Runaway (10 page)

There were a few adults in camp who had talked to her about what life was like for them before they came to Idaho. The stories and photos in the magazines made her realize she’d still had only the smallest glimpse of the world around her. From then on, she found ways to pilfer discarded newspapers and magazines from the ranch.

For the first time in ages, Jan wondered if her father were alive. She wasn’t absolutely sure where her bullet had hit him. She’d aimed for his chest, but he was zigzagging toward her when she’d fired. The shot didn’t necessarily kill him. It took him down, which is what she wanted. If he wasn’t dead, was he still in Idaho? Still in the middle of nowhere? Did a middle of nowhere still exist in this day and age?

Jan clicked through the pages of one particularly polished website offering registration for militia training weekends held throughout the year. Some were general and geared to recruit-level participants. Others were highly specialized. Advanced Scout, Art of Camouflage, Tracking and Counter-Tracking, Advanced Urban Escape and Evasion, Off-Grid Medical Care, and on and on. There were several sniper courses. She could easily see why a teenager would think this all sounded pretty exciting. Jan guessed she had a better chance of finding Maddy in Michigan than in the Chicago area. If she was as disdainful of the government as her paper implied, then it made sense she’d run toward the people who at least loosely agreed with her views. There wasn’t anything else Jan could find that hinted at where she might be.

*

Jan parked in front of the Vin en Rose, a storefront bar tucked into the middle of a row of small businesses on a residential block. It had a smoked glass window and a neon sign: two female symbols and two wine glasses linked together in a chain. Inside was an array of tables in front and a glittering bar stretching along the back wall. It was fairly early on a Friday night. A group of four women sat at the only occupied table, and a few women were at the bar, one of whom sat away from the others. She was perched sideways on her tall chair with a book in hand and her long legs crossed at the knee. Jan saw the white streak in her hair and thought that either Susan Sontag had come back to life to drink in the Vin en Rose, or Catherine had found the only remaining lesbian bar in Chicago. One seemed as unlikely as the other. Before she could dodge back out the door, she heard Catherine’s unmistakable low voice.

“Jan!”

There was no escape. Jan crossed the room toward the bar, feeling as if she were being pulled in by a fishing rod with heavy tackle. Catherine reached her hand out and pulled Jan the rest of the way in.

“My God, I was beginning to wonder if there were any lesbians in this town,” Catherine said. There was a nearly empty bottle of wine on the bar in front of her “I should have guessed that the only interesting woman to walk through the door would be you.”

Jan glanced around to check whom Catherine was comparing her to. The others looked like perfectly respectable lesbians to her.

“Have a drink and keep me company. I’ve about worn out Diane here.”

Jan glanced at Diane behind the bar, whom she’d known for years. Diane raised her eyebrows almost imperceptibly.

“Beer?” Diane said.

“Yeah. And whatever Catherine’s having.”

Catherine smiled broadly and turned to Diane. “Just a glass this time, thank you.”

Jan pulled the barstool next to Catherine out of the way and stood, thinking she was either the luckiest or unluckiest woman in the world. She resigned herself to seeing which it would be.

“I was just on my way home and thought I’d stop in for a drink,” she said. “The last person in the world I expected to see is my new boss.”

“Please do not utter the word ‘boss.’ I loathe it. Anyway, I didn’t come in here to talk about work.”

Jan took a long drink from the cold glass of beer Diane set in front of her. Catherine was wearing the clothes she had on at the office, but now her suit jacket was draped along the back of her chair and the silk blouse was unbuttoned low enough to show a bit of cleavage. Catherine appeared to be in her mid-forties, but her breasts appeared to be in their mid-twenties. Jan wondered if she’d have the opportunity to examine whether that was the result of good genes, good lingerie, or good plastic surgery.

Then she took another long drink. “What did you come in here for?” she said.

“Hmm. How should I answer that?” Catherine poured the last of the wine from her bottle and sipped. “I could say that this is close to where I’m staying, but I’m in a downtown hotel.”

“Then you must have read about this place in your book,” Jan said, pointing to the travel guide in front of her.

“You’re exactly right, and now both of our secrets are out.”

Jan’s glass stopped midair. “What secret are you talking about?”

