Into the Fire (34 page)

He nodded, laughing a little, a fleeting ghost of Murphy from the past. “Yeah, it was, you know, pretty solidly in the
great
column for me, too.” But he still couldn’t meet her eyes more than briefly, instead glancing over at the fridge.

And that photo of Angelina.

“I would trade all the great sex in the world,” Hannah told him, “every second of it—to have her walk in that door.”

“I know,” Murphy said with another smile that, God, made him look so sad. “But…” He finally held her gaze. “She’s not coming back, Han.”

Hannah nodded, blinking back a rush of tears, turning away to hide it. Or maybe she was trying to hide all of the other emotions that surely shone in her eyes. How could she miss Angelina so much—while so desperately wanting Murphy to touch her again?

He tapped her arm to get her attention, but immediately took his hand away. “Nobody betrayed anybody this morning,” he said. “I don’t feel that way, so you shouldn’t either. And Angelina? If she feels anything at all, she’s probably glad we’ve still got each other, that we don’t have to be alone.”

Murphy reached out and touched the edge of that photograph as he leaned forward to really look at it, and Hannah braced herself. But he didn’t look upset. He didn’t look anything. He just…was.

“This was taken right before we left for the honeymoon,” he realized.

Hannah nodded. She remembered. She’d made the arrangements for a car and driver to take Murphy and Angelina to the airport immediately after the reception. She knew going in that she wouldn’t be able to do it herself, because her plan for the day was to drink until she dropped.

Celebrating. Yee-hah.

Murphy leaned in to look even more closely at the picture. “You’re, like, totally shit-faced.”

He was looking at
her
? “Yeah, well, so were you, bwee.”

But Murphy shook his head. “No,” he said. “I wasn’t. I didn’t want to lose the day, you know? I wanted to be able to remember it. Angel and I got a bottle of nonalcoholic champagne—which really sucked, so we each had a half a glass of the real deal—to toast with. But that was it. We were both present and accounted for.” He gazed back at the picture. “Look at me. I have no idea what’s coming.”

“It’s better that way, don’t you think?” Hannah said.

“I guess.” He touched the photo again, as if smoothing down his own slightly rumpled shirt. “If you’d asked this me about the future, I would’ve talked about saving up to buy a house, about approaching Tommy at Troubleshooters about an idea he had to open another office. I was pushing for Seattle—Ang and I figured we’d be able to talk you into moving up there. She really wanted to live near you. I did, too.” He nodded at her surprise, glancing at the picture again. “We talked about kids, too. Did we want two or maybe three or…” He exhaled hard. “Then everything changed in a heartbeat. Back then I would’ve been sure we’d’ve had a baby by now. Maybe a condo. A solid job with people I admire and respect…Instead?” He laughed again. “I have nothing.”

Hannah nodded. Nothing. Right. “We should get going. We don’t want to be late.”

Murphy caught her arm. “That came out wrong.”

“It’s okay,” she said.

“No, it’s not—”

Her temper sparked and she pushed him, hard, both hands against his chest, which was about as effective as trying to knock over a brick wall.

“Fuck you, Murphy! Where do you get off on deciding what’s okay for me and what’s not? I’m telling you: It’s. Okay. I have
no
misconceptions about what we just did—what it means.” Nothing. It meant nothing.

“It came out wrong,” he said again. “What I meant was—”

Hannah turned away. “You don’t need to explain.”

Murphy grabbed her and spun her to face him. “Don’t turn your back on me!”

He
was mad at
her
? “This conversation is
over.
” She jammed her eyes shut, which was childish, but no way was she going to stand patiently as he made excuses. “I don’t
want
you to explain.” She struggled to get free—but he was holding her too tightly. “Let
go
of me! Or, God, bend me over the kitchen table and give it to me again!
That’s
what I want from you—not your bullshit excuses, and certainly not some lame-ass make-me-feel-better lies!”

“Hannah—”

She kissed him, hard, on the mouth, reaching between them to find him, already heavy, nearly completely hard. “You want to make me feel better?” she breathed as she kissed him again, as he kissed her back as if he, too, couldn’t bear to stand here, so close, without touching her. As if he wanted her again, as much as she wanted him. Blood roared through her veins, as she unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, reaching into his boxers to touch him, stroke him. “Then come on. Make me feel better. God, it felt so good, Murph, and I just want to feel good. I just want—”

He roughly spun her around, her back to his front, pushing her forcefully down. Her hands smacked the bare surface of the kitchen table as she caught herself, as he jerked her pants down her legs.

Hannah didn’t have time to kick off her boots. With her jeans around her ankles, she could barely spread her knees, but that didn’t stop Murphy from ramming himself, hard, inside of her.

“Yes,” she gasped, “God, yes…”

She surrendered her full body weight to the table, trying to open herself without hurting her goddamn ankle, wanting more,
more
even as he thrust himself, long and thick, inside of her again and again and again and again.

