“I checked on that after Seamus and I talked. Jamie was on probation at the time, and the thing wound up in a courtroom, so he wouldn't be charged with a violation. The doctor said it was a stress-induced nervous breakdown, that given the boy's past, he had a lot of unresolved stresses and problems, and that it might take years of therapy to get him sorted out. So he's out now, huh?”
“As of a month ago,” Carey supplied.
“I guess they figured they straightened him out.”
Seamus and Carey exchanged glances but didn't say anything. Carey found herself wondering if James Otis had really gotten better, or if he'd just gotten smarter.
“Good question,” Seamus said several hours later, as they were heading back to the hotel room. They'd had an enjoyable evening with Shanks, trading war stories. “He probably just got smarter. I've seen people who've gone through endless counseling before. They learn what to say and what not to say. It doesn't seem to take them long to psych out the shrink—if that's what they want to do.”
“Exactly what I thought. But what did you think of what Shanks said? Does it sound like Jamie could be our guy? I mean, he seemed to limit himself mostly to little stuff. I've seen plenty like him who never graduated to murder.”
“And I've seen some like him, with an anger problem, who discover the first time they kill somebody in a fit of rage that it isn't so damn difficult at all.”
“But why would he have been angry at John's foster parents?”
“That, m'dear, is the all-important question.”
When they got to the motel, they went their separate ways, closing the door between their rooms. Carey hung up her dress and steamed it in the bathroom, to get out the wrinkles for the next day. Then she changed into a short cotton nightgown and curled up in front of the TV, watching a late-night movie, some ridiculous science-fiction tale from the fifties.
And somewhere about the time the inevitable nuclear weapon was coming to the rescue, she dozed off.
Sometime later, a sound disturbed her and she opened her eyes to see Seamus standing in the doorway between their rooms. He was wearing pajama bottoms and nothing else. He had a gorgeous chest, she thought drowsily.
“Sorry,” he said. “I heard the TV and thought you were still awake.”
“ ‘S okay,” she said, pushing herself up on the pillow and rubbing her eyes. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking.’’
“So pull up a seat.” For some reason she didn't want him to go away.
“It's nothing major.” But he came to perch on the edge of the bed anyway. “I was just thinking about what Shanks said tonight, and then I remembered that affidavit that James's adoptive mother signed, saying he was home the entire weekend of the Kline murders.”
She nodded. “I read it over. Nobody really suspected James though, because he lived so far away and didn't have a relationship with the Klines.”
“Right. I remember. It was just to plug a possible defense loophole.”
“Exactly. Pretty much
pro forma.
I read it over the other day, and there's nothing in it. Cut-and-dried.”
“Yeah;.” He drew the word out. “Except that I was remembering what Shanks said about how many times the Wigginses apparently bought James out of his trouble. And what he said about the kid being on probation at the time of the murders.”
Carey sat up straighter. “It would be a powerful motivation to lie, wouldn't it?”
“Exactly what I was thinking. Maybe we ought to delve into that a little. Not just ask about the guy's whereabouts now, but see if we can rattle her alibi for him.”
Carey felt a sudden leap of hope. “My God, Seamus!”
He smiled. “It'd wrap the whole thing up in a nice little bow, wouldn't it? But don't get your hopes up. We might not be able to shake the Wigginses. And we don't have time to try to question everybody who knew James about a weekend five years ago. Most people probably wouldn't even remember.”
“But if we can shake her…” Hope was suddenly shining in her eyes, and singing in her heart.
“ If we can shake her, we're on our way.”
And then, without further ado, he bent over and kissed her soundly.
5 Days
C
arey was already riding a wave of exultation over the hope that they might learn something truly useful in the morning, but when Seamus kissed her, she felt that exultation rise even higher.
Memories mixed with present sensations, giving her a surreal feeling. She knew him so well. The smell of him, the feel of him, the way he held her and kissed her—all of these had never been forgotten, and she had never stopped missing them. She felt like Penelope upon the return of Odysseus.
