Down Among the Dead Men

74

“I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life,” Beth said.

They were back in her hotel room now, and she didn’t seem to be able to look him in the eye. She stood by the window, staring out at the courtyard, silhouetted against a darkening sky.

She looked waiflike, vulnerable. But now that her headache had cleared and she’d regained her mental faculties, she sounded exactly like the hardened prosecutor she once was.

“I’m lucky that poor guard didn’t have me arrested.”

“It’s not like you jumped up on a table and did a striptease,” Vargas said. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You weren’t the one wandering the streets like a crazy woman.”

Vargas sighed. She had a point.

On the walk back, he’d been trying to figure out the best thing to do-what was best for her — and he’d come to only one conclusion.

“Listen, Beth. Maybe I should take you back to the clinic.”

She turned, looking at him now. “Forget it.”

“You’re not well,” he said. “And as much as I hate to say it, you need supervision. God knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t found you.”

“I won’t go back. You can leave me here if you want to, but I won’t go back.”

“You aren’t safe here. Besides, I’m not leaving you alone. Not again.”

“I’m alone in that clinic, aren’t I? My parents are dead; my sister’s gone; my cheating bastard of an ex-husband cringes every time I call him…I’ve got no one, Nick. Do you know what it’s like to have no one?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Then don’t make me go back there,” she said. “I’m getting better. I can feel it. And if a headache starts to come on, you can lock me in the goddamn bathroom. I don’t care.”

He moved to her.

“Look,” he said. “You barely know me. I’m not good at being responsible for people. I’m not even good at taking care of myself.”

“You found me, didn’t you? You kept me out of trouble.”

“I got lucky. We both did. But how can I pursue this thing if I always have to keep an eye on you?”

She paused. “So then I’m a burden, is that it?”

He didn’t want to tell her “yes.” He didn’t even want to be thinking it, but the answer must have been plain on his face, because her eyes grew hot and she pushed past him.

“Fine,” she said. “Screw you.”

He grabbed her arm as she passed. “Beth, wait-”

But she pulled away from him and spun, her eyes burning now. “For what? I don’t need you; I don’t need anyone. I’m sick and tired of everyone coddling me. I just want…” She paused again, trying to control her anger. “I just want to remember. Why can’t I fucking remember?”

Then the tears came again and Vargas moved in close, once again pulling her into his arms. He’d only just met this woman, yet he felt as if he understood her better than anyone he’d ever known.

He felt sorry for her, but it wasn’t pity that drove him. He wasn’t sure what it was.

And before he could catch himself, he placed his hand on her head, against her scar, wanting more than anything to draw the pain out of her.

Then he bent down and kissed her cheek.

“I’m a fool,” he said. “I shouldn’t even have suggested taking you back. We’re in this together now. And I’ll help you remember. I promise.”

She brought her arms up around him then and turned her face toward his, pulling him into an embrace, kissing him. And as he felt the heat of her breath, Vargas thought: This is it; this is that magical movie moment I’ve been waiting for all my life.

Only it was real.

And the next thing he knew, they were pulling their clothes off and climbing onto her bed, and Vargas felt exhilarated and guilty at the same time, thinking he shouldn’t be taking advantage of her vulnerability, her illness, but not wanting to stop.

She didn’t seem to want to, either. Pulling him toward her, she gently touched the bandage on his shoulder, then kissed him again, using her tongue this time.

And there was an urgency in the kiss-a need-that neither of them could or wanted to fight.