"Mama," she said, and was disconcerted to hear her voice shake a little. "I need help."
There was silence on the other end of the line, then Renee said warily, "What's wrong?" Motherly concern wasn't a natural response for her.
"Someone left a dead cat in my mailbox, and I've gotten a couple of threatening notes, telling me to stop asking questions or I'll end up like the cat. I don't know who's doing it "
"What kind of questions?"
Faith hesitated, afraid Renee would hang up on her. "About Guy," she admitted.
"Damn it, Faith!" Renee yelled. "I told you not to be nosing around, but would you listen? No, you have to stir shit up, and now the stink's gettin' too bad for you. You're going to get yourself killed if you don't shut up!"
"Someone killed Guy, didn't they? You know who did it. That's why you left."
Renee's breathing sounded over the line, harsh and rapid. "Stay out of it," she begged. "I can't tell, I promised never to tell. He has my bracelet. He said he'd blame the killing on me if I ever told, he said he'd put the bracelet where it would look like Guy and me had had a fight, and I'd killed him."
After the weeks of suspicion, of sifting through old rumors and continually coming to dead ends, to suddenly hear the truth was startling. It took Faith a moment to recover from the shock, to absorb it.
"You loved Guy," she said, her own conviction ringing in her voice. "You couldn't have killed him."
Renee began to cry. It wasn't noisy sobs, designed to gain sympathy. Her tears were betrayed by the sudden thickness in her voice. "He's the only man I ever did love," she said, and Faith knew that whether or not Renee really had loved Guy, she believed she had, and that was enough.
"What happened, Mama?"
"I can't tell "
"Mama, please." Desperately Faith searched her mind for a reason that would mean something to Renee. It would take a lot to overcome her mother's basic self-interest, and in this case, Faith couldn't really blame her for looking out after number one. The only thing that had ever been greater than Renee's self-absorption had been her greed... "Mama, as far as everyone is concerned, Guy is still alive somewhere. He hasn't been declared dead, so that means his will hasn't been read."
Renee sniffed, but the word "will" caught her interest. "So what?"
"So if he left anything to you, it would be in his will. You could have had a lot of money coming to you all these years."
"He always said he'd take care of me." A whining note of self-pity entered Renee's voice. She took a deep breath, as if to calm herself, and Faith could almost hear the decision being made.
"We met at the summerhouse, as usual," Renee said. "We'd already... you know. Done it. Anyway, we were lyin' in the dark talkin' when he drove up. We didn't know who it was, and Guy jumped up and grabbed his pants, afraid it might be one of his kids. He didn't never worry about his wife none, because he knew she wouldn't care.
"They went out to the boathouse to talk. I could hear them yellin', so I put on my clothes and went down there. Guy opened the door and came out just as I got there. He stopped and looked back, and I'll never forget, he said, 'I've made up my mind.' That's when he was shot, right in the head. He fell on the grass, there in front of the boathouse. I was on my knees beside him, yellin' and cryin', but he was dead when he hit the ground. He never even twitched."
"Was it Gray?" Faith asked, agony in her tone. It couldn't be. Not Gray. But she had to ask. "Did Gray kill his daddy?"
"Gray?" A startled note sounded through the tears. "No, not Gray. He wasn't there."
Not Gray. Thank you, God. Not Gray. No matter how she had told herself that he couldn't have done it, there must have been a hidden reservoir of doubt, because she felt a sudden relief, a lightening of spirit.
"Mama Mama, no one would believe you shot Guy. Why didn't you go to the sheriff?"
"Are you kiddin'?" Renee gave a sharp laugh, which ended in a sob. "People in that town would believe anything about me. Most of 'em would've been glad to see me arrested even if they knew for certain I was innocent. Besides, he had it all figured out "
"But you didn't even have a gun!"
