Sliding Past Vertical (18 page)

Your
charming personality,
Emerson
thought, but only shrugged.

“Because our little
girlfriend fucked me over, that’s how. She took the goods and ran. Yeah, I was
able to buy some goodwill with these guys, told ’em I was on the verge of a
signing with the band and had to do some gigs out of town for a while. Then one
of them gave me this as a reminder. Next time it’s my hands. My
hands
, man. That’s my career. So I’m
here to get what’s owed to me. Or the equivalent in cash and prizes.”

“And what makes you think
Sarah’s got either one?”

“Spent a little quality time
with Nurse Dee Dee.” He leered like Emerson was supposed to understand, and of
course, host organism to Dirk Blade, he did. “Let’s just say that after a few
shots of tequila there’s nothing she won’t give up.”

Letting out a long breath,
Emerson wrestled with his beliefs about friendship, loyalty, and Sarah’s
judgment. Had she told him the truth about flushing the coke? “I gather that
was how you found out where Sarah was living.”

Jay made his fingers into a
gun and shot them at Emerson. “Bingo.”

He shook his head. “I don’t
even know where to begin telling you how wrong that is. To use someone that
way.”

Jay shrugged a shoulder.
“Sorry, Mom. These are desperate times. And hey, it’s not like she didn’t enjoy
herself. I’m not a total jerk.” He smiled affably. “No matter what Sarah says.”

Still, Emerson shuddered. Sarah
had actually thought about spending the rest of her life with this man? Seeing
him through rehab, living with him, and having his babies?

Jay lit another cigarette.
“So how’d she do it to you?”

“Excuse me?” Emerson said.

“How’d she dump you?”

“She didn’t dump me.”

“Get real. You have no key,
and you’re bringing her unmentionables back in a paper bag. I call that
dumped.”

“She didn’t dump me,” Emerson
repeated, feeling heat rush into his face. “It was the other way around.”

Jay laughed until he had a
coughing fit and soothed it with a long draw from a flask he pulled from his
jacket.

Emerson wanted to pop the
grin off his face. “It’s true, damn it. Is that so hard to believe?”

“From what I’ve heard about
you?” Jay carefully wiped tears of mirth from his eyes with the back of his
hand. “Yes.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know enough. You’re all
she ever fucking talked about.”

Probably
another lie,
Emerson thought, before he could let himself start believing it.

“Were you really going to
stop writing porn just because she didn’t like it?”

“She told you that?”

“Is it true?”

“No.”

“You are so full of shit.”
Jay drained the rest of the flask and smacked his lips. “You’d picket Playboy
Headquarters if she asked.”

Then Jay fired up another
cigarette. Emerson was getting a headache from the smoke. “At least open the
door if you’re going to keep doing that.”

Jay cracked it a few inches and
spun back on Emerson. “But you would have stopped if she really pushed you.
Maybe if she did that thing with her tongue.”

Emerson’s fists and jaw clenched,
but over Jay’s shoulder he saw Sarah coming up the walk. He saw flashes of her as
she moved: a blue-jeaned leg, the flap of a purple scarf, a flushed cheek, the
toss of her hair. His face softened at the sight of her after so long. But then
he tried not to see her. More accurately, he was trying not to show Jay that
he’d seen her.

“But Jay,” Emerson said,
hopefully loud enough for Sarah to hear. “Making money isn’t worth hurting
someone you care about.”

“Oh, ouch, Mother Superior,
you got me.” Jay staggered backward dramatically, holding his hands over his
heart.

And backed right into Sarah,
who’d been pushing the door open with her shoulder.

Jay turned. He gave Sarah a
lopsided grin, the cigarette still dangling out the side of his mouth. “Hi,
honey,” he said through the other side. “We’re home.”

Chapter 30

From Emerson’s experience with women in general and Sarah in
particular, he knew exactly what was about to happen.

Sarah would feel sorry for Jay. She’d take one look at his
handsome, damaged face and rush into his arms. Just like in the movies, the
girl was a deranged fool for the charming rogue, while the nice guy, who’d
served as a convenient distraction until the object of his affection could
attract another bad apple, walked off into the sunset with only his memories
for companionship. And maybe, if he was lucky, a dog.

But there was no mist in Sarah’s expression as she stood
face to face with Jay. The soft brown gaze of his fantasies was pure flint, a
sharpened thing that could cut worse than a plastic left-behind callus-shaving
contraption.

Jay polished his smile. “I missed you, baby.”

“What do you want, Jay?” she asked, sounding tired.

He swaggered up to Sarah and stroked the underside of her
chin with an index finger that had an absurdly long nail for a man. There was
barely a crack of daylight between the two. “You know what I want.”

Emerson scrambled to his feet. “Leave her alone.”

Jay backed off a step and turned toward Emerson, and he
could swear he saw the taller man wink. “Oh, what are you gonna do, tough guy?
Give me another one?”

He didn’t want any part of this game. “I never touched you.
Sarah, that black eye’s at least two days old.”