It was as if every cell in her being, and every fiber of her soul, found home port. The loss she had never stopped mourning was suddenly gone, replaced by relief and satisfaction so profound they defied description.
This was where she belonged.
It was illusory, and some part of her knew it. Five years, she was sure, had made them into different people. The love they had once shared and frittered away did not belong to the people they had become. All they had was a memory, and a need they had never managed to slake.
With no hope of a future with this man, she should have backed away. The memory of pain was as strong as the memory of love. But it was not as strong as the hunger that filled her now, and that drove her to return his kiss with all the need she felt.
Love between them had died, but passion had not. Its ember remained burning in her heart, a hurtful presence that had kept her from moving on. So let it burn, she thought recklessly. Let it burn and flare into an almighty conflagration, and soon enough, nurtured by nothing but itself, it would burn out and leave her free at last Seamus lifted his head, supporting himself on his elbows to either side of her shoulders. He looked down at her for what seemed a long time, as if memorizing her face.
She stared back at him, soaking up every detail of how he looked. His face was careworn, speaking of the dark paths he had trod in the past five years, but there were no shadows there, she realized. So often in the past she hadn't been sure whether he was really seeing
her,
or whether he was seeing his demons. But tonight she could tell he saw only her.
He spoke, his voice husky. “God, I've missed this.”
She had, too, and she was in no mood to quibble about what he had missed. Lifting her arms, she twined them around his neck, enjoying the sensation of his warm skin against her. There was nothing, she thought, as exquisite as the feeling of skin on skin.
“Remember the magnolia tree?” he asked.
She nodded, feeling a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. A trip down memory lane might be dangerous, but she understood his need for it. This feeling, this moment here and now, needed to be put in perspective. “I remember.”
The first time they had kissed had been at the end of a very long day. They had planned to go to a movie that evening, but work had interfered for them both, and finally, around eleven that evening, they had managed to meet at her old apartment.
They had decided to take a walk down the dimly lit streets, and had come to a huge old magnolia that spread its sheltering branches over the sidewalk. Seamus had turned to her and drawn her into his arms, giving her a kiss at once hungry and gentle. From that moment she had been his. And to this day, whenever she smelled magnolias, she thought of him.
He spoke. “There's one outside the hotel. I was walking out there earlier when I found it, and I was standing under it remembering …”
“We made a lot of mistakes, didn't we?”
“Every one in the book.” He looked at her mouth. “Are we about to make another one?”
“I don't give a damn.” And right now she didn't. She had been needing him for five long years, and she wasn't about to let fear of tomorrow stand in her way now. There was something to be said for the Scarlett O'Hara approach to life.
If he smiled, she never got the chance to see it. He seized her mouth in a deep, ferocious kiss, as if by will alone he could make the past and future vanish, leaving them with now and only now.
And now was more than enough. His lips were warm and firm, his tongue was hot and wet as it pillaged her mouth. The heady scent of him was evocative of all the pleasures she had known with him, and her body responded instantly, giving full rein to the hunger he had always awakened in her.
His weight bore down on her as he shifted so that he lay over her, crushing her aching breasts, fitting himself to her so that she could feel the heat of his manhood at the apex of her thighs. It was a sensation so exquisite that her desire pooled instantly there, a heavy, throbbing weight of need. She opened her legs, wrapping them around him, trying to bring him closer yet.
Long, lonely nights were driving them too fast, and for an instant she feared it would all be over before she could savor these long wanted moments.
But then, as suddenly as he had become fierce, he gentled, lifting his mouth from hers to trail butterfly-soft kisses across the arch of her cheekbones, over her eyelids, and down her throat. She tipped her head back, encouraging, and drew a sharp breath of pleasure when the moist heat of his mouth found the pounding pulse in the hollow of her throat.
He nibbled her earlobe gently, the whisper of his breath in her ear causing her to shiver and arch with delight. Then he pulled away, just long enough to pull the nightgown over her head and expose her to his view.