"He was goin' to kill me, too! He said he'd put the gun in my mouth and make me pull the trigger, his hand over mine, if I didn't promise to leave and never come back, and never say nothing about it to anybody. He's strong, Faithie, strong enough to do it. I tried to fight him and he hit me, I couldn't get away "
"Why didn't he kill you, then?" Faith asked, trying to make sense of why a murderer would deliberately let a witness go.
Renee couldn't answer for a moment, she was crying too hard. Finally she gulped, and regained shaky control of her voice. "He he didn't mean to kill Guy, he was just so damn mad, he said. He didn't want to have to kill me too. He told me to go away, and he t-took my bracelet. He said if I ever came back, he could make it look like I'd killed Guy, and I'd get the death sentence. He can do it, you don't know him!" Her voice rose shrilly on the last sentence, and she dissolved once more into wrenching sobs.
Faith felt her own eyes burning. For the first time, she felt pity for her mother. Poor Renee, without education, influence, or friends, with all her wild living and lack of responsibility, had been a prime target for anyone who wanted to make her a scapegoat. She had seen the one man she cared for, the man she was depending on to make her life easy, shot to death, and then been threatened with having his death blamed on her. No, the killer had gauged her well; there was no way Renee would have gone to the sheriff. She would have believed everything he said, probably with good reason.
"It's all right, Mama," she said gently. "It's all right."
"You you won't say anything? This has to be our secret, or he'll have me arrested, I know he will "
"I won't let anyone arrest you, I promise. Do you know what he did with the body?"
Renee hiccuped, caught by surprise. "His body?" she asked vaguely. "I guess he must have buried it somewhere."
That was possible, but would the killer have wasted time digging a grave, a grave that might be noticed, with the lake right there? Weight the body, and the problem of disposal was solved.
"What kind of gun did he use? Did you see it?"
"I don't know anything about guns. It was a pistol, is all I can tell you."
"Was it a revolver, like the ones used in Westerns, with the round chamber that the bullets fit into, or was it the kind with the clip in the handle?"
"Clip in the handle," Renee said after a moment's thought.
An automatic. That meant the shell casing had been ejected, somewhere inside the boathouse. The killer had had a body to dispose of, and a witness to terrify into fleeing. Had he thought about the casing, gone back to pick it up?
What were the chances that a shell casing would still be there after twelve years? Almost none. But the place had fallen into disuse after Guy's disappearance, so it was likely only the minimum upkeep had gone into the boathouse. The casing could have landed in the boat, or even in the water, to be lost forever.
It could also have landed in a corner, or behind something. Stranger things had happened.
"Don't say anything," Renee begged. "Please don't say anything. You never should have moved back there, Faithie; now he's after you too. Leave before you get hurt, you don't know him "
"I might. Who is he, Mama? Maybe I can do something "
Renee hung up the phone, the connection breaking in the middle of a sob. Faith slowly replaced her own receiver. She had learned so much tonight, and still not enough. The most important thing was that Gray was innocent. The most frustrating thing was that she still had no idea who was guilty.
The killer was a "he." That eliminated Andrea Wallice and Yolanda Foster, even if Faith hadn't already decided they likely weren't guilty. Supposedly Lowell Foster hadn't known about his wife's affair with Guy until afterward, but the way gossip moved through the town like fat through a goose, it was possible some self-righteous busybody had taken it upon himself to enlighten the wronged husband. Never mind that the wronged husband had been screwing around with his secretary; that was different. So Lowell had to remain on her list.
Who would have been arguing with Guy that night, and why? A business associate, upset at some financial wheeling and dealing? The way Guy got around, an enraged husband was more likely. Who else had he been sleeping with that summer?
Faith couldn't find the answer to those questions tonight. She could, however, see for herself whether or not a stray shell casing was still lying overlooked in the boathouse.
She glanced at the clock. It was nine-thirty. If she was going to do it, night would be the best time, with much less chance of running into Gray and a much better chance of avoiding him if she did.
Faith wasn't one to tarry once she'd made a decision, though this time she paused long enough to put on sturdier shoes. She grabbed a flashlight on her way out the door.
