“What was Cooke doing? He didn’t fly Collins or Elliot Brown here, did he?”
“No.”
“So what’s his connection?”
“I think he flew whoever’s responsible for the Harper’s bombing.”
“The guy who killed himself?”
“No. The guy behind the guy who killed himself.”
She took this in, stayed quiet while she mulled it over. “Why here?” is what she asked finally. “Why East Hampton or East End Harbor?”
Justin shook his head. “There has to be a reason. I just can’t connect it. But here’s what I think: that someone from Justice set the meeting up with Collins and Brown and that same person specified the place. Hutch Cooke flew somebody into town and either he made the connection, after the explosion, that he’d flown in the bomber, or whoever he was working for realized that he might figure it out. Once that was in the air, they couldn’t risk having him around anymore.” He stood up, paced back and forth across the living room with quick, hard strides. “I’m close,” he said. “It’s so close, but I can’t put it together.”
“But you will.”
His eyes closed with fatigue, he nodded, and murmured, “Yes. I will.”
When he opened his eyes, Reggie said, “I’ll be right back.”
“What?”
“I’d like to go home and get something. Will you wait here?”
“Where am I gonna go? And what the hell are you going to get?”
“Something that’ll make you feel better.”
“Hard drugs?”
“Better,” she said.
He smiled, plunked himself down on the couch. On her way to the door her hand brushed his arm. It was a friendly gesture, a touch of support, but it also sent a sexual charge up and down his spine. That charge kept him frozen where he was for the few minutes it took her to cross the street to her house and then back to his. She didn’t knock when she returned, just opened the door and stood in the doorframe. She didn’t seem to have anything with her and he looked puzzled.
He could hear the exhaustion in his own voice when he said, “I thought you were bringing something.”
“I did. Two things, actually.”
He waited. She reached into her pocket. Pulled out a toothbrush.
Then she reached into her other pocket. Pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
Reggie cocked her head and shrugged. He remembered the hunger in her eyes that he’d seen the day before. It was there again, even deeper and more rapacious. Without saying another word or even glancing down at him, she walked past him and headed up the stairs.
Justin stayed behind for just a moment. He felt the exhaustion rise and leave his body.
It was replaced by his own hunger, one as powerful as the one he recognized in Reggie. It had been there for quite a while, he knew, but now he realized it had to be sated. And when he realized that, he stood up slowly and, led by the hunger, followed Reggie Bokkenheuser upstairs.
She was already on the bed when he moved into the bedroom, and she asked him to undress her. She slowly put her arms up into the air and let him pull her shirt up over her head and hands. She had full breasts that seemed to explode out from the restraint of her clothing. She leaned forward and kissed him. Her tongue was thick and filled his mouth. He started to pull away but she didn’t let him. Her tongue stayed inside him, and she slowly pushed him down, climbing on top of him, straddling him, letting her breasts graze over his chest. He reached up and undid her belt buckle, unsnapped her jeans, slowly slid them down her legs. They were firm legs, and shapely. They shifted and he went to pull her boots off, but she shook her head, she wanted to leave them on, so he slid her pants down and over her two-inch heels.
She turned over, stretched luxuriously across the bed, her movements slow and easy, and he saw that she had a small tattoo of a butterfly on her back, right below her right shoulder, and one of a bird in the small of her back, stretching down to the top of her buttocks. She turned back to him now, the carnivorous expression had spread to her lips, and she wrapped herself around him, enveloping him, practically smothering him, as if they were longtime lovers who’d been apart for months. Her body seemed instantly familiar to him. They fit together well. They couldn’t stop kissing, their tongues exploring, but more than that, also linking and connecting them together.
Their faces were close together, she was staring straight into his eyes, and she nodded, a sign that he somehow understood. Their lovemaking turned wild and passionate and rough. Rapacious. It was as if the violence that had surrounded them was suddenly brought into their bed. She scratched his back and, in a whisper, told him to pull her hair. She bit down into his shoulder until he had to yank his arm away. She stretched her hands out above her head, running them up the headboard, and he realized she wanted him to grab them, to hold her and pin her as if she were restrained. He hesitated, but she nodded her head and her eyes urgently pleaded with him, so he grabbed both of her wrists with one hand and held tight. She moved her head from side to side and finally he realized she wanted the handcuffs. He was caught up in it now, it was out of his control, he was too excited, so he reached over and cuffed her to the bedpost. She thrashed beneath him but couldn’t escape and he saw the excitement in her eyes. When he entered her, she moaned, and when she came she screamed. And then she shuddered, some kind of cross between agony and ecstasy, and she tried to throw him off her, but he hadn’t come yet, so he moved faster, and faster still, and she was screaming now, and struggling against him, almost as if, suddenly, it didn’t matter who was there with her, she just wanted it over, then he came and she screamed louder, and sobbed, a wracking sob, and then he was off her, exhausted, spent, and she lay, hands stretched back to the headboard, absolutely still, except for her chest, which was heaving up and down, and her eyes, which fluttered open and shut, until they slowly closed and stay closed, unseeing, while her breathing slowed and the violence that had possessed her body quietly disappeared.
He thought he might have hurt her or overpowered her, and he wasn’t sure what to do or say, but then her eyes opened and she smiled at him, a slow, almost shy smile which he found somehow touching after the wildness he’d just seen and felt in her. She lifted one leg up into the air, almost in slow motion, and now he finally unzipped one boot, then the other, and pulled them both off. Her calves were thick, he ran his hand over the right one. She told him dreamily that she didn’t like her calves, she thought she had football player legs, but he told her that her legs were lovely. He told her her calves were beautiful.
He went to uncuff her; in the stillness after their lovemaking he felt embarrassed that she was restrained, but she shook her head. He freed her from the bedpost but kept her wrists bound together, and she lifted her arms up over his head and around his back, drawing him to her, forcing him so close he could feel her heart beating against his chest. She was asleep instantly, drained by the outburst of passion and the emotion she’d let loose. He lay there, sweaty, breathing hard, watching her sleep, staring at her smooth, white skin. She had a small mole on her back and he gently touched it. He was glad for the mole because he thought otherwise she’d be perfect.
He reached up and softly put his palm on Reggie’s neck, leaned over and kissed the top of her head. Then Justin, too, closed his eyes, his arm curled across her back, her face buried into his chest. He drifted into sleep to the rhythm of her soft breaths warming his heart, and he didn’t wake up until he heard a stirring, a footstep on the floorboard, and when his eyes opened, there were four men, expressionless, all with short hair and all with weapons. For a moment he thought it was a dream, a 4 A.M. nightmare, but he could smell their sweat, he could feel their presence, and he began to move, only he couldn’t, because he was tangled together with Reggie, her cuffed hands wrapped around him.