Cypress Nights (21 page)

At the same time

H
e worked alone.

The idea of having a partner—even if only until he didn't need one anymore—made him edgy. If you let someone inside, they made demands. And they made mistakes.

Justice didn't tolerate mistakes. They were too dangerous.

From where he stood, he could see the bayou without anyone seeing him. He was hidden by the trees. Watching traffic on the water calmed him, focused him. He liked thinking about the gators in there—and the cottonmouths. He had a particular fondness for the snakes. What would it be like to carry an instrument of agonizing destruction with you?

The snakes had possibilities.

He had to stop the rage at his failure that morning. Rage was better gathered in and turned outward again.

Setting the fire had only complicated things. He should have sucked up his anger that Roche didn't leave in time, and gone back later, or tomorrow. If the fire chief had the right resources, they'd figure out what he'd done. Then there would be a hunt, and he'd be the hunted. Not that they'd ever find out who he was.

Killing Bleu would be the fastest way to get what he wanted. Or it would be a good start.

The other one would have to go, too, but not until he got what he wanted from her.

He had picked his next diversion. When the authorities needed to be confused, there was nothing like a fresh kill to do the job.

R
oche didn't talk to her, didn't answer the question she shouldn't have asked, didn't look at her.

He opened the new front door. Heavy, carved from oak; a glass fanlight at the top reminded her of a white-crystal peacock's tail.

As soon as she went inside the townhouse, he followed and dropped keys into her hand. He walked to the kitchen and put the bags on a counter.

Bleu's breath began to catch. She couldn't fill her lungs, her ribs ached. How could she have thought these episodes were over?

His face was expressionless. “There are locks on the windows now,” he said and raised a blind to show her. “They slide on these tracks. Easy to operate and very safe.” He dropped more keys beside the bags. “The back door's been replaced, too. The place in the siding where the firefighters checked inside the wall is also patched.”

When she began to shake, Bleu couldn't do a thing to stop her teeth from chattering or her knees from jerking.

“You don't have to worry about this place being tight anymore.” With his hands in the pockets of his jeans and a dark green shirt tucked loosely inside at the waist, he moved as if he were relaxed. Bleu knew a sham when she saw one.

“You are very kind,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I don't want you to thank me. An alarm system's been ordered. They'll show up tomorrow, and we've already made sure someone other than you will be here when it's installed.”

Sweat ran on her palms. She breathed through her mouth, desperate not to throw up. “The bills,” she said. “Please—”

“We'll discuss bills at another time. You insist you're going to stay here, even though whoever the cops are trying to hunt down knows you live in this place. It needs to be as safe as it can be.”

When she needed control more than she ever had, she was losing it completely. “It's not your responsibility.”

“I've made it mine. What's been done isn't charity—the owner wants it this way. Are you hungry?”

Hungry?
“No, thank you. Not yet.”

“Good. Neither am I. What's the matter with you?” He came closer. “Are you going to collapse on me? If you are, let me know and I'll call an aid car.”

She shook her head, shocked by his toughness.

“Take a deep breath,” he said, never moving his eyes from her.

Bleu did her best. Her hands turned icy.

“Another one,” he said. “And another. Do you like the front door?”

She clasped her hands and looked at the door. “Nice.” The next breath came more easily. “It's really beautiful.”

“Sit,” he said, turning a chair around at the table. When she didn't move, he said, “Sit down now, before you fall down.”

She did as she was told and her heart slowed.

Roche walked behind her into the kitchen and turned the faucet on. When he returned, it was with a glass of water and ice. “This'll help,” he said. “Hold it with both hands.”

She drank, letting her eyes close, then rolled the cold glass across her forehead. “Sorry about that,” she said.

“Panic attack,” he said and he wasn't asking her a question. “If you feel it starting up again, warn me.”

“It won't. I'm not good company. I appreciate all you've done to help me, but I'd like to be alone. Tomorrow we'll talk. Forgive me, please.”

He pulled out another chair and sat down facing her. “Not so fast,” he said. “When was the last time that happened to you? The panic?”

“You sound like a doctor.”

“I am a doctor.”