Long ago, he had taught her to be proud of her body. She was proud now as his gaze trailed over her, followed by his hands, stroking her from head to toe as gently as if she were a cat, pausing to linger over the aching, yearning places just long enough to drive her to the edge of madness.
Then he followed his hands with his mouth, sprinkling kisses and gentle licks of his tongue over her shoulders, her arms, her belly, her thighs, her knees, and her ankles. Each gentle caress fueled her longing until she felt as if she was a vessel full of throbbing, aching need.
“Seamus …” She heard herself groan his name as his tongue touched the arch of her foot. He lifted his head and smiled at her, waiting.
“Seamus, please…”
He returned to her side, drawing her full-length against him. “What do you want, sweetie?” he asked huskily. “Tell me.”
She rubbed against him like a cat, trying to ease the ache in her breasts and between her thighs, seeking touches he had not yet given her. Something near desperation drove her to push him onto his back and straddle him. As she rose above him, he at last gave her some of what she wanted, reaching up to cup her breasts tenderly in his palms.
She let her head fall back, reveling in the exquisite shocks of pleasure that shot from her breasts to her center, adding to the heavy weight between her legs. Reaching down, she found his nipples and plucked them genty, the way she wanted him to pluck hers.
He knew. He had always known. From the instant he had first touched her all those years ago, he had known her body better than she did. But even as he groaned in response to her touches, and arched his pelvis toward hers, seeking the warm place inside her, he denied her what she wanted.
But she knew how to push him past this teasing game he was playing. Pushing his hands away, she bent down and took one of his small nipples in her mouth, lapping at it with her tongue, nipping gently with her teeth. She felt him jerk sharply with reaction, and heard his groan with deep satisfaction.
He was hers. The thought gave her a heady sense of power, as it always had. And for now the desire to torment him as he had tormented her overtook everything else.
But just as she moved to his other nipple, prepared to torment him as fully as he had tormented her, he rolled her onto her back and rose over her.
In an instant he was buried inside her, filling a place that had been empty far too long. For a moment, she hung suspended on the wonder of their union, glorying in the overwhelming satisfaction of having him deep within her.
Then he bent and took her breast into his mouth, tormenting her exactly as she had tormented him, with gentle nips and licks that each sent fresh shocks of passion racing through her. She writhed against him, but his hips pinned hers, denying her the satisfaction she sought.
She loved it. But finally, when she could stand it no longer, she called out his name. He answered with the strong thrust she had been waiting for, carrying them both on the climb to completion.
With a wrenching cry, she reached the top and tumbled over to the peaceful place beyond. A moment later, he followed her.
They fell asleep twined together, replete at last.
When Carey awoke in the morning, Seamus was already gone. For a few minutes, she didn't move, allowing herself to relish the way she felt, allowing her body to remember all that had happened.
But reality didn't leave her alone for long. Finally, she could no longer ignore the fact that he'd left her, and could no longer pretend that it didn't matter. He was putting distance between them, and that was a good thing, she told herself. They had to keep away from this precipice.
But she didn't believe it. She had the worst urge to curl up and cry into her pillow, because she had lost Seamus all over again. God, how could she have been so stupid? Had she really believed that she would wake up this morning and feel no pain? Had she really convinced herself that it would “burn out?”
She turned over, hugging the pillow, smelling the scent of him on the sheets, and felt her eyes burn and her throat tighten, and her chest ache so hard she could barely breathe. Oh, God, she couldn't stand this again! It would rip her apart, and she didn't know if she had enough strength left to put herself back together again.
But as quickly as the impossible grief surged through her, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and forced herself to sit up and pull the sheet around herself. No. She was absolutely
not
going to give in to this. She couldn't afford to. Grief and loss were things she'd learned to put away in some dark, dusty corner of her heart, and she was going to put this new wave back in its place no matter what. She absolutely was
not
going to do this to herself again.