Chill of Night

52

By the time he reached Things Past, Beam’s leg felt okay. He dabbed at his eye. It was sore, but not bleeding. He was wet, and somehow or other had torn the knee of his pants.

When he entered the shop and the little bell tinkled above his head, Nola looked at him from where she was standing behind the counter. He watched her deadpan glance travel up and down. He might have to bleed from every artery and pore to impress this woman. With a slight surprise, he realized that might be one of the things that so attracted him to her.

“What happened, Beam?”

He told her about his futile pursuit of the man in the long raincoat.

“And you’ve seen him before?” she asked.

“I think so. Somewhere.”

She disappeared for a moment from behind the counter, then reappeared with a folded white towel. She tossed the towel to him, and he caught it and began rubbing his hair dry.

“He’s been following us?” Beam heard her ask, his head beneath the towel.

“I think so. That’s no surprise.” He rubbed harder with the towel. “Twenty years ago-ten-I could have nailed the bastard.”

“It’s not ten years ago.”

“No.” He raked back his wet hair with his fingers, then used the towel to dry his hands.

“You saw him watching us,” she said, as if trying to fix the notion in her mind.

He tossed the towel back to her. She caught it absently and dropped it on the floor behind the counter. “Watching you,” he said.

Her dark eyes didn’t change expression. She didn’t seem at all frightened or even perturbed.

Beam thought that someday he might be so accepting and unafraid. It seemed a long way off.

It was a small thing, but it was something.

Street sounds found their way into Nell’s bedroom. She’d just arrived home, just turned on the window air conditioner, and the stillness and stuffiness hadn’t been chased. It smelled almost as if someone had been smoking in the bedroom, but that couldn’t be.

She opened her dresser’s second drawer to see if she had clean panties or would have to do a wash before Terry picked her up.

Nell stood before the drawer and studied its contents. Her panties and bras seemed to have been rearranged, but only slightly. And the nine-millimeter Glock handgun she kept there unloaded seemed to be pointed more toward the window rather than the wall. Seemed.

A faint scent, a subtle shifting of symmetry. Of course, it could always be her imagination. Probably was her imagination. She knew that lately she’d been irritable, uneasy, perhaps looking for something to spoil what was otherwise beautiful. Her mother had told her some people refused to be happy, and if they didn’t learn to change, they’d be unhappy all through life. The message was clear. If only her mother had told her how to change, life to this point would have been a lot easier.

Nell knew that two things kept her from trusting someone enough to fall completely and unreservedly in love-her job, and her recent divorce. Those were the reasons she was standing here sweaty, skeptical, and maybe paranoid, trying to find a reason to distrust Terry and tell him to return the key to her apartment.

The truth was, she hadn’t felt completely at ease since she’d given him the key. It was supposed to be an act symbolizing her love and the seriousness of their relationship. If a guy had your key, he had it all.

What had also come with Nell’s key was her subtle distrust.

Terry deserved better. She understood that now. She told herself she understood.

The person Nell distrusted was herself.

She shut the dresser drawer and pressed it firm. Then she drew a deep breath and made herself smile.

Terry had her key. He had her. It was going to stay that way.

Jack Selig did not have her key.

Of course, he could always buy the building.