Bob’s phone was hacked, which is presumably how we were found out. There’s no evidence the Smythsons found out from the picture Red sent Katie. Bob says Linn was behind him at the bank one day, when Linn was discussing me with a mutual friend and former Bonesman. Maybe that’s how Linn knew to hack his phone. Maybe it was Smythson, and he dispatched Linn. Maybe Linn just lost it. I don’t know.
I find myself not caring much.
I sit down at the desk, where I first assembled a stack of photos and mementos for Red. I lean back a little, listening to the ancient rolling chair creak. Then I do what I’ve been wanting to do. I spin around slowly and look at the nearest picture of her.
It’s a five-by-seven in a pale frame that looks almost like shell. I find it beside a volume of Hunter S. Thompson poems and scoop it up, bringing it close to my face. She’s younger here. So much younger, in her pale green dress and braces. I run my thumb over the glass, wishing I knew more about this girl. What she wanted. What she needed.
I have so many questions. How did she handle her mom’s death? What was her life like in college?
I’ll admit, I’ve gotten overly involved with the idea of her. And it’s gotten worse, not better, since she left.
I can’t bring myself to wash my sheets. At night, I dream of her. Good dreams, nightmares… But Red is there.
I sit in the chair for a long time, holding her picture. Looking around the office in something very like dismay.
It doesn’t matter if Linn never returns. If Smythson never comes to collect his secret. I don’t ever know I’m free of them, so my life will stay the same. Except I’m moving. Bought a place two days ago, somewhere far from here. The water is bluer, the sand whiter, and it’s far away from fucking Smythson. Far from all my memories.
I lean back and listen to the waves break on the rocks. Red’s rocks. I’m so tired. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so tired.
Maybe I nod off. Maybe I perish in my sleep and go to heaven. All I know is, the next time I open my eyes, Red is there in front of me.
*
RED
I walked home from meeting Bob yesterday afternoon, and I couldn’t shake this eerie feeling. That my life would end somehow, and I’d have nothing to show for it. I’m writing now, working on a novel, but I’m only on page ten. I have no family. No commitments. I sat up all night, trying to think of some way to chase the foreboding feeling away. It was so strong, I checked under my bed, in all my closets, but all I found was empty space. Maybe that’s the problem.
So I got up this morning and I went shopping. I bought myself a few new dresses, sandals, sunscreen, even a floppy hat. And then I called a charter boat service in Charleston. Every boat but one was rented. I booked the speedboat for six o’clock, but I was there at five oh-five. Same bag. New panties. One pair crotchless. Oh, and this time, a bathing suit.
When I first get off the boat, I’m worried maybe he’s not here. Because of this, I booked the boat to pick me up tomorrow at this same time. If Race is here, we’ll pay the driver for her time and send her away.
I hope he’s here. I think he’s here. I used an old journalist trick on Bob, asking him if Race was still at Rabbit Island. A lot of people don’t like to lie, but they’re perfectly willing to be evasive.
So when Bob said he felt he couldn’t tell me, I just figured. If Race was gone, he would have just said “no.”
I hike through the forest and try the door to Race’s house with shaking fingers. It’s unlocked. As soon as I step inside, I can smell his soap—his scent. I walk over to the bed and smell the pillow, and my eyes tear. The bathroom is clean, but empty. He’s not downstairs—in fact, the entryway to the basement is already covered with another set of shelves I think came from the kitchen.
I find his gun on the kitchen counter and put it in my pocket, then keep moving. He’s not in either of his tree houses, although I have to confess, I don’t check the one near Gertrude’s house. I just walk under it and listen.
I’m holding my breath by the time I make it to her back door. When I try it and the knob turns, I allow myself a moment of exuberance.
I have a moment of panic when I worry the house has been overtaken by vengeance-seeking baddies, but as I walk through, I find it quiet, and more packed up than last time. Someone has been here working.
“Race?” I say into the silence.
I’m scared to really yell for him, because if he doesn’t answer, I don’t know what I’ll do. I check each room I pass, stunned anew by how quiet it is here on the island. Somewhere not far off, I can hear another speedboat; maybe it’s circling the island, going to pick up someone else.
I reach Gertrude’s office last, and there he is—sitting in her rickety old desk chair, sleeping with my picture in his hand, as if he’s waiting just for me.
The sight of Race is glorious. He’s wearing worn-out khakis with a simple black t-shirt and an ancient-looking pair of leather flip flops. My first thought—preposterous or hopeful—is I need to get this man some new clothes.
I take a step closer. His hair is just a little longer. His eyelashes, resting against his high cheekbones, are darker than my memory noted. And his mouth. Oh my new panties, that mouth.
I can’t stand to wake him, so I sink down onto the rug. I watch him breathe. I thank my lucky stars that he’s still here.
It takes him what feels like hours to stir, and in that time, I watch him like a stalker. The first sign he’s waking is the way his brows tug together and his mouth flattens. Without more preamble, his eyes flip open. Settle on me. I watch his face contort—eyes bulging out, mouth falling open like he’s looking at a ghost.
