Low Pressure

Chapter 27

The sun had set and dusk had settled in. The Corvette’s headlights were on when Dent steered it into a parking space, but Bellamy remained unseen until he started up the metal staircase. When he saw her sitting on the landing, he paused for several seconds, then continued climbing the stairs in a steady tread.

He’d hooked his suit jacket on his index finger and was carrying it slung over his shoulder. His necktie had been undone and was lying flat against his chest.

She stood, dusted off her seat, and retrieved her high heels, which had become so uncomfortable she’d taken them off. He didn’t say anything as he stepped around her and continued down the breezeway toward his apartment.

She fell into step behind him. “I hope you don’t mind that I waited for you to get home. I didn’t know when you’d show up. Or if you would come home at all tonight.”

He unlocked the door and went into the apartment. She hesitated on the threshold. “May I come in?”

“Door’s open.” He pitched his key ring onto the coffee table, tossed his jacket over the back of a chair, and followed that with his necktie.

She stepped inside and closed the door. “I don’t think you’re in the mood for anything elaborate, so I’ll keep it simple. I’m sorry.”

He went into the kitchen and took a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “Sorry for what?”

“For not calling you about Daddy. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how you’d react to a call from me about anything. I’d said some harsh things to you.” When he didn’t say anything, she forged ahead. “I also apologize for not standing up for you at the club. I was… My only defense is that I was in shock.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not.” He twisted the cap off the water bottle and took a drink. “That it?”

“Are you all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were awfully angry when you left the country club.”

“Not for long. I blew off some steam.”

“What did you do?”

“Went flying.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it.”

The rebuke was succinct, but well aimed. She lowered her head and looked at the pair of designer pumps she was holding in her hands. She studied the black grosgrain ribbon across the toe. They were beautiful shoes, but they pinched. Why was it that she was drawn to things that were bad for her or that hurt?

“Moody showed up,” she said. “I spoke to him just before I saw you. He said—”

He interrupted her. “I don’t want to know what he said. I don’t care what he said. I’m done talking about him or anything related to that subject.” He looked her over from the top of her head to her bare feet. “If you want to take off your clothes and give me a lap dance, you can stay. If not, go back to the bosom of your rotten family and leave me the hell alone.” He gave her about half a second to make up her mind, and when she didn’t move, he snuffled. “I didn’t think so. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

Moving back into the living area, he picked up the TV remote. “Maybe I can catch the last few innings of the double-header I missed by going to your old man’s send-off.”

His rejection, coming so closely on the heels of Steven’s, was crushing. A sob erupted from her as she turned and walked toward the door.

But before she could get it open, he was there, cursing under his breath, turning her to face him. He flattened his hands on the door, caging her between it and him, and pressed his forehead against hers. “That was a terrible thing to say.”

“I guess I had it coming.”

“No, it was a low blow. It was cruel. Because I know how much you loved him, how sad you are.”

“When we’re angry, we say things we don’t mean. You’re angry.”

“As hell.” He released a long breath and rolled his forehead from side to side over hers. “I don’t know how you do it, Bellamy Lyston Price.”

“Do what?”

“Make me so damn mad.” He moved in closer. “And still keep me wanting you.”

“Do you?”

“It’s killing me.”

He pulled away a few inches. She looked up into his eyes. He couldn’t have mistaken her yearning when she focused on his mouth. But after having been turned down so many times, he wasn’t going to initiate anything. What happened next would be up to her.

She whispered, “I’m afraid.”

“Of disappointing me?”

She nodded.

“Not gonna happen.”

This was what she’d come here for. Yes, she’d wanted to apologize, but what she wanted most was to be with Dent. While pitying Steven for refusing the love that was readily, unselfishly given to him, it had occurred to her that she had done the same. She hadn’t allowed herself to love or to be loved.

Safe was a terribly lonely way to live.

She dropped her shoes to the floor and gingerly placed her hands on his chest. For a long time, they stood like that, neither moving. Then she undid a button on his shirt. After the first one, the others weren’t quite so intimidating.

When she spread his shirt open, her desire was greater than her apprehension. She leaned in. His chest hair was soft against her face. It tickled her nose. She pressed a dry kiss on him, then opened her mouth. His skin was warm and slightly salty tasting.

He made a low sound, curved his hand beneath her jaw, and tilted her face up to his. His mouth was possessive and hungry, and the longer they kissed the more urgent the kisses became. His arms closed around her, bringing her up against him, and when she answered the pressure he applied with a corresponding grinding motion, he swore softly and broke the kiss to turn her to face away from him.