She started to drive right to the summerhouse, on the private road, but changed her mind at the last minute. Someone might see her turn onto the road and notify the Rouillards, which she definitely didn't want. And if the god of misfortune smiled on her twice, and someone was at the summerhouse, she didn't want her headlights to give advance warning.
So she drove instead to the same place she had parked before, even though it meant walking a mile through the woods at night. It wasn't a problem for her. She had never been afraid of the dark, or of snakes and the other denizens of the forest, though she did pick up a stick to be on the safe side, if she did come upon a snake before the shy creature could slide away.
The woods at night were noisy, filled with rustles as the nocturnal animals went about their business. Possums and raccoons clambered in the trees, owls hooted, frogs croaked, insects zinged, night birds called, and crickets chirped frenetically. The breeze added its own whisper to the cacophony, the pine trees swaying gently. Faith took her time, making certain she didn't wander off track; when she came to the little creek, in exactly the same place she had always crossed, she smiled at the accuracy of her old instincts. She paused to shine the light around the creek to make certain no water moccasins were enjoying a swim, then stepped onto the flat rock in the middle of the water and from there onto the other bank. From here, it was only a couple of hundred yards to the summerhouse.
Five minutes later she stopped at the edge of the clearing, taking stock before she left the cover of the trees. The house was dark and silent. She listened, but heard only the normal night sounds. The lake murmured, slapping against the dock pilings, its glassy surface rippling occasionally with a breeze and disturbing the reflection of the three-quarter moon. Night-feeding fish added their own ripples and the occasional quiet splash to the subtle commotion.
Faith walked down the slight slope to the house, her steps soundless.
She didn't know what she would do if the boathouse was locked, which, of course, it probably was, though the house had been open the other day when she'd been here. But Gray had also been here; he could have unlocked the house, gone inside to make certain nothing had been vandalized.
If she were a truly adventurous type, she thought wryly, she could swim under the wall of the boathouse and come up in the boat slip. To hell with locked doors.
Not bloody likely.
Nighttime underwater swimming wasn't her cup of tea. The thought of stripping down to her underwear and sliding beneath the surface of that dark water was enough to make her shiver. If the boathouse had been closed all these years, it was probably inhabited by mice, snakes, squirrels, maybe a raccoon or two, all of which would be startled by a visitor suddenly popping up from the water. No, she would much rather give any boathouse occupants sufficient warning to skedaddle, by jiggling door locks or maybe breaking windows, if the boathouse had a window. She had never noticed.
The boathouse loomed over the shiny black water, the white walls ghostly in the moonlight. As Faith crossed the graveled drive, she flicked the flashlight beam across the front of the wide doors, and stifled a groan of disappointment. A thick, shiny padlock was looped through both hasps, securing the doors with stainless steel. She might have jimmied or broken a normal door lock, but she couldn't do anything with that big padlock. Her only recourse now was a window.
There wasn't one on the side facing the dock, only smooth blank wall. She walked around to the other side, and stared with mixed feelings at the window that sat like a black eye in a pale face. The good news was that it was a window, with breakable glass. The bad news was that solid ground ended about a foot shy of being directly underneath it. The window was also high enough that it would be difficult for her to hoist herself through; not impossible, not if she set her mind to it, but definitely difficult.
A very warm, very solid hand closed over her bare arm and whirled her around, bringing her against a hard, muscled body. "I told you what I'd do if I caught you here again," Gray said softly.
Sixteen.
He carried her onto the porch, where the screens would protect them from the mosquitoes and other biting insects. Frightened almost out of her wits by his abrupt appearance, a panic that wasn't much relieved by recognition, Faith could do no more than cling to his shoulders as he lifted her in his arms and carried her swiftly across the grass, to the house.
She was submerged almost at once by & dark tide of desire, sucking her below the level of reason or will. Protest wasn't an option; the needs of her body, so long suppressed, surged to the forefront and pushed thought aside. She was shaking by the time he released her legs and let her body slide down, all along the front of his, the sweet friction almost painfully arousing. It was time. Dear God, it was past time. She wanted him with a blind, ferocious need that could no longer be delayed, and she clung to him, her body pliant, willing.
