Texas fury (41 page)

He'd already checked Cary Assante out, as well as Rand Nelson. They fared far better than the Japanese. He had a deal, one he'd been waiting for for years. There was a sucker born every minute. On the other hand, maybe he was the sucker. Both Nelson and Assante were astute businessmen. What did they see that he didn't.

* * *

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There was still no answer in Julie's room. Cary was bushed; he'd put in a long day. He could hang around and continue to make a fool of himself, ringing Julie every ten minutes, or he could go back to the house, call Marty Friedman, his lawyer, and go to bed. He opted for the sensible plan and headed for his car.

It was past midnight when Cary dialed Marty's home phone number. Cary listened politely while Marty squawked about the eleven inches of snow that blitzed the New York area. "Will I come to Hawaii? I'll be on the next plane. I'll call Alan now to save you the call. We should be there by tomorrow evening, your time. I'll have my secretary call you sometime tomorrow with our arrival and flight number. Hold that sunshine!"

A quick dip in the ocean with the moonlight smiling down on him was just what Cary needed. A cheese sandwich and a cold beer would lull him to sleep. A fitting end to a long, hard day.

Just as sleep claimed him, the phone rang. He rolled over, burying his head in the pillow. Was it Amelia, calling him to chastise him for not calling earlier? He was too tired to get up and go into the kitchen to answer the phone. But what if something was wrong at home? He stumbled out of bed and padded to the kitchen. In the dark he reached for the phone, missed, and grabbed a second time. When he brought the receiver to his ear, he heard only a dial tone. "Shit!" he said succinctly. Now he was wide-awake. Should he call Amelia? It was early morning at home. Angrily, he punched out the Texas number. Amelia's cheerful voice annoyed him. "Did you just call me... honey?"

"Aha, there's another woman in your life! Sorry, darling, it wasn't me. I am glad you called, though. I expected you to call last evening. I sort of waited up but finally fell asleep. How's it going?"

"Fine. Everything is fine. I was just falling asleep and the phone rang. By the time I got to the kitchen, whoever it was hung up. I thought something might have happened at home."

"My, you are testy. Go back to sleep, darling. We'll talk later. Love you."

"Uh huh," Cary mumbled as he hung up the phone.

Someplace in his dream Cary thought he heard a phone ring a second time. In his nightmare he was running for his very life on Waikiki Beach. Amelia and Julie were both chas-

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ing him. His heart beat wildly as he tried to run faster, but the sand and his dress shoes held him back. Long arms, hundreds of them, all wearing gold bracelets, reached for him, dragging him down to the sand. He gasped and woke. It was the phone again. He squinted at the digital clock on the night table— 8:45.

He staggered out of bed to head for the kitchen, only to hear the phone stop ringing. "Goddamn it!" he thundered as he made his way to the shower.

Julie hated bus rides of any kind. She'd taken the tour to Germaine's Luau just so she could say she'd done it. It hadn't been fun for her, although most of the couples seemed to enjoy themselves. There had been only three single people on the whole bus, and it wasn't till they were actually at the luau that she paired herself off with them. She was sorry five minutes later when they announced they were born-again Christians from Sangaree, South Carolina. A devil perched itself on her shoulder at that moment and she said, louder than she intended, "I was born right the first time." She hadn't gotten any laughs, even a titter. The three women, who were also schoolteachers, had moved away from her as though she had underarm odor.

Left to her own devices, and without benefit of an escort, she was afforded the best seat in the house for the show. She enjoyed the Polynesian show, but the song-and-dance team had been awful, in her opinion. The food was something she'd never want again, nor the watered-down blue drink that came with it. She concluded, as she made her way back to the bus, that she'd wasted $38.95. But then, nothing in Hawaii had pleased her so far. Don Ho and his rendition of Tiny Bubbles left her as flat as the coconut drink the Hilton Hawaiian Village served during his performance.

