Slate Page 7

“Tea is fine.” I sit at her table, lean back, and glare.

  While my fingers tap on the table and my knees bounce underneath, a couple of glasses are set on the table. One tips, I catch it midair, and place it down with a thunk.

  Her gaze flashes to mine and quickly away. Brown liquid flows from a clear vase filled with wet tea bags, ice cubes cracking.

  Finally, her heavy sigh fills the silence. “I guess you want to know why I called the police.”

  My brows raise.

  “Remember when the puppy got loose and we almost lost him?”

  “Uh huh.” Judging from the way she shakes as she puts more cubes into our glasses, whatever she has to say isn’t good.

  “Okay. I can’t be sure, which is why I didn’t tell you, so don’t get all up in my face about it, alright?” Dark, thick lashes lift and for a moment, I lose my resolve. But no, if she’s into some illegal shit, I don’t care how pretty she is, she can’t stay here.

  “Why might I get all up in your face, Lilac?”

  “Oh, for shit’s sake. Just promise you won’t yell.” Her brown eyes spark fire, flecks of gold catching the evening sun as it begins to lower on the horizon.

  “Out with it!” I stand, the table moves, and I grab my glass before it topples.

  “You want sugar?” She turns her back to me, fingering the blue and white canister set.

  “Lilac! Dammit.”

  “Okay, okay. I think Dog dropped a human hand on my doorstep.” The words jumble together and it takes a second for me to process. Suddenly, it dawns on me what she said, my mouth drops open, and I almost lose my fucking mind.

  “Jesus Christ! And you didn’t think to tell me why?” I follow her to the sink and turn her toward me. I need to see her face.

  “I called you when it happened. You were with me, remember?”

  “I thought I was looking for a lost puppy, not a fucking murderer. Are you out of your mind? Why didn’t you call the police?”

  She pokes me with her fingertip. “Because I know what they’re like. Without evidence, they would’ve thought I was lying. I couldn’t deal with that, again.”

  Tears slip down her eyes as she swallows hard. I grab her hand to comfort her but she slaps it away. “Don’t. Just give me a second.”

  Sitting down, I hold my anger and force my face neutral. Then, I recall she’s one of Mel’s girls and use the voice I reserve for little kids. “I’m sorry. I’m listening.”

  The sheepdog pup nudges my leg so I pat him until he settles by my legs, chin on his paws, alternating his gaze between me and her.

  “Are you done yelling?” Leaning against the refrigerator door, she puts the glass to her cheek.

  I nod and motion with an open hand she should sit. Eyes on mine, she sets her iced tea down, drags the chair out from under the table, and perches on the edge. “I knew, if I gave the police my name, they would research me. And they did.”

  “Someone at Columbia raped you. What does that have to do with finding a body part?”

  “Don’t say that! Never say that.” She stands, grabs a paper towel from the holder and runs outside. The door slams.

  Crap. What did I do now? I get up, walk around the table, open the door, and she swivels so her back is to me. Should I touch her? I have no fucking idea.

  “I’m so sorry, Lilac.”

  Her cheeks are wet with tears as she turns into my open arms. Her face nestles in my neck, she sobs, and I pull her close.

  Gently, I rub her back and mutter soothing sounds into the top of her head. I feel like I’m walking through a minefield, my head about to explode. First, I need to find out about the dead hand. Next, I want to find the frat boys who raped her and castrate them. After that, I have no fucking clue.

  With her still sobbing in my arms, I direct her to the bedroom, and sit her down next to me. Dog follows and with a little woof lays down over her feet, nudging her legs with his nose.

  I don’t know how long I hold her but finally the crying stops and she looks up at me and says, “Shit. I’m so sorry. Really. Oh God. This has never happened before, it’s just you used the r-word and I lost it.”

  “Sorry, I won’t use the r-word, okay?”

  Nodding, she bites her quivering lower lip.

  Fuck. I’ve heard of guys returning from overseas with reactions to certain smells or sounds, but never a word.

  “You want to talk about it?” I squeeze her hand.

  Seeing her struggle with an overly-used tissue, I run into the kitchen, and return with the whole roll of paper towels.

