Smoke Screen

CHAPTER 16

BRITT OBJECTED TO THE OXYGEN. “I’M OKAY. HONESTLY.”

“Breathe it for five minutes. Long enough for me to shower.” She relented and positioned the cannula. “Just breathe normally.” She gave Raley a thumbs-up, but it was a feeble gesture.

Exhausted and emotionally shaken, they had exchanged only a few words on the long drive back to the cabin. There was much to discuss, but they had tacitly agreed that all of it could wait until they were physically restored.

Fearing bacteria that may have latched on to him in the Combahee, Raley showered vigorously. None of the cuts and scratches on his arms and hands looked serious, but he dabbed them with antiseptic before putting on a clean T-shirt and a pair of old jeans he’d cut off at the knees.

Britt was sitting exactly as he’d left her in one of the chairs at the dining table, her bare feet resting on the dowel between the front legs, toes curled under. He switched off the oxygen, and she removed the tubing from her nostrils. “Can I shower now?”

He motioned her toward the bedroom. “I left a fresh towel and some clothes in the bathroom.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you hungry?”

She shook her head as she disappeared into the bedroom, moving like a sleepwalker.

He’d thought he was ravenous, but when he opened the refrigerator, nothing looked appetizing. Forgoing food, he returned to the bedroom. The shower was still running. His gaze drifted around the room, lighting on the sweet potato vine.

It was a nice, homey touch.

The shower went off. He stepped back into the living area and waited until he heard the bathroom door open, then went as far as the bedroom door. She had put on the T-shirt and boxer shorts he’d left out for her. They were huge on her, of course. The shorts rode low on her hips, and the shirtsleeves drooped past her elbows, but she was decent.

Her hair was still wet. Her eye sockets were dark, and her eyes themselves looked extraordinarily wide and vacant. He doubted anyone from her television audience would recognize this bedraggled waif as the with-it woman who brought them the latest news.

“Sit down on the bed,” he said. “I’ll put some stuff on those cuts. It stings, but that means it works.”

Without argument she went to the bed and sat down. He returned from the bathroom with a bottle of antiseptic and a roll of toilet paper. He didn’t have cotton balls.

He hunkered down in front of her and ripped off a wad of the tissue, dousing it with the strong-smelling liquid fire. He swabbed a scrape on her arm. Breath hissed through her clenched teeth. “Warned you,” he said.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be quick.” He moved to another cut, this one on her knee. “I had to pull you through the windshield.”

“I couldn’t break it.”

“I took a wrench down with me, hammered on it until it broke. You don’t remember that part?” She shook her head. “Probably just as well,” he said.

“I remember the car hitting the water. Hard. My air bag opened, then deflated. The car tipped down. My seat belt held me in. I remember thinking how sudden it all was. But it also seemed that everything went into slow motion, you know?”

He nodded as he ripped off several more sheets of tissue and dribbled the liquid onto them.

“The headlights and all those on the dash went out. It was dark. So dark.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, Britt.”

“The car filled with water.” She continued as though she hadn’t heard him. He didn’t think she had. “It closed over my head. I undid my seat belt and started banging on the window, but…” She turned her head from side to side. Tears filled her eyes. She was shivering. “I kept trying to break the glass, but I couldn’t. And I couldn’t hold my breath any longer.”

“Britt, are you cold?”

“No.”

But her teeth were chattering. He stood up and yanked the quilt off the bed, then pulled it around her. She clutched at the fabric, crossing her arms over her chest, huddling inside the quilt.

He knelt in front of her again and assessed a cut on her temple. “Bad enough, but not so deep that you need stitches. You might have a faint scar, at least for a while. With makeup on, you probably won’t be able to see it at all. Especially on camera.”

He was talking to keep her calm. Or maybe he was talking to keep himself calm. One of them had to hold it together, and she was the one who’d been the most traumatized and who now looked extremely fragile.

What she was experiencing was typical. Now that the imminent danger was over, the realization had set in-she’d had a near miss with death. He’d seen it happen dozens of times with people who’d been rescued from a burning building or some other perilous situation. When the adrenaline rush ebbed, and they fully grasped the mortal danger they had been in, they often became hysterical.

He heard a little hitch in her breathing, and it alarmed him. “Are you having trouble breathing?”

“No.”

He poured antiseptic onto a fresh pad of toilet paper and applied it to the jagged cut on her forehead. She made another hiccuping sound. The tears standing in her eyes spilled onto her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I know this medicine stings,” he said. “But only for a little while. I promise.”

