Trust Me (22 page)

Safe? With the memory of his mother's disapproval firmly etched in Skye's brain, and David's own voice playing in her head-- She's just someone I know from work--it felt anything but safe.

Tossing his clothes on the bed, she started down the hall. Normally, she would've cleaned up after herself. But she wasn't about to stay an extra second in David's apartment.

He was taking some cereal from the cupboard when she stepped into the kitchen. As the sound of her movements drew all eyes, her fingernails curled into her palms.

"Would you like something to eat before you go?" David asked.

"No, thank you." Swallowing against a dry mouth, she tucked her hair behind her ears, suddenly conscious that she hadn't even combed it.

His expression was unreadable, but he had to be as mortified as she was. "I'll call you later."

"No, it's okay." Staring into that room, with the three of them staring right back, she felt like an interloper.

"But we need to make arrangements for the fund-raiser."

"No.. .uh.. .I'm covered for that, remember? But thanks. I appreciate your putting me up for the night."

Stubbornly refusing to let the smile slip from her face, she nodded at Georgine and Jeremy. "Nice to meet you," she muttered again. Then she dashed through the entry and let herself out.

It was Friday. He'd made it.

Leaning up as far as the limited space between his bed and the ceiling would allow, Oliver stared through the bars of his cell at the two guards conversing on the catwalk across from him. He'd spent a restless night, with the minutes dragging by like days, but morning had arrived at last. And he 139

was still alive.

Because he hadn't given Vic an opportunity. He'd skipped his art class the night before and pleaded illness to avoid his final day of fixing teeth.

He'd also refused his trip to the yard--time usually spent in the library anyway--and gone without meals. Now he was famished, and exhausted from all the tossing and turning, but he was going home. Nothing else mattered.

Kicking off the blanket, which was too thin to keep him warm in the drafty, cavernous building, anyway, he climbed off his bunk. "This is it," he told T.J., who was barely beginning to stir. "Jane will be here to get me in a few hours."

"You're a lucky man," T.J. muttered.

It wasn't luck. He used his head, unlike the others in here, who thought brawn was all that counted. Men worried about who had the biggest muscles or the biggest penis. They never cared who had the biggest intellect.

Shows how stupid they really are.... "Vic figured he had me. But I'm the one walking out of here. I'll be home tonight, making love to my wife."

"Oh, yeah? Who's been making love to her while you were in here?"

T.J. asked, then laughed at his own joke.

Oliver was sitting on the stainless-steel toilet, which had no actual seat. He had to relieve himself--badly--but now his body wouldn't cooperate.

"Jane isn't like that. Jane's been waiting for me."

"The way you've been waiting for her?" T.J. hooted even louder. "I hope she's been more careful about what she's put in her mouth than you have."

T.J.'s words made visions of what he'd done flash through his mind, only now he was seeing his actions in a whole new light--through the eyes of someone living on the outside. He knew what others would think of the favors he'd granted. What his father would think: that he was a weakling, a homosexual, a loser.

"It's not the same," he said, trying to convince himself. "It--it's different in here."

"What happens in San Quentin stays in San Quentin, eh?" T.J. got up and shoved Oliver off the toilet. "You keep telling yourself that, okay, little buddy?" he said as he peed. "But I know how much you enjoyed it. What about all the 'playing doctor' that went on in your dental office? You examined more than teeth up there, huh?"

"Shut up!" Oliver longed to retaliate. He was tired of being pushed around. But he restrained himself and started cleaning up the mess T.J. had made around the toilet, as usual. He'd write about this later, take care of it 140

when he could, he told himself as he sat down again.

"What's your daddy gonna think about his dentist boy now? Are you gonna tell him how many guys you fucked in here? That no one gives better head? That's something to hang your hat on right there. I won't be the only one who'll miss you."

The singsong quality of T.J.'s taunts carried Oliver back to elementary school. Ibet you play with dolls.... He knew not to respond. He'd learned at a young age that the torment grew worse if he did. But he was too rattled this morning, too hungry and desperate and eager for his imminent departure to maintain any emotional distance. "My dad thinks a lot of me. He always has.