He looks around, as if to confirm he’s where he thought he was. He sets his gaze back on me and stands up slowly. He looks down on me. “Red,” he breathes. “What are you doing here?”
I know he’s going to be pissed, but still—I can’t contain a silly grin. “I came to visit.”
“Why?”
I shrug one shoulder. “I got these amazing crotchless panties, and the boys in Boston… Well. They’re boys.” I push myself to my feet and reach out to touch his package, which, to my delight, is already a hard bulge in his shorts.
I cup my palm over him. Race groans.
“I missed this.” I look into his eyes. “I missed you.”
I’m rubbing his erection, and I can tell he’s started breathing just a little faster. His eyes, on mine, are molten—but he’s trying to be rational. Trying not to grab my breasts or start talking dirty. “You’re not supposed to be here. It’s not safe.”
“It’s not?” I look around. “Seems pretty safe to me.”
His mouth softens, and he reaches out to touch my cheek. “Red, you’re crazy.”
I close a hand over his hand. “Crazy because I want to live my life? Crazy because I’m not going back to something that’s boring and unfulfilling?”
“Just crazy,” he murmurs.
Then he jerks me into his arms.
I wrap my arms around his waist and have half a second to enjoy the feeling of being back in his arms. Then I’m being picked up, hauled off through the house. He climbs some stairs, strides down a hall, pushes thorough a door, and then we’re in a bedroom. He strips my shirt off, tosses me onto the bed. I hear the gun I had in my pocket thud against the floor—a pretty major oops, I guess—but I don’t care. Race is here. I won’t need it.
I look over and see a cat in the corner, and of course I sneeze.
“Shit,” he says. “You want to—”
“No way. I’m fine.”
“That you are.” He grins—the first one he’s allowed himself since waking up.
I lie still as he peels my capris off and gasps at the site of my pale pink, crotchless panties.
“You know what you’re asking for,” he rumbles.
“What?” I murmur as he spreads my legs and strokes my cunt.
“You’re asking for a thorough fucking, Red. My cock, your pussy. Now”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WOLFE
He pushes two fingers into me, and it feels as good as ever. “Shut your eyes, Red. Imagine me, pushed deep inside you. I’m going to fill you up till you can’t take another centimeter. And then…”
He wriggles the fingers inside my pussy, causing me to sigh. I sense more than see him taking his pants off with his free hand.
I open my eyes to the sight of his giant erection. “And then what?” He slides his fingers a little deeper into me, making my hips jerk.
“And then I’ll fuck your ass, my little fuck doll.”
“Race,” I murmur, writhing under his hand. “I want to suck your dick.”
“I want to suck your clit.” He stretches out beside me on the bed and pulls me up against him. His mouth finds mine, and we share a long, delicious kiss that snowballs in intensity, until I’m jerking him off and he’s teasing my clit, and I’m all tied up in knots. His fingers still pump in and out of my cunt, circling around my clit, bathing me in my own juices. “Sit on my face. Now.”
He pulls his fingers out, palms his massive cock, and wiggles his tongue.
“I want to taste you, baby. Climb on up.”
Somehow, I’ve never done this. It takes me a moment’s thought to get the position worked out. I straddle his face, feeling a little self-conscious as I stretch my torso over his smooth, tanned, taut stomach. With my ass wiggling in the air, and my dripping pussy positioned right over his face, I lean down and drag my tongue down Race’s his happy trail.
I’m rewarded with a moan.
He reaches up and wraps his arms around my midsection, pulling my body lower, so I can feel his breath on my pussy. My breasts sway against his chest. I shriek as he licks my dripping slit, then reaches up and teases my entrance with a finger.
“In,” I urge.
He ignores my request, and instead hooks that lone finger into me, positioning it so he’s teasing my G-spot. I moan his name. He traces a fingertip around my ass and I start panting hard.
I had all this buildup planned for his cock, but suddenly all I want is to suck it, old school. I lean down, take the base of it in my hands, and lick around the plump, soft head. I trace my hands up and down his velvet shaft, then palm his balls with one hand while the other strokes him. I suck my cheeks in, creating a warm, damp dick vacuum. He lifts his hips and thrusts into my throat.
His tongue writhes its way between my pussy lips, and damn, it feels even better than usual when I’m sucking on his dick. His tongue is so wet and soft. The pleasure blinds me. I take his cock deeper down my throat and he gets his fingers in my cunt and ass. Push in, glide out. I grind down on his hand because my pussy craves the penetration.
I roll his balls in my palm like big, warm marbles and I feel them draw up. I’m rewarded with the salty taste of precum on my tongue.
“Fuck, Red.” His breath is hot against my cunt. His tongue flicks up and down, his fingers writhe inside me. I suck on his cock like it’s my life’s mission, his low, hoarse moans driving me on. His hips keep lifting off the bed.
