Into the Storm (17 page)

“Well,” Lindsey said, “I get
hot Asian chicked
more often than
LYFM’d.
I hear
that
ugliness more near the military base.”

He put both arms around her. “I feel like I need to apologize for the entire human race.”

“I accept your apology,” she said, “but you’re not responsible for the Franks of the world. And I do appreciate your nonviolent approach. I once dated this guy, in college, and I’m pretty sure the only reason he went out with me was because he liked getting into fights.”

She had her arms around his waist, almost as if they were slow dancing. Man, but it felt good. “I seriously doubt that was the only reason he dated you.”

“Spoken like a true gentleman.” Amusement danced in her eyes as she stood on her toes and kissed him. On the nose. “I’ve been wanting to do that for about a week now.”

“Thanks,” he said, like an idiot. He should have kissed her back—a real kiss. Instead he just stood there, smiling down at her, caught by the sparkle in her eyes. “You want another drink?” he asked. “Or…?”

“I think I’m ready to go,” Lindsey told him. “And you don’t need to drive me. I’m fine.”

She pulled away from him heading toward the bar where she’d left her jacket, and Jenk knew that this was the moment of truth. The next words out of his mouth were going to define exactly how this evening ended. But as he caught her hand and tugged her back to him, as he looked into Lindsey’s eyes, he had to smile. Define exactly? Probably not. Despite Izzy’s pronouncement, this woman was not a sure thing. She could never be that predictable or mundane.

So he did it. He said it. “In that case, maybe you could drive
me
home.” He’d linked their fingers together, and she now looked down at their hands.

“That depends,” she said. “Are you going to invite me up to see your collection of
Star Wars
action figures?”

“How did you know—” The words were out of his mouth before he realized that she hadn’t known anything. She was, in fact, joking.

Her smile was incredible. “Do you
seriously
have a—”

“No,” he said, but it was too late.

“You do.” Lindsey’s laughter wound around him as she pulled her hand free. “Oh, my God, you’re a
Star Wars
nerd.”

Sometimes complete honesty was the best approach. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I am. Is that a problem for you?”

“Jar Jar Binks,” she said. “Thumbs up or down?”

“Down,” he scoffed. “Give me a break. Although I do have a mint Jar Jar, still in the original packaging. It’s in storage, though. My entire collection is. Except maybe…I think I’ve got a Darth Vader and an X-wing Fighter or two somewhere in my apartment, but it might take me a while to find them.”

“I could help you look,” she said, which made his stomach do a slow somersault.

Yeah, he’d definitely gone into free fall. “I’d like that. Very much.”

Her smile was swift and beautiful. “Then, yes. I’d love to drive you home.”

And there he stood, just smiling foolishly back at her. Except, Jesus, there was more conversation needed. Words that had to be said, even though he had no idea how to broach the topic. God forbid he say anything that would make her change her mind. Although not being completely honest with her would be wrong.

She beat him to it, answering his question of how best to broach the topic. Point-blank, apparently, worked really well.

“That
was
just pickup-joint code, right?” Lindsey asked him. “I did just say yes to you asking me if I wanted to spend the night with you?”

“Yeah,” Jenk said, loving her straightforwardness. Man, she was amazing. “Is that what you thought you were saying yes to? Because it doesn’t have to be. It could just be a ride home. If that’s what you want.”

She was just standing there, gazing at him, heat in her bottomless-pit brown eyes. Finally, she spoke. “I like you.”

Okay. “Yeah,” he said. “I thought maybe you did and…I like you, too. Very much.”

“I’m not good at this,” she told him. “You know, the game, so…I just wanted to verify that your invitation was, um…”

“It was,” he said. “But it doesn’t have to be.” Shit, why did he keep saying that?

She was wondering the same thing. “Is that code for something else that I should know about—”

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

Lindsey nodded. “Neither of us are particularly in the right place for a relationship. I’m not. Of course I’m never…” She waved away whatever it was she’d been about to say. “But right now, in particular, it’s not…I’ve got to bottom line it for you, Mark. I’m not looking for anything heavy.”