After gathering her hair in his hand and draping it over her shoulder, he unhooked the clasp at the top of her dress, then slowly pulled the zipper down past her waist. He slid his hands inside and settled them on her hips, pulling her back against him, and situating her bottom firmly against his erection.

Her breath soughed out as she weakly propped herself against the door.

He planted a tender kiss on the nape of her neck then sucked the skin against his teeth. Slowly his hands scaled up over her ribs to her bra strap. He undid it, then for agonizing seconds did nothing more.

She wondered later if perhaps he had been giving her a chance to stop there. If so, he had wasted a few precious seconds of lovemaking, because she wanted him, wanted this more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

His hands moved around to her front, up under the cups of her bra, and over her breasts. He angled her away from the door and back against his chest. She sighed and let herself be supported as he caressed her breasts, sweetly at first, and then erotically until she was restless and hot with wanting more. He knew it.

“Come here.”

Turning her, he pushed her dress off her shoulders, and it dropped to the floor. Her bra followed. He slung off his shirt, then reached for her hand and drew her along with him as he backed up toward the bed. By the time they got there, he had his belt and trousers undone. A few seconds later, he was free of everything. Bellamy took him in, and she stared at his sex for so long that he said uneasily, “Okay?”

She laughed lightly, like If only you knew how okay, and he smiled. “Look at you,” he murmured. His large hands reshaped her breasts. His fingertips played lightly over her nipples. After teasing them with his lips, he pulled back and smiled at her again.

Then his eyes turned dark. Because she had touched him. At first just a few tentative brushes with her fingers, to indulge her curiosity about the various textures, but, encouraged by his unsteady breathing and that smokiness in his eyes, she took him in her hand. Guided by his gruff whispers, and instinct, she pumped him until he grew incredibly tight. Hot breaths struck her hair as he bent his head over hers and groaned her name.

A drop of moisture leaked from the tip. She took it on her thumb, sucked it off, and pressed her thumb against the center of her lower lip, which he’d told her was sexy. Raspily, he said, “Disappointed, my ass,” then covered her mouth in a fierce kiss that left her mindless. She was on her back on the bed before she realized how she’d got there. He bent over her and kissed her belly as he peeled off her panties.

She didn’t know until later what had happened to them. They disappeared while she was held in thrall of the trail of kisses that brought his mouth to where she pulsed with need, in thrall of his stubbled cheeks against her thighs, in thrall of what he was doing with his lips, his tongue, with his gliding fingers, with his rumbled words of adoration and coarse carnality that she’d never found to be a turn-on until now.

In thrall of Denton Carter loving her.

“Are you back?” he whispered.

Her eyes opened partially. “Hmm.”

“You sure?” It took all his willpower only to nudge her, not penetrate. But, damn, it was tough to hold back.

Her eyes came fully open. “Yes. I’m back.”

He gave her a wicked grin. “Have fun?”

She blushed.

“Have fun?” He nudged her again, only this time pushing into her until the head of his cock was snug inside.

“Yes,” she gasped.

“I’m glad.” He rubbed his lips across the freckles on her cheekbone.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“The pleasure was mine.”

“Really?”

All teasing aside, he angled his head back and looked into her beautiful eyes, which always looked slightly bruised. He wondered if they would ever be entirely rid of that haunted quality. “Really.” They stared at each other for a meaningful moment.

He sank into her a little deeper and her throat arched up. “That feels amazing.”

“To me, too.”

“But you haven’t…”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because you were drifting in euphoria. And I want you to remember this. With perfect clarity.”

She touched his rough cheek. “I could never forget this.”

“Me either.”

“Only because you had to work so hard for it.”

“Nope. Because you’re so damn beautiful.” He pressed deeper still and grimaced with pleasure. “And because you feel so good. Now that I’m here, and I know just how sweet you are, I want to make it last. But damned if I can.”

A second later, he was sheathed completely, his fingers were entangled in her hair, and his breathing was loud and ragged against her neck. Sliding his hands under her ass, he tilted her up and pushed into her as deep as he could possibly go.

“Jesus, Bellamy.” He hoped that with that guttural moan he’d made her understand just how tight and hot and incredible she felt.

Because when he began to move, he was quickly lost.

“Hey, you? A.k.a.? Are you asleep?”

Bellamy snuggled against him and sighed with contentment. “No. Just thinking.”