“Please,” she breathed, not sure exactly what she was asking for, but desperate to get it.

And Murphy wrapped his arms around her, holding her up off the table, so that her body molded against his, so he could penetrate her even more deeply—yes! He cupped her breast with one hand as, with the other, he reached to touch her.
Yessss
…

She could feel his breath, hot and fast, against the side of her face, and she tipped her head back to touch her cheek to his. He’d shaved during his second shower, just minutes ago, and his face was sleek and smooth. She felt his arms tighten around her, felt the vibration in his body as he shouted words or sounds she couldn’t hear, but it was okay, because she knew that he was coming. She knew she’d made him feel unbelievably good, even if just for this brief moment in time.

And Hannah let go. The noise in her head became music as the world disappeared in an explosion of light and sensation—of pleasure so intense that she, too, felt herself cry out.

But it ended too soon.

It ended, and there they were, breathing hard, collapsed across the kitchen table, with Murphy supporting himself on an elbow and a hand as he kept himself from completely crushing her.

Hannah kept her eyes closed and just breathed. In and out. Breathe. Don’t cry again, like a total idiot. Just breathe.

Murphy finally moved, pushing himself off of the table, pulling out from inside of her.

She let him help her up, finally opening her eyes. She could tell from the way his hand was still on her arm that he was waiting for eye contact, so she gave it to him.

“Your ankle okay?” he asked, his eyes warm with concern and chagrin and too many other emotions she didn’t want to attempt to identify.

“It’s fine,” she told him, focusing on pulling up her jeans, so that he couldn’t say anything more.

Still, he held on to her, as if helping to steady her. And sure enough, when she glanced at him, he said, “Han—”

“That made me feel better,” she told Murphy as, yes, she turned her back on him as she headed for the bathroom to get cleaned up, raising her voice so that he could hear her as she limped away. “If there’s ever any doubt in your mind, just do more of that, okay?”

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

D
ALTON
, C
ALIFORNIA

“L
et’s talk about Murphy, about the day Angelina was shot.”

“I wasn’t there,” Dave told Dr. Heissman. “I didn’t arrive at the scene until long after the ambulance was gone.”

He’d wanted to have this meeting over coffee, in the motel restaurant, but she’d insisted that they talk somewhere more private. Dave knew that the privacy was intended to make him feel comfortable. Emotionally secure. He could weep uncontrollably if need be, sobbing out the pitiful story of his pathetic existence.

Never gonna happen, Doc.

But here they sat, in Sophia’s motel room, in two absurdly uncomfortable chairs over by the window.

Sophia’s suitcase was on the bed, zipped up and ready to go. The room smelled like her, plus Dave could see her through that grimy window, sitting in the shade at the edge of the parking lot, legs curled beneath her, reading a book.

Way to make him super-comfortable, Dr. H.

Or not, he realized suddenly. It was far more likely that she’d chosen to talk here because she knew he would find it unsettling.

Crafty.

“That must’ve been difficult,” Dr. Heissman told him, with her wise-woman sincerity ringing in her carefully modulated voice. “
Not
being there. Hearing about it and wondering, if you
had
been there, would that have made a difference.”

“I didn’t wonder that,” Dave told her. And he hadn’t. At least not actively. “Besides, I wasn’t exactly invited.”

She nodded and made a note on her pad.

Great.

“I don’t have a problem with not being invited to social occasions,” Dave told her. “Let’s not waste our time going there.”

The doctor looked up at him, her eyes brightly attentive through the lenses of her glasses. “Sophia was invited,” she pointed out, “by Kelly Paoletti, who was trying to set her up with one of Tom’s friends.”

Dave sat and looked at her, and she just gazed back at him.

“If that was a question,” he finally said, “I missed the part that was, you know, the question?”

She laughed. She really did have a lovely, sweet smile. “Have Tom or Kelly ever tried to set
you
up with one of their friends?”

“Navy SEALs aren’t exactly my type.” Speaking of Navy SEALs, out the window, across the parking lot, Danny-the-relentless-asshole Gillman had been unable to leave Sophia alone with her book. He stood talking to her now, with that stupidly macho yet typical-SEAL, deck-of-the-SWCC-boat, legs-spread stance.

“Have they ever tried to set you up with one of their non-SEAL friends,” Dr. Heissman clarified.

“No,” he said as he dragged his gaze back to the doctor. “They haven’t. Why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask me—although how it pertains to Vinh Murphy, I don’t have a clue.”

She tapped the eraser end of her pencil against her pad as she gazed at him. “What is it that you think I want to ask you?”