She looked at him. “You're a psychiatrist.”

“I went through the same training as any other doctor and there's nothing wrong with my memory.”

He sounded matter-of-fact, not brusque or judgmental.

“I told you. It hasn't happened for a long time. A couple of years, probably.”

“Do you think it was the fire that stressed you?” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “You dealt with Jim Zachary's death without falling apart. If anything should have made you panic, that was it.”

She wanted to snap back that she wasn't falling apart, but a few minutes ago she had been.

“I'm strong,” she said. “Really I am. I had to be, so I learned how.” Her voice sounded steady enough.

“Uh-huh.”

“It was probably because of everything that's happened today,” she said, not believing a word of it. “Going to see Kate Harper wasn't a good idea. She's upset and not herself.”

“Not herself how?”

She still wanted to share everything with him. “She was with George Pinney, Mary's husband, who looks after her property and Jim's. They were laughing together and it seemed so strange, like Jim wasn't dead and everything was normal. It even upset Cyrus. I saw it in his eyes. Probably wasn't anything, but—” she shrugged “—I think I could make something out of absolutely nothing right now.”

Roche steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Our first instincts are more often right than wrong. I hope it was nothing, but I'm with you—sounds bizarre.”

They stayed where they were, facing each other, their eyes meeting, looking speculative, shifting away. Bleu longed for the strain to break. She needed a storm, the kind that washed away everything in its wake—and in this case, cleared away her doubts about this man she wanted so very much.

“You can let me have it now,” Roche said. “What is it that I thought you'd never find out?”

Bleu sat on her hands and bowed her head.

“Don't hide your face from me,” he said. “You're angry. You don't owe me a thing, but I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know what I've done wrong.”

She popped to her feet and stood there, looking down into his face. “I shouldn't have said anything. There's no reason why I should have. You've never done anything bad to me.”

Very slowly, he drew in a breath. “Just tell me.” He thought he knew.

“Is it true that you did something awful to a woman once?”

Roche slumped. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Like what?”

She turned to walk away, but he caught her wrist and pulled her back. “Sit down,” he said. “We can deal with this, whatever it is.”

“Is it true that you like rough sex?”

Roche flexed his fingers. That wasn't the term he'd expected from her. “Why would you ask me a thing like that? After being with me?”

Bleu sat on the edge of her chair and leaned toward him. “You were sweet. And sexy. I've never felt that way, excited, but…it was right.”

“Who told you I like rough sex?”

“Do you?”

He couldn't look away from her slightly parted lips. “Damn it. I'd like to know who talked to you about it.”

“Answer me.”

She wasn't shrinking. Something about that pleased him. Could be, it excited him, too.

“I'll answer you. The night with you was incredible. I want many more nights like that. Rough sex—no, I don't particularly like rough sex. But I could probably be described as sexually adventurous. Inventive. I get bored and like to try new things. Is that so terrible?”

Her blanched face took on a shiny, almost transparent look. “I don't know what it means,” she whispered.

Anger stirred. “It means I could decide I want to make love standing on my head.” He knew he should give himself time to calm down, but he wasn't Superman. “That wouldn't necessarily mean
you'd
have to be standing on
your
head, but it might.”

She blinked and sucked in the corners of her mouth.

“What do you think about that?”

“I don't,” she told him.

“Who talked to you about me?”

“There was one time that was different, wasn't there?” she said. “A time at Green Veil when…you were seen through the windows in front.”

“Really? Okay, yes. It's a good thing your spy didn't get to see what happened upstairs in the gym before that. The lady was athletic.”

“Don't.” She looked as if he'd grown horns.

“Don't what? Don't tell you what you want to know? You asked. Let me see. We rode exercise bikes that night. I doubt if they'd been ridden quite that way before. Then we used one of the hot mud rooms. Everything gets really slippery—and messy. But who cares about mess in the heat of the moment—so to speak?”

He could see her hold herself stiff and force back tears. “That sounds adventurous all right,” she said with a forced little laugh.

“What happened down in reception afterward was probably a mistake, but she decided we weren't finished yet. If I'd been less…hot?…I wouldn't have let that happen. Anything else you want to know?”