  “Thanks.” She tears one off and wipes her nose and eyes. Then, her palm bangs repeatedly on her forehead, “I was so damn stupid.”

  I grab the offending hand and hold it in my lap. “No matter how stupid you were, you didn’t deserve to be, ah, what happened.”

  “That’s not what the frat boys said. You see, I was invited to their party and had a few beers with one guy I liked. We’d gone out a couple times with friends and there was some chemistry. We kissed and it was okay. He asked me up to his room and I figured we would make out a little, maybe get serious, I don’t know what I was thinking. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  “So far, it all sounds pretty normal to me. I don’t think you did anything so bad.”

  “Don’t you? I should never have gone into his bedroom. I don’t know what he put in my drink, but when I woke up, he was asleep and we and I… I was sore and… I ran out of the room while his roommates in the main hall snickered. Later, they all told the police I was asking for it, coming on strong. They said the sex was consensual.”

  “Did you do a blood test?”

  “Sure, I did. But the frat boys all swore I took the drug willingly, that we were partying together, getting high.”

  I tuck her chin so she has to look into my eyes and see my resolve. “What they did was criminal. All of them.”

  “I know but there was no proof. It’s my word against theirs.”

  “I can find proof for you, if you want.” And I will, whatever it takes.

  “Thank you, but there’s nothing you can do. It’s too late.” Her sweet soft lips lift to mine and I take them.

  Immediately, blood flows south and I’m on fire but stay in control. She’s too vulnerable tonight. Despite my resolve, when her soft lips press harder into mine, I twist my head for a better angle and place a palm to her cheek. She moans her pleasure, I slide my hand to the back of her head and hold her in place.

  She’s bread to a starving man, water in the desert, and heroin to the addict. If I let this kiss go on, I’m going to fall hard and when the summer ends, I may not recover.

  I credit years of military training for giving me the willpower to move my lips away from hers. Gently, I graze the tip of her nose and kiss her eyelids shut so she can’t see the turmoil going on inside my head. I tuck the top of her head into my neck and hold her while her hands wrap around my back.

  “Don’t stop.” Her sweet plea sends more blood rushing south chipping away at my steadfastness as I take her chin and raise her face to mine.

  Just one more taste. Then, that’s it.

  My mouth crashes down and her moan sounds so damn good, for a moment my brain stops functioning. I push my tongue against her teeth until she opens for me. Her inexperience drives me wild. My palms hold her cheeks, I take the kiss deeper until my heart beats wildly and I want to tear her clothes off.

  Panting, I tear my mouth away from hers. “We have to stop, Lila.”

  “Lilac.” She smiles at my weak comic intervention and softly brushes her lips across mine.

  A groan comes out of me as I gently cup a breast and she arches into me for more. It would be so easy to lie her on the bed and sink deep into her. However, we’d both wonder in the morning if the timing was right.

  I whisper into her ear, “When I make love to you, Lila-with-a-c, it’s going to be fucking awesome but not tonight.”

  She bites her lower lip, about to cry so I release he
r teeth with an index finger. “None of that, okay?”

  I grab her hand and place it on my aching cock. “I want you so bad I’m going to need a cold shower, maybe two.”

  “Would you stay the night? No sex? I just don’t want to be alone.” She nods, her sad smile fucking killing me.

  She might as well have asked me to walk over hot coals in bare feet but I agree, unable to refuse her anything. I scoot my ass so I can rest against the headboard and put her head in my lap with her sweet mouth way too close to my raging hard on.

  Patting her hair, I try to recall IED’s, the blazing hot sun, basic training… anything so I won’t touch her or do anything stupid like unzip my jeans.

  It takes almost an hour for her to calm and her breathing to become normal. Certain she’s sound asleep, I cup her head, place it on the bed, and cover her with a blanket.

  Dog wakes and opens his mouth about to bark but I clamp my hands gently around his muzzle and grab his gaze. “No. Quiet.”

  His eyes lower, he whimpers, but his tail wags so I give him a warm pat.

  “Good boy.”

