The Heart Heist (20 page)

She was standing by one of the cedar wood cabinets in the living room, dead to everything but the framed eight by ten photograph, one of several that sat on top of the cabinet. It was a family picture Elaine was regarding with such sober concentration, one Kerrin had bugged Matt and her parents to go all the way into Bishop to sit for last year. It was okay, as far as family pictures went. That is, no one had their eyes closed and everyone was wearing a semi-decent smile. But Elaine was staring at it as though it were the Mona Lisa.

"Elaine?" This time he made sure to keep his voice soft and polite. Nevertheless, Elaine started violently as she turned to stare at him.

All at once Matt knew who Elaine reminded him of: the deerlike timidity, the widened, innocent eyes. The realization roughened his voice as he asked, "You like the picture?"

Elaine turned her gaze back to the photograph, clearly grateful for an excuse to turn her gaze away from Matt.

It couldn't be
, Matt told himself. It had to be the usual reason, because she thought he was a freak, because she found looking at him uncomfortable.

She gave a tiny nod in the affirmative. "I sure wish I had a picture like this of my baby sister, Janet. The boys..." Elaine lifted her shoulders. "No way on earth I could get them to sit still long enough for anyone to snap a photograph, though I'd like one of them, too."

"This photographer in Bishop has a special every few months," Matt told her. "It's not that expensive. And I'll bet he knows a few tricks to keep the boys still."

With her eyes steadily fixed on the photograph, Elaine gave a wistful sigh. "My Dad would never let me."

Trying an experiment, Matt wheeled a few feet closer. Elaine didn't step away, but she did wrap her arms in a protective manner around her waist. Her glance hit him briefly and then skipped to the side.

No
. But Matt felt a growing amazement.
It wasn't possible
, he tried to tell himself. He must be making this up, reading things into her behavior that didn't exist. Just because his sister Kerrin acted this exact same way around Gary didn't mean --

"I don't want to make you mad again," Elaine now said to Matt, a light flush rising over her fair face. "But if you're...I mean, can I clean your room
now
?"

"I already took care of it." Matt had no problem at all keeping his own gaze focused on Elaine. Making a close study of her reactions was suddenly the most fascinating activity in the world. "And Elaine, I want to apologize for flying off the handle at you. You hadn't done anything wrong."

"That's okay, Matt." Elaine's voice sounded a little breathy as she brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "You didn't really 'fly off the handle.' I just...overreacted."

"Well, maybe I overreacted myself," Matt admitted ruefully. "I guess I'm used to my bedroom being my own private space. Listen, maybe you and I could make a deal."

Alarm flared in her eyes. "A deal?"

"Yeah. You let me clean my own room -- and I won't tell a soul."

"Oh, I don't know, Matt. Kerrin's paying me..."

"Whatever Kerrin's paying you, it's worth it to her to have my room cleaned, whether you do it or I do. C'mon. Deal?"

Elaine had enough brains to know when she was fighting a losing battle. "Oh, all right. Deal."

"Great." Then Matt, still experimenting, held out his hand.

Elaine regarded Matt's hand with clear apprehension. As Matt waited for her to make up her mind his stomach twisted sickly. Was Elaine's apprehension coming from the discomfort of touching a guy who didn't have real legs, or did it come from somewhere else?

Elaine reached out a hand, tentative and uncertain. Matt's sick stomach twisted yet further. Who was he kidding? She was scared of him as a monster, simple as that.

Then her hand slipped against his, silky-satin. Matt found himself closing his strong hand around her so much smaller one. Gray eyes flicked up to meet his for one raw, shocking moment. Matt felt excitement of a kind he'd never known before zigzag through him.

And then, before he could properly assess whether or not Elaine was feeling the same excitement, the girl snatched her hand out of his. She took a step back, avoiding his eyes like poison, and then ran off, in the general direction of the laundry room.

Matt looked after her.
I either just had my first experience with sex, or I managed to completely freak out that harmless little girl.

Which one was it?

Matt had the unfortunate feeling that nothing Gary was going to teach them in class would provide the answer to that burning question.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Gary put down the sander and reached from his position on the back porch for the towel he'd thrown over the rail. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, then picked up the sander again, trying not to pay attention to how little progress he'd made in scraping the old paint from the porch.