Bleu coughed. “Did you rape her?”

Iced water, doused over him from head to foot, wouldn't have shaken him more. Roche stood up. Vaguely, he wished he hadn't because he didn't want to make her feel threatened, and from his vantage point he could only look way down on her.

“If you have to ask the question, then I must have,” he told her. “How does it feel to be alone with a rapist?”

“I don't think you are,” Bleu said. “But I wanted you to tell me it wasn't true.”

“Like a child,” he said. “Make it all right, Daddy. Tell me it's all sugar and spice and no slugs.”

“Don't.” She raised her hands, curled into fists. “I didn't handle that well, but you're really not handling it well, either. Something happened, Roche, you've already admitted it.”

“And I told you—or I'm telling you now—it was the woman's idea. Only you couldn't even imagine a thing like that, could you? What happened to you? Who damaged you so badly you're terrified of sex? Your dead husband?”

“Stop it!”

He should, and he knew it. But for once he wasn't holding his temper in check. He couldn't believe she doubted him.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

Roche turned his back and put distance between them. His temples pounded. “Are you?” He slammed his fists down on the counter. “Do you believe I would rape a woman?”

“No.”

He could hardly hear her. Again he punished the counter. His hands throbbed.

“Violence frightens me,” she said. “Please don't be angry.”

“Violence?” He looked over his shoulder at her and laughed. “What would you know about violence?”

Her hands fell to her sides. “I know about it,” was all she said.

“I didn't rape her.”

Not technically. Lee had wanted it. She'd come looking
for him and goaded him into having sex with her. And it was sex. What they had done had nothing to do with love.

She came looking for dangerous excitement, but she got a lot more than she planned.

Late that evening

M
adge chafed her arms. The air-conditioning ran in Sig's car, but that wasn't what made her cold. The chill came from inside her body and raised goose bumps on her skin.

Sig had been waiting at St. Cecil's when she got back from Kate's place. He wanted to take her out again, tonight, and looked hopeful enough to make her smile. When she'd started to say she already had plans, Cyrus told Sig that a chicken pie was no reason to give up a night out and she had felt obligated to go with him.

“I like being with you,” Sig said.

“Thank you.”

She knew he was waiting for her to tell him she liked being with him, too. Sig Smith was a decent man. Smart, funny, kind and attractive. What woman could want more?

She did.

“What did you think of the restaurant?” he asked.

Madge had scarcely noticed either her surroundings or what she ate. “Lovely,” she said. He'd taken her to a jazz club in Lafayette where the food had almost as good a reputation as the music.

“You're tired,” he said. “I shouldn't have sprung the invitation on you so late.”

“You're a busy man. Sometimes busy people don't have a lot of time for plannin'.”

He put a hand on top of hers—on her knee. “D'you know, I've never heard you say anything unkind about anyone? And you put everyone else first. It's sweet, but I worry you could get taken advantage of.”

Not pulling her hand away was hard. “Thank you. No need to worry about me. I've been on my own a long time, and I do a good job of looking after myself.”

He patted her fingers and returned his hand to the wheel.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

Madge wanted to be home, shut away, sleeping and not thinking. “If you like.”

“We haven't gotten into anything very personal. I've never been married. How about you?”

She almost laughed. “No. I thought everyone knew that.”

“I don't know the people who would. Have you ever thought of settling down?”

“Not really.” The real answer was too complicated and not something she would share, anyway.

“Why is that?”

Just let me get home.

When she didn't answer, he said, “You don't want to talk about this.”

She shrugged and ran her fingers through her short curls. “I don't have an answer. My life is what it is. We all want things, but we don't all get what we want. I'm happy.”

“Would you consider coming away with me for a weekend?”

On either side of the car, pines rose, dark and dense. Madge frowned. She wasn't a child. And neither was he. These days, what he was suggesting wasn't scandalous.

“Too fast for you?” he said. “I'm sorry. We could have separate rooms. There's a lodge on a lake just out of Pointe Judah. It's not far to go, but pretty and quiet. I thought it might give us a chance to get to know each other better.”