  Damn smart pup.

  Me and Dog head to the main house, I grab my computer, then return. There’s no couch, hell, there’s no living room so it’s going to be a long night. I’d could curl up behind her for a couple winks but I’m not into torture. Besides, I got some research to do.

  I smile in anticipation of doing something useful. Since getting shot, my professional life has been boring.

  Hmm. A hand, huh? Just what did you find, Dog?

  Some of the puzzle pieces start to fall in place as I think and click. Someone was probably murdered. Obviously, Dog was there, grabbed a hand, and someone tried to stop him with a bullet. Dogs that look like him are going missing which means whoever lost the hand, is worried.

  There’s no way I can continue to let Lilac walk Dog, alone.

  I got a friend at the FBI and send him all I got, ignoring the local police. After the grief they gave her, I wouldn’t give them the time of day.

  While I’m researching, I find out some pets have chips injected into them in case they get lost and some have GPS on their collar.

  “C’mere pup.” Dog gives me a sleepy woof and puts his head on my lap.

  I check his collar and sure enough, it looks like what I’m seeing online. Why the hell hasn’t the owner used it to find him? Unless he’s dead and missing a hand.

  I ping a friend who occasionally does some work for me. It’s about one in the morning but I’m pretty sure he’ll be awake.

  Me: Hey

  Cy: Wassup?

  Me: Can I call you on the encrypted number?

  Cy: Sure

  My phone app rings and I pick up. “Hey Cy, I need a favor.”

  “For you and an exorbitant fee, anything, my friend.”

  I chuckle. It’s true. His favors don’t come cheap. “I got a dog with GPS on his collar and need to find the owner.” I read off the serial number on the plastic tag.

  “Give me a few and I’ll send it to your phone. Later.” Like always, he hangs up before I can say goodbye.

  Next, I research on all the animals who’ve gone missing in the area. Facebook is a treasure trove of information. When done, I print out a page of Google maps and draw a circle around the perimeter. I’m betting somewhere in the center, a guy was murdered, his hand hacked off.

  Chapter 12

  Lilac

  I wake, eyes sticky and swollen, my stomach all in a knot. Worse than that, a word runs through my brain, like a scrolling ad on top of Times Square.

  Rape.

  Shit. I open up the box in my brain to try to stuff in all the memories of that night but the vision doesn’t work. When I close my eyes, the hinges have come off the small wooden box and the lock looks as if someone took a pickaxe to it.

  What the hell is happening to me?

  Shaking, I get out of bed and touch the covers, the dresser, the doorframe. These things are real, not a dream.

  Smart people like me are not raped. It could not have happened. I just had a bad night with a guy I didn’t know. It was just a small incident in my life, like your cell phone battery dying or missing a train. It’s nothing, nothing at all.

  My stomach wretches, I run to the bathroom, drop to my knees, and puke.

  The kitchen chair slides, Slate curses, and runs to my side but I don’t want him to see me like this.

  “Please go.”

  Water runs in the sink and a cool cloth cleans my forehead, then my mouth. He takes my hair and pulls it into a pony tail using one of my ties.

  I flush before the smell makes me vomit again and close my eyes.

  Shit.

  Tears drip down my cheeks. What the hell am I supposed to do? I knew if that box got broke I would be up shit’s creek and here I am.

  He kneels beside me, eyes shiny with concern. “You okay, hun?”

  Hell no, I’m not okay. I’m a fucking mess but I nod as he pulls me to my feet. Ugh. I hate throwing up. At least I managed to keep it off my clothes.

  He puts the toilet seat down and pats it.

  “Sit.”

  I do as he says.

  “I called Mel. I hope that’s okay.”

  It’s not but I’m not a jerk. He’s being so sweet in trying to help me but no one can. I squeeze my eyes tight and envision a new box. This time it’s a safe made of steel, two feet thick.

  “Don’t do that. Look at me.” Slate’s dark eyes hold mine and the vision evaporates into smoke.

  God Damn it.

  “I just need a few minutes to get my shit together. I’m really sorry about last night. I just got overtired and probably had a bit of sun poisoning. I’ll be fine. In a minute, I’ll get dressed and walk Dog.”

