Into the Fire (25 page)

Mike, meanwhile, insisted that there
was
a spectacular waterfall somewhere out there in the mist, but they never managed to find it in the relentless rain. They had finally given up and gone back home.

They never had seen that waterfall. Several months later, Mike had drifted out of their lives. Last Hannah had heard—at Angelina’s memorial service—his reserve unit had been called up and sent to Iraq.

But Hannah still had that picture of Angelina hugging that tree. It was framed and on the mantel in Patrick’s house in Juneau.

“I’m not even going to ask you whether this cabin seems familiar,” she told Murphy now, and he turned and focused his attention on the building where Tim Ebersole had shut himself away in a seclusion so private that his own followers hadn’t realized he was dead for a full quarter of a year.

It was relatively new construction, one of those partially-prefab deals with a vaguely arts and crafts feel that had popped up all over the place, over the past few years. They were the little-cabin-in-the-woods versions of the McMansion—in that they had a generic feel to them. A real
seen one, seen ’em all
vibe.

And she—and Murphy both—had seen plenty.

She tried not to limp as she went up the stairs and onto the little front porch, peering into the window. Sure enough, the ceiling had exposed beams and a river-rock fireplace, bookshelves that were built in.

“You’d think
some
one would’ve been in contact with Timmy during his retreat,” she said, her face close to the glass. She took care not to touch it. Murphy wasn’t the only one who had to be careful about leaving prints. “Or at least have noticed he didn’t pick up his groceries.”

She turned, expecting Murphy to be right behind her, but he wasn’t. He was gone. “Murph?” She wasn’t sure whether to shout or whisper, so she whispered.

He appeared immediately, just as she stepped back and realized that the cabin’s front door was open.

Relief hit her dizzyingly. “Damn it,” she said. “Don’t
do
that.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought you saw me go in. The door was unlocked. I…” He demonstrated how he’d turned the knob, by covering it with the bottom of his T-shirt.

But now her heart was pounding so hard, she had to bend over, put her hands on her knees. Jesus. “When I said I needed you to stay close,” she said, “I wasn’t freaking kidding.”

He crouched down next to her, concern in his eyes. “Are you going to faint?” He put his arms around her. “Maybe you should sit.”

“I’m not going to faint,” she said, slapping at his hand. Still, he’d helped her down so that she was sitting on the cabin’s porch, and—just for a moment—she rested her head against her knees.

He rummaged in his pack for his bottle of water, opening it and handing it to her. She took a sip.

“Okay?” he asked.

With his hand warm on her shoulder, she was definitely more okay. And simultaneously less okay. He’d been touching her all night, and she still couldn’t decide if she liked it or hated it.

Hannah handed him back his bottle. “Everything’s different,” she told him, “when you can’t hear. Sometimes I even feel as if my balance is off. It’s not just scary, Murph. I should have been more clear before. You’re my ears out here. If you walk away from me, I’m in this awful, vulnerable place where…A squadron of choppers could be coming, up over the hill, and I’d probably feel the vibration, but…not soon enough. It’s terrifying. Okay? I’m
terrified
when you’re out of sight. Do you need me to say it again?”

Murph shook his head, no. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I…forget. You were talking, and you’re…you, and I forget.”

“Well, I’m not me,” she said testily. “If you’re not you, then I’m
really
not me, because I can’t do the things I used to do, and God, I hate that I’m such a coward.”

“You’re not,” he said.

“Hello, I’m freaking sitting here shaking!”

“Yeah, well, we both know that’s really because I’m irresistible.”

Hannah laughed her surprise. “That’s a dangerous thing to joke about, bwee.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have a whole hell of a lot else in my bag of funny these days.”

“So…you think it’s
funny
that I’m attracted to you.”

“I think it’s funny,” he countered, “that I’m attracted to you.”

“Wow,” she said, turning away. “Talk about damning with faint praise.”