“I don't know what to say.” And she would not lash out and sound like a prude. “With what's happened around the parish, I feel I should be available, if…if I'm needed.”

“Cyrus is lucky to have someone as devoted as you,” he said. “He's a good man, though.”

“Yes, he is.” Her vision blurred.

“Will you look at that?” Sig said. “Those are raindrops on the windshield. It's coming down again. We are having one wet time of it.”

“I like the weather here. But I grew up with it, so it seems right.” Making conversation with him wasn't comfortable for her.

Another ten minutes, and they'd reach the rectory. She could hold on that long, but she didn't see how she could go out with him again.

Not his fault.

Sig took his foot off the gas. “Okay if we stop for a few minutes and talk?”

Talk and what else?
She laced her fingers in her lap.
“That would be nice. Maybe there's a view somewhere around.”

“You're all the view I need.”

Her heart gave a giant thud.

Taking it easy and smooth, he steered from the road to the shoulder, then beneath the trees.

She glanced over her shoulder. They hadn't seen any other vehicles for ages.

Sig turned off the engine.

They both stared ahead.

“I'm not so practiced at this,” he said. “At least, not anymore. I've been so busy establishing myself with my work, I've become pretty solitary.”

“Where did you live before you came here?” she asked.

“On the East Coast. I met the Savage twins back there. Last year, Roche asked if I wanted to come here and work with him, and I thought, what the hell, something completely different.”

She couldn't just tell him to drive on. He was nice, really nice. “And you like it here?”

He looked at her. “Better and better. Look, Madge, I don't think you've led a very…I don't know…social life? You're quiet, at least on a personal level. We've got nothing but time, and we can take it. I guess I'm asking you to give me a chance.”

This was more than she could handle. “We'll have coffee soon,” she said and felt ridiculous. “Vivian Devol—she's the sheriff's wife and runs Rosebank with her momma—she'd be happy for me to have you over one Saturday or Sunday.”

“Nice,” he said in a voice flat enough to let her know “nice” wasn't what he had in mind. “How come you agreed to go out with me that first time?”

She was grateful it was too dark for him to see her much. “Why, I believe you underestimate your charm,” she said. Sometimes you had to try to be what you weren't—for the other person. “You are a nice man. Why wouldn't I agree? And I agreed a second time, remember?”

“I think I'm making you uncomfortable.”

“No! Oh, don't be silly. How could you make anyone uncomfortable, Sig? You're a pussy cat.”

He didn't laugh.

He did undo his seat belt.

Madge sat, straight-backed, in her seat.

“You're wasting yourself,” he said. “I think you know what I mean.”

She shook her head. The thought of getting back to the rectory, climbing into her little car and locking the door beckoned like a valuable prize.

“Cyrus takes advantage of you.”

“He doesn't, Sig. No, absolutely not. You've seen how he encourages me to go out and have a good time.”

Sig settled his hand on the back of her neck. “Of course,” he said, stroking lightly. “I think I'm already getting jealous of Cyrus because he spends so much time with you. Will you think about the weekend?”

“I will. I'll let you know.” Sometimes you had to say whatever it took.

“There are cabins around the lake. I've only driven past, but I did stop to see what reservations were like. Just in case you decide to let me take you, I've got one on hold.”

He thought that after two dates she'd be ready to stay in a lake cabin with him? Was that normal for these times? It wasn't for her.

“There are some trails out from there. We could take a picnic and go hiking.”

“I've never been hikin'.”

Sig took a moment to say, “You're kidding. Madge, Madge, your education needs taking in hand. There's fun to be had out there. Doesn't have to be wild, but you can't miss everything there is to enjoy.”

He was probably right about that.

“We'll see,” she said.

“May I kiss you?”

Madge looked up at him. Her throat had closed, and she breathed through her nose. When he'd taken her out before, he'd kissed her cheek quickly when he took her home, nothing more. That evening had been difficult for her, too.

“You are beautiful,” he said. “I don't know how far I'd have to go to find someone as beautiful but unspoiled as you. You should see your eyes.” He laughed a little. “I don't want to do anything to change you.”