“It’s all right.”

“I’m almost finished. You don’t want to host a parasite.” He dabbed the cut several more times, then set the roll of tissue and the bottle of antiseptic on his TV tray night table. “There. See?” He came to his feet, dusting his hands. “All done.”

She looked up at him, her eyes so large and watery they dominated her face. She was making sobbing sounds and her lips were trembling. A tear slid into her mouth, at the corner of it, where her lips met. She seemed unaware of it.

“I was so…so scared.”

He dropped his phony cheerful manner and said solemnly, “I know.”

“There was nothing I could d-do.”

“No.”

“I tried to get away from them, but the road-”

“You did your best.”

“When the water rushed in, I panicked.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“I’ve always thought…thought I’d be brave. But I wasn’t.”

“You were-”

“I knew I was going to die.”

“But you didn’t.”

“It wasn’t…you know how people say their life flashes in front of them?”

“Yeah.”

She shook her head furiously. “Mine didn’t. There was nothing. Nothing but the water and…and terror. I just wanted to escape. I was so af-afraid. Raley?”

“Hmm?”

She reached for his hand, but when he extended it, she grasped his forearm instead. Then her other hand hooked his waistband, pulling at him. Dropping the quilt, she practically climbed him, using parts of his upper body as handholds to help her stand up, and when she was on her feet, she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and clung fast.

“I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want to die.”

“You didn’t. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“Oh, God.” Coming up on tiptoe, she burrowed her face in his neck. “I thought I was going to die.”

“It’s over. You’re safe.” Awkwardly, he patted her back. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Then her hands were on his cheeks, tilting his face down toward hers, her lips frantically seeking his. She threaded her fingers up through his hair and formed tight fists that nearly ripped his hair out by the roots. She kissed him and continued to kiss him between words that were choppy and unintelligible but had the ring of desperation.

The feel of her body, much smaller, softer, than his. Her bare legs rubbing against his. Her hands, clutching. Her lips, moist and yearning. It was all too much. He was consumed by raw desire.

His arms closed around her. His hand on her ass, he drew her up and into him. He angled his lips against hers. When he did, hers parted. Tongues touched, then his was filling her mouth, and, Jesus, he was lost.

Inside his head a bell of warning was clanging louder than any fire alarm, but he didn’t heed it. She smelled good, she tasted good, her mouth was silky and hot and hungry, and it had been a long time since a woman had wanted him. With desperation.

She continued to clutch handfuls of his hair, then his T-shirt, until her hands slid beneath it onto his back. Her nails dug into his skin. He broke the kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head and fling it away, then went back to kissing her. They separated again only long enough for her to take off the T-shirt he’d given her to wear. When they came together this time, her breasts were pressed against his chest, and he heard himself growl with pleasure.

She took hold of his waistband again and tugged him forward as she fell back onto the bed. He followed her down. She undid his fly, or rather they undid it together, clumsy fingers battling over the metal buttons until her fingers, no longer clumsy, closed around him. He groaned an incoherent string of swearwords as he shoved off his cutoffs and then worked the baggy boxers down her legs. She kicked them away even as he thrust into her.

It was hard and fast and graceless, and in under a minute they both came, hugging each other tightly, moaning, gasping for breath.

Then for several minutes, they lay locked together, completely spent. She didn’t move, so neither did he, although the consequences of what had just happened fell on him like a ton of bricks.

Jay was here first.

Despite how goddamn good she felt, that was what he was thinking when her leg slid off his hip and her arms relaxed their embrace, then let go.

He rolled off her onto his back and closed his eyes. Minutes passed in ponderous silence, so many minutes that the situation became even more awkward than it already was. Somebody had to say something sometime, but it wasn’t going to be him.

Finally, he felt her sit up. He opened his eyes as she reached for the boxers that had been kicked to the foot of the bed. He couldn’t resist glancing at her in profile. Remarkable ass. Lovely, smooth back. Lovelier front. The curve of her breast full but natural. A pink nipple that looked delectable.

Bothered by another twinge of arousal, he swung his feet to the floor and sat up. He retrieved the T-shirt she’d been wearing from the floor and without turning around passed it back to her. She took it without a word. He gathered his two articles of clothing, then got up and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

He stood at the sink, turned on the water, and used a cloth to wash himself, thinking, Christ, Christ, Christ.

