Waking the Dead Part 25

"I come bearing gifts."

Insects circled the porch light in slow death-defying orbits. The illumination was the only spear of light in the utter darkness. It haloed around Sweetie, who was wearing the winsome expression that was especially endearing. Spotlighted the white wax paper bag bearing the familiar logo. The Sweet Shoppe.

"You remembered." The pleasure pushed aside the resentment that had p.r.i.c.ked at him since their fight.

"How I acquired my nickname? How could I forget?" The bag was lowered. A note of uncertainty entered the voice he loved so much. "I know it's been a long time since I've brought you something special, but am I still your sweetie? Or have you decided you can never forgive me?"

Ever mindful of the eyes that could be watching, he stood aside to allow entry. Waited until the door was locked and closed before pressing that s.e.xy body between his and the front door. And there was a desperation in their kiss. Maybe because of their argument and maybe, maybe fueled with guilt because of his lapse afterward. He'd make it up to Sweetie tonight. They'd make it up to each other.

All too soon, Sweetie slipped hands up to his chest to wedge a bit of distance between them. "Easy. I can stay for a while tonight so there's no hurry."

Pleasure bloomed. Having more than a few stolen minutes with his lover was an even better treat than the fudge in the bag. He slipped an arm around Sweetie's waist and felt a quick burst of excitement when they walked, arms entwined to the living room.

"Cops were all over McKenzie Bridge today." And although Sweetie tried for a matter-of-fact tone, he could hear the concern layered beneath it. "The town was buzzing about it. They were showing pictures of two of them. How in h.e.l.l did they identify them? I can't understand it. What else do they know?"

"Nothing, or else we'd hear more. There's no way any of it leads back to us. I was careful. So were you."

"I know. Still . . ." Sweetie paced the length of the room, the bag hanging from the long sensitive fingertips. "I don't want to place you in danger. I think we need to consider Plan A."

"Of course." He was still trying to soothe. Still trying to be the strong one. "Someday . . ."

"I mean now. Or at least soon."

He froze, almost unable to comprehend. They'd waited so long. Sometimes it had seemed as though they would never be together. Like it was all a fool's dream and all he'd have, all they'd ever have, were these moments together.

Sweetie was still talking. Nervous. Pacing with quick driven movements. "It'll have to be the way we talked about. I'll go first. You'll follow. But not in six months. That might be too long to wait. Maybe four?"

"I can say I'm moving to Portland. To be closer to my dad in the nursing home." That story had been told so often sometimes he even believed it was true.

There was a tug of regret at the thought of leaving this place. His old man's fate had been sealed when his sainted mother had been buried in the garden. Without regard. Without regret. Left to the grubs and insects and whatever animal sniffed around to dig and dig and carry off a limb. He'd planned the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's death since the moment he'd seen the coyote running off the property with Mother's ulna in its jaws.

"Good thinking. Right. And you remember where we'll meet. And the route you'll take? You can't fly directly there or you'll lead them right to me . . ."

A belated sense of joy eddied inside him. Higher and higher until he felt ready to drown in it. At last. At long last. He crossed to his sweetie and tenderly laid two fingers against those beautiful lips for a moment. "I remember it all. And you remember how to let me know if the plan changes?"

One slow sober nod was his response. "But first you have to take care of Fleming. She's a threat to us. Even if we leave the country, with her help I'm afraid they could find us. She's all that stands between us. The only thing keeping us apart."

Of course she was. He saw it so clearly now. Sweetie was absolutely right, as usual. And there was nothing he wouldn't do to salvage their future together.

"Leave Fleming to me. She'll be dead within twenty-four hours."

Sweetie released a sigh. "I'm depending on you. I always depend on you."

Heart singing, he forgot about Barb Haines's body, still waiting for the bugs. For the painting. For disposal. Forgot about the worry of not seeing his lover for four-only four rather than six!-months. Didn't consider yet how he was going to do away with Caitlin Fleming. The details weren't important.

He thought only of the beginning of their life together. Soon now. Very soon.

"Let me show you what it will be like. The two of us. Alone. Rich. Blissful."

