, seen too much. He felt parched too. And hot. He went to the kitchen for a cold drink, and found her note.

It melted him. He ran his fingers over the words, trying to tamp down his emotions.

The page looked smeared. His eyes were a mess. And he felt hot. It must be from the relief, but he sure felt hot.

The shutters in the bedroom were open, enough to see cirrus clouds glowing white above the ocean. The pines swayed, limbs shirring like brushes on a snare drum, shadows sliding across the ceiling. I scooted to the foot of the bed and grabbed the sheets and blankets from the floor. Pulling them around us, I sat next to Jesse, hugging my knees, watching the sky pour by.

He turned on his side and coiled against me, resting an arm along my leg. I smoothed my fingers through his hair.

‘‘You don’t have to watch me,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m not going to change my mind.’’

‘‘But I want to watch you.’’

‘‘Besides, if I ever did it, you know how it would play. ‘Crip Puts Self Out of Misery.’ How shitty would that be, people thinking it had to be because of the injury.’’ His hand was warm on my leg. ‘‘Fate worse than death and that crap. Well, fuck ’em. I’m sticking around.’’

I stroked his hair. The sun lit the clouds, tinting them pink.

‘‘I’m going to say something,’’ I said.

‘‘You, talk? How novel.’’ But the sarcasm ebbed when he saw my face. ‘‘What?’’

‘‘This sense of guilt.’’ He rolled his eyes, but I kept stroking his hair. ‘‘You think it’s unfair that you lived when your friends died.’’

‘‘It is.’’

‘‘Wrong. Their deaths were crimes. You surviving is a gift.’’

His mouth pulled down, and he started to speak.

‘‘Hear me out. You were hurt, severely, and your life was changed. But you feel so guilty for breathing that you think it’s selfish to acknowledge that.’’

‘‘What do you mean, acknowledge it? I deal with it every way, every day. The point is, it hasn’t ruined my life.’’

‘‘I know. Babe, you suffered a hell of a blow, and grieving for what you lost isn’t petty. But you feel so bad about feeling bad that you only get more depressed. It’s a vicious circle.’’

‘‘Wow.’’

‘‘Sorry,’’ I said.

‘‘No, it’s okay. I’m just amazed. You never talk about this stuff with me.’’

‘‘It’s not fun.’’

‘‘But I’m pleased. You didn’t even dive headfirst through the plate-glass window. I’ve waited years for you to stop being scared to talk about it.’’

I realized he was right. I didn’t want to run screaming from the room. He kissed my hip. His hand slid across my belly.

‘‘Thought you had to go back to work,’’ I said.

‘‘I do.’’

I rolled on top of him. ‘‘When?’’

‘‘Now.’’ His fingers raked into my hair. He pulled me into a kiss, and more.

It was intense. But it wasn’t work. Not even close.

Ricky turned off the TV, thinking:
Too much sundae.
Finished the whole huge thing. He undid the button on his jeans. He needed a long sauna to work off the calories. Jesus, and after the scare with the bodysuit, he should get right to it. Tight clothes could be dangerous.

In the gym, he turned the sauna up high and shut the door. The heat was overpowering, but that had to be good. This session needed to be quick. He didn’t know when Sin would be back, and he had to be ready to talk to her. This could be a breakthrough. The tang of hot cedar filled his nose. The black stones piled in the heater glowed red. He dumped water on the rocks, three dippers full. Steam powered over him and the temperature shot up. He sat down. Sweat it out, all that hazardous weight.

Except he wasn’t sweating. He was plenty hot, but dry as a bone. He poured three more dippers over the rocks. The air thickened and stung. It felt like being in a fire. He was still dry. His heart was racing like he’d taken speed. What was up?

He rubbed his chest. The walls were turning green and yellow, like fireworks. Purple, shit, emerald green again. This was way wrong.

He heard a scraping sound right outside. A metallic noise against the wood. The handle of the door jittered.

He stood. He had no coordination. His heart was zinging like a hummingbird. He reached for the door handle.

It wouldn’t move.

He shook it. It wouldn’t budge. He put his face near the window in the door and tried to see what was going on outside.

Shaun’s face appeared on the other side of the glass.

Ricky screamed.

Shaun stared. ‘‘The ravens are here.’’

Ricky staggered back, screaming. The colors swooped at him.

‘‘Die, fucker.’’ Shaun head-butted the glass. ‘‘Die!’’

Ricky tripped against the water bucket and fell back on the floor, cracking his head on the bench. His heart was jumping up and down. The heat was killing him.

That scraping sound again. The door handle jangled. And he heard another voice. His daughter’s voice.

‘‘Stop. Shaun, don’t.’’

She was coming. Steam and the wild colors obscured Shaun through the window. But he saw Sin’s arm around his neck, saw them wrestling. God love her. He tried to get up. His feet went their own way and his butt stayed down. But he had to get up, had to help Sin. Shaun would overpower her. Holding on to the bench, he tried again to stand.

The scraping sound came again, and the door swung open. Shaun stood in the doorway holding the crossbar for the dumbbell. That was what had locked him in. Sin was pulling on Shaun’s belt, trying to hold him back, punching him in the kidneys.

‘‘No,’’ she yelled.

Ricky staggered to his feet. He cocked his hand into a fist.

Sin begged. ‘‘Shaun, don’t. You’ll leave prints. You’ll leave trace evidence. Let it be—the heat’ll get him.’’