He buttoned his cutoffs-remembering, with chagrin, the hackneyed adage about closing the barn door-then turned out the light before opening the door. She was lying on her side, facing the opposite direction. She had put on the T-shirt and pulled the quilt up to her waist. He lay down and turned onto his side so that they were back to back.

Huskily she said, “They say…” She hesitated, cleared her throat, tried again. “They say that when you…when you experience something like I did tonight, or when you go to a funeral, when you have an encounter with the reality and finality of death, it’s normal for you to…to want sex. They say that what happened just now…between us…What I mean is, they say it’s a natural reaction to the kind of trauma we went through tonight. Because sex is the ultimate…It’s the…It’s life affirming.”

Raley lay still for several moments, then reached for the gooseneck lamp and switched it off. “Is that what they say?”

He was gone when she woke up. There was a note on the dining table. White lined paper ripped from a spiral notebook, a bold, familiar script written in black ink. “Back soon.” A man of few words.

According to the time he’d jotted down beneath the brief message, he’d been away over two hours. She made toast and coffee, and was finishing her second cup when she heard his pickup coming up the lane.

She scampered back into the bedroom and closed the door, not wanting it to appear that she had been anxiously awaiting his return. While she was hiding there, it occurred to her that, when it came to sex, grown-ups could certainly behave childishly. Even so, she didn’t come out.

She heard the screen door squeak open, then slap shut, heard his footfalls going toward the kitchen area. When she worked up enough courage to open the bedroom door, his back was to her. He was piling several plastic sacks on the dining table. They bore the familiar Target logo.

“I wondered where you-”

She broke off when he turned around. He’d got a haircut. It wasn’t short like he used to wear it, but it had been clipped and moderately tamed. But the most startling change was his beardless face. She’d forgotten the angular bone structure of his jaw, the jut of cheekbones. And without the beard detracting from his eyes, they seemed greener, more arresting.

She wondered if she should comment on this sudden and drastic change, but before she could, he turned back around and began unloading his purchases. “Did you eat something?” he asked.

“Toast.”

“I brought some fruit.”

She approached the table and saw a plastic basket of strawberries and a cantaloupe. She picked up the berries and carried them to the sink. “These look delicious.” She turned on the faucet and rinsed the berries.

“I got you some clothes,” he said. “I don’t know if they’ll fit.” She set the basket of berries on the counter to drain. He extended her several of the sacks. “Don’t expect too much.”

Curious, she peered into one of the bags. “Thank you. I’ll go change into something now.”

She had almost reached the bedroom when he said, “Are you on the pill?”

She came back around. “What?”

He frowned as though to say You heard me. Are you going to make me repeat it?

She made a noncommittal rolling motion of her shoulders.

He propped his hands on his hips. “Is that a yes or a no?”

Britt liked neither his stance nor his tone. “It’s a none of your damn business.”

“Unfortunately, as of last night it is.”

A tide of anger surged through her. “Listen to me, Mr. Gannon. Of the men I’ve slept with, most were flattered, some were grateful, all were satisfied, but none felt unfortunate.”

“How nice for you. Are you protected or not?”

“Either way, it’s no concern of yours. It won’t be. Ever. You’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”

Then she turned on her heel and stalked into the bedroom, soundly closing the door behind her. Still feeling the simmer of anger in her cheeks, she unceremoniously dumped the contents of the sacks onto the bed, prepared to hate everything.

Actually, the selections were pretty good.

Everything was white, black, or denim. Mixable basics. The kinds of garments you’d pack for a casual weekend trip. She wondered if Hallie had taught him that fashion sense.

She ripped the tags off a set of underwear and put on the panties and bra, then dressed in a pair of white jeans and a black T-shirt, white sneakers with silver leather trim. Not bad at all. The sizes were either spot on or not too far off, even the undies. It made her flush hotly to think that, if he’d bought these items yesterday, he might not have been as accurate.

Along with the clothes were some basic toiletries, including body lotion, a lip gloss, a compact of blusher, and a tube of mascara. For added confidence, she applied them before returning to the kitchen, where he was gutting the cantaloupe. He glanced at her over his shoulder but didn’t remark on the new clothing.

“I feel more like myself now,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He reached around her to take a bowl from the cabinet, but he wouldn’t look her in the eye.

“Is it going to be the purple elephant in the room?”

He hacked into the hapless melon with a butcher knife, slicing it quickly and efficiently. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb, Raley. Are we going to act like adults and talk about what happened last night, or are we going to ignore it?”

“We already talked about it. Last night.”

