Sam's typo in "closep" troubled me most. Instead of 'Stay close to Stone,' it looked like "Stay closed to Stone." That sounded like Sam alright.
"Stone will have your back. Not good to stray..." That was easy; Sam was being ironic. He was as suspicious of Stone as he was jealous. But 'stray' was a word meant for someone betraying a relationship. Again, a no-brainer: Sam didn't want me sleeping with Stone. Possessive was already on Sam's dossier.
I preferred to believe "You're first in those lines" meant I was first in Sam's life, though my absence would certainly undo that fantasy. But "I'll rest knowing you'll play it safe" had to be a paradox. Sam said I never played it safe. Maybe he was telling me he wouldn't rest, wouldn't give up on me, that he'd find me. And maybe I was getting my hopes up.
I took another gulp of wine, disgusted with my schoolgirl speculations. Secret messages were for spy novels. Yet I couldn't help rereading the line "Get lost when you need to." And what kind of comment was "Miss nothing"? For poetry or prose, his lines were awful. Even a school kid could write better love letters.
But Sam couldn't write a love letter. Everything had to pass censorship if the letter got caught by an agent on my detail. Like Stone. No, Sam must have written this in code.
"I'm a photographer, not a cryptographer, Sam." I set aside the wine glass and looked for clues. A photographer is visual, he'd know that. So I turned the message upside down, sideways, faced it to the mirror. All the easy angles any third-grader or federal agent would guess.
"First in line," he'd written. He couldn't have been that obvious. Then I noticed the first words of the first lines stacked up neatly: "Don't Trust Stone I'll Find You Soon." That definitely wasn't my imagination. Scanning the first words of the second lines created: "Sorry I'm Not There Miss You Already."
My eyes began to sting. I was stronger than this, but the thought of hugging him...
Gulping more wine, I unpacked the toiletries bag to keep busy and stay sane. And found my exact brand of lip gloss in my favorite shade. God, Sam even remembered the color of my lips.
Did he remember how they tasted?
Looking for more hidden goodies, I found a box of tampons that felt heavier than any tampons I'd ever bought. Sandwiched inside was something stiff and cold. I crouched and dumped the mess onto the floor mat to keep quiet. There was the pink phone, its scratches wonderfully familiar to my touch.
Sam, you dog.
CHAPTER 26
Crouching inside the tile-lined shower, I pressed the redial button on the pink phone, assuming Sam had re-inserted the memory card, and hoped the sound of my bathwater running covered my voice.
"Yes?" Sam's voice was flat, distant. Unfriendly. Surely he'd know this was my number.
I bit my lip, not knowing how to start. "Hey, tough guy."
"Thank God. No names, no specifics, understand?"
"Sure, but—"
"Wait." He was breathy, like he was running. Then the sound of a door shutting. "Okay, we can talk now. Tell me you're okay." Odd request, when he was the one who sounded panicked.
"I guess, but I wish you were here."
"I know, me too."
"God, why didn't I kiss you or hug you when I had the chance."
"Don't, baby," he whispered.
"I held back, because I thought you'd get in trouble if they saw us together. And..." I swallowed. "Hell, I just didn't know how to say goodbye, not when your leaving hurt so much the first time. Shit, I should have said all this in person."
"Yes, you should have." His voice sounded strained, unforgiving. "That doesn't matter now. No apologies."
"No apologies."
My eyes stung. Once I entered witness protection, we'd never see each other again—Reynolds had cut that message into me like a knife. Even if I relayed my location here at the hotel, Stone would shoot Sam before he got within ten feet of me, considering those derisive comments about Sam.
I exhaled all my reservations. "If I could just feel your skin against me one more time."
"You know I want that too. Listen, I want to give you something. Get comfortable."
Comfortable?
I was naked on a freezing tile floor. "Wait." I turned off the water and slipped into the bath's heat, my skin coming quickly alive again. "I'm good now."
"Close your eyes." He hummed into the phone. "Remember the night we were together, we stood by the window."
"I remember you pressing at my back, your arms around my waist."
"Good, I want you to remember every sensation. Every touch, every whisper. God, you felt good in my hands. I wanted to tell the world to go to hell and steal you away with me."
"Thank God you did."
"Shhh. Only me, that's what I want you to feel."