Emerson had gotten her attention. But instead of looking at
his face, she stared open-mouthed at his hands. He was still clutching her
green panties. Not knowing what else to do, he stuffed them into his coat
pocket.

Her face reddened. “Look. I don’t know what’s going on in
here, but maybe you should both leave.”

“Nice going,
Dirk
,”
Jay said to Emerson, leaning nastily on his
nom
de plume
.

“Jay!” Sarah looked like she was getting a killer headache.

“I want my stuff. I know you have it.”

He was growing more agitated, talking louder and rubbing at
his nose. Emerson’s heart raced. He’d had to restrain people before, at the
infirmary, but no one this big, this young, or this wasted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sarah said. “You
know it’s gone. I told you.”

Jay leaned in close to Sarah and pointed at his insulted
eye. “Does this look like it’s gone? They’re coming after my hands next, Sarah.
My hands!”

He raised them both as if to cuff her ears. She flinched and
Emerson shot forward.

“Relax, Lancelot.” Jay let his hands fall. “I’m not going to
touch your girlfriend.” A malicious smile crinkled his eyes. He addressed
Emerson but was still looking at Sarah. “Oh, that’s right. She’s not your
girlfriend. She dumped me and came all the way here ’cause it’s always been all
about you, and you dump her. Boy. Pretty ironic, huh, baby?”

For a second Sarah looked like she might cry but hardened
again. “That’s enough,” she said. “Now you’d better leave, or…”

“Or what, sweetheart? You gonna call the police? Maybe I’ll
tell them what you got upstairs.”

“I don’t have—”

“That’s not what Nurse Dee Dee said.”

Sarah’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“Your roommate? Remember her? Or have you spent the last four
months letting this one fuck you stupid, making up for lost time?”

“Shut up,” Emerson spat.

Sarah flitted a brief, compassionate gaze at Emerson before
it burned into Jay. “I remember my roommate.”

“She says you got something that belongs to me.”

“How do you know she’s telling you the truth?”

He smirked. “I have my ways.”

Her expression could ice a volcano. “Get out.”

“You heard her,” Emerson said. “Why don’t you—?”

“I can handle this myself,” Sarah retorted.

“But Sarah, he’s obviously—”

“I. Can. Do. This.”

Jay leaned against the wall, waiting for them to finish
bickering. His arms were crossed over his chest like he owned the building, the
block, the whole city. Next he would probably light another cigarette and ask
what was for dinner. “Go ahead, Sarah.” His tone was cool and condescending.
“Do it. If you don’t have the stuff, I’ll take the money. Either or. I know you
have it. Dee Dee’s a few fries short of a Happy Meal, but she’s no liar. I can
sense that in people.”

Sarah’s eyes burned into Jay. “Maybe she’s just a good
liar.”

Jay smiled. “She’s good, anyway.”

It happened in a heartbeat. Sarah’s fist connected with
Jay’s good eye. She had a decent punch, for a girl. Jay lurched backward from
the impact and the surprise and when he hit the wall, he crumpled to the floor.

* * * * *

Sarah backed away, rubbing her hand. For a long moment
Emerson could do nothing but stare at the unconscious heap of rock star in the
corner, and at Sarah. However angry she’d been with him over the years, he
counted his blessings that she’d never pulled that on him.

But his limited medical training got the better of him and
he was kneeling at Jay’s side, two fingers on the carotid, and then pried open
his least-swollen eyelid.

“Is he…is he…”

He had a pulse, unfairly strong, and pupil response, but
Emerson couldn’t resist. “Yes, Sarah. You’ve finally done it. You’ve killed a
man.”

Her hands jammed into her hips. “Cut it out. I can hear him
breathing from here.”

“Okay, I don’t think he hit his head. That would have been
more dangerous. Probably he just passed out from the lighter fluid he’s been drinking,
or whatever the hell was in that flask.”

Sarah pushed her hair back, darting a glance out the crack
in the door, and said in a halting voice, “What are we going to do?”

“We?” Emerson said. “I just came by to return your things.”

Her gaze swept across the floor. “So I see.”

Their eyes met. Emerson was still on his knees beside Jay,
Sarah above them, a look of resignation on her face, in the slope of her
shoulders. He regretted what he’d just said. He’d wanted to make a statement
that he wasn’t going to get sucked into a situation where obviously, she didn’t
need his help. But it had been ill timed, and there had been no need for that
level of cruelty.

“Please just help me take him upstairs,” she said softly.
“My landlady will be home any minute.”

He got to his feet. “You don’t want him in your apartment.
He’s dangerous.”

The corners of her mouth crinkled with wry amusement. “You
bought that act? Big tough-guy hard rocker. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Sarah. He attacked me when I came in. He was high as a
kite. He slammed me against the wall.”

Her face went slack, her eyes melting at him, searching him
for signs of damage.

“I’m okay.” How desperately he wanted to hold her against
him. “He wanted your key. I think he has a knife or a gun or something.”