“That was talking about it? You grunted a few syllables and turned out the light.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t leave me much to say. All that mumbo jumbo you spouted was-”

“You thought it was mumbo jumbo?”

He set down the knife and turned to her. “Well, what we did was either that, what you said, or it was two people just wanting to hump each other. You pick.”

“You don’t have to be so crude.”

“You don’t have to be so analytical.” He picked up the knife and went back to slicing the cantaloupe.

“I thought you would rather it be analyzed,” she said. “You’re the one who vowed he’d never touch me, remember? Then a few hours later you were-”

“Fucking you like there was no tomorrow. But there is a tomorrow. Today is tomorrow,” he said, making stabbing motions toward the floor with the knife. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Except to reassure yourself that there won’t be any consequences to you nine months from now.”

“Aren’t you worried? I could have an STD.”

“You? Careful, paranoid-about-protection Raley Gannon? Not a chance. I think I’m safe.” He turned away, but she caught his elbow and brought him back around. “My analysis is as much for your benefit as for mine. It relieves us of responsibility. It lets you off the hook for having a woman that Jay had first, that Jay had only a few nights ago.”

His jaw turned to iron. “You said he didn’t.”

“I said I didn’t think so.”

“You were emotionally hopped up the night he died, same as last night. How do you know you didn’t climb all over him the way you did me?”

“What if I did? What do you care? Why are you so hung up on that? Because of Hallie?”

He pushed the bowl of melon toward her. “Do you want any of this? If you do, eat up. We’ve got work to do.”

She stared up into his newly shaven face and saw in his expression a steely resolve not to take this conversation any further. Fine. She didn’t want to talk about it, either. He could believe what he wanted. She knew why she’d thrown herself at him.

Remembering it now made her burn with embarrassment. But that outpouring of lust was excusable because of her experience in the river. That was the only reason she’d behaved as she had. She hoped he understood that.

She hoped she did.

She bit into a slice of the melon, talking as she chewed. “Are you going to tell me about the fire now?”

“Later. First I’m going over to Delno’s and see what’s on the news this morning. See if they’ve found your car.”

“Do you think they have?”

“Doubtful. The guys who pushed you off the road surely didn’t report it. While I’m gone you can-”

“I’m not staying here by myself.”

“Why not?”

“Somebody tried to kill me last night!”

“So they think you’re dead. And even if they don’t, they don’t know you’re with me.”

“They might.”

“They couldn’t.”

“I’m going with you.”

“It’s a long walk. It’s hot. You’ll get your new sneakers dirty. And Delno’s place isn’t exactly a garden spot.”

“If there’s news about me, I want to hear it firsthand.”

He stared at her with vexation, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He took two bottles of water from the fridge and handed one to her, then tramped out, she behind him. They thrashed through the woods, where there were bugs and nettles. Her new sneakers did get dirty, but she didn’t utter a word of complaint.

If there was a trail, it was undetectable to her, but Raley knew where the worst of the briars grew. He gave wide berth to a dead tree where yellow jackets had made a nest and said, “Mind the gator,” when they walked along the edge of a swamp where there was a thick grove of cypress trees. Their knobby knees poked up out of the cloudy water like stalagmites. The alligator was completely submerged except for his malevolent eyes.

By the time Raley announced, “We’re here,” she had sweated through her new T-shirt.

He’d warned her that Delno’s place was no garden spot, but he hadn’t told her it was a dump ground surrounding an odd-looking structure balanced on stilts but bolstered by all the stuff crammed into the crawl space.

Raley led her through an obstacle course of junk-some of the rusted objects she couldn’t even identify-and up a set of rickety wood steps. Animal pelts and reptile skins were tacked to the exterior walls. For decoration? she wondered. Or were they patches?

The three hounds were dozing on the small porch. They must have recognized her and Raley’s smells because they didn’t bark, or even move, when they approached, although one whined when Raley nudged him away from the door.

“Delno?” he called through the screen.

“Comin’!” The shouted reply came from the far side of the clearing. Delno appeared out of the underbrush, pulling up one strap of his overalls. “I’s in the john.” He halted abruptly when he saw Raley’s shaven face. “Well, I’ll be double-dog damned.”

Without a word, Raley opened the screen door and went inside. “Hi, Delno,” Britt said, then followed Raley into the stifling cabin, saying in a whisper, “He uses an outhouse?”

“I warned you.” He made straight for a television with a rabbit-ear antenna and turned it on. He glanced back at Delno as he came in. “Did you see any news this morning?”