Raising my arm over my head, I awakened the memory of Sam's fingers, the wave of ecstasy rippling down my arm, over my breast, then curving with my waist onto my hip. I raised my thigh, let the water splash between my legs as my fingers circled where Sam's hand should be sliding.
"Did I hear water?" he asked.
"Yes. I'm in the—"
"No details." He let out a heavy sigh. "Christ. That's all the fantasy I need. To see you naked there, lathering. My fingers gliding over you. Into you."
With each stroke, I gasped, my breath disappearing in the steam. "Tell me you're going to walk through that door. Tell me you're going to finish this."
"I want to so much. But they'd all drop me the minute I entered the room."
"They?" My fingers paused.
He hummed. "But let me tell you what I'd do to you, if we were alone together."
"Wait. Tell me how many 'they' are supposed to be. Inside, I mean."
"No specifics. A few."
I sat up straight. "More than just one?"
"One?"
"More than just... The Prick?"
"He's alone with you? What the fuck—"
"Julie, who are you talking to?" Stone's voice came down like a hammer on my arm.
Plop
. Down went the phone, a pink blur sinking fast beneath the suds.
He squeaked the door open a sliver. I grabbed my iPod and shoved the earbuds in as I sank my breasts below the bubbles. Stone's blurry face appeared in the steamy mirror.
"Huh?" I acted like I'd just pulled the plugs out of my ears.
He scanned the room. "Thought I heard talking."
"Oh, I'm singing Johnny Cash songs. Sorry, I'm not very good."
"Doesn't bother me at all to hear you sing," he said, setting a robe on the counter. "I had housekeeping bring this up to help you feel more comfortable." He held my glance in the mirror, as if he might climb in and scrub my back. Then he pulled the door shut and I exhaled.
Sam was gone under a sheath of foam and disappointed fantasies. Nothing killed electronics like a bubble bath. I finished my wine, then yanked the release on the tub and watched hope get sucked down the drain.
***
I slipped on the blue silk blouse, though the buttons seemed to get smaller as my fingers trailed along. Sam's sweet voice making love to me was now a memory that would only worsen the longing. I closed my eyes, and all I could see was his tight body sliding over me.
Damn you, Sam
. I threw the wine glass at the sink, splashing a few drops onto my new silk blouse.
Stone thundered down the hall, threw open the door. He'd changed out of his suit and into a black, long-sleeved polo that clung to his chest.
"I'm fine. Just slipped." I leaned over the sink, which glistened with shards of glass. Wine droplets rolled toward the drain.
"Don't move." Stone took the broken glass stem from my hand and threw a hand towel on the floor, where a few shards encircled my feet. Then he swooped me into his arms and carried me to the bed. He must have thought I was about to cut my wrists.
Daniels was standing in my bedroom doorway.
"Go call housekeeping to clean up the glass," Stone barked at him.
Stone pulled the covers over my feet. "Today's a tough day. Going back into the world with a detail of men watching your every move can't be easy." He cupped my cheek, and I felt a kiss looming, though part of me didn't mind the affection. "But you can talk to me when it gets tough. You might remember I'm a good listener."
The suite's doorbell rang.
"Stay here," he said, closing the bedroom door behind him.
I heard a trolley rolled into the foyer and Stone talking about the wine. Dinner had arrived. Soon, he would call me to eat with that deep voice, that sly smile, a kind hand at my lower back. I closed my eyes and imagined a red rose and white table linens with candles flickering against silver domes that hid the exquisite aroma of parmesan and shallots and butter. I imagined Stone making polite conversation, laughing over a forkful of linguine in a thick, buttery sauce. I imagined Sam lifting me against a wall, swallowing my breath as he urged open my thighs and plunged.
Shit
. Sam had me so jammed up, and for what, another teary goodbye. He'd gotten me addicted to his touch and then abandoned me to a new nightmare. He wasn't really coming for me—the poem was just more bullshit so he could keep me tethered. Like Luke kept me tied up from the grave.
"Enough," I said to myself.
Daniels stared from the doorway with a maid behind him. "Should we come back?"
"No, I meant… My stomach's growling, that's all. Go ahead."
My bathroom was invaded by housekeeping and a six-foot goon to guard them. I made for the bedroom door and missed the doorknob on the first try and caught my balance on the dresser. Daniels opened the door for me and I proceeded into the hall.
