Undertow (The UnderCity Chronicles) (12 page)

“You didn’t figure that out before you got married?”

Lindsay shrugged. “There were no sparks, but we had lots in common. He was a director at an architectural firm. Still is. We talked right before Christmas.”

“You two still talk?”

“Sure. He and Seline are good buddies. I haven’t told him about what has happened to her because I know he’ll freak. He remarried and had a baby boy in September. Seline and I went to the baptism.”

Jack stared. “You two still get together? What does his wife think of that?”

It was Lindsay’s turn to stare. “I
introduced
her to him. After our divorce, she was a client and I thought they were perfect for each other. Turns out I was right. They’re grateful to me.”

Jack seemed to contemplate the floor for a long time. “Your business, Linds. I’m telling you, if you divorced me, I wouldn’t speak to you again.”

The finality of his words stunned her. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’d marry for love. Why the hell would I want to be around someone who didn’t love me back?”

Beneath the vehemence, there was a thread of sorrow Lindsay didn’t understand. Then again, there was so much she didn’t understand. “Well, seeing as how we’re not married, I can’t divorce you, so it looks as if we’ll stay on speaking terms.”

She thought her voice was light and calm, yet his eyes flared. “Let’s get something straight. Just because we were friends half-a-lifetime ago, doesn’t mean we’re buddy-buddy now. I’m not Dan. I’m not someone you pick up and put down like”—he glared at Leo on the couch—“a stuffed animal. I’m here to help with your niece and that’s it.”

He was so cutting, so plain mean. She remembered the look in his eyes when he’d touched her hair, when he’d given his regrets in the cab over her parents’ death. How could he be so different in such a short time? “Fine, then,” she said, slow and precise. “I refuse to believe that you're really the bastard that you're behaving like now, but if you want to be one, I’m not taking it. I’m going for a shower. You can stand there and stew, or you can figure out what it means to make yourself at home and do that.” She pointed at his parka. “And hang up your damn coat.”

In her ensuite bathroom Lindsay got busy with shampoo and conditioner, soaps and moisturizers. And steam. She let off a whole lot of that. Only after she bundled herself into pink flannel pjs, and her hair into a clip, did she seek out Jack. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, eating Cheerios from a large glass measuring cup, the open milk carton beside him. She peeked into the foyer. Parka and boots were gone.

She grinned. “See? You do know how to be civilized.”

He scowled at her and kept spooning cereal into his mouth.

“And when you’re done that,” she sailed on, “it’s your turn for the shower. There’s a towel over the curtain rod for you.” She moved into the living room.

He mumbled into his cup.

“Oh, you’re welcome. I’ll set up the couch for you.”

The cup clattered into the sink, the fridge door opened and shut, and a moment later the shower was on.

She pulled open the couch into a bed and made it up exactly like when Seline’s friends crashed for sleepovers, complete with soft white sheets, matching pillows and a down-filled comforter in burgundy and gold. Her lips twitched, and she arranged Leo so that he sprawled like a lounge lizard across the covers, belly-up, head on both pillows.

Humming now, Lindsay slipped into the bathroom and, diverting her eyes from what she knew would be a very clear outline of his body, she scooped up his clothes and tossed them along with hers into the washer. It was only when she was gazing into the soapy churning waters that she realized that she’d left him with nothing to wear.

She hurried into her bedroom and began rooting through her closet and drawers for something that might fit him and not make him seem a cross-dresser. Nothing. Seline would have something less fancy in her room, all too small. Then she remembered. Inspired she ran for the hallway storage closet and pulled out the box of Christmas decorations, which given that the joyous season had just passed, were thankfully near the front. What she wanted was right on top.

The shower shut off and Lindsay knocked on the door. “Jack, I put your clothes in the wash, but I found something for you to wear.”

The door was opened a crack through which Lindsay wedged a pair of boxers. She held them out for an eternity. She gave them a shake. “Uh, they’re new. They were a joke gift at the staff Christmas party. Long story. They haven’t been worn before.”

“Not by any self-respecting male, at least,” Jack grumbled.

“It’s either them or your birthday suit.”

There was an even longer pause. “Jesus, Lindsay, have you looked at what these elves are doing to Santa? It’s wearable pornography.”

“Honestly, Jack, it’s only you and me. And there’s nothing else. You could wear a towel, I suppose, only as you can see they aren’t exactly…er, masculine colors—”

Lindsay heard a low growl from a cornered male and then the underwear was yanked from her hand. She retreated down the hallway. Now would be a good time to check her messages. She reached for her smartphone on the kitchen counter, having deliberately left it there that morning.

Twelve text messages. All from Janice, each one peppered with more and more exclamation marks and unhappy faces. Lindsay grimaced. There was going to be hell to pay.

And it started halfway through the first ring. “Lindsay! Are you okay?”

“Yes, Janice. I just got back.” She was fudging on that, though the upshot was the same.

“So you did go down there. What were you thinking?” She paused. “Did you find her?” Hope and fear were rushed together.

“No, we didn’t, but we got a lead.”

“What? A lead? Wait, no, who’s ‘we’?”

“Jack Cole.”

“He came with you? You talked him into coming?”

That would’ve implied some sort of finesse on her part. “Sort of, yeah. Point is, he knows everybody who’s anybody below ground, and the leader of a group down there connected us with people who know who Seline might’ve hooked up with.”

“Hooked up with? Who?” Lindsay could sense Janice moving to her laptop to google them. That was Janice. Start with a google search and end with a coil-bound report.