  “Mel says you’ve got a meeting tonight. I’m taking you and you’re not to walk the puppy alone again.” His mouth is set and his jaw ticks, the way I’m beginning to learn means I can’t argue with him.

  “Okay.” Unexpectedly, I remember how I met the owner, the ring, and all the things I was supposed to tell him last night. “Slate-”

  “I’ve already walked Dog. You can take him for a run later as long as I’m with you.” He smiles at me and kisses the top of my head. “Go. Get in the shower, get dressed, and have some breakfast. Then, we need to talk.”

  With that, he turns around and leaves me alone with my thoughts but no matter how I try, I can’t picture a safe or a box of any sort.

  Rape.

  I drop my clothes onto the floor and jump into the shower. It wasn’t rape. I must’ve consented and just don’t remember. The police said so, the guys in the frat house confirmed it. Why the hell can’t I remember?

  A flash of me fighting off Gerry comes to mind and I moan. This is why I need a better picture in my brain. What good is remembering? I can’t undo that night. Better it stays forgotten and I concentrate on my life, my future. I almost let ‘The Incident’ ruin everything. I lost my scholarship and almost lost my residency.

  When I discovered how my mind can repair itself, I was cured. One just has to close up the incident and stick it in a box.

  Why the hell did it break, though? And how do I put things aright?

  I finish showering and find Slate has thoughtfully stuck my jeans, t-shirt, and undies on a hook on the door. There’s even two bath sheets I recognize from his main house folded on the seat of the john.

  The guy is way too good for a broken woman like me. What was I thinking, begging for him to sleep with me last night? He must think I’m some kind of desperate slut.

  Tears well but I squeeze my eyes until they surrender and swallow hard. Resolved to not wallow in self-pity, I dress and exit the bathroom a new woman.

  I don’t need a relationship, I don’t want one, and I am certainly not ready for one. Slate was right.

  “Woof, woof.” Dog’s front paws jump to my chest.

  I catch them and give him a big hug, burying my face into his fur. “Hi sw
eetheart.”

  He licks my face, tail thumping on the hard wood floors. When I don’t move fast enough, he nudges the back of my legs, herding me into the kitchen where the smell of cinnamon makes my mouth water.

  Slate is buttering a raisin bagel. “Want half?”

  “Sure.” I sit slowly, touching things, wondering what is real and what is not.

  It’s almost like having an out of body experience. For almost six months I denied that ‘The Incident’ was rape. Now that it’s been said out loud, it’s like I got a Scarlett letter, but instead of an ‘A’ like Hester in that book, it’s ‘R’ for rape.

  I shake the vision out of my head as the realness of sweet bread explodes in my mouth. “Yum.”

  Slate grins at me and hands me a cup of coffee. It’s warm, inviting, and a little sweet. I wonder if I’m describing him or the liquid swirling in my hands.

  “What did you want to talk about.” I figure I’m about to hear the, it’s not you, it’s me speech. After my whole pity party last night and then puking, what guy wouldn’t be turned off?

  “I spent the night researching Dog and missing people in the area.”

  Wow. That is so unexpected. I smile, thrilled we aren’t talking about me.

  “What have you got?”

  “First off, Dog has a chip. His name is Buddy.”

  “I know.”

  “Huh, how?”

  “I meant to tell you. I chatted with a guy while walking the dog yesterday. He recognized your dog. I played it cool and said I was the dog walker and he seemed to believe me. He mentioned the owner’s name… hmm. Charles it was. He said he thought Charles was in… South America maybe? Bolivia? Wait a sec. Here.”

  I show him a picture in my cell phone. “That’s the guy.”

  “What’d you do to piss him off?” Slate slides the phone across the table.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t think he wanted his picture taken. Some people are weird like that, right Buddy?”

  The pup’s ears perk and he jumps on my lap, nuzzling my stomach. It dawns on me, if Dog goes home, I’m out of a job and a place to live.

  Slate must notice how my face drops and puts his hands over mine. “We’re not giving him back, not yet.”