He backed her up against one of the square columns supporting the porch, pinning her against the wood. Despite the bright moonlight, it was dark there on the porch, dark and warm, scented with the perfumes of summer and his own hot, musky smell. His breathing was fast and urgent as he leaned heavily against her, pushing himself into the yielding softness of her body. He thrust his fingers into her hair, holding her skull cradled between his big, powerful hands, holding her head still for the deep thrust of his tongue into her mouth. He was fully aroused, his erection as hard as marble, straining against her belly.
Faith whimpered into his mouth, squirming hungrily against him, trying to lift herself enough so that she could cradle that thick ridge in the yielding notch between her legs. She was aching and empty, so empty, growing moist with the need to have him there.
His shirt was hanging open. The flesh where her fingernails dug into his shoulders was covered by cloth, but his chest was bare. She could feel his skin, slick with sweat, and the roughness of curly hair. Her breasts grew taut, her nipples rising hard and tight, throbbing with the need to be touched.
He tore his mouth away from hers, gasping for air, his chest working like bellows with each breath. Faith licked her bruised lips, tasting him on them, and tugged on the back of his neck to bring him back down to her. He obliged at once, his mouth hard and biting, the primal force of it exciting her beyond what she had ever known before.
He cupped both of her breasts, roughly kneading them, and the relief was so acute that she made a small keening sound of both pleasure and want, but in only seconds that wasn't enough. He knew her need, or perhaps his own was the same, for he jerked at the front of her blouse and sent buttons flying, the small popping sounds loud in the bubble of silence that surrounded them. With one hand he released the front clasp of her bra and shoved the cups aside, baring the firm rise of her breasts to his hungry, demanding mouth. He wrapped one arm under her bottom and lifted her, his open mouth sliding down her chest, a damp path marking where his lips had been. A taut nipple popped into his mouth and he sucked hard at it, making her breast prickle with a sharp sensation that had her arching against him as if to throw him off. He responded by holding her tighter, gripping her bottom and grinding his erection into the soft notch between her legs. The blatant sexuality of his movements let loose the firestorm of her response, and helplessly she felt herself sliding down the dark, slippery tunnel toward climax.
She fought it; she didn't want this wild fever to end so soon. She shrank back against the wood, trying to pull her hips away from that hard ridge. She couldn't; his arm around her bottom kept her molded to him, allowing her so little movement that she couldn't even close her legs. A heavy coil tightened in her loins, the tension pulling tighter and tighter He set her on her feet again and jerked at her skirt, pulling it to her waist. Faith leaned weakly against the column, her senses whirling with the speed and violence with which this was happening. Dimly she thought of that time she had watched him making love, so slowly and tenderly, his smoky voice soothing and cajoling, crooning love words. She had thought it would be like that, but instead she was caught like Dorothy in a whirlwind, being hurled dizzily into uncharted territory. They were going at each other like animals, unable to slow down or inject any tenderness into the act, and she didn't care. The urgency was too strong, too immediate.
He wound his left hand in her skirt, holding it up and to the side, while with his right one he stripped her panties down. The night air washed over her naked buttocks, making her feel excruciatingly exposed, and she quivered in his grasp. He forced the panties down to her knees, then lifted one booted foot and set his toe in the crotch of the garment, pushing it down the rest of the way. She heard fabric separate with a faint sibilant protest, then the cloth fell around her feet and he lifted her out of the ruins of her underwear.
He braced her against the column, pulling her thighs wide and pushing himself between them. Faith's head fell back; she heard her own panting breath as she waited in agonized anticipation for the hard thrust that would fill her emptiness, ease the deep ache of desire. His hand worked frenziedly between their bodies, fumbling with his belt, tearing at the fastening of his jeans, and the brush of his knuckles against her moist, yearning flesh was enough to make her cry out with longing. He managed to open the zipper and his straining flesh sprang free, pushing upward into the folds between her legs.