Slowly he cupped Sweetie's jaw, his breath hitching when his palm was kissed. But he wouldn't be diverted. Not by the b.u.t.tons marching down that chest he liked to lick and nip and explore. Not by the belt, surely worn to tempt and taunt.

The leather was undone. The snap unfastened. And the zipper inched down one tooth at a time.

When he'd released Sweetie from the clothes, he ran his tongue over the velvety shaft and murmured against it, "Soon, my love," before taking him in his mouth.

And knew he'd never been happier.

Chapter 18.

d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n.

Cait fairly flew around the Landview motel room getting ready for the day. She'd overslept, and it suited her to lay the blame for that squarely at Sharper's feet. The glaring numbers on the alarm clock had seemed to mock her throughout the long sleepless night until she'd thrown a pillow over them to block out the sight of the time pa.s.sing while she'd lain awake. As a result she'd woken groggy and fuzzy headed, a feeling the bracing shower had only partially dissipated.

To make matters worse, she needed to do laundry. She only had one more set of clothes in her bag here, and she had no idea when she was going to find the time. Maybe the Landview offered a cleaning service. Hearing voices in the hallway, she rapidly walked to the door and pulled it open, wanting to catch the maid and ask her.

And then stared with mingled shock and dismay when she saw one of the clerks from the front desk outside her door.

Her mother was beside her.

"Darling." Lydia swept in, kissed both her cheeks before stepping back to survey her critically. "Oh heavens, you aren't going out looking like that are you? You look positively dreadful."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Fleming." The young clerk was wringing her hands nervously. "I wanted to call up first, but she insisted . . . and she is obviously your mother. I could see the resemblance. And . . . well . . ."

Woodenly Cait took pity on her. "It's fine."

"Of course, it's fine." Lydia swept by her into the room, a canvas tote slung over one arm, her purse on the other. "Why wouldn't it be fine? I'm your mother."

Cait shut the door. Resisted the urge to bang her head against it. "Why are you here?" And hearing the words, realized they were devoid of the sort of diplomacy that she was usually able to muster. "I mean . . . we just spoke. I said I'd come visit after this case. I'm really not going to have any time to-"

"I think you'll make time. For once, Caitlin, you will do exactly what I say."

Lydia's words, her tone, put all her instincts on alert. Her mother was always self-a.s.sured. Always so certain that she could snap her fingers and the world would s.h.i.+ft on its axis at her command. But there was something afoot here. Something that had dread licking down her spine.

"How'd you know where I was?"

"You're not the only detective in the family, dear." Lydia lifted a regal brow. "I did my homework over the last few days. Trolled the Internet for every bit of ghastly news going on this country. I suspected you might be working on this case. And yesterday you affirmed it." Cait must have looked as stupefied as she felt because her mother went on helpfully, "You said you'd come down for a visit. So I started calling around the area and found people here are really quite helpful. Of course, you're difficult to forget. That helped."

She felt in need of some support. Because there was no caffeine nearby-nor a stiff shot of whiskey-Cait reached out to grasp the back of a chair. "You still haven't answered the question. Why are you here?"

There was a flash of anger in her mother's eyes. "Did you think you could just dismiss me like that, Caitlin? My wants? My needs? I allowed that once and look at you." The flick of her up-and-down gaze stung like a whip. "I never should have let you walk away from the career that brought us both so much happiness. I won't make that mistake again."

"You didn't allow anything, Mother. A judge did, remember?" He'd released her from her mother's parental control and from her management of Cait's money. At seventeen she'd finally been free. And she hadn't spent an instant regretting it.

But it was as if she hadn't spoken. "I spoke to Cee Cee again. Duran Cosmetics is absolutely beating the bushes for the right face. We're going to take Paris by storm, darling. It'll be like a few years ago, remember? We'll be back on top."

The first niggling of concern filtered through Cait's annoyance. "It wasn't a few years ago, Mother. It was more than fifteen. And I'm not going back to it. I told you that."