Madge couldn't speak.

Gradually, he brought his face closer. He touched his mouth to hers, softly, without demand.

He smelled nice, fresh, like soap and clean laundry. Appealing.
Close your eyes and give him a chance.

She didn't want to be here. Or with Sig.

His arm slid around her and he pulled them together. Again he kissed her. He had a nice mouth, even if it did feel foreign and she couldn't relax enough to respond.

“Loosen up,” he murmured, pressing his lips along her cheek to her ear. “I'll take care of you.”

Jumpy, fighting down dread, she put a hand on his shoulder.

His breathing speeded and grew heavier. “That's right,” he said. “I won't do more than you're ready for.”

She wasn't ready for anything.

Sig kissed her again. He found her belt buckle and released it so he could take her all the way into his arms. This time he put his tongue inside her mouth. She heard the sound the moisture made, couldn't keep her nose out of the way of his.

He drew his head back and she saw him smile, and the feverish light in his eyes.

This wasn't what she was about. Or perhaps it was, just not with him.

If she was to hope for a full life, she had to get past her inhibitions. Sig wouldn't force her to do something against her will. He was a good man. He'd be a good partner…a good father.

You can't make yourself desire a man just because you want children.

Sig adjusted his weight, leaned over and pinned her. That's not what he meant to do, she told herself, but her mind screamed that if it was, then it was her fault. If she didn't stop him, how could he know what she didn't want?

His mouth was wide open on hers, his tongue reaching. He slid a warm hand up her thigh and rubbed his fingertips in her groin. She gasped, and he kissed her more deeply; he must have thought the sounds she made were of passion.

She didn't have the strength to force up against him. Every move she made increased his excitement. From her groin to her belly, his fingers slid and spread, not hard or painful, but inexorable.

Madge caught at his shoulders and her arms shot forward. There was nothing to grip. Sig made groaning sounds and moved her head hard, from side to side.

He didn't know she wasn't responding.

Panic caught at Madge's throat.

Sig slid a hand between them and inside the bodice of her dress. He held her breast, moved his thumb back and forth over the nipple. It grew hard, and through the panic came horror. Madge screwed up her eyes, hardly able to make out anything of him at close proximity and with almost no light.

Moving shadows, the gleam of skin.

Driving the heels of her shoes into the carpet, using both hands to push as hard as she could, she fought to shove him off. And the instant a hand was free, she slapped him hard across the face.

He leaped away from her.

Madge threw open her door and stumbled from the car.

“Madge! Get back here, now. For God's sake, get in.”

She wouldn't listen to him. The rain grew heavier, warm and thick, and a strong breeze pushed it toward her. Running into the squall, she turned an ankle and cried out. A second's pause and she tossed the shoes away.

This was country she knew—all of it. Without a second thought, she took off between the trees. Rocks, pieces of wood, debris of who knew how many years, tore at her feet. Branches and fallen snags scraped her legs. With her arms thrown out for balance, she kept her face turned ahead and rushed deeper into the vegetation.

Where she needed to go was maybe a mile away, a mile of rough, undergrowth-clogged ground.

“Madge! Please let me take you home.” She heard crashing as Sig plunged between the trees.

The sound of his voice, and his big body coming for her, only made her strides longer. Pain stabbed at her ankle. She heard her cotton skirts rip. Things plucked at her face.

A yell soared out. For all she knew, he'd run into a tree. This was all her fault. She couldn't change a thing now, but she could have back there—if she'd been less of a coward.

“Madge!”

Farther away now. But he must still be coming after her. Of course he was. She could stop, face him, tell him she couldn't be what he wanted her to be.

But what if he wouldn't accept her answer? What if he pressed her again? He might think she would change her mind if he tried hard enough. Men could be like that. She wasn't a complete neophyte.

By instinct, she made a turn to the right. Beneath her feet, she felt a downward slope and half slid, half toppled between fallen trees. Mushiness pushed between her toes. Mud. And probably blood. She didn't care. Instead of running and crashing about, she stepped cautiously until she found a thicket heavy enough to crouch behind and hide.