“You know what I mean,” he said, after he pulled her chin up so that she had to look at him. “After all those years of…I don’t know, training myself not to think about you that way. You’re Hannah. I’m not supposed to want to get naked with you.” His grip on her changed somehow into something softer, something more like a caress, his thumb against her cheek. “Plus, here we are, in, like, the least appropriate place on the planet. I mean…” He looked around. “Could we
be
any more exposed? Not to mention the fact that this is a murder scene—as far as romantic ambience goes, it’s about a negative twenty.” He met her gaze again, and held it. “Yet here we are. I’ve spent the whole night touching you, but not the way I really want to touch you and…I’ve got this total rocket in my pocket with your name on it, Han. Maybe I’m sick and twisted for finding that funny, but I do.”

Hannah’s heart was in her throat. He’d looked at her like that, with uncensored heat in his eyes that night that he’d…That they’d…“Death-wish, anyone?” she whispered.

Murphy smiled—a brief curving of his lips. “Could be,” he agreed. “Or maybe the idea of me getting it on with you here in the compound is just such a spectacularly fine
screw you
to Ebersole and the entire Freedom Network…”

“Kind of like dancing on his grave,” Hannah said. “Only better.”

He was going to kiss her. She could see it in his eyes. He was thinking about it. He wanted to…

But instead he broke contact, moving back slightly, shaking his head. “I would never put you in that kind of danger.”

“Whoa,” she said. “What is that? That’s so lame. Don’t you dare use
me
as an excuse to suddenly dial this down. You want to nail me, do it. I’m ready to go. If you honestly don’t, then don’t. But don’t keep your pants on and pretend it’s for
my
sake.”

Murphy forced a laugh as he pulled himself to his feet. “Well, jeez, Han. Don’t hold back. Tell me what you’re really thinking.”

Hannah stood up, too. “Life is too short,” she said. “If we both think we can find comfort in sex, why
not
go for it? I’ve been thinking about it all night, too, Murph. You touching me and…We’re both totally on the same page. Neither one of us is looking for some fairy-tale happy ending. I’m just so tired of being alone. And I know that’s where you’re coming from, too. And as far as our friendship goes? I’ve been thinking about that, too—it’s already screwed up to the point of weirdness. Maybe if we set aside a couple weeks and just lock ourselves in a room somewhere…We’ll either be okay afterward, or we won’t. If we
are
okay and we go back to being friends, then we can look at each other every now and then and smile. It’ll be way better than the way we look at each other now, loaded down with all this guilt and embarrassment and…longing. And if we’re
not
okay, well, is it really going to be all that worse than the not-okay we are right now?”

A few years ago, Hannah might’ve made note of the moment immediately following her rant by thinking something like
the silence was deafening.
Murphy’s body language was tight, tense. And he was looking out at the forest as if he were keeping watch.

“Great,” Hannah said, when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to respond anytime in the near future. “You wait here, right in the doorway. I’ll go inside and…” What? “See if you wrote in lipstick on the bathroom mirror
Murphy was here.
”

He surprised her by shifting and blocking her path, and she had to tip her head back to look at him. “When I said, you know,
don’t hold back,
I was being sarcastic. You really didn’t need to keep going.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m not stupid.”

“Angelina always used to say that.
Life is short.
”

Hannah pushed past him. She knew that, too. “Angelina was right.”

S
AN
D
IEGO
, C
ALIFORNIA

The doctor blinked at Decker’s use of the R-word. Just once.

Well, that he could see. He’d turned to the door and closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against it. Even just thinking about it made him sick. Saying it aloud, to a stranger…

“You raped Sophia,” she repeated.

“Pretty much, yeah.” His voice, bouncing against the hardwood of the door, sounded loud in his own ears.

“Define
pretty much,
” she said.

“We’re out of time.” Decker made himself straighten up, open his eyes, turn slightly—but not enough so that he had to look her in the eye. “You have to go.”

“This,” she said, “I can stay for. Define
pretty much.
”

Jesus. “It wasn’t forced,” he told her, managing to drag his gaze over to her feet, with their gleaming red toenails. “She was…the aggressor. But she was afraid for her life, and I knew that. And I had sex with her anyway.” He forced himself to look up at her face. “Which fits my definition of rape.”

