Covet

Chapter 28

Funny thing about glass. When you broke the shit up, it got pissed and bit back.

Upstairs in the duplex's master bath, Vin was surrounded by gauze and white surgical tape. What he'd done to his palm squeezing that bourbon to shreds was way out of Band-Aid land, so he'd had to call in reinforcements of the Red Cross variety and things were not going well. With the injury being on his right hand, he was a floundering, cursing nurse, fumbling with all the wrapping and the scissors and the tape.

Damn good thing he was his own patient. The vocabularly alone, much less the incompetence, would have gotten him disbarred—or whatever the hell the candy-striper equivalent to that was.

He was just coming to the end of the ordeal when the phone by the sinks rang, and wasn't that just loads of fun. With a tiny pair of nail scissors locked in his leftie, a strip of gauze in his teeth, and his right hand all but a paw, it took every bit of coordination he had to answer the call.

“Let him up,” he told the lobby guard.

After putting the receiver back, he did a half-assed taping job and left the mess on the counter as is, heading for the stairs and going down to the front hall door. When the elevator binged and opened, he was in the corridor, waiting.

Jim Heron stepped out and didn't hang around for a hello or an invitation to speak. Which you had to respect.

“Thursday night,” the guy said. “I didn't know you. I didn't know her. I should have told you, but to be honest, when I saw the pair of you together, I didn't want to fuck things up. It was a mistake and I'm goddamn sorry—mostly that you found out from someone other than me.”

The whole time he was talking, Heron's arms hung loosely by his sides, like he was ready for a fight if things went that way, and his voice was as steady and even as his eyes were. No prevaricating. No artifice. No bullshit.

And as Vin faced off at him, instead of rage, which was what he'd have expected himself to have toward the guy, he just felt exhaustion. Exhaustion and the thumping pain of his hand. Abruptly, he realized he was getting tired of channeling his fucking father when it came to women. Thanks to that legacy, over the past twenty years, Vin's suspicious nature had found so many shadows where none had existed—and yet essentially missed the actual time when someone he was sleeping with cheated on him.

So much energy wasted, all in the wrong place.

God, he just didn't care about Devina. At this moment, he really didn't care what she'd done while they were together.

“She lied about what happened here last night,” Vin said roughly. “Devina lied.”

There was absolutely no hesitation in the reply: “I know.”

“Oh, really.”

“I don't believe a word she's said about anything.”

“And why's that.”

“I went to the hospital to see her because I was having a hard time believing any of this shit. And she gave me this hearts-and-flowers routine about telling you what had happened Thursday night, how that was the reason you went after her. But you didn't know, did you. She never said a thing to you, did she.”

“Not a peep.” Vin turned away and headed into the duplex. When Jim didn't follow, he said over his shoulder, “You just going to stand there like a statue or do you want lunch.”

Food was evidently preferable to playing marble, and after they were both through the front door, Vin locked it and put the chain in place. With the way things were going lately, he wasn't taking any chances with anything.

“Holy fuck,” Jim said, “your living room…”

“Yeah, it's been redecorated by Vince McMahon.”

In the kitchen, Vin got out some cold cuts and the jar of Hellman's using his left hand. “You got a choice between rye or sourdough.”

“Sourdough.”

As Vin grabbed some lettuce and a tomato from the crisper, he braced himself. “I need to know how it went down. With Devina. Tell me everything—Shit…not everything. But how did she come on to you?”

“You sure you want to go there?”

He took out a knife from the drawer. “I have to, man. Need to. I'm feeling like…I'm feeling I was with someone I didn't know at all.”

Jim cursed and then parked it on one of the bar stools at the counter. “Not so much mayo for me.”

“Cool. Now talk.”

“I don't believe she is who she says, by the way.”

“Funny, me neither.”

“I mean, I did a background check on her.”

Vin glanced up in the process of getting the blue lid off the plastic jar. “You gonna tell me how you managed that?”

“Not on your life.”

“And the result was…?”

“She doesn't exist, literally. And trust me, if the people I use can't find her true identity, nobody can.”

Vin went light with the Hellman's on Jim's sourdough, heavier on his own rye, but it was a messy, imprecise job. Ambidextrous he was not.

God, it was so not a surprise about Devina…

“Still waiting for Thursday-night deets over here,” he said. “And do us both a favor and just talk. I don't have the energy to be polite right now.”