“Why don’t you ask it, and we’ll see if I’m right?” Across the parking lot, Dan Gillman sat down in the grass, next to Sophia, as she nodded, listening to him talk. Gillman’s tall, dark, and handsome was a perfect complement to Sophia’s delicate china-doll beauty. Anyone passing by would remark,
What an outrageously attractive young couple.
Dave felt his blood pressure start to rise.

“You’re used to being right, aren’t you, Dave?”

“I’d prefer it if you called me Dr. Malkoff,” he said. “Dr. Heissman.”

She smiled with what looked like genuine amusement as she tapped her pad again. “I’d expected this kind of…vaguely hostile evasiveness from Lawrence Decker,” she said, “but not from you.”

Dave laughed and started to applaud. “You
are
crafty. Way to twist me even tighter. Compare me to Decker.
Very
nice.”

“Is that really what you think this is?” she leaned forward to ask, her notepad and pencil momentarily forgotten. “Me trying to twist you up?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “I’ve done interrogations, and you’re obviously a pro. Not as good as I am, but…Top notch, ma’am.”

“I assure you, this is not an interrogation,” Dr. Heissman said. She gestured to the room around them. “Certainly not an enhanced one. No waterboard.”

“Not funny.” Outside, Sophia laughed at something Danny said.

“You’re right, torture’s extremely not funny. I apologize. Let me try again: This conversation we’re having is not meant to bring you pain.”

“And yet…” Dave said.

“Why don’t you like being compared to Decker?” she asked, jumping right back into it.

“Was that what you were doing?” he countered. “Comparing me to Deck? Or not-so-gently reminding me that I’m perceived to be almost his total opposite?”

“Decker’s a mess,” she told him.

Dave sat back in his seat, surprised. “Are you really allowed to tell me that?”

“It’s not an official diagnosis,” she said. “It’s an observation. Do you disagree?”

“No. In fact, I came here today to give you information that I know he’d never tell you himself,” Dave said. “I happen to believe he’s a
complete
mess, and very much in need of help.”

“Then I would think you’d appreciate being perceived as ‘almost his total opposite,’” she said, quoting his own words. “Assuming that’s true.”

“It is,” Dave said. “Along with the fact that his being a complete mess adds to his allure.” Outside the window, Danny leaned over and kissed Sophia—chastely, on the cheek. That was new.

“Not to your boss,” the doctor said, as Sophia smiled up at Dan, who stood and bade her farewell. That was new, too.

Sophia returned to her book, as Dan went to Lopez’s little hybrid and pretended to clear trash from the backseat. He was really just looking for a reason to linger there in the parking lot, so he could sneak looks at Sophia. Who really did look quite lovely, with her blond hair shining in the dappled afternoon sunlight.

“I’m talking about…among women,” Dave said.

“Ah,” Dr. Heissman said. “Women. And…
women
don’t find you alluring?”

Enough. “No,” Dave answered. “She doesn’t.
She
being Sophia. Let’s cut the crap. It’s not like you don’t know. I’m…infatuated with Sophia, who finds me about as alluring as a ham sandwich.”

“Hah,” Dr. Heissman said. “It only took me twelve minutes to break you.”

Dave looked at her.

“I’m kidding,” she said. “That was another inappropriate interrogation joke. If you were me, Dave, what would you write on my notepad right now?”

“Patient has a firm grasp of reality,” he answered.

“Maybe a little too firm,” she said. “Reality can be fluid. It can change.”

“The way it changed for Murphy,” he asked, “when Angelina died?” Those three words,
when Angelina died
still made his throat feel tight, made the backs of his eyelids ache.

“That’s terrifying, isn’t it?” she agreed quietly. “How quickly tragedy can strike? Especially for a man of science like yourself. You know what you know, and you know that you’re right, except a madman pulls the trigger on a rifle and, boom, your reality is instantly altered. But if it can happen with tragedy, with bad things, doesn’t it make sense that it can also happen with good?”

He sat there, silent.

“But when something like Angelina’s murder happens,” the doctor told him, “it’s human nature to assume a bunker mentality. Let’s shore up our defenses and put up our guard so that when something like this happens again—when, not if—we won’t be blindsided. Problem is, we become so risk averse, we cut ourselves off from the potentially dangerous things that could bring great happiness and joy. We stop taking chances, and without those sometimes risky chances, there’s no way we can win big. Our best case scenario becomes losing not
too
badly.
At least no one died
becomes our mantra. Yes, we’re trapped here in this prison that we’ve made, where we can’t possibly be happy, but at least we’re not devastated by our loss and our grief.”

“You think I don’t take chances,” Dave said.

“Do you?”

“With my career?” he countered. “All the time.”

“With your personal life,” she said.

Dave was silent, and she added, not unkindly, “Do you even have a personal life?”

“Of course I do,” he said, a tad defensively. “I have parents. I visit them, every year. I…read. Quite a lot. I…”

She sat there, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s personal,” he said. “That’s why it’s called a personal life.”