He knows I'm no fag."

"If you ask me, you like guys a lot more than you like women."

"Shut up!"

"Is that what you write about in that little journal of yours? Are you keeping track of how many times you sucked my cock?" he asked and knocked the small stack of Oliver's belongings, which Oliver had piled neatly on his shelf, to the floor.

Oliver stared at his father's letters, which were strewn at his feet. Such chaos made him anxious, upset. He wasn't a fag. His father understood that.

"He knows I shouldn't even be in here, that I'm innocent."

"Skye Kellerman knows you're innocent, too, right?" He laughed.

The sarcasm dripping from those words caused Oliver to tighten his jaw as well as his colon. His father's letters were all over the grimy floor. He was already constipated. How could he relax and use the toilet with his belongings in such a state?

Don't listen. Ignore him. I'll get the letters. Soon. They '11 be fine.

Count to ten--

T.J. interrupted. "Open your eyes when I'm talking to you."

Oliver kept his eyes firmly closed and continued to mumble to himself. Until T.J. kicked him. "Hey, you. She'd laugh if she could see what's become of Dr. Burke in here. I should send her a picture of you sitting there, trying to take a shit and being too uptight to do it." He rubbed his hands. "Or better yet, I should send her a detailed description of you giving me your best deep throat last night. Moaning and groaning as if--"

"Shut up!" Oliver stood at the same time he tried to pull up his pants, but he was in such a hurry that he nearly fell, which only made T.J. laugh louder. "You promised you-- you wouldn't tell anyone about that!"

"No wonder Skye would rather stab you than spread her legs. Look at your sorry little pecker!"

One minute, Oliver seemed to be thinking coherently, reminding 141

himself to keep cool. The next he was slugging T.J. with every ounce of strength he possessed. "You bastard! I hate you!"

T.J. wasn't laughing anymore, but he seemed strangely calm. His fist slammed into Oliver's chin, whirling him around. But before the pain could fully register, something pierced Oliver's back. The forward thrust sent him tumbling over the toilet.

"That's from Vic," T.J. told him, and suddenly Oliver understood. T.J.

had provoked him on purpose. He'd needed this to get his adrenaline flowing, make it easier to do Vic's dirty work.

It was one of the worst betrayals Oliver had ever suffered--because he hadn't seen it coming. He'd played it smart, had never crossed T.J. How could T.J. turn on him for Vic? He'd given T.J. anything he'd ever asked for.

T.J.'s eyes glittered. "You pathetic piece of shit. I should do society a favor and finish the job."

Oliver put up his hands to protect himself. T.J. had time. The guards were hollering and pounding down the walkway, but one more thrust would only take seconds. It
could
be over, for good, before they ever arrived.

Instead, T.J. spat, nearly hitting Oliver in the face, and withdrew to the far corner. "But what has society ever done for me?" he grumbled.

"You...you did..." Oliver gulped for breath. He was pretty sure T.J.

had punctured his lung, "...this for...for Vic?" As far as Oliver knew, T.J.

didn't even like Vic.

"He promised to make it worth my while. But I didn't do it for him. I did it for her."

Oliver couldn't have heard him properly. He was getting so dizzy.

"Who?"

"Skye Kellerman."

Two guards were at the cage door, giving the signal for the electronic release that would open it.

Closing his eyes, Oliver concentrated on breathing. "You don't...even know...Skye."

"I know you did what she said you did. And, unlike you, I believe in treating a woman right." Then the guards were in. One guard cuffed T.J. and dragged him out while the other called for medical help.

Oliver listened to the noise, watching the hurried activity from between his lashes. There were germs crawling all over him and his belongings. He could feel them
multiplying
and spreading.... But the blood that puddled beneath him wasn't so bad. It was the first time since winter set in that he'd been warm in this godforsaken place.

"What was that all about?"

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David's mother had taken Jeremy to school and returned immediately, scarcely giving David time to shower, shave and dress for the day before she cornered him in the kitchen.