“Fuck…” Jim rubbed his face. “Okay…she was at the Iron Mask. I was with…friends, I guess you could call them, although 'sonsabitches' would also cover it. Anyway, she followed me out into the parking lot when I left. It was cold. She seemed lost. She was…You sure about this?”

“Yup.” Vin picked up a tomato, put it on a cutting board, and started slicing with the grace of a five-year-old. Hacking was more like it. “Keep going.”

Jim shook his head. “She was upset about you. And she appeared to be really unsure of herself.”

Vin frowned. “How was she upset?”

“How…you mean what for? She didn't go into specifics. I didn't ask. I was just…like, I wanted her to be okay with herself.”

Now Vin was doing the head shaking. “Devina is always okay. That's the thing. No matter her mood, down deep she's tight. It was one of the things that attracted me to her…well, that and the fact that she's one of the most physically confident women I've ever met. But that's what you get when you're built perfectly.”

“She said you wanted her to get breast implants.”

Vin's eyes flicked up. “Are you kidding me? I've told her she was perfect since the night I met her, and I meant it. I never wanted her to change a thing.”

Abruptly, Jim's brows drew in tight, a hard look coming onto his face.

“Looks like you were played, buddy.” Vin cracked apart the lettuce and went over to the sink with a couple of leaves to wash. “Let me guess, she poured her heart out to you, you saw a vulnerable woman tangled up with a mofo, you kissed her…maybe you didn't even think you would take things that far.”

“I couldn't believe where it ended up.”

“You felt bad for her, but you were also attracted.” Vin turned off the water and shook the romaine. “You wanted to give her something to make her feel good.”

Jim's voice grew low. “That's exactly how it was.”

“You want to know the way she got me?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Back at the counter, Vin laid out slices of roast beef that were thin as paper. “I went to a gallery opening. She was there by herself, wearing a dress that was cut down to the small of her back. They had these lights in the ceiling that were directed at the paintings that were for sale, and when I walked in, I saw her standing in front of the Chagall I had come to buy, that light hitting the skin of her back. Extraordinary.” He added on a layer of ragged tomato and a fluffy blanket of lettuce, then top-hatted the sandwiches. “Sliced or whole?”

“Whole.”

He handed the sourdough over to Jim and cut his rye in half. “She sat in front of me at the auction and I smelled her perfume the entire time. I paid a fuckload for the Chagall, and I'll never forget the way she looked back at me over her shoulder as the gavel went down. Her smile was what I liked to see in a woman's face at that point.” Vin took a bite and remembered vividly as he chewed. “I used to like it dirty, you know, porn-style. And her eyes told me she had no problem with that kind of shit. She came home with me that night and I fucked her right here on the floor. Then on the stairs. Finally on the bed. Twice. She let me do anything to her and she liked it.” Jim blinked and stopped chewing, like he was trying to match up the Leave It to Beaver lines he'd been fed with the Vivid Video routine Vin had gotten.

“She was”—Vin leaned to the side and snapped free two paper towels—“exactly who I wanted her to be.” He handed one to Jim. “She gave me free rein to do whatever I wanted business-wise, didn't care if I was gone for a week on no notice. She'd come with me when I wanted her to, stayed home when I didn't. She was like…a reflection of what I wanted.”

Jim wiped his mouth. “Or in my case, what would get to me.”

“Exactly.”

They finished their sandwiches and Vin made two more, and while they ate the second round, they were mostly quiet, as if they were both recalling their time with Devina…and wondering how they'd been played so easily.

Vin eventually broke the silence. “So they say they have me on a surveillance tape from last night. Coming up in the elevator. Security guard tells me he saw my face, but that's impossible. I wasn't here. Whoever that was, it wasn't me.”

“I believe you.”

“You're going to be the only one.”

The other man paused with the sourdough halfway to his mouth. “I'm not sure how to say this.”

“Well, considering you just told me you fucked my ex-girlfriend, hard to imagine anything's trickier than that.”

“This is.”

Vin paused in midbite himself, not liking the look on the guy's face. “What.”

Jim took his own damned time about it, even finishing his frickin' lunch. Finally, he laughed short and tight. “I don't even know how to talk about this.”

“Hello? The aforementioned ex-girlfriend sex thing? Come on, grow a set.”

“Fine. Fuck it. Your ex doesn't cast a shadow.”

Now it was Vin's turn to laugh. “Is that some kind of military lingo?”

