Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Now back in her office, ready to work, with Zorro settled down with his afternoon treat, Arden set an alarm. She’d promised to meet the other two Fates at Jamie’s studio at four-thirty for their first session.
It relieved her their first would be the group. Maybe she wouldn’t feel as self-conscious that way. Maybe. Regardless, she’d work until four, or until she ran out of steam.
She ran out at three-thirty, and congratulated herself on a really good day.
She answered emails she’d ignored, gave a pleased nod at the text from her aunt and uncle. They’d arrived safe in Columbus, where they reported snow and temps in the twenties.
She looked out her window, where the sunlight came fitfully, but it came. And the temperatures hovered into the fifties.
“I’ll take it.”
While she didn’t own a flowy white dress—and Jamie said wardrobe wasn’t necessary—she changed into jeans and a T-shirt and threw a flannel shirt over it.
“Let’s go out.”
Thrilled with the idea, Zorro sprinted off.
The air smelled fresh and felt the same. Winter, yes, Arden thought, but it held no bitterness or bite today. When the rains swept back, and they would, they’d carry a shiver. And the fog would roll and spread.
But today, the sun peeked through clouds to sprinkle on the valley and add delicate hints of blue to the river.
She caught the scent of woodsmoke as she walked, as well as the scent of the damp that hid in the shadows.
She wouldn’t pine for spring, for the warmth, for the blooming, not yet. Not when she wanted to embrace the moment.
Pines brought some green, and bare trees stood like sentinels. The breeze was a bracing kiss on her cheeks.
She arrived just as Zoey pulled up. Under an open gray trench coat, her cousin wore a navy dress that stretched over her baby bump.
She also, Arden noted, wore the perfect French manicure.
Glancing at her own nails, she winced. She really needed to do something about them.
Zoey took a garment bag out of the back.
“White sheath and jacket I saw at the maternity shop. I wanted Jamie to see if it works. Either way, it’s mine.”
“I have no flowy white dress.”
“That will be remedied.” Angling her head, Zoey smiled. “You look energized. Excited about trying on your artist’s model?”
“No. But I had a really good day of writing. How’s the next in line?”
“Active.” After greeting Zorro, Zoey rubbed her bump. “Very.”
With the privilege of friendship, Arden laid a hand on Zoey’s belly, felt the kick. “Goal!”
“Shoots, scores. Boone says boy or girl—he remains adamant about not finding out ahead of time—this one’s going to dominate the soccer field.”
They’d just started toward the house when Tessa drove up.
“Hello, sister goddesses.”
She bounced out of her truck on work boots. The tail of her hair spilled out under her cap, and her cargo pants and shirt bore some smears and splatters of her trade.
“Came straight from work,” she said.
“So did we all.”
Tessa looked up at Zoey, then shifted over to Arden. “Sister goddesses who work in very different trades.”
“I’m going to need your trade in—Woody estimates—a couple months.”
“I’ll mark you down. When’s he starting?”
“A week from Monday.”
“Cool. Let me know when the drywall’s up, and I’ll come take a look. So, is this way weird or what?”
“Way weird.”
Zoey shook her head. “Fun.”
“If I had your face, I’d think fun.” Tessa shrugged. “But Jamie knows what he’s doing.”
They trooped to the door. When Jamie opened it, he beamed like the rising sun.
“There’s my beauties. And you, my man, Isis is ready to romp with you. Let me take you up. I have refreshments. The stairs aren’t too much, are they, Mama?”
“Dude. I chase around after a couple of toddlers, and that’s after working all day.”
“But you’ll tell me anytime you need to sit. This won’t be a long one today, and I’m so grateful you could all do this first together.”
In his studio, he had wine, water, a pot of tea, a fruit and cheese platter, and cookies unmistakably baked by Nick.
Tessa rubbed her hands together. “This is looking like a pretty good gig.”
“I want you all comfortable and happy. So enjoy, relax a bit. What have we here, Zoey?”
“A white sheath and jacket I saw at my pregnant girl shop. You can let me know if it’s what you have in mind. And since I want to know what you have in mind, I don’t think Clotho, right? I don’t think she was pregnant. Are you just going to work around that?”
“Absolutely not. We celebrate it,” he said, lifting his arms. “You’re the spinner of the thread of life, and you carry it.”
He unzipped the bag, drew out the suit. Smiled with his sigh. “My fashion partner, this is perfect.”