She'd done the International Market Place in two hours. Fifty dollars and two straw bags of junk convinced her it wasn't a place to return to even if she was bored to tears. Waikiki Beach, she decided, after the first two days and a vicious sunburn, was worse than Coney Island on a hundred-degree day in August. Diamond Head was beautiful from the highway or from the side window in a plane, but going into the crater was like walking in a field of burnt-out straw. She'd enjoyed the jitney ride around the eighteen-hundred-acre wildlife and botanical gardens of Waimea Falls Park, but again,

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she'd felt uncomfortable with all the couples holding hands and snapping pictures.

Her itinerary still held places to see: Pearl Harbor, Hilo Hattie's Fashion Factory, the Dole Pineapple Cannery, Nuuanau Pali Lookout, and the Kodak Hula Show. She had made arrangements on her own to see the Kawamoto Orchid Nursery, but she had neither confirmed nor paid for her reservation. She'd signed up for a cruise around the islands but was going to cancel it. She didn't need another whole day and evening of watching happy couples.

The bus was quiet now, the happy tourists thinking about tomorrow's activities. She was tempted to hang out in her room and give her sunburn a chance to cool down.

When the bus ground to a halt at the Waikiki Beach Tower, Julie was the third one off. There Was no one to say good-bye to, no one to wave to but the tour guide.

She walked across the road and entered the Tower from the side entrance. After five minutes of foraging for her key, she realized she'd left it in her other pocketbook. She asked to be let in.

The young man at the desk smiled. "That's what we're here for. Guests tell me the islands are so overwhelming, they forget the most ordinary things."

"I guess that's what it is," Julie said tiredly.

"Miss Kingsley, earlier today—twice, in fact—a gentleman called for you. He didn't leave a name, but he has a very distinctive voice."

"For me! Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I have to log it in the book. The same man was here last night, too, I have his license number, since we parked his car. You were out all three times. Would you like the number of the plate?"

Puzzled, Julie nodded. "Dollar Rent a Car! I don't know anyone in Hawaii. Thank you," she muttered.

It wasn't till she was in her room with the door locked that she started to shake. It was true, she didn't know anyone in Hawaii. Her heart thumped so crazily she had to sit down on the sofa. Cary. It had to be Cary.

Dollar Rent a Car. Well, she'd soon find out. The car rental agencies were open twenty-four hours a day. Information gave her the number. She tapped out the numbers quickly before she could change her mind. The blatant lie that spilled from her lips made her wince. "This is Alice Morgan. I believe a

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customer of yours sideswiped my car earlier this evening. He drove off before I could call for the police. Yes, I have the license number. Yes. Yes. I'd like to handle this privately if I can. No, there was no damage to your car. Just give me the man's phone number and where he's staying. We can avoid calling the police if you cooperate," Julie said briskly.

"This is highly irregular," a young voice declared. She hated it when problems came up on her shift. Personnel had told her the midnight shift was always quiet. She'd taken the job so she could do her homework. This woman was saying she'd settle the matter without calling the police. That was fine with her. It would save her a mound of paperwork and a dozen phone calls. She rattled off the customer's name and phone number and the temporary address he'd given. "If you want his driver's license number, I can give you that, too. He did pay for collision."

Julie walked back to the couch. She stretched out, her arms crossed over her chest. She took long, deep breaths. He was here. He'd remembered the name of the place she was staying. He'd been here looking for her, and he'd called twice. She'd probably gone right by the house he was staying in on her way to Waimea Falls. She'd been that close to him.

Her hands trembled when she pulled the phone to the sofa. She pushed the little buttons and waited. She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath till the phone rang for the eighth time. She hung up on the thirteenth ring. Either he was out or sleeping soundly. Tomorrow was another day.

UUUUi CHAPTER FOURTEEN /)}/}/))}

Nick Deitrick arrived in a lemon-colored Toyota. Adam watched from the window as Nick tried to extricate his soccer-ball body from the little car. The minute he had both feet firmly planted on the ground, Adam opened the kitchen door and shouted a welcome. "What the hell kind of car is that? Looks like one of those things you ride around in in amusement parks." He guffawed.

"The only kind your car rental allowance would allow. I'll

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get you for this, you bastard. Do you have any idea of how uncomfortable I was riding all the way out here? Well, do you?" Nick demanded. There was a twinkle in his eye.

