Chapter Twenty-Six
Bored, antsy, and out of chips, Dustin mapped the next leg of his journey. He’d really have to push it to make it to Salt Lake City, and didn’t see the point. So he’d aim for his night’s stop in Wyoming.
Yeehaw!
Maybe he’d buy himself a cowboy hat.
He could pick out some cowgirl boots for Arden, save them for when she’d earned a treat.
He knew her size—eight narrow. He’d studied the shoes in her apartment closet because he’d thought ahead.
Like always.
He found his spot, made an online booking for the following night. Since it was late in the day and he had to pack up, he’d leave first thing in the morning. Stop somewhere for a good, hot breakfast, some road snacks.
He started to text the guy who rented the house, tell him he wouldn’t need the extended stay after all. Another couple of days in this place, he’d die of boredom.
Before he could write the text, someone knocked on the door.
His first instinct was to get his gun. He shoved it into the back waistband of his jeans.
With a peek out the window, he saw a Jeep that looked as if it had put in a lot of hard miles. And a woman, young, pretty, in a white parka and a sparkling rainbow ski hat.
He opened the door.
“Oh, thank God! Hi!” The words just bubbled out.
“I’m so lost! My GPS went out, and I forgot to charge my phone.
Can you believe it? I know I made a wrong turn somewhere.
If I could just use your phone, call my friends, and maybe get directions?
We’ve got a place up here for the rest of winter break. Sorry, I’m Hailey, Hailey Parkinson.”
He thought: Bullshit story. She’d heard there was a guy up here and wanted to check him out.
“Sure, come on in.”
“Thanks. I’m such an idiot! I’ve been driving around and around. I was afraid I’d run out of gas, and that would just top it.”
She had brown eyes, deep, dark eyes, and glittery red streaks in her dark brown hair.
“This is nice,” she said as she looked around. “I’ve seen pictures of the place we booked. I hope it’s this nice.”
“Yeah, we like it. My wife should be back any minute now.” He gestured to Arden’s picture. “She went out snowshoeing. I’m a more read-by-the-fire guy.”
“I’m with your wife. I love winter sports. Oh, she’s pretty. She looks familiar. Wait! Is your wife … I can’t remember the name. I got a book for Christmas, from my sister, the big reader. I haven’t read it, but I swear that’s the same picture on the back of it.”
Staring into her eyes, Dustin smiled. “Her name’s Arden.”
“That’s it! Isn’t that weird? I got a book she wrote for Christmas and I end up here.”
“Some things are meant.”
He pulled the gun out, aimed it at her. “Take off your clothes.”
“What?”
He saw shock come first, shock, confusion, then that delicious terror.
“Oh, Jesus, don’t. No! Please, don’t.”
“That’s okay.” He balled his left hand into a fist, smashed it into her face. “I’ll do it.”
Yeah, some things are meant, he thought as she dropped.
She’d come to his door, alone, with that bullshit story and those glittery red streaks in her hair. He dragged off her cap, ran his fingers through it.
He’d told her he was married, but she’d still flirted with him. Even when she’d recognized Arden.
Just another slut.
When she moaned, struggled, he hit her again. He didn’t want to fight to get her out of the parka and all the rest.
She’d asked for it. He deserved it after all the miles he’d put in, the boredom, the effort.
And bonus round, she had a nice set of tits.
When he filled his hands with them, her eyes, glassy now, flickered open.
She cried, she screamed, begged, pretending she didn’t want what was coming.
It irritated the crap out of him, so he pulled the gun back out, rammed it under her chin. And watched those glassy eyes go wide with terror.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch. You’re going to take it, you’re going to like it, or this bullet goes straight to your brain.”
“Please. Please don’t hurt me. Please.”
“Baby, I’m gonna rock your world. It’s what you came for.”
“No, no.”
When he shoved himself into her, she turned her head away and wept.
He was a man. Taking what he wanted, what he deserved, what women tried to use to control.
“Look at me.” Tossing the gun aside, he yanked her head around, closed his hands over her throat. “Stop that blubbering, and look at me.”
She fought now, bucking under him, hands flailing. As the excitement built, he pumped faster, squeezed harder.
He swore, swore, he felt the life fly out of her as he came, like the two actions were melded. And he came with a roar of triumph.
His body shook; his hands clutched like vises.
Then he collapsed on her, winded, empty, and blissfully satisfied.
“Good, that was so fucking good. Good for you, too. Cutting off the oxygen increases the pleasure. You’re welcome. Whew!”
Still breathless, he got up, studied her.
“I’m going to take a shower and figure out what to do about you. Looks like I’m heading out tonight after all.”