I suck my cheeks in hard, and he shudders. My throat is filled with him. I swallow it quickly and he moans, “Oh God, Red!”
He moves quickly, almost frighteningly so, tossing me back down on the mattress, climbing over me, positioning his head at my entrance.
“I need to be inside you, Red. I need to fuck you.”
“Yes.”
He drives inside so hard I’m thrust into the headboard. “Race! Oh Race!” I grab his arms. He pumps his hips.
“Tell me that you like it, doll.”
“Oh yes.” I lift my legs and encircle his hips. “I love your cock!”
“I love that cunt.”
And that’s the last thing that he says before I hear a metallic click. I hear a click and I look up, and there’s a man standing in the doorway. He’s pointing a gun at us. I recognize the face immediately, but I’m so surprised, my voice won’t work. I’m not sure what happens. I guess I must stiffen, because Race looks down at me, and when he does, he sees my face.
He turns around, and— “What the fuck? BOB?”
He sounds as uncertain as I feel, but there’s no denying: That is Bob pointing a gun at us. Not us. Now that Race has climbed off of me, it’s obvious he’s got the gun pointed right at me.
Race looks from me to Bob. His face is a riot—shocked, confused, helpless, angry. He’s off the bed like lightning and Bob fires a shot.
I shriek, and the lamp beside me shatters.
“I’d sit down if I were you,” Bob snaps.
The gun, for a moment pointed at neither of us, trains back on me. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I’m chanting.
Race stands in front of the bed, putting himself between Bob and I. I can see his shoulders rising and falling fast. He’s as scared as I am, but his voice is smooth and steady.
“Bob—what’s going on, man?”
“Nothing new,” Bob says. He sounds the same way he did in the restaurant with me.
“What are you doing here?” Race’s voice lilts a little on the end, and I’m shocked to see he’s moving subtly toward Bob.
Bob chuckles. “Just thought I’d drop by. It’s a nice day out here. Nice island. It’s been years since I was here. I keep this place running, so why shouldn’t I see it? Why shouldn’t I see it?” he repeats, his voice a little tighter. “I should see it! I should move here. It’s my island, my paintings, my women.”
“Okay. Whoa now. Let’s just all take a second,” Race starts.
Bob fires again, this time at the ceiling-mounted lamp. It shatters over us, and Race jerks backward, sprawling out on the bed, knocking me—no, kicking me onto the floor. I land hard on my ribs, and Bob’s voice raises, shrill and high.
“I don’t need a second, Race! Don’t tell me what to do, I call the shots here! You’re the shadow man! The shadow government paints! You’re the shadow. I’m the light! Cookie saw it. Cookie knew.”
“What are you talking about?” I scramble up and peek over the bed. Race sounds angry now. “What the fuck are you talking about Cookie?”
“She was fucking mine! Not yours!” He laughs. “Did you believe Linn, that raving moron? Linn was lying! Took you for a ride! Not his story.” Bob shakes his head. “That was my story. Cookie and me. Jack of all trades, couldn’t pass the bar! I couldn’t pass the bar but I know laws, I’m good at that, I helped her try, but she couldn’t, so she died.”
Race inches closer to him, and Bob points the gun right at him. Heat fills my body like lava. I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Please don’t do it! Please, no, God! Not Race!
“What are you talking about Bob? Put the gun down. Are you on something, man?”
“I’m on fire,” Bob snaps. “I’m on fire, and I need the sprinklers to come and wash my sins away!”
“Under the bed, Red,” Race barks. But I can’t do it. I can’t take my eyes off Race.
“You think you’re smart. The big artist.” Bob laughs—more a cackle really. “I might do too much blow but I’m the smartest. No one ever knew.”
“Knew what?” Race says.
“Her ass was tight.” Bob laughs. “She wouldn’t spread her legs for me so I had to wait until she went to sleep.”
Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down. I can see Race’s body trembling.
“Are you saying you killed Cookie?”
“Ding, ding, ding! Oh yes. That bitch didn’t want me. She wanted you maybe, not you,” he shakes his head like he’s confused. “She wanted that dipwad Bryson Paige.” Bob laughs. “It was easy to do. I’m good at the covert. Follow her, follow him… Sometimes I would watch but that never got my dick hard. I’m a one-man—” His eyes roll back a little as he speaks. “I’m a one-girl sort of man. It’s all in the commitment. I’m committed, I’m a nice guy. Loaning money to people. Managing his money. Linn’s in debt, big time. That fucking lawyer.”
Bob waves the gun at Race and mimes pulling
the trigger. Race ducks, and I swear my heart stops.
Race rises up from behind a wing-backed chair with his arms out. “Listen, Bob. I understand—you’re very smart. I couldn’t have survived the last—”
Bob points the gun at Race and pulls the trigger. I watch as the bullet sails through Race’s arm, explodes behind me. I lunge for him, wrapping my arms around his waist, screaming.
Bob fires again. Race throws me down. I slide along the hardwood floor, my mouth coming in contact with something hard.