“I need more direction than white and flowing to find what you want.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
“You’re not buying me a dress.”
“I’m buying my goddess her dress.”
“I’ve got the jeans, the T-shirt,” Tessa began as she bit into a strawberry.
“I’ll find the jacket. And the red high-tops.”
“I’ve got red high-tops.”
“I’ll look at them next time. Each of you will have that pop of red. Tessa, the shoes, Arden probably a belt or sash. Or if the dress doesn’t work with one, the measuring tape. And with this outfit, Zoey, I think pendant. A big, bold red stone.”
“Power color.”
Jamie beamed at Arden now. “Just so. Now, don’t mind me. Relax, enjoy, converse. I’m going to do some sketches, casual ones.”
Tessa looked at Arden. “Weird.”
Zoey just laughed. “Let me tell you about this tour group today.” Obviously at ease, she entertained them until Jamie set aside his pad.
“All right, I want a few with you standing together. I have props.”
“This is cute.”
“Hand spindle. You’ll hold it by the thread, the other hand cupped just below it.” He held out a cloth measuring tape to Arden. “Both hands, held loosely.”
“Because I don’t measure until the thread’s spun.”
“You see what I see. And for you, scissors.”
Tessa gave the slim, elongated scissors with gold accents a couple of snaps. “Pretty fancy ones.”
“Why would you end life with kitchen shears? Arden, I’d love if you’d take your hair out of the braid for this.”
“Sure.”
“Cap off, Tess, and you on Arden’s right, scissors right hand, and let’s try left hand with the thumb hooked in the pocket. Zoey, Arden’s left. Angle just a bit toward her, but look straight at me. Arden, lower your hands more, and relax them.”
He gave them all bolstering smiles. “Talk amongst yourselves.”
“Okay. Arden, that basement level. About twelve hundred square feet?”
“Um. Twelve hundred and thirty-six.”
“How many colors are you looking for?”
“Well.” Oddly, thinking about it relaxed her, and talking it through helped her visualize it.
Jamie didn’t smile as he sketched now. He used an easel, a much larger sketch pad.
By the time he stepped back, the three of them had talked paint, dinner plans, Zoey’s newest skin care obsession, and made a lunch date for the following week.
“You’re brilliant, all of you. Perfect and brilliant. Would you like to see?”
“Bet your ass.” Tessa hurried over. “Okay, wow.”
Arden looked over Tessa’s shoulder. “I’ll second that okay, wow.”
“I make it unanimous. I couldn’t really see what you talked about, Jamie, but here it is. We look…”
“Like goddesses,” Tessa finished. “But not all formal and old-timey. Like now. You put us in the outfits we don’t have yet.”
“I’ve seen Zoey’s, and I have yours and Arden’s earmarked. I wanted to see if this worked first.”
Arden edged closer. “It worked.”
They all looked straight out, as if aware of the onlooker, but the way they stood, the angles, made them a unit, and each with a task to do. Zoey’s face, serene, almost dreamy, and hers? She supposed thoughtful, while Tessa struck her as coolly confident.
The varying heights and, yes, shapes, especially given Zoey’s obvious pregnancy, added individuality.
“I’m buying the painting.”
“Hey, wait.”
Arden just gave Zoey a wide, closed-lip smile. “Dibs.”
“Damn it.”
“I haven’t painted it yet, or said it’s for sale.”
“When you do. It’s going in my new family room, over my new fireplace.”
“I’ll buy that sketch.”
Zoey let out a frustrated breath at Tessa. “Damn it!”
“I’ll need it for now, and when I don’t, you can have it. No charge. I’ll need to do at least one more,” he told Zoey, “and that’s yours.”
Leaning over, Zoey kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Pregnant brain’s made me slow off the mark. But not so slow I can’t see this is going to be wonderful.”
“The three of you inspired me. I can work with each of you individually when you have time for a sitting. And I’d like two or, better, three more sessions together, in wardrobe.”
She hadn’t expected to have fun, but she had. And, Arden thought, wasn’t that the best kind of fun?
Nick got home before they left. When he walked into the studio, he studied the sketch, slid an arm around Jamie.
“I married a genius.”
“So did I.” Jamie tipped a head to Nick’s shoulder. “Aren’t we lucky?”
“I think I married a genius, because when he talks about his work, I understand nothing.”
“Zoey, no one does.”