Catherine smiled. “That you’re gay, of course. But I’m dying to hear about your other secrets.”

“I don’t make a secret of my sexuality,” Jan said. “But I don’t advertise it, either.”

“Clearly, you don’t need to.”

Jan thought she heard Diane snort as she rubbed down the bar nearby.

“Now tell me all about yourself.”

“What would you like to know?” Jan said. The woman was her boss, no matter what she might say, and she was also obviously flirting. Jan wasn’t sure how to play it.

“Whether you’re attached, of course. Surely you must be.”

“No, not attached.”

“That’s excellent,” Catherine said, waiting for more. Jan sipped her beer. “Let me ask you something a little more open-ended, and see if I can get more than five words at a time out of you.”

“You don’t like the silent type?” Jan said. That was flirting, she cautioned herself.

“Oh, I do. I’m just so terribly sick of my own voice right now. All those meetings today.”

“Ask away, then. I’ll try to help you out.”

Catherine drank more. She may have been tipsy. It was hard to tell from her throaty voice and precise diction. But there was the empty bottle of wine.

“Tell me how you spend your time. When you’re not investigating missing persons and the like.”

Jan hated being asked to describe what her life was like. She found it strangely depressing when she put it in words. “You’ll be happy to know that you’ve inherited a workaholic.”

“You Americans seem to revel in working too hard.”

“I’d say that’s one of those myths that isn’t based on reality. I see a lot of people who find all kinds of ways to work as little as possible.”

“But you’re not one of them. In fact, I suspect you’re unlike most people,” Catherine said.

“You’ve known me less than a day. How could you say that?” Jan turned to her beer.

“I’m sorry,” Catherine said, looking sincerely concerned. “Did I insult you somehow? I just meant that in the best way. You’re clearly, at least to me, a person of integrity. Of all the people I met today at TSI, you’re the only one who seemed more concerned about doing the job than keeping a job.”

Jan shrugged. There wasn’t much to say to that. They were silent for a moment.

“So go on,” Catherine said. “You can’t work twenty-four seven. Not really.”

Jan sighed. “Let’s see. I work out at the gym.”

“Yes. I can see that you do.”

Where to go with this, Jan wondered. Catherine wasn’t shy; that was obvious. It didn’t really matter what they were talking about. The words were the thin veneer covering the single question on both of their minds. Would they or wouldn’t they have sex?

“And I read. See friends. Drink some.”

“Here’s to that.” Catherine beamed. She took up her glass and touched it to Jan’s. “And here’s to a very mysterious woman.”

“I’m not mysterious. I just don’t have much to tell you.”

“Yet. I have a feeling we’ll be getting to know each other better.”

Jan was usually not much intrigued by obvious flirtation, or by women who came on too strongly. She preferred the feeling of control when she picked a person to pursue. She felt freer to also choose to leave when their time together was up. The fact that Catherine was flirting and coming on to her strongly didn’t dampen her interest in the least, which was a first. She worried about that.

“Tell me about yourself,” Jan said. “Fair’s fair.”

Catherine’s knees brushed along Jan’s thighs as she swiveled her barstool toward her. Jan backed away and sat down.

“Let’s see. Raised in London, mum and dad both doctors. Didn’t see much of them, but we were happy enough. My sister, Elaine, is married and lives near Brighton, poor thing. I went to Cambridge and did a masters in information technology and economics.”

Catherine seemed to change her mind about what she was about to say and stopped talking.

“Did you go to work for CGS right after school?” Jan asked.

“No, actually. I worked for the government for quite a long time.”

Jan waited for more. She thought Catherine looked a little less sure of herself than she had moments before. She put her hand lightly on Catherine’s forearm. She felt it jump.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, you know. We’re just making small talk.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Catherine asked. “I was rather hoping it was something a bit more.”

Jan stared at her lips as she spoke, concentrating more on how they looked than what they were saying. They were luscious lips and she watched them curl into a smile

“Tell me what you think we’re doing,” Catherine said. She reached over to take Jan’s hand.

“A second ago I would have said we were talking. Now I’d say we’re playing with fire.” Jan wrapped her thumb around the top of Catherine’s hand and lightly rubbed; she could see the little hitch in her breath. Catherine’s eyes glittered as she leaned closer to Jan.