“That’s good information,” he said. “I mean, as long as we’re on the same page, we should be okay. Right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I figured, you were…Well, considering you have a thing for Tracy…”

“Yeah,” Jenk said. “About that. It’s not so much of a thing right now.” Considering she was probably with Lyle right this very moment.

Lindsey was looking at him, sympathy in her eyes.

Uh-oh. Was this…?

Jenk picked up her jacket, handed it to her. Finished off the last of his beer, and went point-blank. Why not? If she could do it, he could, too. “So is this, you know, you and me, tonight? Is this like a…” He wasn’t as good at brutal honesty as she was and he had to clear his throat first. But he spit it out because he had to know. “Pity hookup?”

Lindsey laughed—a mixture of surprise and genuine amusement. “Yes,” she said, clearly shitting him. “Because I look at you, and I think, what a shame. He’s funny, he smart, he’s unbelievably ripped and drop-dead handsome, with the prettiest eyes and these adorable freckles that just make me want to bite his nose. And oh, yeah, he’s a Navy SEAL. I feel so,
so
sorry for him.”

Okay, now he was blushing. Did she really think…?

Lindsey took her car keys from her pocket, dangling the ring from her index finger, holding it out for him. “Since we’re going to your place, you want to drive?”

L
OCATION
: U
NCERTAIN
D
ATE
: U
NKNOWN

Number Five remembered her final day of life with remarkable clarity.

She relived it often, sometimes even dreaming about it at night—a temporary escape from the darkness and fear.

Beth—she’d been Beth back then. Beth had slept late, waking at eleven, lazing for another half hour in her bed, in the tiny bedroom that she’d hated since her mother moved into this house nearly twelve years ago, when Beth was fourteen.

She was feeling sorry for herself because John had come into the bar the night before with his new girlfriend. Beth had had to serve them both, which had sucked. She’d started pounding back the gin and tonics herself, and had gotten so drunk she’d ended up leaving her car in the lot. She’d caught a ride home with George Henderson who was cute but married. He’d wanted sex, but she’d been smart enough to say no.

She had let him steal a few kisses, and she was pretty sure he’d had his hand up her shirt at one point. But she’d kept her jeans on.

She finally got out of bed to find some coffee to help her headache, going into the kitchen in her T-shirt and panties, fuzzy slippers on her feet. Her mother had left a note on the kitchen counter.
Make yourself useful,
with a whole list of chores that needed to be done.

Mow the lawn.
Yeah. Snowball’s chance, Ma.

She made herself some toast to eat with the coffee, then wandered out to the mailbox to get the mail, hoping for a magazine to leaf through.

She’d gotten a far bigger prize. A letter from Bobby, from Iraq. It wasn’t more than a few lines, scrawled on a ratty piece of paper, but her brother had sent her a check for a hundred dollars. He’d realized he’d missed her birthday, he wrote. He knew she’d moved back in with Ma, who was garnishing her paychecks to help pay for her car insurance, rent, and groceries while she was living there. This money he’d sent was for Beth to buy something nice for herself.

She’d showered and quickly gotten dressed. Her hair was maintenance free—it would dry by the time she drove over to the mall, except…shoot.

Her car was still over at the Lamplight Inn.

Beth called Jenn and Lisa and even Carleen, who was, on a usual day, the last person she’d call for a ride anywhere. But no one was home.

She’d almost called George, who worked over at the Meijers. She had no doubt whatsoever that he’d drive right over and take her wherever she wanted to go.

Instead, she walked—intending to hitchhike when she hit the state road. Mostly because she knew word would get back to her mother. Lord knows she had to give her
some
thing to bitch about. Besides, that is, Beth’s failure to mow the lawn and live like a saint and settle for marriage to boring Mitch Jeffers and shave her legs without making a mess in the bathroom.

Beth remembered the heat of the sun on her shoulders as she walked. She remembered the clear blue of the sky, the freshness of the late-spring air.

She remembered the crunch of the ground beneath her feet. The hum of the cars that passed—all going in the wrong direction.

She remembered the silence then as the traffic faded away. The rustle of the breeze in the grass, the buzz of locusts and crickets in the growing heat.