He had gathered a strand of her hair and was sweeping the ends of it across her nipple. “The way your hair brushes against them? Sexiest thing I ever saw. Drives me crazy. But I think I told you that already.”

“That’s driving me crazy,” she said as he continued the idle whisking.

“Good crazy?”

“Wonderful crazy.”

He tilted her head back and they kissed. When it finally ended, he asked, “What were you thinking about?”

“I was afraid of this because I didn’t want to be compared to my sister. But I don’t believe you were thinking about her at all.”

He didn’t say anything for several beats. Then, “You had a sister?”

She laughed and pressed her face against his chest. Her hand trailed down to his navel. “You’re not wearing the bandage anymore.”

“My back’s okay. Stings a little sometimes.”

“And these?” She leaned up and kissed the cuts on his face.

“They’re gonna need a lot of that.”

“And where’s your gun?”

“I didn’t think I should tote it to the funeral.”

“Good thing you didn’t. You might have shot Jerry. Although that’s not his name.”

“We’ll talk about it later. Right now…” He pulled her over on top of him and when they were settled belly to belly she asked where he’d gone flying after leaving the reception. “Did you fly the senator’s plane?”

He shook his head. “When I got out to the airfield, a buddy of Gall’s was there. He has a Stearman. Know what that is?” When she shook her head, he described a vintage biplane that was originally used as a military trainer but was now popular for flying aerobatics in air shows.

“Ever since Gall told me about this guy and his plane, I’ve been wanting to go up in it. He took me for a spin, then he landed it, and we switched seats.”

“He let you fly it?”

“And boy, did I. It’s as fast and nimble as a waterfront whore.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

“I don’t think about that. Only about how much fun it is.” He winked mischievously. “I’ve got two favorite pastimes. Both are a lot of fun, and both start with the letter ef.”

Catching his meaning, she smiled. “But only one is dangerous.”

“Depends on who you’re doing it with.”

“Why do you love it so much?”

“What’s not to love? Being naked, skin to skin, feels good. You can’t beat the view or the playthings.” He touched the tip of her breast and smiled when it hardened against his fingertip. “Especially your playthings.” He smoothed his hands down over her bottom and secured her more firmly against him. “But the best part is feeling you come.”

Heat filled her cheeks. “I meant flying.”

“Ohhhh, why do I love flying.”

They shared a laugh, then he hugged her to him tightly. “I acted like a jerk when I got home, but I was actually glad to see you here.”

“I was nervous.”

“You thought I’d turn you down and kick you out?”

“I thought you might.”

“Not a chance.”

He slid his hands over her bottom all the way down to her thighs. He spread them apart until she was straddling him, then lifted her so he could push inside.

He was full and hard, but mostly he was Dent, and she pressed down on him with a satisfied sigh. Leaning forward, she kissed his mouth, long and slow, then squirmed down and touched the tip of her tongue to his nipple. He made a low, sexy sound and asked her to repeat that.

His arousal aroused her, but when she began to rock against him, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her up to a sitting position. “I want to watch.”

“What?”

He splayed his hand over her lower belly. “Lean back. Farther. Put your hands on my thighs.”

She hesitated, then did as he instructed, making herself vulnerable to his hot gaze and to his thumb, which he slid down between their bodies. He watched the lips of her sex close around it, then looked into her eyes as he began to stroke her with a circular motion that caused her body to quicken and involuntarily thrust against his thumb. Tilting her face toward the ceiling, she closed her eyes and lost herself to the sensations.

Without inhibition, she gave over to her impulses, moved as her body was dictating, and allowed herself to be governed strictly by her senses. She heard Dent’s hiss of pleasure, felt the fervent, wet tug of his mouth on her nipple, the flicking of his tongue in concert with his thumb’s caresses.

She arched her back and cried out his name.

At some point during the wee hours, they grew tired enough to spoon. “You never did tell me,” she said drowsily.

“Tell you what?”

“Why you love flying so much. You told me that you fell in love with it the first time Gall took you up. He told me you were enraptured.”

“Gall said that?”

She laughed softly and turned to face him. “I supplied the word, but that’s how he described you.” She placed her arm around his waist and rested her cheek against the fuzziness on his chest. “Describe to me how you felt that day.”

While collecting his thoughts, his fingers sifted through her hair. “For as far back as I could remember, I’d been trying to figure out why my dad didn’t like me and what I could do to win him over. That day, when Gall took me up, it was like… like I left all that on the ground.

“During that five-minute flight, it stopped mattering to me whether my dad liked me or not. His indifference couldn’t reach me in the sky. I knew I’d found something more important to my life than he would ever be because I loved it more. I’d found a new home.”