She was slow to break his gaze. Hands shaking, she crouched
next to Jay and checked his pockets.

“It was inside his jacket. On the left.”

She pulled back the left flap. Sticking out from one of the
small inside pockets was a slender shaft of metal. She slid it out and held it
up. “Here’s your weapon.”

Emerson felt himself blush. “What’s he doing with a
goddamned nail file?”

“He plays guitar. He has to keep up his nails. Look, can we
please just get him out of here?”

* * * * *

They arranged Jay on the
sofa. Sarah asked Emerson to watch him while she went downstairs to clean up
the vestibule. She returned with her forgotten possessions cradled like a baby
in the remains of the paper bag.

“Maybe we should call
someone,” Emerson said. He’d flopped into a flowered armchair across from Jay,
finding it surprisingly comfortable.

“Like an ambulance?” Sarah
gently set the heap of bag and broken things on the living room floor and sat
beside it, her knees curled up to her chin, which made her look even younger
and more vulnerable.

“I doubt it’s that serious. I
was thinking about the police. He was attempting to break and enter. Or at
least it was loitering with intent to do harm.”

“You’ve been reading your
patients too many detective stories. No. I’ve seen enough of the police lately,
thanks. I don’t want my name attached to any more trouble.”

“But when he wakes up, you
think he’s just going to leave? He’s desperate, Sarah. He’s not going back to
Boston empty-handed.”

“I’ll figure something out.”
Her gaze dropped. “You don’t have to hang around. He’s not your problem.”

No way would he leave her
alone with the jerk. “I don’t mind.”

He got a glimmer of a smile, although
he could tell she was scared. She fidgeted with her sweater, picking at a snag
in the weave. He’d bought her that sweater for Christmas a few years back.
Again he wanted to hold her but didn’t feel far enough along in his recovery to
risk the temptation. Also, he had Daisy to think about. He didn’t believe in
being unfaithful.

“You didn’t have to bring
back my stuff. Most of it I would have trashed anyway.” She looked at the mess
next to her. “What’s this?” she said, pulling out the Victoria’s Secret bag.

What an idiot he’d been. He
should have returned the pajamas to the store or given them to Daisy. The color
would have looked good on her, although she preferred to sleep naked.

Sarah opened the bag. “It’s
beautiful.” She pushed it toward him, expressionless. “But it’s not mine.”

“I know. It was supposed to
have been your Christmas present.”

Her eyes softened. “Really?”

Emerson nodded, flooding with
warmth.

“You still want me to have
it?”

He laughed. “What am I going
to do with it?”

“Keep it for reference?”

“Too sophisticated for Dirk.”

“Too expensive for Dirk.”
Sarah stroked the green silk. “Em, you shouldn’t have spent this much on me.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

Jay’s arm slid off the sofa;
his hand plopped onto the floor. Sarah, who was closer, did nothing about it.

* * * * *

A couple of hours went by and
still Jay had not woken up. Emerson checked his vitals.

“I’m giving him another ten
minutes,” he told Sarah. “If he doesn’t come around by then, we should call the
professionals.”

“Maybe it’s something he
took.” She’d picked a hole in her sweater.

“Sarah—” He stopped,
not wanting to have this conversation in front of Jay. He knew that unconscious
patients could hear, on some level. “You have another room in here?”

She led him into her bedroom,
which was typically Sarah-messy, furnished with some of the things he
remembered from her room across the hall and some new ones. The new ones were
easier to focus on; they didn’t remind him of her old room and what they used
to do there. He shut the door. Sarah perched on the edge of the bed, fingers interlaced
between her thighs, head down, as if she expected a scolding.

“I’m sorry he hurt you.” When
Sarah looked up, her eyes were damp with tears, plucking a deep and familiar
chord within him.

His resolve against
her—and infidelity—began to buckle. He thought about what Jay had said.
That it had always been about Emerson. He wondered if it was true or just more
of his bullshit.

“It’s not too bad.” He handed
her a tissue.

She hopped up without taking
it. “Let me get some ice—”

“No. We don’t have very
long.”

She sunk back onto the bed
and started fidgeting again.

“You’re going to ruin that
sweater.”

“Too late,” she sighed. “I’m
sorry.”

He took a deep breath, as if he
could draw her resignation into his body and strengthen and focus it for her. “You...you
did flush the cocaine in Boston, didn’t you?”

She looked at him with
horror. “Of course I did. You don’t believe him, do you?”

“No, but why would Dee Dee
say—?”

“Dee Dee’s full of shit.” Her
eyes narrowed. “She’s probably still pissed at me about having the coke and the
break-in and everything. And that I didn’t care enough about Jay. She probably
just saw a chance to get back at me.”

“By siccing a drugged out,
desperate—”

“I could get some money,”
Sarah interrupted. “I could get my mother to wire it. In the scheme of
everything, it’s not that much, I could ask—”

“Sarah.”

She stopped. Their eyes met
in a test of wills. She ought to know his position on codependency, so he didn’t
bother repeating himself.