He starts hissing again, violently.
Jill shakes her head. “I feel like we’re ride-sharing with a Komodo Dragon.” She pauses a minute. “Where was I?”
“You and Jack were never a couple.”
Jack starts kicking his feet. I say, “Apparently he disagrees.”
“I’ve been with exactly two men in my entire life,” she says.
“I find that quite hard to believe.”
“I can understand why you feel that way. But it’s true.”
“I assume Bobby’s one of them?”
She nods.
“And Jack?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I barely know him.”
Jack sputters and makes loud, almost maniacal sounds of protest. He searches desperately for his pencil and paper, finds them, and starts writing as furiously as any man with bound wrists could possibly write. Jill grabs his pencil and breaks it in half. Then throws it through the open partition, into the front seat.
“Enough!” she says. “We saved your life, Jack. Be grateful.” She turns to me and says, “I’ll cooperate with your sketch artist the minute we get to the hotel. And I’ll trust you to keep your promise about killing Bobby whenever it works best for your schedule.”
“In return for?”
“Protecting me until you kill him.”
“And?”
“A new identity and top-quality medical treatment for Jack.”
“And?”
“Our time is limited, so I’m just going to toss something out there.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m a looner.”
“Which means what, exactly?”
“I have a sexual fetish for balloon play.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I like the sound of it. Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re welcome. The other thing is I’m insanely attracted to dangerous, powerful men. By attracted, I mean sexually attracted. Frank told me you’re the most dangerous man in the world. It wasn’t necessary that you have movie star good looks, but it sure as hell doesn’t hurt. What I’m trying to say, I want—need—you to make love to me.”
Jack starts thrashing about, hissing at the highest decibel possible. It’s more of a whirring sound, almost like a jet engine. Jill’s right, it’s annoying as hell.
“Will you do it?” She says. “Will you make love to me?”
“I’m involved with someone.”
“So I heard. Callie. But here’s the thing: she’ll never have to know.”
Before I have a chance to tell her it’s totally out of the question, she licks her lips and says, “Donovan?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sopping wet for you.”
I look at Jack. “Time for you to go, partner.”
I pull him toward me, open the door, push him out, and motion for Joe to come and get him. Then I close the door and say, “Where were we?”
“We were talking about sex.”
“Right. What about it?”
“I want it.”
“Right. But I’m with Callie.”
“You love her?”
“Absolutely.”
“Enough to marry her?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have your last fling?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re planning to be with the same woman for the rest of your life. In your case that’s what, forty years?”
“Not the way I live.”
“Well, however much time you’ve got, you should have the memory of a last fling.”
“I already had a last fling.”
“Let me define what I mean. A last fling is not necessarily the last person you slept with.”
“It’s not?”
“No. It only counts as a last fling if you know in advance she’s the last person you’ll ever sleep with besides your future wife.”
“You’re confusing me.”
“I’ll make it simple. The last woman you slept with. What’s her name?”
“The last one I slept with or the last one I cared about?”
“The last one you slept with.”
I think a minute. “That was more of a one-night stand.”
“Had you already committed to Callie?”
“No.”
“That’s what I mean: You never fucked a woman knowing she’d be the last except for Callie. But I’d be honored to be your last fling, Donovan. I’d be honored to be the one you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”
“You make a helluva case, Jill. But the thing is, I love Callie.”
“More than you love the United States?”
“What do you mean?”
“If it meant saving the country, would you make love to me?”
“That’s a strange angle to take.”
“I can help you catch Decker.”
“How?”
“Let’s not get side-tracked. Let’s just say I can deliver Decker. How badly do you want him?”
“Very.”
“What if you could keep the woman you love, have your last fling with me, and save the country from a series of terrorist attacks?”
“I have to admit, it sounds awfully innocent when you put it that way.”
“I can deliver Decker. That makes it your patriotic duty to make love to me.”
“You should sell insurance. Or used cars.”
“Why?”
“Never mind. What makes you so sure you can get Decker?”
“He asked me to travel with him. I turned him down, but he said to call him if I ever change my mind. If I call him maybe you can do that triangulation thing with his cell phone, and track him down. Or be waiting nearby when he comes to fetch me.”
“I thought you barely knew the guy.”
“I barely do. I met him just before the explosion. Afterward, he gave me a ride to Memphis.”
“That’s it?”
She nods.
Throughout the day I’ve been piecing together information on Jill, Jack, Bobby, and Decker. This seems like a good time to summarize. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. Your husband, the mob boss, hated losing you so much he hired Decker, the terrorist, to blow up a house in order to kill you.”
“That’s right.”
“Before that, he hired Jack, the bounty hunter, to find you and bring you back.”
She nods.
“Jack found you in Kentucky, kidnapped you, and fell hopelessly in love with you during the ride to Louisiana.”
She shrugs.
“Jack gave you his money, his house, and asked you to marry him.”
“Yup.”