He gave a light laugh. “Of course when we landed, nothing that poetic-sounding came to my adolescent mind. I’ve had years to think about that first flight and how significant it was. Even then, I knew it was life-changing, but, of course, nothing changed immediately.

“We landed, and I went back to that cold house and that unfeeling man. I remained angry and resentful, carried a chip on my shoulder just as I always had. The difference was, I now had something to look forward to. My dad couldn’t lock me out anymore because I’d stopped wanting in.”

He paused as though considering whether or not to continue. “This is going to sound as corny as hell. But”—again, he hesitated—“but during that flight, there was a span of time, maybe forty-five seconds, when the sun shone through a crack in the clouds. And I mean a slit. You know how it sometimes does just before sundown and there are clouds on the horizon?

“Anyway, we were flying at the perfect altitude to be level with it. That beam of sunlight was aimed directly at me. I was staring straight into it and I owned it. It was like a sign or something. For a kid who didn’t have a mother, and a dad who looked through him, that was… Well, it was a lot.

“And I thought to myself, ‘This is what it’s about. It’s never going to get better than this. This is my life’s perfect moment. If I live to be a hundred years old, I’ll remember this till the day I die.’”

Bellamy didn’t move for the longest time. Eventually Dent mumbled, “Told you it was corny.”

“No, it’s lovely.”

“You ever had a moment like that? Do you understand what I’m talking about?”

She raised her head, and a tear slid over her lower eyelid as she smiled down into his face and said softly, “As of right now, I do.”

They slept for several hours and woke to make love again as they showered together. He was assembling the coffee-maker when she emerged from the bathroom, wearing only the dress shirt he’d discarded the night before, towel-drying her hair.

When he turned and saw her, an odd expression came over his face. “What?” she asked.

He shook his head slightly, then gave her a wolfish grin. “I was just thinking how good it looks on you.”

“Your shirt?”

“Debauchery.”

She blushed to the roots of her hair.

“Damn, that gets to me every time.”

“What?”

“Your blush.”

“I don’t blush.”

“Bet you will.”

“Will?”

He sat down in one of the chairs at the table, caught her hand, and pulled her into his lap. It was a while before they got around to having their coffee.

Over steaming cups, she told him what she’d learned about the man they knew as Jerry. Dent muttered a few choice phrases. “Steven’s the one I should have gone after.”

“He retained the man to look out for me. He meant well.”

He looked prepared to comment on that, but chose not to. “What was on Moody’s mind?”

She related their conversation and, when she finished, she said, “Admit it, Dent. You must be a little relieved.”

“To know that you didn’t kill her?” When she solemnly nodded, he said, “I’m relieved for your sake. From a practical standpoint, I never really thought you had.”

“But you had considered the possibility.”

“Let’s just say I hoped that when you regained your memory, it wouldn’t be of you choking Susan. I’m glad you don’t have to be haunted by that.”

“Yes. But if it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Strickland, then who? Moody claims only to know who didn’t. Not who did. We need to—”

“Go see Haymaker,” he said.

The retired detective looked as elfin as ever. “Sorry about your dad,” he said to Bellamy.

She acknowledged the condolence but didn’t linger on it. “Moody said you’d be expecting us.”

He moved aside and motioned them in. They sat as before, he in the recliner, them competing with the dog for space on the sofa. Haymaker pointed down to the case file lying on the coffee table. “Recognize that?”

She nodded.

“Frankly, I can’t believe Dale is ready to share this.” He held up his hands and gave an elaborate shrug. “But who’s to say how a man’s conscience works?”

“He told me that he left some kind of confession with you.”

The former cop took several folded sheets of paper from the pocket of his shirt and spread them open. “Signed.”

“And thumbprinted,” she said, checking the last sheet, where Moody’s signature was affixed along with the thumbprint.

“So what does he confess to, exactly?” Dent asked.

Haymaker settled more comfortably into his chair. “Ever hear of a Brady cop?”

Bellamy and Dent shook their heads.

“There was a Supreme Court case, midsixties, I think. Stemmed from a murder trial, Brady versus Maryland. The court ruled in Brady’s favor. The upshot of it was that police officers and prosecutors had a duty, an obligation, to tell a defendant’s attorney about any exculpatory material or information, even if they think it’s hogwash.

“Even if they’re damn near certain a witness is lying through his teeth on behalf of an offender, they’re still required to share with the other side what they’ve been told. If an investigator discovers something on his own that favors the suspect, he’s still obligated to share it.”