"What was what all about?" he replied, trying to act as if the encounter with Skye was no big deal.

She stood behind him as he buttered his toast, too agitated to sit down.

"That woman you had here." She lowered her voice. "Are you involved with her? Lynnette told me months ago that she thought you were seeing someone else, but I wouldn't believe her. And what about Jeremy? Can you imagine how he must've felt to have a woman who wasn't his mother get out of your bed?"

"You're overreacting," he said.

"Lynnette has MS, David. Do you know how difficult that is to deal with? She needs to be able to count on us. She needs to be able to count on you."

There was nothing to say; he couldn't deny it.

"No wonder Lynnette's so withdrawn. You promised her that you'd love her and no one else--"

"I know," he interrupted. God, did he know. He'd meant it at the time.

But he also knew that if it wasn't for Lynnette's illness, he probably would've broken that promise and gotten together with Skye three years ago.

"So how can you expect to repair your marriage when you're entertaining another woman? Is that what broke up your family in the first place? Have you been cheating on Lynnette ?"

If her voice had been sharp, he could've reacted in anger. But she wasn't yelling, she was pleading. And that did more to awaken his conscience than any amount of yelling could ever do.

"No. Last night was...nothing," he lied. "Skye's a victim from one of my cases, that's all."

He carried his breakfast to the table, hoping to put a few feet between them, but his mother followed and perched on a chair that she pulled even closer. "You don't bring other victims home with you."

"Someone threatened her, and she was scared, okay? I invited her to stay here, hoping she'd be able to get some rest."

His mother folded her arms, her expression clearly skeptical. "You're telling me you didn't sleep with her."

"I didn't sleep with her," he said, but he felt guilty as he said it because whether or not he'd actually had sex with Skye seemed like such a technicality. The desire was there, stronger than anything he'd ever experienced. Sheer willpower was the only thing that had stopped him.

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"The way she ran out of here..." His mother's voice softened, but she still seemed doubtful, confused. "It felt as if there's something between you."

Taking a bite of toast, David talked around it. "Jeremy barged into the bedroom and woke her up, and then you followed him in. You weren't expecting to see her. She wasn't expecting to see you. It was an awkward situation."

"So I'm assuming the worst and I shouldn't be?"

Dammit! Why'd she have to press him so hard? "I'm doing the best I can, Mom," he said, his frustration finally boiling over. "Just stay out of it."

He knew he'd revealed too much when her tone grew wary. "You mean--"

He raised his hands, toast and all. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. The man who tried to slit her throat is being released from prison today, okay? I believe he's responsible for three murders. I've got to get to work."

"David..."

He could tell she was about to issue another warning. Who '11 take care of Lynnette? Think of what this will do to Jeremy.... There's no guarantee that a new relationship will work any better than the one you already have.... You 've got an obligation to your first wife. You 're simply trading one set of problems for another....

But she didn't say any of it. She reeled in her apparent concern and said something that hit him even harder. "Never mind. I know you'll do the right thing. You're a good man."

You're a good man. Those words echoed through David's head all day long--every time he thought of Skye and regretted not taking advantage of the opportunity presented to him last night.

He'd expected to hear from Lynnette about the debacle of his mother's visit. But his ex hadn't called. His mother must've kept the incident at his apartment to herself. Which meant he had until three-thirty--another hour--

before Jeremy got home and blurted out the details of the whole encounter to Lynnette. Imet the lady named after the sky, and she was wearing Daddy's underwear!

"Hey, what's wrong with you today?"

David glanced away from his computer to respond to Tiny, who leaned into his cubicle.

"Nothing. Why?"

"You haven't been to lunch with us for a week."

"I'm just busy, trying to catch a break on those murders along the river. We need one. Fast."

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"Maybe not as fast as you think."

Confused, David studied his friend. "What does that mean? You know Burke gets out today."

"He's already been released. But he's not on his way home. He's in the hospital."

David felt his eyebrows shoot up. "What happened?"

"His cellmate stabbed him."

"You're kidding."

"No."