A dreamy look crossed Lydia's face. "Of course Paris is beastly this time of year, but you'll be busy for weeks anyway with art directors and measurements and a strict diet and exercise program. At least you haven't let yourself go. That's a blessing. Although I swear, if those are freckles on your nose, I'm going to-"

"Mother!" Her tone was deliberately sharp. If they were to have this fight again, she'd welcome it. Anything other than this sick feeling of trepidation that was pooling in her stomach. "You need to go home. We'll talk after the case. But not about Paris. I'm not going to Paris. Neither of us are."

"I knew you'd say that." It was the old Lydia back, in control. And for a moment Cait wondered if she'd imagined that disconnect between past and present. "Knew what it would take to convince you. I didn't want to have to use this, but I will. Because it's for your own good. It's what's best for both of us. Just like before."

She set the tote on the floor and withdrew the dark wooden box. Cait's breath strangled in her chest. Her breathing sounded like a locomotive in her ears.

The carving on the top was polished. The lid that Lydia opened revealed the soft green velvet-lined interior. But it was the false bottom that had concealed the horrors of her past.

"You'll do exactly what I say. Or the world will know you for what you are. You as good as killed your father. Did you think I didn't know? I always knew. I always covered. You owe me for that!"

The words barely registered. They couldn't break the grip of the past.

You have to be my good girl, Caitie. Remember the story. Don't ever tell.

"It was the only way. I understand that, but the authorities wouldn't. You'd be ruined in this profession, so you may as well go back to the life I made for us. It was worth all the planning. All the sacrifice." Her mother's eyes went far away, and she made a motion as if stroking a much-younger Cait's hair. "You mustn't feel guilty, darling. Your father would have allowed his depression to ruin everything. To leave us with nothing. But I was there for you. I always knew how to take care of you."

Ice slicked over her skin. b.u.mped through her veins. "What . . . how did you take care of things, Mother?" She forced the words out, but she didn't want to hear the response. Didn't want to know a truth that would undoubtedly be worse than the memory she'd lived with all her life.

"He wasn't a stupid man." Lydia's voice was brisk. Almost normal. Except for the sheen of madness in her eyes. "Emotionally weak. But not stupid. I knew if I left you alone in the house with him more and more when he was in one of his funks that he'd plan things out. The insurance would never have paid on a suicide. Your father came to the right decision."

The child that she'd been, the child that still lived inside her, screamed silently in protest. "The right decision? I was eight!"

But her mother didn't hear her. When had she ever? "It was a difficult time for both of us. But look at the life I made for us! Children don't comprehend money worries, but there was the portfolio to put together. The head shots. The agency fees. The clothes and the travel before you were picked up by an upper-tier agency. It cost money to get you noticed."

She made a dismissive gesture in a manner that was pure Lydia. "You're not a parent, Caitlin, so you can't know how it can sometimes hurt a mother to force her child to do what's right." She watched numbly as her mother pressed unerringly in the one spot sure to have the bottom of the box sliding open. "But you'll have to . . ."

Lydia gaped at the empty compartment. "What . . . where is it?" Her gaze flashed angrily as she stood, drawing herself up to her full height. "What have you done, Caitlin?"

"The gun's at the bottom of the Grand Ca.n.a.l in Venice." Her voice sounded wooden, foreign, to Cait's ears. Even as a teenager, she'd realized the need to destroy that connection to her past. "But it doesn't matter, Mother." She stood, gently took the box from her hands. "We don't need that. You're right. We'll leave for Paris in the morning."

"Excellent." Her face wreathed in smiles, Lydia accompanied her uncomplainingly out the door. Down the hallway. "Do you still have that green silk Valentino? You must wear that when you meet with Duran Cosmetics. You always looked your best in it."

Out the front doors. Across the parking lot to the SUV. "I remember." She'd been fifteen the last time she'd worn that dress. A lifetime ago. "We can make plans over breakfast."

"An excellent idea. I knew you'd see reason. Oh, let's go to that little bistro on Champs-ellysees. What's its name? The one with the wonderful crepes?"

"The Athenee."

"Of course, you'll order a yogurt. You'll need to lose at least fifteen pounds before getting in front of a camera again." Lydia got in the vehicle. Fastened her seat belt. "And be careful, dear. You're not used to driving on the right side of the road."

Cait started the vehicle, eyes burning. "I'll be fine, Mother. We'll both be fine."