She remembered another car passing, again in the wrong direction. But it slowed.

She turned to watch it. A blue Impala, circa the time of the Pilgrims. Still, it wasn’t coughing out black clouds of smoke the way her dying Escort did.

The driver braked to a stop, then did a smooth three-point turn right in the road. And came back toward her.

Well, wasn’t that right neighborly?

She could tell from looking through the windshield that the driver was a man. Not a big surprise.

It wasn’t until he stopped alongside her and lowered the passenger window, leaning across that big bench seat to talk to her that she saw he wasn’t just a man. He was a very well-dressed man.

He wore a business suit and tie, unlike most of the men who lived and worked in this county.

He had dark hair and he wore sunglasses that hid his eyes, but his smile was dazzling. “Need a ride?”

“Just into town.” The car was old, but it was cherry, as Bobby would’ve said. It looked as if it had rolled out of a time tunnel, direct from a dealer’s showroom in 1970.

No doubt about it, this man had money. “Hop in.” Money, but no wedding ring. Which, of course, didn’t mean a thing.

Still, Beth opened the door. Climbed in. Gave him back her best smile. “Thanks.”

“Live around here?” he asked, his accent flat. A Yankee. And older than she’d first thought, but very good-looking.

“All my life,” she told him. “Where are you from?”

“It seems like a nice little town—what I’ve seen of it, anyway.”

“Thinking about moving here?” she asked. “I have a friend in real estate.”

“Is she as pretty as you are?”

Well, well, the Yankee—strange duck that he was—could still bring it. Beth smiled. “Considering she’s a he, and his name’s Fred…no.”

He glanced at her. “Your boyfriend?”

“No,” she said. “I’m between boyfriends. My name’s Beth, by the way.”

“No, it’s not.”

She laughed. “Yeah, okay, you’re right, it’s Elizabeth.”

“No,” he said again. But he was smiling, which softened his words. “You’re Number Five.”

She laughed again, but in truth she was starting to get a little nervous. “And who does that make you? Number Six? No wait, don’t tell me—you’re Double-Oh-Seven.”

“I’m God,” he said.

It was then that he slowed down, pulling off into the old Forrester farm road—overgrown with disuse.

“Okay,” Beth said. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I have to warn you, I was three years in the Army. I teach a self-defense class here in town on—”

“Tuesday nights,” he finished for her. “I know. That’s why I chose you.”

Okay, now she was a lot nervous. He’d pulled far enough in for his car to be completely hidden by the trees, and he slowed even more.

Beth knew these woods, this old farm, this whole area better than any Yankee possibly could. She slipped off her seat belt, ready to run for it. But when she tried to open the door, it didn’t unlatch. It was stuck. Or somehow double locked.

The window wouldn’t go down either.

And now she wasn’t nervous, she was frightened.

“Look,” Beth said, turning to face him as he put the car into park. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, but I do,” he said. “I want to hurt you.”

She turned, putting her back to the door, pulling her legs up onto the seat to kick him. Legs were a woman’s best weapon. The muscles in her thighs packed far more punch than her arms. She knew this. She taught this in her class. She aimed for his head, his face, but he just laughed, telling her awful things he was going to do to her. She screamed as she kicked him. Put voice to your defense—this was something else she taught, along with the need to think, to strategize, to formulate a plan.

Hers was to kick him in the head until he was unconscious, dump him, and take his car to the sheriff’s.

She felt his nose break, saw his blood spray the side window, but when she went to kick him again, her leg felt heavy, leaden.

He’d stuck her with some sort of syringe, right through her jeans. It dangled there, and she reached to pull it free, but it was too late. He’d drugged her, and now her hand and her head felt heavy, too, but she still tried to kick him.

Tried and failed.

His face blurred and then faded, as she heard him laughing.

And that was it. Beth’s life was over.

And this hell that Number Five endured had just begun.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

J
enk should have kissed her back in the bar, back when she gave him her car keys. Now here he was, unlocking the door to his apartment—thank God, the place wasn’t too much of a mess—and he was freaking out about the fact that he hadn’t even kissed her yet.