"I want to fuck you," he muttered indistinctly, the sound low and harsh as he hoisted her a bit, adjusting her position. "Let me in. Now." His hand was still between their bodies, his fingers moving with sure knowledge over her slick flesh. He found her soft, damp opening and sank one finger deep into her, drawing the moisture out to prepare her for his entry. Faith shuddered, her arms wrapping tight around his head as that long finger rasped exquisitely sensitive tissues and set off subterranean explosions of pleasure. Her inner muscles eagerly clasped the intruding finger, tightening, subtly caressing, and Gray swore with savage arousal. Unable to wait any longer, he withdrew his finger and guided the broad head of his penis into place.
Faith went still, frozen by the enormous pressure between her legs as he began pushing into her. The fever of desire faded, banished by alarm. In a flash of clarity she remembered Lindsey Partain's startled, panicked cry at his entry, and now she knew why. Then all thoughts fled, her mind focused only on the massively thick shaft that each short, powerful thrust of his hips forced deeper into her body. He grunted at the difficulty of penetration, his entire body taut and straining.
She writhed in his arms like a worm caught on a fishing hook, sharp little cries of distress breaking from her throat. Gray stopped, sweat dripping off his face to trace tiny paths down the slope of her bare breasts. Desperately he fought for control, the effort tearing at his guts.
"Shhh, shhh," he whispered, his lips pressed against the delicate curve of her jaw. The sound was a mere rustle of reassurance, wafted away in the night breeze. "It's all right, baby. You can handle it. Just be still now, and let me get it in. I won't hurt you, I'll be real slow and easy." As he spoke he began rocking his hips back and forth, slight movements that coaxed her taut muscles to relax, allowing the next forward rock to slide him deeper into the hot, wet, incredibly tight clasp of her. She moaned, shuddering in his arms. He felt her body arch convulsively, in an instinctive effort to accept and adjust to him; he tried to control the movement, but he was too late. The sharp, twisting movement impaled her on his rigid shaft, seating him to the hilt, and the hot gloving of her body made him feel as if his entire body was exploding.
Shock reverberated through her. She sagged weakly in his arms, her head falling back like a daisy on a broken stem. His hard-won control splintered. His hips jackhammered, driving in and out of her. She hung there, supported only by his driving body and the wooden column at her back. For a measureless length of time her senses narrowed to the thudding of her heart and the hard pounding of his body into hers, relentlessly battering. She clenched her hands on his shirt, twisting fistfuls of the fabric as she tried to endure, tossed helplessly about in the violent upheaval of his lust.
Then he stopped, a growl rough in his throat, as her physical and mental withdrawal registered through the demanding throb of his body. "No," he said with furious frustration. "I won't let you pull back from me. Come for me, baby. Let me feel it."
Faith tried to speak, to say anything. I can't do it, she thought, but no words would form on her lips. Climax, which had shimmered so maddeningly near a short while ago, now seemed totally out of reach. She felt painfully stretched, impaled, beyond pleasure.
But he adjusted his position, hooking his arms under her thighs and holding them wider apart, the weight of his torso pinning her to the column. She felt herself open completely, unable to either control or react to his thrusts. He briefly freed one hand, reaching down to find the small sexual bud at the top of her sex, using his finger and thumb to open the protective fold and expose it. He adjusted his position again, moving deep into her so that he pressed hard against the little nub, and then he began again to thrust.
Lightning speared through her body, gathering between her legs. She had no defense against the rush of sensation, ruthlessly intensified with every inward thrust. He had known exactly what he was doing, inexorably forcing her toward orgasm. In seconds she was moaning with the return of desire; in less than a minute the fury was upon her, and she screamed with the force of her release, her body arching and shuddering in his restraining arms. It went on and on, so strong that she knew nothing else, reduced to a completely physical being.