Kristy's eyes were filled with sympathy. "Oh my G.o.d. What'd you do?"

Jamming a hand through her hair, Cait finished the carefully edited version she'd been relaying and said, "Checked her in to the psychiatric hospital. Spent two hours trying to get in touch with that man she'd been seeing recently. The one she told me yesterday had just left her. Turns out they split up six months ago. They hadn't just returned from Paris, the way she'd told me. He had to give me the address of the place she'd been living."

And that fact would continue to haunt her for a long time.

"You couldn't have realized." Kristy was staunchly supportive. "It sounds like she just snapped. There was no way to predict it was going to happen."

She thought of what her mother had revealed about their past. And wished she could dislodge the knowledge. As awful as it had been to carry the secrets of her childhood, somehow this knowing was worse. Far worse. "I think it's been a long time in the making, actually."

"You should call Andrews." Kristy got up and brought Cait her purse she'd left on the desk in the corner of the lab. "Tell her you'll be back on the job tomorrow. Jesus, Cait, she can't expect you to work today after what you've been through."

Making no movement for her phone, she said, "I've already called her and said I'd be in late." Holding up a hand to stifle her a.s.sistant's protest, she said, "Lydia's doctors kicked me out after giving them what I could of her medical history." But there was one portion of their past she hadn't dared shared. Not because of her fear of the consequences for an eight-year-old's actions. But for her mother's. "I'll let them a.s.sess her and then find a place . . ." She stopped, rubbed at the ache between her eyes. "I guess out east somewhere would be best. Closer to my place." A place she was rarely at, given her occupation.

"You don't have to worry about that right now." Kristy eyed her shrewdly. "If I told you I kept a flask in my purse, would you take a stiff belt?"

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Of course I am." But the woman's tone was less than convincing.

Cait considered it for all of three seconds before deciding that Kristy's possible tippling wasn't a subject she was going to tackle right now. It took effort to focus on work. To put her thoughts in order.

"Have you been checking the new set of remains regularly?" Her a.s.sistant followed her to the gurney holding them.

"They're progressing but will need another day or so to dry out."

After a few moments of examination, Cait was inclined to agree. "There's no telling how long they were in the springs, but I tend to think it was less than three weeks. And I'm anxious to get some data from them to start referencing with more recent disappearances."

Kristy looked at the remains dubiously. "They aren't going to be in the best shape after saturation."

"They'll bend or break easily," Cait admitted. "So we'll have to be extra careful handling them." But for now it was a moot point. They were still leaving damp spots on the newspaper pads beneath them as the water continued leaking out of them.

"Oh, I forgot." The diminutive blonde hurried to the desk and s.n.a.t.c.hed a file folder from the upright plastic holder on the desk and brought it back to hand to Cait. "This was lying in the fax tray when I got in this morning."

Flipping it open, Cait found a copy of Bentley's credit card statement for a year prior to his death. And another note signed by Cross with a scrawled message.

Brother confirmed WB Giant's fan and rafted for hobby. Will fax DNA profile when get it.

The motel on the statement was one she recognized. It was a trendy establishment on Highway 126, four or five miles from McKenzie Bridge. There were no other charges from businesses in the area, with the exception of gas stations.

Regardless what Andrews had said earlier, positively linking William Bentley to this case cleared Sharper. If she had to she could ask Raiker for a copy of the dates of his leaves from the Army. Cait was convinced they wouldn't coincide with the time Bentley had been in the area years ago.

She told herself that wasn't relief she felt at the thought. After last night, she'd almost think he deserved it if the sheriff had taken another shot at him.

But it wasn't his beef with the sheriff that had kept her awake until dawn. She'd run the facts through her head over and over until her thoughts resembled a rat in a maze. But she'd done nothing wrong. She'd done her job when she'd asked Raiker to delve into Zach's files, but she hadn't asked for more than she needed. And sharing those details with Andrews was her job, too. She wasn't going to apologize for it.

And she refused to feel guilty that he didn't believe her. She was carrying all the guilt she could handle without taking that on, as well.

But knowing that-accepting it-didn't make a dent in the heaviness in her chest.