Lindsey, meanwhile, was looking around, and he tried to see his home from her eyes, even as he surreptitiously kicked his dirty laundry under the sofa.

It was a standard post-1985 American apartment. A box with a cathedral ceiling, since he was on the third floor. The living room elled into the dining area, which had a pass-through to the tiny galley kitchen. The hint of a hall led to the bathroom and single bedroom. He’d decorated the place in standard unmarried Navy SEAL. Blank walls, minimal furnishings, corners filled with unpacked boxes and gear.

“So,” Lindsey said, “you’re either a serial killer or a Tibetan monk.”

Jenk laughed. “Are those my only choices? Maybe I just moved in.”

“Did you?”

A year ago February probably no longer qualified as
just.
“No.”

She took off her jacket, putting it over the back of one of the two folding chairs that, with his new washing machine’s box as table, sat in the dining area.

“Suddenly, I’m terribly nervous.”

“I’m not a serial killer.” Come to think of it, his washing machine no longer qualified as new, either.

Lindsey looked around his kitchen, peering in at the cereal boxes he kept in his microwave—a habit from his Florida days when he’d had ants. “That’s not why I’m nervous,” she said.

“Yeah.” He opened the fridge, mostly to have something to do. “Beer?”

“Sure, why not? Let’s get skunked. Unless…Is there a certain time you’ll want me to leave?”

He popped the tops with an opener, handing one of the bottles to her. “That was a weird question. Do you want me to try to figure out what you meant by it, or should I just ignore it?”

She made an exasperated sound, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “It wasn’t that weird. Some people have rules or their landlords don’t allow overnight guests or maybe they don’t like the idea of their neighbors seeing a strange car in the driveway in the morning…”

“We parked in the main lot,” Jenk pointed out. There were 240 apartments in his complex. Most people living here had one car, some had two. “If my neighbors are keeping track of extra cars, they’ve got too much time on their hands.”

“That was just an example,” she said.

“No, there’s no time by which you have to leave.”

“Good,” she said.

“Good.” This was about as romantic as returning a rented video late and arguing about the fee.

Lindsey, apparently, was thinking the same thing. “So. That’s handled. You want to discuss which position we should do it in? Or should we iron out exactly how many more minutes of awkward conversation we have to endure before I can jump you?”

Jenk cracked up. And reached for her.

But she backed away. “No, no, no. First kiss in the kitchen is so junior year of college.” She was laughing, too, as she slipped out into the living room and opened the sliding door to his tiny balcony.

He followed her outside.

“This,” she decreed, “is a much better place for it.” But she still stopped him at arm’s length with a hand on his chest. “What do you think? A couple minutes of necking out here in the moonlight, then back inside on the sofa for about fifteen minutes of conversation, topic: intimate secrets. If we stick to the schedule”—she glanced at her watch—“we could be in the bedroom and naked in twenty minutes. A half hour, tops.”

Jenk was still laughing as he kissed her.

She made the softest sound, a mix of surrender and pleasure as he took her mouth with his. Her lips were soft and so sweet, and he found himself sighing, too, as he tried to kiss her gently, tenderly—trying his best to provide the romance that the night thus far had been lacking.

It was, without a doubt, a first kiss for the record books. They were both still holding on to their bottles of beer, and despite that, she melted against him, her body a mix of soft and softer, a perfect fit in so many ways, her fingers in his hair, her back and shoulders so smooth beneath his hand.

But then she pulled back, just slightly, just enough for him to have to let her go, and he did, but all he could think about was kissing her again.

She smiled, and looking into her eyes was like gazing into his immediate future. Heat and passion and laughter. This was going to be one hell of a night.

One of the shoulder straps of her emerald green top had fallen halfway down her arm. He traced it with his finger, anticipating helping her out of it, remembering the way she’d looked just a few nights ago, lying in the moonlight with her shirt undone, in that bra that did little to conceal her.

He should have just kissed her then. He’d wanted to.

And it was more than obvious now that she’d wanted it, too.

“Maybe,” she said, “we should rework the schedule. Intimate secrets—only one apiece before getting naked.”

Jenk put down his beer, took hers from her hands, put it down, too.