“She’s still missin’,” he said, nodding at Britt but never taking his eyes off Raley.

Raley, annoyed by his gaping stare, said, “What?”

“Nothin’. Nothin’ a’tall.” He ran his hand over his own scratchy face, then motioned toward a stove, where a pot was simmering. “Y’all want some of that stew?”

“Thank you, no. We just had breakfast,” Britt said politely, not even wanting to speculate on what was stewing in the pot.

There was a game show on TV, although if not for the sound track, Britt wouldn’t have known that. She could make nothing of the snowy picture. Raley switched through the limited number of channels, but regular programming was on each station. He switched off the set. “Was anything else said about her, other than she’s still missing?”

“They interviewed this guy, said he was her lawyer.” Before continuing, Delno spat tobacco juice into an empty green bean can. “He said he’d talked to her last night by phone, said she was going to surrender. But the cop said she never showed up, so she’s still at large and they’re still lookin’. Cop said that when she’s caught she’ll have a lot to answer for.” He stopped and looked at Britt expectantly, but she didn’t elaborate on what he already knew.

Raley asked, “Any mention of an accident on River Road?”

“Naw. Not that I heard.”

“Any mention of me?”

“You? Naw.”

Raley looked down at her. “That’s good.”

“I guess. It still makes me a fugitive instead of the victim of an attempted murder.”

“You tried to murder her?”

They turned to Delno, who’d asked the question of Raley. Britt laughed, but Raley frowned and said, “No, I didn’t try to murder her. Thanks for the use of the TV. If you hear anything about either of us, will you come tell us?”

Delno moved the wad of chaw from one cheek to the other. “I might. If I’m not otherwise occupied. I ain’t Walter Cronkite, you know.”

Raley gave a snort of derision. “I don’t think anyone would mistake you for Walter Cronkite.” He headed for the door. Britt thanked Delno for the information, then followed Raley out.

They were halfway across the yard when Delno called after them, “She make you shave?”

Raley didn’t stop or turn around.

The old man cackled. “I thought maybe on account of whisker burns on parts o’ her where they oughtn’t to be.”

Britt pretended not to hear that. So did Raley.

“She tell you no shave, no more-”

Raley stopped and spun around. “She had nothing to do with it. All right?”

“Then how come-”

“I’m going to a funeral.” Raley turned again and stepped into the cover of the forest.

He was walking faster now than he had on the trek over, and she had difficulty keeping up. Once, when she lagged far behind, he had to stop and wait for her. When she caught up, she was breathing hard. “Sorry. I caught my foot on a vine. My sneaker got stuck.”

“Where’s your water?”

“I finished it at Delno’s.” He passed her his bottle, but she declined it. “You’ll need it.”

“I’m okay.”

She drank from the bottle but left some for him. He finished the rest and recapped the empty bottle. “Not much farther.”

He was about to continue on their way when she said, “Jay’s funeral?”

He gave a brusque nod. “It was on the radio when I went into town this morning. His body was released to relatives yesterday after the autopsy. Funeral is at three o’clock this afternoon.”

He had got a haircut and shave to make himself more presentable, she supposed. “They’ll be there. Cobb Fordyce. George McGowan.”

“Probably.”

“They’ll recognize you.”

“So? Jay was my boyhood friend. Why wouldn’t I attend his funeral?”

“Because of what he and they did to you.”

“But they don’t know that I know. They think they accomplished what they set out to. They ruined me and got away with it. For five years, I’ve been out of the picture. No longer a threat to them.”

“Then why are you going to the funeral?”

He grinned. “To make them wonder if maybe they’re wrong.”

She found herself responding to his grin. “Seeing you will make them nervous.”

“That’s the plan and my heart’s desire. Plus, I hope to see Candy.”

He set out again, and she fell into step behind him, staying as close on his heels as possible. “When are you going to tell me about the fire, your investigation?”

“This evening. When I get back from Charleston.”

“That’ll be hours. I don’t want to stay out here by myself.”

“You can’t go with me, Britt. You can’t be seen. Whoever tried to kill you will try again if they know you’re alive.”

“I’d be defenseless out here.”

“I’ll circle by Delno’s on my way, ask if he’ll come over and stay with you.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. If anyone tried-”

He stopped so suddenly Britt ran into him. Before she could even ask what had caused him to stop, he spun around, hooked his arm around her waist, and drew her into some brush.

“What-”

“Shh,” he hissed close to her ear. “Someone’s inside the cabin.”