Since he hadn’t sent that text, he had the place for three more days.
Plenty of time before anybody found her. Since he felt energized and relaxed at the same time, he decided he could drive a hundred and fifty, maybe two hundred miles, depending on road conditions.
Fresh from the shower, he sat by the fire with barely a glance at the body lying a few feet away.
In the end, he packed up. He went through the things in her car, took the five hundred and sixty-two dollars in cash and a bag of pretzels. He debated over a couple of sweaters he thought would look good on Arden, took those, the white parka, the sparkly rainbow cap.
He left her lying on the floor, and drove away in the gathering night.
Happy to go back to work, Arden tried out the new daily routine. She shared a house now, full-time, so adjustments.
She let the dog out; he made coffee.
“It’s a workout day for me.”
“Me, too. Is that a problem?”
She lifted her shoulders. “Not for me.”
They went up, changed. He let the dog in, put food and fresh water in the bowls while she filled two water bottles.
She wouldn’t have said they worked out together. More, they used the same space, as his routine made hers feel like the equivalent of lying on the couch eating chips and dip.
When she was done, she went up, showered, dressed, and was still drying her hair when he came in. Yes, adjustments, she thought, as he stripped down and walked into the shower.
Downstairs, with the morning fog enveloping the house like gray curtains, he sliced a banana over cereal, and she made a smoothie.
“I’ll bring something home for dinner.”
“That’d be good. Surprise me. I’m going up to get started.”
She walked over, kissed him. She liked it when he tugged her in so their lips lingered.
“Go fight crime, Chief.”
“That’s the plan.”
As she went upstairs, she thought, with pleasure, the adjustments worked.
She finished her smoothie standing at her office window. She loved looking out at fog, the way it moved, shifted, tore, settled again. She liked how it haloed the mountains, blanketed the valley, and how mists rose up like faerie fingers from the river.
She thought she might get a kayak. Rent one first in case she hated it. But if she didn’t, it could be fun to spend some time on a summer Sunday on the river she looked out on every day.
But for now, she’d enjoy the fog, and the rain that so often chased it.
She heard Zorro coming up the steps, watched Gideon’s truck pull out, turn onto the road.
“This is our life now.” She rubbed Zorro as he stood by her side. “I love our life. But that’s enough daydreaming.”
She sat at her desk, rolled her shoulders.
“And here we go.”
It worked the next day, too, and though she knew part of it leaned on that first heady bliss of love, it just felt right. Having Gideon’s clothes in the closet felt right, and his shaving gear in the bathroom.
While her hours generally ran fairly steady, his fluctuated, but it simply worked.
When he brought work home, he tended to use the dining room or kitchen counter, which said to her, home office downstairs.
She brought it up as he closed his laptop.
“Yeah, I could use it. Nothing the size of yours. I don’t need that. Desk, shelves, decent lighting.”
“I’m getting closer to seeing it. Fireplace, a whopping big-screen.” So no TV den needed upstairs, and the bedroom would remain a bedroom.
Maybe, one day, a nursery.
“I want one of those things,” she continued, “units, whatever, on the wall of the gym plumbed in where you can fill your water bottle. The bathroom…”
“Good size, but the smallest in the house. Maybe forget a tub, just a big walk-in shower.”
“Exactly what I thought. So, good. I’m going in to look at tile samples, flooring, paint, all of that tomorrow, since you’re on duty. I’ll talk to Joe about the contractors.”
“He won’t steer you wrong. It’s your house, Arden.”
“I don’t want you—”
“Hold on, let me finish.” He rose, got a bottle of wine. “It’s been a few days and, I’m officially off duty until eight a.m., so my alcohol purge is over. You?”
“I guess we’re about to have a discussion, so yeah, I’ll have one, too.”
“It’s your house,” he repeated as he poured, “but I’m living here. I’m going to pull my weight, so we work that out. Food, utilities, and all the rest. That includes the work downstairs and wherever else you start itching to do.”
“Gideon, I can afford it. When my parents died, there was the insurance, the house in Brooklyn, and the rest. Aunt Jen—Uncle Doug fixes things, she handles the money—she invested it for me. And I had a college fund, so there was that. I don’t make a fortune from my work, but it pays the bills.”
“Good to know. If my portfolio tanks and I lose my job, I can be your gigolo. Meanwhile.”
Amused, he tugged her down to a stool and sat with her. “Do you know one of the excuses they used when they burned me on the force in LA? I wasn’t a real cop because I had money. Serious money. The kind where you could sit on your ass on a yacht in the Med.”
“Oh. I guess I didn’t go there.”