And this time, she kissed him. She was so alive, so vibrant, kissing her back wasn’t something he did with only his mouth. He breathed her in—wine and sunblock and even the dust and dirt from the op—on Lindsey it mingled together to smell exotic. He touched her, losing himself in the silkiness of her hair and skin, the softness and power of her body as she pressed herself against him, as if she, too, wanted to be rid of all barriers between them. She was not, by far, the most vocal woman he’d ever kissed, but the sounds of soft approval that she made were electrifying. He tasted her—her mouth, her face, her ears, her neck—she was sweetness and salt.

And Jenk realized, in a flash, that even though she’d made her escape seem easy, she’d worked hard out there tonight. As tired and sore as he was, she had to be even more so.

This time he pulled back.

Lindsey opened her eyes, looking up at him questioningly.

“Do you want to shower?” he whispered.

“Do I smell bad?” she whispered back.

He laughed. “No. I just usually shower when I get home from an exercise, and it suddenly occurred to me that you might like a shower, too. Or that you might want me to…”

“I think you smell incredibly sexy,” Lindsey told him.

It was impossible not to kiss her again after she said that, deeper this time, harder. This kiss was way more about sex than romance, but she didn’t seem to mind. They were both breathing hard when she pulled back.

“But if your shoulder’s hurting you…” she said.

“To be honest, I haven’t really thought about it.” Much. He kissed her yet again, damn but he never wanted to stop kissing this woman.

There was real urgency now. She was no longer melting. Instead, she clung to him, no delicate flower, instead a full partner, an equal with a common goal—kissing the breath out of each other. And when she pulled back this time, she was breathing as if she’d sprinted up a flight of stairs.

“A hot shower would help your shoulder,” she told him.

“Right now,” he told her, “you’re all the help my shoulder needs.”

“I’m thinking about how you’re going to feel tomorrow.”

“I’m not,” he said.

Lindsey laughed. “No kidding.” She kissed him, but it was only a quick caress of her lips against his before she slipped out of his grasp. Grabbing her beer, she went back inside, disappearing down the hall to his bathroom. Sure enough, as he closed and locked the slider, Jenk heard the shower go on. He saw his reflection in the glass—he was grinning like a fool. Life was good. He pulled the blinds.

The bathroom door was closed, so he used the opportunity to check his bedroom, kicking more laundry under his bed, quickly stripping the sheets. He had a clean set on the shelf in the closet and it took less than a minute to put them on the bed.

Okay. He had a ceiling fan—he turned it on low. He adjusted the blinds. There was a streetlight not far from his window that threw a cool pattern on the ceiling. He opened the drawer in the table next to his bed, looking for condoms—check—then kicked more laundry and books and hey, look what he found? A couple of video games that he’d borrowed from Danny Gillman that he’d thought he’d lost. Go figure. He kicked it all into the closet and shut the door.

And then he stood there, listening to the water run.

It was crazy, but his heart was pounding. He was sweating. What was he afraid of? That she’d wash away her desire for him in that shower?

But the water finally went off. And the bathroom door opened. Just a few inches.

“Your turn,” Lindsey called.

Jenk stopped just outside the bathroom door. It was possible he was having a heart attack. “May I come in?” Shit, his voice actually squeaked. Way to be cool, Jenkins.

She opened the door wider, wrapped in one of his big blue towels, her hair slicked back from her face. Without makeup, she was even more beautiful. And yes, to anyone who wasn’t looking closely, she probably looked fifteen. But when she smiled, the way she was smiling at him right now, there were crinkles around her eyes that revealed years of laughter and life-induced wisdom.

“Sorry, did you say something?” she asked.

“May I come in?” He managed to sound closer to his real age this time. Not that there was space for him in the tiny bathroom. She’d hung her top and bra over his towel rack. Her jeans were in a pile on the white tile floor. Her jeans, and a scrap of black silk that had to be her panties.

“I made an executive decision,” Lindsey told him as she opened his medicine cabinet and frowned at the contents. “Showers for everyone. Then a backrub. Don’t you have any lotion or oil or…?” There was a bottle of sunblock out on the counter, and she picked it up, squinting to read the ingredients. But then she glanced over at him, still standing out in the hall. “Do you need me to get out of here?”