“I don’t think these people are linked into the web. They’re…fringe types.”

“Fringe? What do you mean? Lindsay. Please.”

Lindsay heard all that was said in those last two words. Forget about blood and names, Janice was part of their small family. “They’re called APs. Short for aberrant psychology. They came out of mental institutions and there’s one called Randa MacMurphy. We’re going to meet with her tomorrow.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Jack will be getting in touch with her.”

“You let me know and I can be close by. Okay?”

“Okay.” The shower stopped. “Listen, Janice, I better go. Jack’s almost done in the shower and we should head to bed.”

“Jack’s with you?” Shit. Why, why, why did she let that slip?

“Yes, Janice. He’s sleeping on the couch. I’m sleeping in my bed.”

“Why isn’t he sleeping at his place?”

“It’s occupied.”

“Do you know that for a fact, or did he say so?”

“
Janice
.”

“Look. He seems like an intelligent man but he’s down on his luck, and you’re not doing badly and you were once good friends. He wasn’t interested in helping and then he is. Sounds as if he did his own googling in the meantime and regrouped.”

“Janice, it isn’t like that.”

“Then how is it?”

Lindsay did what she always did when avoiding pain. She got busy. There, for instance, was her pack which needed sorting.

“Janice, it doesn’t matter what his motives are,” she said, unzipping. “It only matters that he’s doing it.” The pack opened to Dee’s jacket. A perfect distraction. “And like I said he’s got lots of friends who can help. One of them even gave me a gift today, it’s a gorgeous—”

Was this the same jacket? Under the foyer lights, its colors were dull and mismatched, the mysterious symbols woven into its fabric lost. It looked as if it were cobbled together by a blind man.

“Pretty ugly, huh?” Jack’s voice came from right behind her and she spun around.

For a man who’d lived two years underground and the past year only barely skimming the surface, he looked good. He was lean and muscled, with a natural athleticism. Water seemed to steam from his skin, and clung in droplets to his chest hair. Her eyes drifted to his midsection.

“No, not at all,” she squeaked. “They’re fine. Really.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “I was talking about the jacket.”

“Is that Jack you’re talking to?” Janice interrogated. “What’s this about a jacket?”

Okay, she couldn’t manage both Janice and Jack. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said into the phone. “Bye.” She quickly disconnected. “That was Janice. A family friend. She was calling about Seline.”

His answer surprised her. “I remember her. She and your mom were always together, cooking together, yapping together. My dad used to joke that it wasn’t right that your dad had two wives and he had none.”

Lindsay laughed. “Dad wouldn’t have seen it that way. He always saw himself outnumbered.”

“I can’t remember your mom without remembering her, too.”

“Yeah. When mom died, she really stepped up. I don’t think I could have made it without her.”

She paused, not wanting to drag her sad past out. Instead she held up the jacket. “Look at what Mrs. Moore gave me.”

He accepted her cue. “Got a couple myself. Warm, but uglier than sin.”

“It looked different there.”

“Well, some things that look beautiful underground look ugly up here.”

And vice versa, she thought, giving his body a sidelong glance.

“I’ll show you some magic. You have any candles?” He walked into the living room and settled himself down on the couch-bed. He glanced at the playful pose of the huge plush lion, and then up at Lindsay. “You never give up, do you?”

She wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or not. Either way she wasn’t about to back down. “Not on what matters, I don’t.” She entered into a stare-down with him. Then deep in his eyes something flickered, and taking a pillow from underneath the stuffed head he began smothering Leo with it.

Lindsay gasped and pounced, landing on the pillow and tussling Jack for it. “That’s cruel, Jack, and you know it.”

He surrendered the pillow. “Has anyone told you that he’s not real?”

“I know that!” She tossed aside the pillow and grabbed Leo, dragging his long bulk off the bed, taking him with her to the safety of an armchair. “It’s just that…that Seline really liked him…and…and…haven’t you noticed its eyes are exactly like yours?”

“What? Fake and unblinking?”

“No,” she snapped. “Warm and bright and very nice.”

He stared at her with eyes warm and unblinking. “Lindsay, get the candles.”

She dropped Leo into the armchair and exited. The candles were in the bedside drawer as she’d expected, but she couldn’t for the life of her find the holders, which should’ve been there, too. She rummaged through the drawer, bringing to the surface loose foil squares of condoms, a frustrating reminder of how sorry her love life had been lately. She had seriously wondered about going for her next birth control shot. It didn’t help to know that a gorgeous, half-naked man was in the next room, sending off more mixed signals than a broken traffic light.

By the time she found first one holder, then another, she had become well and truly disgruntled. It didn’t help her attitude any to see him stretched out by the Christmas tree, arm over his face, looking like a holiday centerfold. She unloaded the items on the coffee table with a deliberate clatter.

He lowered his arm. “I thought you’d wandered off completely. Where were you?”

Lindsay curled up with Leo and smiled prettily at him. “The bedroom, of course. Where else would I associate magic with candles? I brought a lighter, too.”

She gloated over his suddenly wary look.
Good
, she thought,
no sense in only one of us being confused
. Jack swung himself into a sitting position and picked up the lighter. As he bent over the candles, she noticed on his left shoulder a crimson tattoo…no, a brand. It looked like one of the symbols she had seen in the tunnels, and on Dee’s jacket. The mark was large, about the size of her hand, its shape vaguely resembling that of a spider.