Her spasms had barely slowed when his began, and he bucked heavily under the lash of it, his head thrown back and his neck corded as he shook and pulsed. A deep, harsh groan rumbled up from his chest, repeated again and again in rhythm with his pumping hips.
The aftermath was silent, punctuated only by the rapid harshness of their breathing and the occasional, involuntary little moan or grunt as laggard nerve endings twitched in the remnants of pleasure. Faith was dazed, her head drooping forward to lie against his shoulder. He sagged heavily in her arms, the column supporting them both. Where naked flesh touched, sweat glued them together. Their clothes were damp and twisted. She felt as numb as if she had just been through a battle.
His breathing slowed and he gathered himself, as if every movement was an effort. His heart was thudding against her breast, each beat slow and heavy. He withdrew carefully from her body, holding her steady when she tensed, for even with the slickness of his climax easing the way, her swollen tissues released him with almost as much difficulty as she had accepted him.
Gray was stunned, rocked to the foundation by the intensity of what had just occurred. That wasn't sex. He'd had sex before, more times than he could count. Sex was a pleasure, sometimes gentle, sometimes raunchy; an appetite, persistent but easily satisfied. What he'd just had with Faith was as powerful and unstoppable as an avalanche, a fire that left him scorched and already needing to feel the flame again. He could feel her lithe, tender body trembling in his arms, and he wanted to lie down with her, comfort her, and then thrust himself deep into her again. He wanted it with a violence that twisted in his guts. Because he didn't trust himself not to do it, he let his arms drop from around her.
Shaken, only one thought came to his mind. "My God," he said, his voice still harsh from his wrenching climax. "If fucking Renee was like that, I understand why Dad couldn't stay away from her."
Faith froze, the delicious heat of their mating turning cold under the bite of his words. She didn't respond to his insulting crudeness, though it had been effective. If he had set out to make her feel cheap, he had succeeded admirably. Humiliation and misery pooled in her stomach, forcing her to clench her teeth against a sudden rise of nausea. She had felt as if her heart were leaving her body, but to him it had been what? A measure of revenge? Renee was beyond his reach, so take it out on her daughter?
She didn't look at him as she fumbled her clothing back into order. Her bra was twisted, but she finally managed to secure the clasp. There were no buttons left on her blouse, so she tied the shirttail into a knot at her waist. She bent to pick up her panties, intending to put them on, but they were ripped beyond wearing. Color burned in her face, but thankfully the darkness hid that bloom of shame from him.
Silently she slipped the ruined, flimsy underwear into the pocket of her skirt and turned away, walking with as much dignity as possible, under the circumstances. It wasn't much. How could a woman have any dignity when she had just been taken, standing up, with all the grace and tenderness of a sailor just off a six-month cruise nailing a whore in an alley? Her legs trembled like noodles, her loins ached from the battering, and, even worse, his semen was wet between her thighs.
She opened the screen door and wobbled down the steps. The flashlight lay where she had dropped it, the beam illuminating blades of grass and the darting insects attracted by the light. She retrieved it, and collided with him as she straightened. He moved like a ghost, she thought; she hadn't heard him leave the porch. She stepped around him, and he caught her arm, dragging her to a halt.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"Back to my car."
He snorted. "If I wouldn't let you walk back alone during the daytime, you can sure as hell bet you won't do it at night."
She could feel an angry tension in him, but she was too exhausted and sick to worry about it. Gently she disengaged her arm, still not looking at him. "I grew up roaming these woods. I don't need an escort."
"Get in the car," he said, that soft, steely edge in his voice that said he'd made his decision and wasn't going to change it. "I'll take you back."
Car? Bewildered, Faith looked around. Until now, she hadn't had time to wonder how he'd gotten to the summer-house. She saw the Jaguar now, parked by the side of the house rather than in the drive. As always, she had approached from the other side, so she hadn't seen it. What evil genie had prompted him to park there, instead of in the drive? If she had seen the car, she never would have left the safety of the woods.