“No,” Jenk said, propelled into action. He unbuttoned his uniform shirt, shrugging out of it and dropping it in the hall. His T-shirt was a little harder to manage with his shoulder as tight as it was.

Lindsey came over. “Keep your elbow down.”

She helped him out of his sleeve even as he protested, “I’m okay.”

It was a stupid thing to say, because what? Did he really want her to stop touching him? Her hands, her arms were cool as she helped him pull his shirt over his head. She was chilled from her shower, her wet hair almost making her shiver. Without that towel between them, she would slide, cool and clean, against his hot skin.

He reached for her towel—he couldn’t help himself—unable to stand that close without kissing her. Her mouth was cool, too, and she tasted like his toothpaste, minty and clean.

But as her towel fell from her, she broke the kiss, dancing down the hall to his bedroom, a brief flash of naked woman. “Shower,” she commanded as she pushed the bedroom door mostly closed behind her.

Jenk dropped his pants, his belt buckle clattering on the floor. He had his boots, socks, and shorts off and was under the water in less than three seconds. He soaped himself and washed his hair in record time, catching himself laughing. He was just standing there, all alone in the shower, laughing.

He tried to remember the last time he’d laughed this much after he’d gone home from a bar with a woman. It was possible that the answer was never.

He tried to imagine Tracy saying some of the things Lindsey had said to him tonight, and couldn’t do it. It wasn’t that he couldn’t imagine having sex with Tracy, because he certainly could.

It just wouldn’t be this much fun.

The thought made him pause, his hands in his hair.

But the mental image of Lindsey, naked and on his bed, got him moving again.
Tracy who?
He was out of the shower and dripping dry as he ran a comb through his hair, brushed his teeth, sniff-checked his pits. He wrapped Lindsey’s towel around his waist, doubling it in the front. But he still had to hold it down as he left the bathroom.

He stopped himself from pushing the door open with so much force that it would have smashed into the wall. Even though Lindsey probably would’ve laughed at his caveman attitude, he wanted to give her more than immediate gratification. He wanted to do this right.

Whatever the hell that meant. He wasn’t quite sure.

“You coming in?” Lindsey asked, and he pushed the door open. Gently. With his fingertips.

She’d turned on the lamp in the corner, but she’d covered the shade with something blue—a pillowcase. It was a nice effect, softening and dimming the light.

She’d also covered herself with a dress shirt from his closet. It totally engulfed her as she knelt, waiting for him, on his bed. She’d rolled the sleeves up, but they still hung to her slender wrists. She’d buttoned only a few of the buttons, leaving a deep V in the front, where he could see the first soft hint of her breasts. As far as outfits went, it wasn’t very revealing at all. And yet, it was heart-in-his-throat sexy. Far sexier than any risqué lingerie he’d ever seen, both in catalogs and on adventuresome past girlfriends.

“Does it still feel tight?” she asked, and it took him a moment to realize she was talking about his shoulder.

He rolled his arm. “No, it’s okay.”

“Are you lying?”

“A little,” he admitted.

“I can make you feel better,” Lindsey patted the bed. “Lie down. On your stomach.”

“I’d rather lie on my back.”

“I bet that when Commander Koehl gives you an order,” Lindsey said, “you don’t argue.”

He smiled at her. “You’d win that bet.”

“Pretend I’m Koehl.”

“No, thank you.” But Jenk lay down on the bed. On his stomach.

Lindsey straddled him, sitting on his towel-covered butt. He tried to turn around to look at her, but she took his head and firmly pushed it back down. “Relax.” He felt her reach for something, heard the sound of a lotion bottle fart. “I’m using your sunblock,” she told him. It was cold against his back, but her hands felt incredible. “Next time you’re in the drugstore pick up a bottle of baby oil. Or if you want to go fancy-schmancy, you could get massage oil, but you should give it a sniff first—make sure you like the way it smells. God forbid you open it to use it for the first time and it smells like the perfume your mother wears. Way to kill a mood, you know?”