“You want to know why I believe that wasn't you in the elevator last night? It's because you called it. She's a reflection, a mirage…she doesn't exist and she's totally dangerous, and yeah, I know this doesn't make sense, but it's reality.”

Vin slowly lowered what was left of his roast beef. The guy was serious. Dead serious.

Was it possible, Vin wondered, that he could talk for once about the other side of his life? That part that involved things that couldn't be touched or seen, but that had shaped him sure as his parents' DNA had?

“You said…you'd come to save my soul,” Vin murmured.

Jim braced his hands on the granite counter and leaned in. Under the short sleeves of his plain white T-shirt, his arm muscles thickened under the weight. “And I mean it. I have a happy new job of pulling people back from the brink.”

“Of what?”

“Eternal damnation. As I said before…in your case, I used to think it was making sure you ended up with Devina, but now I'm damn clear that's the wrong outcome. Now…it means something else. I just don't know what.”

Vin wiped his mouth and stared down at the man's big, capable hands. “Would you believe me…if I told you I had a dream about Devina—one where she was like something out of 28 Days, all rotted and fucked-up? She maintained that I'd asked for her to come to me, that we'd entered into some kind of bargain that there was no getting out of. And the most ridiculous thing about it? It didn't feel like a dream.”

“And I believe it wasn't. Before I had Friday's little lights-out session with the extension cord? I'd have said you were nuts. Now? You bet your ass I believe every single word of that.”

Finally, at least something was working for instead of against him, Vin thought as he decided to pull a bare-all.

“When I was seventeen, I went to this…” God, even with how well Jim was taking things, he still felt like a complete ass. “I went to this palm reader, fortune-teller…this woman in town. Remember that 'spell' I had back at the diner?” When Jim nodded, he continued. “I used to get them a lot, and I needed…shit, I needed some way to get them to stop. They were ruining my life, making me feel like a freak.”

“Because you saw the future?”

“Yeah, and that shit just ain't right, you know? I never volunteered for it and I would have done anything to get it to stop.” Images from the past, of him collapsing at malls and at schools and in libraries and movies, flooded his brain. “It was torture. I never knew when the trances were coming and I didn't know what I said in them and the people I didn't scare the shit out of thought I was crazy.” He laughed in a hard burst. “Might have been different if I'd been able to predict the lottery, but I've only ever had bad news to share. Anyway, so there I was, seventeen, clueless, at the end of my rope, with nothing but a pair of violent, alkie parents at home who couldn't offer me any help or advice…I didn't know what else to do, where to go, who to talk to. I mean, my mom and dad? Fuckin' A, I wouldn't have asked them what to make for lunch, much less anything about that stuff. So one day close to Halloween, which is my birthday, by the way, I see in the back of the Courier Journal a bunch of ads for these psychics, healers, whatever, and I decided to give one of them a try. I went downtown, knocked on some doors and finally one of them opened. The woman seemed to understand the situation. She told me what to do and I went home and I did it…and everything changed.”

“Like how?”

“The trances stopped, for one thing, and then I just had luck on my side. My parents finally imploded—I'll spare you the details, but let's just say the end was simply an evolution of the alcoholism. After they were gone, I was relieved and free and…different. I turned eighteen, inherited the house and my father's plumbing jobs…and that's how it all started.”

“Wait, you say you were different—how?”

Vin shrugged. “When I was growing up, I was laid-back. You know, never much interested in school, content to kind of flake along. But after my parents died…yeah, nothing about me was chill. I had this hunger.” He put his hand on his gut. “Always with the hunger. Nothing was…or has been ever enough. It's like I'm obese when it comes to money—starved no matter what's in my accounts or how much I have. I used to think it was just because I went from teenager to adult the second my parents were gone—I mean, I had to support myself because no one else was going to. But I'm not sure that completely explains it. The thing was, while I was working full-time for those plumbers, I got into drug dealing. The cash was crazy and as it began to stockpile, I just wanted more and more. I got into doing houses because I could be legit that way—and that mattered not because I was afraid of jail, but because I couldn't make as much paper behind bars as I could out. I was relentless and uncurtailed by ethics and laws and anything but self-preservation. Nothing eased me…until two nights ago.”

“What changed then?”

“I stared into the eyes of a woman and felt…something else.”

Vin reached into his back pocket and took out the card of the Madonna. After taking a good long look at it, he put it down on the counter and turned it around so Jim could see it. “When I looked into her eyes…I felt satisfied for the first time.”

