I saw the hatred in his eyes. I saw his fear.
“Don’t you move,” the boy shouted, jabbing the gun muzzle hard against my vertebrae. Sweat trickled down my sides. “You killed my sister. You killed her for nothing!”
I remembered the empty look on Sara Cabot’s face when she fell.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“No, you’re not, but you will be. And guess what? Nobody cares.”
You’re not supposed to hear the bullet that gets you, but that must be a myth. The booming report of the shot that drilled through my spine sounded like a bomb.
I slumped over, paralyzed. I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t stop the flow of blood pulsing out of my body, ebbing into the cold water of the bay.
But how had it come to this? There was a reason that just eluded my grasp. Something I should have done.
Slap the cuffs on them. I should have done that.
That’s what I was thinking when my eyes flew open.
I was lying on my side, my fists full of sand. Martha was looking down at me, breathing on my face.
Somebody cared.
I sat up and reached my arms around her, buried my face in her neck.
The dream’s sticky sense clung to me. I didn’t need a PhD in psychology to know what it meant. I was churning in the violence of last month.
Stuck in it up to my eyeballs.
“Everything’s fine,” I told Martha.
Lying my face off to my little dog.
Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July
Chapter 31
WHILE MARTHA HERDED SHOREBIRDS, I sent my mind skyward and pretended that I was drifting effortlessly, up there with the wheeling gulls. I was ruminating on both my recent past and my uncertain future when I leveled my gaze and saw him.
My heart lurched. His smile was bright, but his blue eyes were scrunched against the glare.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he said.
“Oh, my God, look what the tide brought in.”
I let him help me to my feet. We kissed, and I felt this sensational heat searing my insides.
“How’d you manage to get the day off?” I finally asked, squeezing him hard.
“You don’t understand. This is work. I’m scouring the coastline for terrorist infiltration,” he cracked. “Ports and shorelines, that’s what I do.”
“And here I thought your job was to pick out the day’s color alert.”
“That, too,” he said. He flapped his tie at me. “See? Yellow.”
I liked that Joe could josh about his job, because it would have been too depressing otherwise. Our shoreline was extremely porous, and Joe saw the holes.
“Don’t tease,” he said, then we kissed again. “This is hard work.”
I laughed. “All work, no play makes Joe a dull guy.”
“Hey, I’ve got something for you,” he said as we walked together along the jetty. He pulled a packet of tissue paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. “I wrapped it myself.”
The packet was sealed with Scotch tape, and Joe had penned a string of Xs and Os where a ribbon would’ve been. I ripped open the tissue and poured a bright silver chain and a medallion into my palm.
“It’s supposed to keep you safe,” Joe said.
“Sweetie, it’s Kokopelli. How did you know?” I held the little disk level with my eyes.
“The Hopi pottery in your apartment kinda gave me a clue.”
“I love it. What’s more, I need it,” I said, turning my back to him so he could fasten the long silver chain around my neck.
Joe swept the hair off my nape and kissed me just there. His lips, the roughness of his cheek against that tender spot, sent a thrill through me. I gasped, then turned into his arms again. I liked it there a lot.
I kissed him softly, and the kiss turned deeper and more urgent. I finally pulled away from him.
“Let’s get you out of those clothes,” I said.
Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July
Chapter 32
CAT’S GUEST BEDROOM WAS peach and gauzy with a double bed next to the window. Joe’s jacket flew onto the chair, followed by his blue denim shirt and yellow tie.
I lifted my arms, and he gently pulled my skimpy halter top over my head. I took his hands and pressed his palms to my breasts, and the warmth of his touch made me feel almost weightless. I was panting by the time my shorts hit the floor.
I watched from the bed as Joe finished undressing and climbed into bed beside me. God, he was a good-looking boy. Then I went into his arms.
“I have something else for you, Lindsay,” Joe said. What he had was quite apparent. I laughed into the crook of his neck.
“Not just that,” Joe told me. “This.”
I opened my eyes and saw that he was pointing to small letters clumsily written on his chest with a ballpoint pen. He’d written my name over his heart.
Lindsay.
“You’re funny,” I said with a smile.
“No, I’m romantic,” said Joe.
Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July
Chapter 33
IT WASN’T JUST ABOUT sex with Joe. He was too real and too good a person for me to think of him as simply a hunk and a real good time. But I paid a terrible price for feeling more. At times like this, when our jobs permitted, we had an indescribable intimacy. Then morning came and Joe jetted back to Washington, and I didn’t know when I’d see him—or if it would ever feel this good—again.
It’s been said that love finds you when you’re ready.
Was I ready?
The last time I had loved a man so much, he’d died a terrible death.
And what about Joe?
He’d been scalded by a divorce. Could he ever really trust again?
Right now, as I was lying in his arms, my heart was divided between taking down all of the walls and protecting myself against the wrenching pain of our imminent separation.
“Where are you, Linds?”
“Right here. I’m here.”
I held Joe tightly, forcing myself back into the moment. We kissed and touched until being apart was unbearable and we joined together again, a perfect fit. I moaned and told Joe how good he felt—how good he was.
“I love you, Linds,” he murmured.
I was saying his name and telling him that I loved him when waves of pleasure overtook me and I allowed all of my scared, undermining thoughts to go away.
We held each other for a long time afterward, just catching our breath, getting a grip on our spinning world, when the doorbell rang.
“Shit,” I said. “Pretend it’s not happening.”
“Gotta get the door,” said Joe softly. “It could be for me.”
Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July
Chapter 34
I CLIMBED OVER JOE’S body, threw his shirt on over my cutoffs, and went to the door. An attractive fifty-ish woman was standing on the front porch with an expectant smile on her face. She was too hip in her tennis dress and Lilly Pulitzer sweater to be a Jehovah’s Witness, and she looked too sunny to be a federal agent.
She introduced herself as Carolee Brown.
“I live down on Cabrillo Highway, about a mile north of here. That blue Victorian with a lot of chain-link fencing.”
“Sure. I know the place. A school, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
I didn’t mean to be snappish, but I felt awkward standing there with my beard-roughened face and love-smushed hair.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Brown?”
“It’s Dr. Brown, actually, but please call me Carolee. Lindsay, right? My daughter and I help your sister out with Penelope. This is for you.” She handed me a platter covered in aluminum foil.
“Oh, Cat did mention you. I’m sorry. I’d invite you in, but —”