It was a quixotic undertaking, taking off the faded, peeling paint. Gary wasn't going to be around long enough to enjoy the benefits of his work. Hell, he probably wasn't even going to be around long enough to finish the job at the rate he was going. Gary stepped up his pace with the sander. He'd like to get at least one job done right around here.

Every night over the last week he'd searched the area around the DWP facility for that tunnel. At first he'd wanted to be systematic about it, but he'd soon realized that a systematic method wasn't going to find him the tunnel before Columbus Day.

So, instead of sweeping the vast acreage around the DWP in yard-width swatches, he'd sat and done what the FBI was paying him to do. He'd thought. He'd thought as hard as he could about where he would put that damn tunnel if getting into the DWP facility were the dearest thing to his heart. So far he hadn't had a rat's worth of luck.

He could be wrong about the tunnel. Gary set his jaw and scraped harder at the stubborn old paint. He couldn't afford to be wrong.

The sun beat down on his bare back. He was getting hot, frustrated, and quite frankly, scared. Gary reached for the pack of cigarettes on the floor next to him. He'd cut back on his smoking. After the first day of class he'd realized that a man teaching about health couldn't light up in front of the kids. And then once he'd moved in here he hadn't wanted to stink up the inside of the house. He was getting mighty persnickety, for a con.

It has to be someone in town
. The unpleasant refrain jangled once again, tugging at the fringes of his concentration. He
hated
thinking that. It just
couldn't
be. Nevertheless, he'd made a point of meeting every single person who lived in or around this burg. There wasn't a single one of them he could imagine doing such a thing.

With two notable exceptions.

Gary accidentally ran the sander over his finger and cursed, hastily pulling his hand up and shaking it. That's enough for today, he decided, rising from the floor with a groan. Picking up the sander and the towel, Gary brought both back into the house with him.

The house was dark and cool. Elaine had brought over some dried eucalyptus leaves the other day and stuck them in an old glass vase. They gave the place a nice, fresh smell. Throwing the sander in the kitchen and the towel in the utility room next to it, Gary began stripping off the rest of his clothes.

Two exceptions.

One was Elaine's old man, Bill Gerard. He was nasty enough to blow up the whole town, his own miserable trailer included. But frankly, he didn't have anywhere near the brains, nor did he have the means to have travelled over hell and gone blowing up the other stuff.

That left the other exception. Tom Horton. He had the brains. No doubt about it. Worse yet, he had experience with bombs -- big, sophisticated bombs. But it was impossible. Gary just couldn't make himself imagine Kerrin's father deliberately destroying anything.

Gary tossed his jeans into the same pile of clothes as the towel and stood for a moment with his hands on his hips. No, Tom Horton couldn't even bring himself to destroy the reputation of one completely undeserving con -- yours, truly.

Naked, Gary strolled through his house to the single, tiny bathroom. Neither the bathroom, nor the rest of the house looked tiny to him, though. After living, sometimes doubled up, in a space half the size of his kitchen, the Wilson house felt like the Taj Mahal. And the privacy -- the ability to walk around without somebody watching you every minute of the day -- it was an indescribable pleasure.

Reaching into the glass shower stall, Gary turned on the spray. He frowned as he waited for the water to heat up. Nothing about Tom Horton made sense, though. How did he know who Gary was? Better yet, why was he keeping mum about it? The only way Gary could figure it, Kerrin must have spilled the beans to him.

Gary stepped into the shower and washed off, feeling suddenly and unaccountably rushed. When he got out, he chose one of his better pair of slacks to wear, an olive-green cotton with a crisp pleat. As he pulled on a casual short-sleeved shirt of olive, red, and gray he realized he was on his way to see Kerrin. Kerrin would provide the antidote to all the tensions and insecurity that were messing around with him this afternoon.

Gary didn't stop to question why or how this was so as he dropped into the driver's seat of his white car. He probably should have taken a minute to step back and note that his need for the woman had gone way beyond the mere physical, that he was letting himself become vulnerable in ways he'd never allowed before.

