Yeah, it was still a good point. In fact, it was the crux of the investigation. I thought back to the Ruben Wright I knew: Mr. Invincible. He was strong, self-assured, athletic, and very hard to kill. MS seemed unlikely, every bit as unlikely as suicide. If he had it, he'd be trying his damnedest to beat it into submission. If I had to put money on how he died, I'd still be betting on murder. But for the first time there were, I had to admit, faint fluffy clouds of doubt on the horizon.
Tables were being reset for the morning's breakfast trade. We were the last patrons to leave and already, at the periphery of the restaurant, lights had been turned off. A waiter swept the floor nearby, noisily shifting chairs around. I could take a hint. “Looks like we've outstayed our welcome,” I said.
Outside, the night air was cool and still. The distant traffic sounded like waves, or maybe it was the waves arriving on the beach nearby sounding like traffic. There weren't many vehicles in the parking lot out front. One was my SUV. I wasn't sure which one was Clare's.
“Do you mind giving me a lift home?” she asked. “I think I've probably had too much to drink.”
I detected the first signs of slurring. “Where's home?”
“Other side of Fort Walton Beach.”
I deactivated the SUV's alarm and opened the door for her. She climbed up and I noticed the colonel's calves. I liked what I saw: slim, tan, and toned. “You spend much time at the beach?” I asked, keeping it light.
“Yeah, the sea is one big playroom. Manny builds things out of sand; I like to run on it.”
I couldn't help but admire her. I knew plenty of couples bringing up kids. It appeared to be a tough enough job when the parenting was a double act. Going it alone was close to heroic in my book.
“So, what's next?” she asked as I accelerated into the traffic.
“There are a few people I need to see in Pensacola.”
“No, I mean tonight. Between you and me?”
“I'm going to drive you home.”
“And then?”
“You're a lieutenant colonel and I'm a major, ma'am. The Air Force has rules.”
“I don't see any uniforms.”
“Are you going to order me?”
“There's an idea.”
I smiled at her and she returned it.
“Single moms can have sex, Vin. We're allowed, you know. In fact, it has been so long this particular single mom is climbing the walls.”
“How long is so long?”
“Too long. Anyway, the house is empty, the bed is warm, your maybe-on-maybe-off girlfriend is on the other side of the planet, and what goes on tour stays on tour, right?”
“Are you always this pushy?”
“Does pushy scare you?”
I glanced across at her. She was leaning against the door, warm air from the dash vent blowing through her hair. One eyebrow was arched so that she looked playful, seductive, and hungry all at the same time. Her hand slid into her lap. I couldn't help noticing that her legs were apart, outlined by the sheer fabric of her skirt.
“You're making it hard for me to drive,” I said, my throat suddenly dry.
“Good,” she said. “Hold that thought. Better still, let me hold it.”
I smiled. “Why me?”
“Do you want your ego stroked, too?”
“If you think it'll help.”
She laughed. “OK, I've thought about this — about you. To start with, I like you. Also, to be honest, you're just passing through. It can be uncomplicated — no rumors, no bullshit, no games. You won't want a piece of me, or my life, so I can concentrate on my son. And, if you haven't noticed, there's an overpreponderance of macho types here. I've been watching you. I like a man who has a brain as well as a penis.”
“Yeah, well, pity they gave me only enough blood to operate one at a time.”
That earned another laugh. “Take the next left, after this set of lights.”
I took the turn and Clare directed me through a maze of side streets. The house we eventually pulled up outside was a seventies prefab. The front yard was painted silver by the moon; a silver tricycle nosed into a bush, a silver station wagon parked in the driveway.
“Are you going to come in for coffee?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Coffee keeps me awake.”
“Then I'll make sure it's brewed strong.” Clare reached across and took a handful of my shirt. She pulled me toward her and we kissed. Her mouth tasted of wine. Mine tasted of Moosehead. Fair trade.
Clare's bedroom smelled of fresh flowers. Her head was on my shoulder. I listened to her breathing as she slept, and felt her breath ruffle the hairs on my chest. We'd skipped the coffee. Her body was lean and long, hard in some places, soft where it counted. She obviously spent plenty of time running on that sand. Perhaps it was to work off the excess energy she would otherwise have expended between the sheets. She'd told me that it had been “a while.” Going into the second orgasm, I'd begun to think of that as maybe a warning. Heading into the finishing straight of the third, I was damn sure of it.
Groggy with sleep and sex, I stared at the ceiling, where events of the past couple of weeks were playing like the broken cuts of a movie trailer: I saw the probes blasting from the end of a Taser; I watched Anna close my apartment door as she left; I saw the disk pushed under the door; I imagined I saw Sergeant Wright the moment before he hit the ground, curled into a ball; I saw the fine blond hairs between Clare's legs and recalled her salty sweet taste; I saw a pile of cigarette butts mashed into the steel deck of the Natiísima; I saw a monster shark, bloodred water streaming from its gills as it snapped off Tanaka's head and shoulder from the rest of his body; I saw Amy McDonough and her firecracker hair; I saw a panda armed with a carving knife attack a woman on a park bench; I saw a silver station wagon parked in the driveway; I saw Tanaka's hand grasping for Boyle's wallet as it slipped twirling into the shark's wake.
My eyes opened. My body clock was linked to Air Force time and it told me to wake the hell up. I checked my watch: 0530. I must have spent the night unconsciously processing the pieces I had on the Tanaka case because the fitful sleep had brought me to some kind of conclusion about what had happened to him. I still didn't know why he was killed, but I'd woken up with a hunch about the “who.” I hoped the feeling wouldn't evaporate as the day wore on.
It was still dark and Clare was asleep, but there was enough light to turn her hair into molten silver. It flowed across the top of an exposed breast that rose and fell with her breathing. I was aware of my erection an instant later, at precisely the moment Clare stirred and her hand brushed it. “Good morning,” she said sleepily, stretching, purring, full-stopping her stretch in the middle of it with a playful squeal when she realized what was beneath the sheets, waiting impatiently.
“Morning,” I replied.
She faced me, her eyes closed. “I see you have a little something for me down there,” she said. I felt her hands wrap around my shaft.
“Little?” I said.
We showered separately but had breakfast together. The sun didn't rise till nearly a quarter to seven. I wanted to be out long before it did. Part of the reason was the full day I had ahead. The other part had something to do with the curiosity of Clare's neighbors. I didn't want to give them something to talk about. When I'd mentioned this, Clare said, “Jesus — I'm not a nun. Don't worry about it. The woman on my left is an old widow. Doesn't go out much — give her something to talk about in her chat room. The people on the right are even older — the lady's deaf and her husband can't see past the weeds in his lawn.”
We finally had that coffee. “I know you planned it,” I said after the first grateful sip.