“Hours after meeting you.”
She nods.
“Darryl Rhodes tried to sexually molest you, and Decker shot him. A few hours later, Decker tried to blow you up.”
“That’s right.”
“You escaped, he gave you a ride to Memphis, and fell in love with you on the two-hour drive.”
“It was ninety minutes.”
“I stand corrected. Decker fell in love with you in the space of ninety minutes and asked you to share his life.”
“I never said Decker was in love with me. But yes, he asked me to share his life.”
“You must be one helluva woman.”
She wriggles out of her skin-tight pants and says, “I’ll let you decide if I am.”
18.
YOU PROBABLY WANT to know what happened after Jill pulled her pants down and made her very persuasive argument in favor of saving the United States from a despicable reign of terror. I’d like to tell you, but some things are better left unsaid.
Take what you know about me, and believe the best or worst. The issue was pretty simple: be faithful to Callie or protect the United States from terrorism.
What would you have done? Would you agree to a last fling with an incredibly sexy person in order to catch a dangerous terrorist? Or would you say, “I’m in love, and being unfaithful even one time—for any
reason—is too much to ask. Especially if it means hurting the person I adore.”
In a perfect world, people would always do the honorable thing. But which is more honorable: being faithful to my girlfriend or being faithful to my country?
It’s best you don’t know what happened next. Don’t you agree?
19.
I’M JUST FUCKING with you.
I’d never keep you in the dark. We’ve been together too many years for that. I’ll tell you what happened, as I always do, and take my chances on whether you like me more, or less, after knowing the details.
So Jill pulled her pants down…
…And I was very respectful, meaning I waited for her to remove her pants completely before responding. In the spirit of full disclosure, I will confirm she removed her panties, as well.
I can honestly say at that moment I had no intention of having sex with Jill, but neither was I insensitive to her feelings. In other words, I allowed her to remove her top, since that appeared to be her sincere wish.
I wasn’t completely without restraint. I said, “Feel free to keep your high heels on.”
With everyone out of the car except the two of us, there was plenty of room for Jill to lie down on the side seat, on her back, with her legs bent, spread wide apart.
“You make a great case for infidelity,” I said, “and you’ve given me the closest thing to a last fling I’ll ever have. But—”
“You can’t find it in your heart to make love to me?”
“No. But if it matters, a week ago I’d have been all over you like whiskers on a Robertson.”
“Will you watch me?”
“Uh…you don’t mean…?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Quick question before you start?”
“Go ahead.”
“From a woman’s point of view, if I watch you, would I be cheating?”
“No.”
“Can you give me a little more to go on?”
“You’re killing the mood here, Donovan. You know that, right?”
“Sorry.”
She sighs. “For the sake of argument, let’s say you’re home, and you look out the window and see a dog licking its pussy.”
“There’s a visual I wasn’t expecting.”
“The dog was going to lick it whether you watched or not, right?”
“Right.”
“So that’s not cheating. On the other hand, if you go outside and lick the dog’s pussy, that would be cheating.”
“Thanks for clearing that up.”
“May I continue?”
“Why not? I’m just in my home, looking out the window.”
I can understand how some among you might think that watching Jill pleasure herself is akin to cheating. But did I touch her?
No.
Did I encourage her?
No.
Am I required to discourage her?
That’s the question.
I thought of lots of examples why it wasn’t cheating to watch Jill murmur and moan and move around on the seat a few feet in front of me, pelvis gyrating, breasts undulating softly to the rhythmic rise and fall of her hips….
I thought about how the gift of eyesight is one of life’s greatest treasures, and one that should be enjoyed to the fullest extent. I mean, who among you could turn away from a gorgeous sunset, an adorable baby, or a litter of newborn puppies? If these glorious views were placed before you by the gods of chance, wouldn’t you be well within your rights to gaze and marvel at them?
Of course you would. So why should pussy be any different?
I’m not talking about viewing porn, or frequenting strip clubs. That’s proactive viewing. In other words, there’s a difference between chasing tornadoes and being home when a tornado strikes. If you’re chasing pussy, you’re cheating. I get that. But if pussy happens to strike less than five feet away, through no fault of your own, how can you be criticized for looking at it, any more than if a cute puppy suddenly came into view?
You love puppies, I love pussy. Which of us is worse?
You are.
Here’s why: If you were sitting in my limo and a cute puppy happened to pop out of Jill’s pants, you’d have your hands all over that pup within seconds. But when Jill’s pussy popped out I never touched it once.
So run and tell that, homeboy.
But don’t tell Callie, okay?
20.
Callie Carpenter.
I MUST BE slipping, Callie thinks, as she turns her car around and heads back to Kathleen’s house.
In a million years she wouldn’t have thought Kathleen would call Creed after being warned. Is the bitch really that stupid?