"You're getting a whole week's free vacation. Don't quibble or I won't feed you. Let's start all over. Welcome to the Jarvis ranch, Nick."

"Cut the crap. When do we have lunch?"

"It's three in the afternoon. You missed lunch. Dinner is cooking. I can give you an apple."

Nick hefted a canvas bag from the trunk of the car. "You want my brain, you have to feed it."

He devoured the apple; Adam watched him from his perch on the porch railing.

As always, by some unheard prearranged signal, both men turned serious.

"Cole's coming to dinner. I thought you could talk to him while I go to the gym to pick up Jeff. I don't think I've ever seen a more miserable human being than Cole Tanner right now. If I could have helped him, I wouldn't have called you, but I don't know what it is he needs. Cole appears to be open and up front in everything, but I've learned over the years that he lets you know what he wants you to know, and that's it. There's a side of Cole Tanner no one knows. I think of him as a kid, and he's far from a kid. This thing with Riley is tearing him apart. And speaking of Riley, you lost a patient. He's on his way to Japan. He said to say hello, and he'll work out his own problems, thank you."

"Cole knows why I'm here?"

"I told Cole I'd called you to see if something could be done to help Jeff settle in. That was before he and Riley had their knockdown. When I mentioned it again, I said something about him talking to you."

"I can't push myself on him, Adam. Cole's a nice guy. He's also smart enough to know if he needs help."

"I'm not asking for miracles. Just talk to him. Like a friend. He knows you're a shrink. If he wants to open up, he will. We won't know unless we try."

"I'll do what I can. Tell me about Jeff."

Adam dropped his head into his hands. "I don't know, Nick. There are days when I want to throw him back. I want to go back to my old life. I don't honestly know if I want this kid or not. I don't feel much of anything for him, and that bothers me. There are days when I hate the little bastard. He's

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got a mouth like a sewer. He hasn't made any friends at school because he's so damn nasty. No one wants to be around him. He's smart, though. He's aced every test, written and oral. He's one of those kids that just has to look at something and he remembers it. So far, school isn't a challenge. I've signed him up for everything there is. The kid is so whipped when he gets home, he takes a shower and goes to bed."

"That should make you happy."

"What? That he goes to bed early?"

Nick threw his apple core over his shoulder. "The boy is in school all day. When school is over, he stays for other activities. He comes home, eats, and goes to bed. He's really out of your hair, isn't he?"

"Well, yeah."

"When do you spend time with him? Time when you aren't reaming him out over something. Good time."

"Saturdays are spent at the gym or the Y. Sundays I take him to church. Sometimes we go to a movie or out to dinner. I got some mopeds, but he sneered at them. Riley took him out last week. He had a good time."

"You called him a little bastard before. You and I call each other that, but it's in the fond sense of the word. I didn't get that impression when you spoke of Jeff. Do you hate him, Adam?"

"Do you have to be so goddamn blunt?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Probably."

"Jeff knows it, then. So you aren't doing him any good deeds by keeping him here. Wide open spaces, healthy fresh air, a nice house, good food—they aren't the answer. Do you remember anything at all about when you were thirteen?"

"Yeah. I learned how to masturbate."

"You've forgotten a few things, Adam," Nick said. "What else do you remember?"

"Junior Ranchers. Baseball. Mom and Dad. Nice place to bring friends. Mom always had fresh cookies. Pop always talked to the kids. They all liked him—my friends, I mean. This place was always crawling with kids."

"So you brought him back here, but you haven't given him any of those things. You don't even like him. Why the hell didn't you stay in New York? You didn't have to play the big martyr and throw out your career and make a production of bringing the kid here to make things right. Marrying Jenny

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was your first mistake. From that point on you kept compounding that mistake. This is where you are now."

"What's the answer, Nick?"

"You tell me. You know us head pounders don't give away answers. I'll tell you one thing, though. It's not Jeff who is standing between you and Sawyer. You're doing that all by yourself. Don't blame Jeff for that."

"Who the hell said anything about Sawyer?"

"I'm trained to see and hear what you aren't saying. That's why I'm a psychiatrist and you draw cartoons. The fact that you make more money than I do by drawing those shitty little pictures doesn't count."