She didn’t look shocked or horrified or angry or…anything other than compassionate. Kind. She didn’t just trick people into thinking she cared.

She actually cared.

“Without knowing the details,” Dr. Heissman told him carefully, “going just on what you’ve told me and information I have in my notes stating that she’s been, uh, pursuing you romantically, I’m guessing that Sophia might see the entire…encounter in a slightly different light.”

“You have a
note
that Sophia’s been…pursuing me?” he asked. “Who told you that?”

“Tom, for one,” she said. “And FYI, I’m not violating his confidence. He gave me permission to talk openly about any information he gave me.”

“Tom’s got it wrong.” Tom didn’t know the details either.

“He’s not the only one who mentioned it,” she said. “Trust me, it’s only in badly written soap operas from the 1980s that women pursue a romantic relationship with their rapist.”

“The details,” Decker said hoarsely, “are that she tried using sex to overpower me, and I let her. Try. It didn’t work. I ended up beating the crap out of her after she shot me. At me. She missed.”

“I suspect,” the doctor said quietly, “that there are more details than that.”

“It was oral sex,” he told her flatly. “I ejaculated.”

This time, she didn’t so much as blink. “Most men would be making excuses,” she commented. “Trying to explain why they did what they did. You seem intent on making sure I understand that you’re the villain here.”

“I shouldn’t have to fucking make excuses,” he said in a burst of anger. “I should have paid attention to what she was telling me. She was afraid for her life and…” He’d just let Sophia unfasten his pants. “I can’t look at her without remembering.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. But this woman had done it again—she’d made him say something he hadn’t even realized was true.

Dr. Heissman tapped her pen on her notepad. “How was it, exactly, that Sophia came to work for Troubleshooters?”

“We got her out of K-stan,” he said, “and I hooked her up with Tommy. He was recruiting and…She had skills, he hired her.”

“So
you
got her this job. Working with you.” She laughed. “I’m sorry, but that’s pretty crazy. I usually don’t use that word, because it’s kind of un-PC, but…In this case, it seems to fit.”

“We don’t work together that often,” he said. “And when we do…We’re both professionals.”

Dr. Heissman exhaled hard. “Except you can’t look at her without remembering that you did something of which you’re obviously deeply ashamed. Is this meant to be penitence or punishment or—”

“I have to go,” Decker said. “Dave can give you the rest of the details.”

She stood up. “He can’t tell me how you feel.”

“No,” Decker agreed, “he can’t. But he can tell you how
he
feels. Be sure to ask him about that.”

And with that, he escaped out the door.

T
HE MOUNTAINS EAST OF
S
ACRAMENTO
, C
ALIFORNIA

The door to the Freedom Network cabin wasn’t just unlocked—it didn’t even have a lock.

Hannah used the toe of her boot to push it open and…Man-oh-man. The place still reeked of the unmistakable putridly sweet smell of decaying human flesh.

Someone had done their best to clean up. The wood floor was stained where the body had lain, but it had been scrubbed. There had been an attempt at maggot removal, but dozens of big black flies still buzzed against the windows, searching for a way out. There were nowhere near as many of them, Hannah knew, as there surely had been when the body was first discovered.

That didn’t make them any more pleasant. Those flies had fed on Tim Ebersole. His rotting body had nourished them and given them life.

Yeesh. Somehow that made them even more hideous, like they were carriers of his evil.

Hannah glanced back at Murphy, who’d positioned himself in the open door. He could see her and she could see him—and he could see and hear if anyone was approaching along the dirt road.

I’m not stupid,
she’d told him. But if she wasn’t, well, then, she was pretty seriously messed up. Because if Murphy had so much as kissed her, she would’ve had sex with him, right there on the porch. Forget about her fear—not for her own safety, but for his. Forget about everything but immediate gratification.

And here she’d thought she’d long outgrown her need for that.

Apparently not.

As Hannah wandered around the little two-room structure, she breathed through her fingers. The odor wasn’t quite a bandanna-worthy stench, but rather merely a vaguely unpleasant smell. After several days without a shower, her hands weren’t particularly squeaky clean, but they still smelled better than the inside air.