When Callie left Kathleen’s house less than 20 minutes ago, Kathleen was pretty docile. But as she thought about Callie’s visit, and what transpired, she must have gotten all worked up. The more she thought about it, the angrier—and braver—she became. She probably decided to tell Creed the whole story, and trusted him to protect her from Callie’s wrath.
On the way back to Kathleen’s house, Callie takes a moment to consider the consequences. With Kathleen dead, Addie will be placed in foster care. That’s not such a bad thing. Callie and Creed will do the research and find the best foster parents in the state.
But no. Addie deserves better.
Adoption’s better.
Callie will make sure Addie gets adopted. She’ll also set up a trust for Addie’s education, medical expenses, and anything else she could ever want or need.
Problem solved.
Callie speeds up. She needs to get there before Kathleen leaves to fetch Addie from her friend’s house.
Ten minutes later, at the edge of Kathleen’s neighborhood, Callie parks her car, dons a hooded warm up jacket, and jogs to the house behind Kathleen’s. She cuts through the yard and makes her way to Kathleen’s garage, to the window she unlocked during her previous visit. She climbs inside, then calls Kathleen.
“Hello?”
“It’s Callie.”
“What do you want?”
“Are you still home?”
“No. I’m on my way to pick up Addie.”
What a lying bitch! Her car’s right here in the garage!
“Where are you, specifically?” Callie says. “I can meet you somewhere.”
“I have to go.”
She hangs up, and Callie hears her rushing through the house, toward the door that leads to the garage. Callie stuffs her phone in her back pocket, gets into position beside the door. When Kathleen rushes out, Callie grabs her by the arm and flings her to the floor. Kathleen screams, tries to scramble to her feet, but Callie gets a knee in her chest, and a thumb and forefinger on her throat.
Kathleen wants to speak, but can’t. Her eyes are wide, pleading.
Callie says, “You knew what would happen. You’ve orphaned your daughter.”
21.
THERE’S NOTHING CALLIE would like more than to tie this bitch up, strip her naked, and skin her alive. She’d give anything to make Kathleen suffer a long, slow death.
But Creed would know. He’d inspect her corpse and know she’d been tortured.
Moments ago she and Creed were talking about how one of the most humiliating things you can do to a cop is pull his pants down in public and write a message on his ass.
Assuming you don’t want to physically harm him.
That’s the difference, of course. Callie does intend to harm Kathleen. But can she torture her and somehow shift the blame?
Decker might be a good scapegoat. He obviously has some sort of connection to Creed. If he knows about Creed’s ancestors, he surely knows about Kathleen.
What if Callie tortures Kathleen and writes BWC on her ass with a grease pen? Would Creed buy it?
Would Kathleen even have a grease pen?
Of course she would. She’s a school teacher.
But there’s a problem. Decker hasn’t killed any civilians yet, so the crime wouldn??
?t fit the pattern. Because of that, if Kathleen’s death involves torture, Creed might suspect Callie. Much as she hates the idea, she needs to kill Kathleen quickly, and stage a robbery. A rape would be better, but where’s a girl going to find a penis when she needs one?
She releases her grip on Kathleen’s throat long enough to hear her blubbering something about her baby, but mostly she’s trying to wriggle free of Callie’s grip. That’s not going to happen. Callie has years of fighting experience, and Kathleen’s a frumpy school teacher.
“I warned you,” Callie says. “I warned you!”
“Please!” Kathleen says. “We had a deal!”
“We did. But you fucked me over.”
“It wasn’t me! It was—”
Callie grips Kathleen’s head with both hands and smashes it against the floor. It feels so good she does it again. And again and again till the back of Kathleen’s head bursts like a ripe mellon.
On the floor, three feet away, Kathleen’s cell phone rings.
The dial lights up. Callie sees a photo of Addie, who’s trying to call her mom. Was, in fact, dialing her mom’s number the very moment she was being murdered.
Callie feels a pang of remorse because Kathleen’s death means Miranda Rodriguez—the mother of Creed’s child—gets to live.
Which means she and Callie will be working together in a few short months.
Shit!
None of this would have happened if Kathleen hadn’t called Creed. Why the fuck did she call him? They had a deal.
She stands and strips, enters Kathleen’s house, takes a quick but thorough shower, picks out one of Kathleen’s frumpy outfits, puts it on, and spends 15 minutes staging the crime scene. She puts her own bloody clothes in a plastic kitchen bag, climbs out the garage window, and walks to her car.
As she unlocks the car door it suddenly hits her.
Kathleen’s cell phone will show she accepted a call from Callie’s phone!
The phone call will have bounced off the nearest cell tower, and the cell phone record will place Callie right smack in the middle of the crime scene. The cops wouldn’t know, of course, because her phone’s encrypted. But Creed and his geeks would know.
How could she be so stupid?
More importantly, how can she fix it?
For starters, she needs to gain possession of Kathleen’s cell phone. The cops could still obtain the records, but that will take time. And Callie only needs a few hours to locate and blow up the cell tower.