“Which allows for lots of wiggle room,” Dent said.

“And we—meaning cops—wiggle. But those who flat-out lie or deliberately withhold something are cheating the justice system and the law of the land. They’re called Brady cops.”

Bellamy said, “That’s what Moody did?”

“With Jim Postlewhite. Moody questioned him early on, as he did all the men at the barbecue.” Leaning forward, Haymaker reached into the file and removed the sheet of paper bearing Postlewhite’s name underlined in red.

He slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “Mr. Postlewhite told Moody where he was and what he was doing immediately before and after the tornado tore through the park. He described it in some detail. He told Moody about pushing some kids into a culvert before taking cover himself.

“If you can read Moody’s chicken scratching, it’s all written down here.” He removed his glasses and looked at them. “Postlewhite’s story eliminated Allen Strickland as a suspect.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because Allen had helped him shepherd those kids into the culvert.”

“Where was this culvert?” Bellamy asked.

“A long way from where your sister’s body was found. And Postlewhite said that Allen came running over to him and the kids from the parking lot, where he’d been looking for his brother.”

Dent said, “He couldn’t have been two places at once.”

Haymaker nodded. “You had an alibi Dale and Rupe couldn’t shake, so Rupe said they’d nail Allen Strickland instead. But Dale reminded Rupe that Postlewhite could testify that Strickland was somewhere else while the murder was taking place. Rupe told Dale to do whatever was necessary to get Postlewhite to forget that.”

“Oh no,” Bellamy said mournfully.

Haymaker patted the air. “He didn’t have to do anything. Postlewhite had died of a heart attack three days after the tornado.”

“Lucky for them,” Dent said drolly.

“Rupe certainly thought so. Dale knew that the boy had at least a chance of beating that rap.”

“But he never disclosed what Postlewhite had told him.”

Haymaker paused and scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “Dale had been a good cop. Hard, maybe,” he said, glancing at Dent. “But withholding exculpatory facts was stepping way over the line. There was also the so-called accident that prevented Strickland’s brother from testifying. But by then, Dale was in so deep with Rupe he didn’t see a way out.”

“What happens to Brady cops when they’re found out?” Bellamy asked.

“They’re disgraced, exposed as liars. They’re usually terminated. Some are put on a Brady list, which is basically a blacklist shared with other law enforcement agencies.”

“Moody won’t lose sleep over those consequences,” Dent said.

“You’re right,” Haymaker said. “Poor ol’ Dale hasn’t got much to lose. But if it comes out that Rupe violated due process while serving as a state prosecutor, and knowingly sent an innocent man to prison, he might face charges. Especially since Strickland died there. At the very least, his reputation will be shot to hell. He won’t be able to sell a secondhand tricycle.”

Bellamy said, “Does Moody expect us to blow the whistle?”

Haymaker refolded the signed confession and handed it to her. “I made myself a copy, but I would never use it against my friend. Dale left it up to you what you do with the original. Turn it over to the Austin PD. To the DA’s office. Attorney general. To the media.”

“Why didn’t he give it to me yesterday?”

Without compunction, Haymaker said, “He needed time to get himself out of Dodge. He won’t be going back to where he was before, either. We’ve seen the last of him we’re ever gonna see.”

“He’s a damn coward,” Dent said.

“He told me you’d called him that to his face. He also said you weren’t far off the mark.”

Bellamy frowned thoughtfully. “Even if I do share this with the authorities, Rupe will claim it’s all lies.”

“No doubt. Dale’s word against his. But Dale’s notes in the file back up the part about Postlewhite. Every cop knows how important one’s notes can turn out to be. And if that case file wasn’t dangerous to someone, why’d it mysteriously go missing from the PD? Everything added together, it looks bad for Rupe. The King of Cars will be dethroned.”

Then he leaned toward her and, speaking earnestly, said, “One last thing. Dale wanted me to emphasize to you that neither he, nor anyone, ever turned up a shred of evidence that implicated you.”

“He told me that. He also knew that Allen Strickland hadn’t killed Susan. Which leaves us still not knowing who did.”

From deep inside Bellamy’s shoulder bag, her cell phone dinged. She fished it out. “I’ve got a text.” When she accessed it, she murmured, “It’s a photo.” She touched the arrow on her screen and then covered her mouth in horror when the enlarged picture appeared.

It was of Dale Moody. His throat had been sliced open from ear to ear.