"That's what women usually get out of a man, with or without the name," he said finally.
"That’s been your experience?"
"Usually how people learn." His voice, always deep, became husky.
His words brought back the admonition of Peter Soul and she shuddered involuntarily.
"I say something wrong?"
"Not you. Just something that happened today." She smiled sheepishly. "I'm being a wimp about this. Sorry."
"You want to talk about it?"
"I don't think I can, but thanks for the offer." She sipped her coffee, realizing she wished she could talk to S.T. about Peter Soul, about the odd feelings she had when she was in the man's presence. Soul exerted a kind of control that seemed to shroud all those around him. It was like an energy that sucked the air from the room, swallowing energy like a black hole.
“So if your job is out there, why are you in here?” S.T. asked.
“Caffeine,” she said smiling.
“Huh?”
“I was starting to get a headache.”
S.T. chuckled.
“I’ve told you why I’m here,” Christine said, trying to redirect her thoughts. “What about you? Are you doing a construction project down here?"
"It was personal."
"You mean that part of your life you don't want photographed?" For the first time she wondered about the woman in his life. Was there one? She wanted to know.
She studied his features through her lashes. He was even more handsome than she'd remembered, the sharp cut features, the firm slash of a mouth, marred only slightly by the cynical twist to the full lips. Meeting his gaze, the dark eyes that hid, yet revealed so much about him, she wished she had the right to ask the questions leaping into her mind. She wondered though what the cost would be to her to earn that right. Instantly she felt astounded she'd even entertained such a thought.
"I guess I need to talk to somebody about this. Get my thinking straightened out because I feel like I've been wandering in the dark," he said. "My sister is apparently missing."
A muscle in his jaw throbbed telling her his teeth were clenched. She wondered if it was always that hard for him to talk about himself, to reveal any vulnerability. She met his gaze levelly; saw the indecision in his dark eyes, underlain by determination. He hadn't wanted to tell her this. With whom did this man share? Who knew the secrets of his heart?
"Apparently?”
He explained his mother’s phone call.
“So what do the police think?" she asked.
He smiled faintly. "I haven’t talked to them. Dumb huh?" He looked away, his eyes staring sightlessly out the window. "I am not close to my family. To be honest I don't know my sister. If she walked in that door, I wouldn't recognize her." His gaze met hers. "I suppose that shocks you."
"It's sad, but I can't say it shocks me. A lot of families are apart for one reason or another."
"That pretty well fits this case. One reason or another." He shook his head, his smile humorless. "My parents separated when I was six. My mother went back to the Rez, and my sister and I stayed with my father. When I couldn't take the way he lived, the way he expected us to live, I left. My sister was a kid. I saw her maybe two or three times after that. I shouldn’t have talked so much. Hopefully this doesn’t make it into your story.”
"It’s all off the record. Besides, I take pictures, don’t write articles. How old were you?"
He smiled wryly. "Sixteen. I got a job, finished high school. I guess the rest is public record. I've heard from my father a few times since, my mother a little more, but haven't seen Shonna in years. I didn't even know she lived in Oregon... until that phone call."
Christine wished she could say something comforting, but anything that came to her mind sounded trite. She didn't
understand
, not coming from a warm, secure family. She'd seen these kinds of stories, but there would always be a barrier between her and those who had experienced them.
"I'll bet you were the little girl in pigtails," he said, the crooked smile back as he changed the subject.
"Sometimes. When I wasn't one in a ponytail."
"A tomboy?"
"How did you guess?"
"It seemed a safe bet. I can almost see you then. Little boys following you around, asking to carry your books."
She caught her lower lip in her teeth. "I don't suppose you'd have followed any little girl around, would you?"
"I've followed a few."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I think more likely they followed you. You'd have been the forbidden fruit, wouldn't you?"
He gave a snort. "Some might have called it that."
She lifted her chin a little. "Is that when you decided women were more trouble than they were worth?"
“Not all women. Just a certain kind.”
She didn’t pretend to not understand his meaning but there wasn’t really anything she could say to it either. "Early on I decided it was all men who were trouble. No boy was going to carry my books. It was all a trap to keep women weak."
"It is."
She glanced at her wrist watch. "I wish I didn't have to go, not when the conversation's been so pleasant," she quipped, "but I fear my subject will be thinking I've gone for more than batteries."
"I'll see you again?" he asked, wondering why he had.
"On Monday. You do want to see my photographs."
"The ones you will kill if I don't approve them," he said, the wry smile back.