“Because I’m technically your boss? I think Americans are much more hung up on what two consenting adults do than even the British. If we were in France, our clothes would already be off.”

Jan looked around the room. “Well, I’m not French. But I’m not concerned about you being my boss either. Not if you’re not. Anyway, you live in London, right?”

“Yes.” Catherine now had a hand on Jan’s thigh, matching the rubbing motion Jan was making on her other hand. It had taken nothing more than the sight of Catherine to flip the switch on Jan’s libido and start the march of caution out the door. Now she was unbelievably turned on. All that rubbing

“So you’ll be gone soon and we can’t really get into too much trouble.”

“Well, I’d like to get into a little trouble,” Catherine said.

Catherine leaned in for a kiss. As Jan met her lips her thinking stopped, mercifully, and her tongue found Catherine’s. A first kiss was often such an awkward thing. When teeth clanked and heads moved the wrong way and tongues felt more at war than love, Jan often felt her desire slip away. But Catherine’s mouth pressed into hers as if precision fit for it; the kiss felt like the flame of a match strike—instantly flaring and white hot. When Jan pulled away at last, she kept Catherine’s face in her hands and whispered, “My car. Your hotel.”

“Yes. And quickly.”

*

Catherine was staying at the Ritz-Carlton, an uber-luxury hotel in the heart of Chicago’s Magnificent Mile. Jan fought her way through the Friday night traffic on Michigan Avenue, trying to concentrate while Catherine’s hand moved up and down her thigh.

“We’ll get in an accident if you keep that up.”

Catherine’s laugh was musical, like her voice. The cello, the bow, the thrum. Jan began to turn left on Pearson Street, completely missing the sign warning that left turns were on the arrow only. Pedestrians poured into the Pearson crosswalk, stranding her in the intersection as a cavalry of cars barreled toward them on Michigan. Horns erupted as she blocked their passage.

Catherine removed her hand. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll restrain myself.”

The Ritz valet took her keys and Jan followed Catherine through one lobby, up an elevator, through another enormous and lavish lobby and up a second elevator. She trailed her silently down a long hall. The journey seemed to take forever. Her mind sagged into the certainty that the excitement of what was happening now would soon be replaced with sorrow when Catherine backed away. Not tonight, necessarily, but as soon as she found that Jan was…what? That Jan was Jan. Or that Jan wasn’t Jan. She’d always assumed that letting anyone know she wasn’t Jan would be a surefire end to any relationship, budding or otherwise. But being Jan seemed to do the trick all on its own.

The hotel room looked directly east over Lake Michigan, the carnival lights of Navy Pier drawing Jan’s eye from the dark, endless water. As she stood at the window, Catherine approached her from behind and wrapped her arms around her waist.

“I fear you’ve gone from feeling to thinking,” she said. “I can see it in your forehead. No good comes from thinking in these situations, you know.”

She slowly turned Jan around and laced her hands behind her neck. “My mind is quite blank at the moment.”

How wonderful that must be, thought Jan. Then she leaned in and kissed Catherine, determined to kick-start the arousal that she’d lost somewhere during the long journey from car to room. The kiss deepened as she cradled Catherine’s head, held her close with the other hand low on her hip. They were in no hurry to move.

She had no memory of kisses like this. She’d kissed many women, usually with great pleasure, but always with some impatience to move things along to the next step. She felt she could kiss Catherine all night. But soon their bodies demanded more. She took her by the hand to the enormous bed, already turned down for the night. She unwrapped one of the chocolates lying atop the pillows, put it in Catherine’s mouth, and started undressing her. Catherine made mewling sounds as Jan worked her way down, freeing the beautiful breasts from her bra (good genes), removing the skirt, the hose, the panties. Then she lay Catherine down on the sheets and stripped off her own clothes, draping herself over her, kissing her again and tasting the chocolate. She began to explore the glorious body; the full breasts, the slightly rounded stomach, the curve of the hip over the long and beautifully shaped legs. Jan moved to one side and ran a hand up and down, from knee to nose. Catherine’s breathing was starting to sound hungry. Jan was hungry, too.