He knew he should think about that, but he didn't.

~~~

"Oh, she's up at the array," Allyce Horton told Gary, answering his knock at the front door. She clucked her tongue knowingly. "Checking up on Dr. Bothmann, you understand."

Gary frowned.
Bothmann?
Oh yes, he remembered just who that was, the Harvard professor. Talons of fear dug into him. "Bothmann," he asked, "is here?"

"Didn't finish his footage last winter," Allyce informed Gary, as though this odd statement meant anything. "And Tom doesn't know how to say 'no' to anybody. Why don't you go on up? I'm sure you can find her."

"Thanks," Gary replied hoarsely. "I'll do that."

Gary ate up the path to the array in leaps and bounds. He paused just before the top to catch his breath. Bothmann the Harvard professor. Here now.
Shit!
Couldn't the man own the decency to wait until after Columbus Day, when Gary would be back in Chino, back in cell block eight, and all of this a dreamlike memory? Couldn't he have waited to give Gary a
fucking chance
?

With his breathing back to normal, Gary finished the trip up the path and found them at the far side of the array. Tom was pulling one of the copper leaves to the side, explaining something about the wires snaking around underneath it. A man with brilliant gold hair was filming Tom's explanation with a fancy-looking video camera. He was a tall man, built like a magazine model, lean and perfect. His deceptively casual clothes were expensive and also perfect.

Kerrin sat on the ground to one side in a pair of shorts, her arms wrapped around her upraised knees and a dark, disapproving scowl on her face. She was definitely not a happy camper.

Kerrin noticed Gary first. The scowl on her face transformed instantaneously to anxiety. Remembering the outrageous promise he'd made her the last time they'd been alone together, here in this very spot, Gary could only suppress a groan of self-disgust. Undoubtedly Dr. Victor Bothmann, Harvard professor, would never have expressed himself so crudely.

"Wait, Tom," Bothmann now said, pulling his face away from the camera. "We're getting somebody else in the frame." He looked past Tom Horton to Gary. "Oh, sir, would you mind stepping forward? You're accidentally ending up in the picture."

Gary wouldn't have minded 'accidentally' doing something else to Bothmann's picture.

"Oh, Gary." Tom turned around with a genial smile. "I don't believe you've met Victor Bothmann. Victor, this is Gary Sullivan."

"Ah." Victor lowered the heavy video camera. Not a lot of strength in those well-dressed arms, Gary happened to note. "So you're the man who stole the Wilson house from me."

Every nerve in Gary's back stood on end. "I haven't stolen anything from anybody."

"No, of course not." Victor gave a brilliant smile to match the sun's gleam on his hair. "Knowing Marge Hellman, she probably offered her body to get you to sign a lease."

Gary stared at the man. Bothmann was pushing all of Gary's buttons, without even half trying. Time to calm down. "Oh, were you planning to rent the Wilson house yourself?" His voice was harsh, but within normal limits.

"I'd thought so, yes." Bothmann twirled the camera idly in his hand. "Though I probably won't be in town long. Just so much time as it takes to shoot my additional footage of Tom. Perhaps Kerrin's told you, I'm working on a documentary."

Gary stole a glance at Kerrin, who was looking off to the side, her expression unreadable. "No, Kerrin didn't happen to mention you were coming."

"Oh." Bothmann appeared momentarily confused. He, too, glanced at Kerrin; a glance that said he'd imagined Kerrin doing nothing but chat about his activities. With a frown and a shrug, he turned back to Gary.

"It's a film about people like Tom here who are searching for extraterrestrial life forms." Bothmann gave a fake-modest cough. "With a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts."

Tom rolled his eyes heavenward. The small act of disparagement went far to assuage Gary's raw jealousy. But he still wanted to get Kerrin away from the guy, bad enough to take a big chance. "Hey, Kerrin," Gary said, "you're not going to Bishop dressed like that, are you?"

Kerrin looked up at him, surprised. "Bishop?"

"Oh, now don't tell me you forgot." Gary crossed his arms over his chest. "You were going to Bishop with me this afternoon."

Kerrin's guileless eyes met his and slowly, thank God, filled with comprehension. "Oh, that's right. I did promise you that, didn't I?" She stood up, brushing the dust off her shorts. Her legs, Gary couldn't help noticing, were the color of peaches and cream. God. He knew just how silky they'd be. Quickly, he dragged his eyes from her legs.