"You're a very distrustful man. You'll see though that I mean what I say. If you don't like them, into the trash they go-- even if I weep over them." She grinned. “I think you’ll like them though. I knew you’d be a good subject and you didn’t disappoint me one bit.”
“Of course, I might see that otherwise.”
“If you do, I’ll be as good as my word.” She would hate to do it though as her camera had captured more of his essence than even she had expected. The black and white had been most dramatic; the dark and light contrasts were made for cheekbones like his; but it had been in color where she'd seen the man most revealed. The camera never lied, but she still questioned what she'd seen in those photographs.
"I wouldn't ask you to destroy your work," he said, obviously having read her mind.
She shrugged. "This whole trip to Oregon may prove to be a bust. I've had times like that before and I've lived through them."
He rose. "Then I guess I need to wish you good luck today."
She managed a smile. She wasn't looking forward to going back to Peter Soul's world. She reached into her purse and before S.T. could stop her, laid a five on the table. “My treat
this
time,” she said when she saw him start to object.
"And there'll be another time," he said, half statement but more question than she could see he wanted it to be.
She met his gaze again and for a moment found all thought blown from her mind. What was it about this man that seemed to draw her toward him, make her want to trust, want to know more about his life, to share the problems she saw in his eyes, and finally offer him the kind of solace she'd never before wanted to give any man.
"Monday, of course.”
“And after that?”
“Well, we shall see. I hope you get good news about your sister," she said, breaking the potent silence between them.
"I've got a couple of other leads to follow if the police don't know anything," he said. "Maybe something will pan out.” He shrugged. “Maybe she'll just show up on her own."
She saw he didn’t believe it but she hoped so too for his sake.
Leaving the police station, S.T. knew they would be no help. Shonna had disappeared without a trace and was the sort of woman authorities didn’t worry much about when it happened. She had a record, an ugly little string of convictions that made S.T. wish he'd never visited the station.
At least so far as they knew she wasn't dead, no unidentified bodies had turned up, nor was she currently in prison. And he now knew where to ask about her as he headed for the nearest bar.
Two hours and more bars than he wanted to count later S.T. drove to the closest motel, checked in, grabbed a copy of the local newspaper as well as the Oregonian from Portland, then pushed enough change into the Coke machine for two cans before he headed for his room. He wasn't in any mood to eat.
At least, he thought as he stripped off his clothes and headed for the shower, there'd been those who had known his sister, known she'd been in town two years, frequented most of the places he'd visited at one time or another. The few who had admitted to knowing her seemed to indicate something had changed her life six months earlier, but no one had been sure what. She had quit talking to them, avoided the bars from then on. It was just another place that nobody had cared if she disappeared.
Turning the water as hot as he could stand it, S.T. stood under the shower until he felt he'd rid himself of the smell of beer and smoke. The bars had been unpleasant places to dig for information. He didn't drink. In his case alcohol would have been a two-pronged risk--a Navajo mother and an alcoholic father.
Many years before, S.T. had decided if he ever wanted to kill himself, taking a gun and putting it to his head was a better way than walking the alcohol road. From what he had learned Shonna hadn't come to the same conclusion, or if she had, it had come during those six months when she'd apparently shifted gears in her life.
The knock at the door of his motel room interrupted his muddled thoughts as he was pulling on a pair of jeans. When he opened the door, he knew he didn't know the man; but he'd seen him somewhere on his dreary tour of bars.
He stepped aside as the large, burly man, without words pushed into his room. The man turned then to glare at him. “Just wanted to see up close the kind of scum who don’t come around to see about his sister until it's too late."
"Well, you've done that."
The man walked across the room and again faced S.T., his hands folded over his chest. "She thought you were somebody important. You ain't."
“You were one of her
friends
?”
The man glared. "That's no never mind of yours. I come to tell you nothing about your sister is your business now!"
"How well did you know her?" S.T. asked, managing to hold onto his temper but barely.
"Better than you obviously."
S.T. lowered himself into the only chair in the small motel room. "That wouldn't have been hard." If he wanted to know what this guy knew about Shonna, holding onto his own anger was his best hope.
"Ain't you ashamed of yourself?" the man asked, belligerence tainting his words with the rage that poured out of his eyes, showed through his bodily stance.
"For what? Not knowing my sister? That wasn't all up to me. Not that it's any of your business."
"A man oughta take care of his sister." He hovered over S.T. "I’d like to teach you a lesson. Suppose if I did, you’d get me thrown in jail. You look like the sort."
S.T. rose so that their noses all but touched. They were of much the same height, although the stranger probably had the advantage by thirty pounds if not more. In age though, S.T. guessed he had the edge at ten years younger if not more.