“Girlfriend?” she asked.

He shot her a look.

“Maybe if you took more chances,” she said, “your suitcase would be on that bed, next to Sophia’s.”

“I doubt it,” Dave said testily. “I’m not enough of a mess.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Dr. Heissman said. She took a file from the briefcase that was sitting on the floor beside her chair. She opened it, glanced through it, then said, “Let’s talk a bit about Anise Turiano, aka Kathy Grogan.”

Oh,
Christ
…

“No,” Dave said flatly. “I’m here to talk to you about Decker. About an incident that happened, with Sophia, while they both were under a great deal of stress in—”

“Kazbekistan,” she finished for him. “I know all about it.”

“From Sophia?” Dave said. “Because Decker’s version of the story is different.” He corrected himself. “The facts are the same. It’s the interpretations of those facts that are miles apart. Decker calls it rape, Sophia calls it just another blow job.”

Dr. Heissman still held what had to be Dave’s Personal Hell file on her lap, but she’d closed it.

So Dave kept going. “Sophia thought Decker was a mercenary who would tie her up and drag her back to some very bad men who wanted to cut off her head. Decker thought Sophia was an agent for those same bad people, and that her knowledge of his presence would put his entire team—myself included—into serious danger. Sophia did what she did, and Decker, possibly to see if she’d reveal any helpful information, let her. But what she revealed was that she was terrified enough to try to kill him.

“As an impartial third party—” He broke off because of the look she gave him. “I
was
impartial at the time. I remember Deck coming back to the house where the team was staying and I’d never seen him that upset—and it wasn’t because he’d almost just died. But okay. Obviously, everything worked out. Everyone’s true identity was revealed, apologies were made. Decker not only finds Sophia again, but he saves her life, and she turns around and helps save ours.

“Years pass, during which he loans her a substantial sum of money and he helps her get a job at Troubleshooters. Sophia works hard to heal from the traumas of the past. She’s amazing, by the way. And I’m not the only one who believes that. But somewhere down the line, she fancies herself in love with Decker—who can barely look at her without flinching.

“It’s not because he thinks that
she
thinks he took advantage of her or raped her or whatever he wants to call it to compound his guilt. She’s made it very clear that she forgave him completely—
and
that she forgave herself, too.

“No,” Dave continued. “In my opinion, the bottom line is that Decker let himself get, well,
serviced
by a woman that he thought was a prostitute. I believe that’s really what his guilt is about. It doesn’t matter who Sophia really was. It doesn’t even matter to Deck that her goal at that moment was to kill him. He can’t see past the fact that he didn’t stop a whore—his perception in the moment, true or not—from unzipping his pants.

“He had a moment of weakness and he made an extremely human mistake. You accused me earlier of wanting always to be right. That’s absolutely correct. But when I’m wrong—the few times it’s happened—and yes, that was a joke, Doctor. When I’m wrong, I tend to be exceedingly wrong, and it’s happened far more than a few times, but, here’s the thing? I admit it and move on.

“Decker hasn’t been able to do that. He’s a good man. An honorable man, with extremely high morals and principles—who now knows the truth about himself. That when push came to shove, he went for the cheap sex. And Sophia’s his constant reminder. His hair shirt, if you will. For some completely screwed up reason, he doesn’t
want
to forgive himself. He wants to wallow in his sins.”

Dave signaled that he was finished by crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair, but Dr. Heissman didn’t say anything. She just looked at him.

“It must be hard for you,” she said when she finally spoke. “Loving Decker so much.”

Dave laughed. “Oh, please,” he said.

“I’m not suggesting that you’re gay,” she countered. “There are all types of love besides the romantic, sexual kind, and you know it. What I probably should have said was
It must be hard for you, loving them both so much.
Wanting them to be happy.”

He nodded. “Yes,” he admitted. “That’s been very hard.”

“What about you, Dave?” the doctor asked. “When do you get to be happy?”

Interesting question. Dave looked out the window at Sophia, who turned the page in her book. But then she looked up, as if startled.

A car had pulled into the parking lot and the driver practically stood on the brakes. It finished squealing to a stop and a woman got out from behind the wheel and slammed the door shut.

“I am done,” she shouted, loudly enough for Dave and Dr. Heissman to hear her through the window. “I am
done
with your
bullshit
!”

It was Tess Bailey. Dave had never seen her so apoplectic.

Who was she shouting at?

One guess. And yes, James Nash opened the passenger side door of the car and got out. Whatever he said to her over the roof of the car was too soft for Dave to hear, but his body language was an odd mix of apprehension and resignation.

“Excuse me,” Dave said to Dr. Heissman. “I think I better…”

She nodded, slipping his file back into her briefcase. “Go. I’m right behind you.”

S
ACRAMENTO
, C
ALIFORNIA