Jim leaned in and stared at the icon. Holy shit…it was Marie-Terese. The dark hair, the blue eyes, the soft, kind face. “Okay, that's eerie as fuck.”

Vin cleared his throat. “She's not the Virgin Mary. I know. And this picture is not of her. But when I saw Marie-Terese, that burning pit in my stomach eased off. Devina? She just fed the drive. Whether it was the sex we had and the boundaries we pushed there, or the things she wanted or the places we went. She was a constant ramp-up of the hunger. Marie-Terese on the other hand…she's like a warm pool. When I'm with her, I don't need to be anywhere else. Ever.”

The guy abruptly took back the card and rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ, listen to me. I sound like a Lifetime movie or some shit.”

Jim cracked a smile. “Yeah, well, things don't work out, you could always go into the greeting-card biz from prison.”

“Just the kind of career change I was looking to make.”

“Better than license plates.”

“Wittier, certainly.”

Jim thought about Devina and the so-called dream Vin had had. Chances were very good that hadn't been a nightmare. For God's sake, if she didn't cast a shadow in broad daylight, what other tricks did she have up her sleeve?

“What exactly did you do?” Jim asked. “When you were seventeen.”

Vin crossed his arms over his chest and you could practically hear the sucking sound as he was drawn back into the past. “I did what the woman told me to do.”

“Which was…?” When Vin just shook his head, Jim guessed it was some hard-core creepy. “This woman still around?”

“Dunno.”

“What's her name?”

“Why does it matter? That's in the past.”

“But Devina is not, and you're up on charges for something you didn't do, thanks to her.” As a whole lot of cursing rolled out, Jim nodded. “You open a door, not a bad idea to go back and get the key to lock it back up.”

“That's the problem. I thought I was locking it. As for that woman, it was like twenty years ago. I doubt we can find her.”

As Vin started to clean things up, Jim watched his awkward bandaged hand. “How'd you hurt yourself?”

“I crushed a glass as I was talking to you.”

“That'll do it.”

Vin stopped in the middle of twisting shut the sourdough bread. “I'm worried about Marie-Terese. If Devina can do this to me, what isn't she capable of, you know?”

“I hear you on that. Does she have a clue about—”

“No, and I'm going to keep it that way. I don't want Marie-Terese involved in this shit.”

More evidence Vin wasn't an idiot. “Listen…about her.” Jim wanted to be careful how he packaged this one. “I took a look around her background after you told me that other guy who was killed downtown had been with her.”

“Oh, Jesus…” Vin wheeled around from the cupboard he'd opened. “That ex-husband of hers. He's found her. It's—”

“Not him. He's in jail.” Jim did a download on what Matthias the fucker had found and what do you know…the more the story came out, the bigger the frown on Vin's face got. “Bottom line is,” Jim concluded, “although it's possible an associate of Capricio's would come after her, it's not likely given those other deaths because they'd really just be concerned with Marie-Terese.”

Vin cursed—which meant he got the picture and all the implications. “So, who is it? Assuming she's the tie between the two attacks.”

“That's the question.”

Vin settled back against the counter, crossing his arms and looking as if he'd like to fight someone.

“She's quit, by the way,” he said after a moment. “You know, doing that shit at the Iron Mask. And I think she's going to leave Caldwell.”

“Really.”

“I don't want her to, but maybe it's for the best. It could be that one of those…men, you know, from the club, that she…yeah.”

As the guy's lips flattened out like his gut had frozen up on him, Jim realized things had progressed between the two of them. Fast. Although he wasn't willing to bet Dog on it, he'd wager his truck and his Harley that Vin and Marie-Terese had become lovers—because that expression on the guy's face was kind of heartbreaking.

“I don't want to lose her,” Vin muttered. “And I hate to have her running for her life.”

“Well,” Jim said, “then I think you and I need to make it safe for her to stay here.”

Safe from Devina…and from whatever psycho was after her.

At least Jim knew what the hell to do to some creep who had a case of the obsessions with the woman. As for Devina? Well, he was going to have to pull that one out of his ass.

Across the way, Vin looked over, and as they locked eyes, the guy nodded once, like he knew that things were going to get freaky and he was good with that. Extending his bandaged hand, he said, “Excellent plan, my friend.”

Jim carefully clasped the paw that was offered. “I have a feeling it's going to be a pleasure working with you.”

“Likewise. Guess that bar fight was just a warm-up.”

“Clearly.”