"I'm fine," I said, knowing what he was thinking.
As I approached, Stone gestured to one end of the long dinner table and scooted out my chair. He poured more red wine while I unfolded my napkin and focused on my new objective: getting over Sam.
A white candle glimmered against Stone's familiar smile. Tall, dark, and handsome. And available. Sure, I needed to be cautious, but the greatest threat I'd experienced from the infamous Detective McCarthy was his inability to mind his own business when he thought me suicidal, a milquetoast kiss, and faking a sister to spend time with me. At least he hadn't put a gun to my chest or left Troy on the street to attack me.
"This smells delicious already," he said, lifting the dome to reveal linguine and clams.
"Oh, God." The smell was nauseating. Any other time and I would have dug into the noodles with lust, but I'd been on bland food and pills so long, my stomach wasn't up for the challenge
Stone's smile dimmed. "You don't like clams."
"Just the meds playing games with my appetite. Let me work up to it." I took a slice of sourdough and nibbled. "Please," I said, gesturing to Stone's plate.
"I can order something else, if you like. Just say the word, and it's yours. I just want you to be happy."
Happy?
Sam never talked like that to me. I took a long draught of wine.
Stone spun his fork into his spaghetti and Bolognese sauce, then offered the fork for me to take a bite. "Maybe mine will suit you better. Pork sausage."
I shrank back, longing for Tums and a side of soda water. Or Jell-O squares and Sam's tender touch.
Humming, Stone said, "Really rich and spicy. I wish you could enjoy this with me." After a sip of wine, he stared at me. "Finally, some peace. Two men at the door, a quiet dinner, everyone's nerves calmed. And no rats hanging around."
"You mean Sam."
Stone narrowed his eyes. "I mean the bad guys, Julie. The rest of us are on the same team. Though I wonder how Sam's wife is doing with all his undercover overtime."
I held the stem of my wine glass so tight I thought it would snap. The wad of bread in my throat wouldn't go down so I took another gulp.
Wife?
No, he couldn't have said that word.
"Can't imagine a woman putting up with him. She's a real spark plug, his wife, but I feel sorry for her."
I kept my breathing paced, unwilling to let Stone see I was boiling. "Fortunately for me, Sam's been a gentleman." I nibbled the bread.
Stone watched my hand awkwardly release the glass to the table. "Frankly, I wouldn't trust him alone with you, so I'm glad Reynolds kicked him off the team. He had your back on that. Reynolds is a bit icy, and I wouldn't trust him with my own sister, but he knows Sam's trouble."
"Thought you were an only child," I said.
"Who told you that?" He grunted when I dove back into the wine. "I see. Sam doesn't know as much about me as he thinks. She's my stepsister, but family's family to me. And yes, she loved the puppy. Sam wouldn't know anything about family. Or loyalty." Stone topped off our glasses. "I noticed you retrieved his note out of the garbage. That worries me a little."
The room seemed to be shifting, or was it my stomach. I sat straighter in my chair. "I didn't understand it." Games, more games. Stupid words on a page.
"I think you understand it perfectly," said Stone.
"Excuse me." I scooted out my chair, steadying myself with the edge of the table.
Stone rose and wiped his mouth. The guy had manners, class.
I stood at the refrigerator, staring into an abyss of soda cans and juice cartons and more wine bottles. The cold wash of air felt good on my face, the colors seemed to dance and spin. Of course Sam was married. His disappearances, the female voice in the background on the phone, his closing a door to talk. He'd been home with his wife when I'd called, that asshole.
Stone cupped my shoulders. "Let me."
He reached to the lower shelf and grabbed a ginger ale, popped the top and poured the bubbles into a fresh glass. He helped me hold the drink till I took a few sips. The queasiness subsided, but I couldn't get sober fast enough. How many glasses had I drunk?
Stone stepped closer. "You can talk to me, Julie. I'm here for you."
I leaned my forehead against the refrigerator. "Life just keeps throwing me crap." Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. Sam, married. A wife in his bed, while Sam was in mine. Of course Sam wasn't coming back; he'd escaped me in the end, deserted and betrayed me. Just like a rat. And here was Stone to save me from falling for Sam's crap again.