“Exactly. What I do know is he’s home from work, home with the kids, and he’s making rosemary chicken for dinner.”
“A guy who cooks doesn’t have to be a genius,” Tessa decided.
“True, and he’s damn good at it. Which I’m going to prove by having you all over for dinner. We’ll get the sitter to host a Girls Only Pizza Picnic in the bonus room. The kids will love it.”
Zoey took out her phone, checked her calendar. “How about two weeks from Friday?”
“I’ll check with Hawk. We’re actually meeting up for pizza in … Oops, I’d better get going.”
“My social calendar’s open. I can’t speak for the chief’s, but I’ll have him check.”
“We’re there,” Jamie said at a nod from Nick.
“With dessert,” Nick added.
“I was hoping. I have to get home. Jamie, this was a new and fascinating experience.”
“Let’s set up the next before you go. I’ll come to you.”
Arden walked home with a played-out Zorro. Evening had closed in with its deep, dark shadows, the creep of fog. She heard an owl call, and another, distant, answer.
Her phone signaled a text as she walked.
At Jamie’s? I’ll come get you.
I’m walking onto the driveway right now.
Instead of answering, Gideon opened the door. Light washed out from behind him in welcome. Zorro found the energy to desert her and run to Gideon.
He still wore his sidearm, which told her he’d only just gotten home. Even as he bent to rub the dog, those deep, delicious green eyes watched her.
And ridiculously, the way they did made her feel like a goddess.
She walked straight to him, framed his face in her hands, and kissed him.
“Somebody had a good time.”
“I did, and a good day all around.”
“I can add to that. I brought home dinner.”
She stood where she was a moment, on the threshold, night at her back, the light and him before her.
“I love you.”
He managed to look pleased and puzzled at the same time. “I love you, too.”
She stepped in, and shut out the night.
In Boise, Dubecki ordered a steak dinner and a bottle of cab.
He’d considered going out to a restaurant, as he’d grown tired of hotel rooms with only himself for company.
But even with the darker, longer hair, the beard, some nosy asshole might recognize him.
He was so close now, better to keep the lowest of low profiles.
He’d considered hiring a whore—you could always find a whore—but though he wanted sex, he knew he couldn’t settle for just that. He’d need the kill.
Unless, of course, it was Arden.
He couldn’t afford to kill some whore in Boise, Idaho, when he was this close to what he wanted, needed, deserved.
So he settled for room service and a movie that contained nudity, violence, and adult language.
He really wanted all three.
Just to vent out some pressure, he thought as he ate. This trip put a lot of pressure on him. All the driving—hours most days—the fucking weather that kept him holed up in his room when it was impossible to drive.
The time, the expense, the fucking boredom.
She’d have to pay for that.
He’d cuff her to the bed, give her a taste of the belt before he took her from behind and made her like it until she begged for more.
And he wanted a goddamn blow job. He’d hold the knife to her throat so she didn’t get any ideas and bite him again. Last time, his tongue had been sore for days.
He fantasized about the different ways he’d hurt her—to teach her a lesson. It gave him a nicer buzz than the wine.
He’d bought the zip ties and the duct tape, and he’d use them. Waste not, want not.
Once she’d learned her lesson, he’d bring them out again once in a while, just to refresh her.
She’d wear the clothes he bought her—he’d already picked up some things here and there. And nothing else.
Finally, he’d be in control. No one would ever tell him what to do or how to do it, ever again. Especially Arden.
She’d call him Sam, and if she slipped? Well, that’s what a backhand was for.
He’d trash her ID. She wouldn’t need new because she wouldn’t go anywhere; she wouldn’t need to buy anything because he’d provide what he chose to provide. And she’d better be grateful.
But maybe he’d give her a new name. Something more female, something softer. He’d think about it. He’d decide.
When he flew back to Ohio, say a year from now, to kill the others, he’d have to chain her to the bed. For her own good.
But he’d leave food and water close at hand.
She’d be so happy to see him when he got back from doing what he needed to do. She’d want sex right away, of course, and he’d give that to her. Then she’d mix him a drink so he could relax while she unpacked for him. She’d cook his favorite dinner before they had sex again.
He looked at her picture with a mixture of rage and lust and longing. She’d be who he wanted her to be, or by God, she’d be sorry.
He took a long breath, drank some wine. He needed to stay calm now, stay focused. Tomorrow, he’d drive to Riverbend.