Revenge Page 10

  “Ten hours is a week in Elaine Gossip Time, honey,” Effie replies, pouring more gin in my coffee.

  “Effie, why are you showing me blueprints?”

  “Your dad knew these like the back of his hand, Carrie. It’s what he did for a living at the university. He managed power systems, ordered large shipments, coordinated logistics, handled repairs—you name it. All the staff loved him because if you had a mouse in your air conditioner, you could call Joe directly and he’d send a guy to get it right away.”

  “A mouse in your what?”

  She laughs. “You think all we do is file paperwork and shuffle students around? Try managing broken pipes that burst all over a professor’s research lab. Or when an animal chews through an Internet cable. The Facilities department was one of the most important on campus, Carrie. It’s not just professors who keep this place running.”

  She makes me feel proud of my dad. I’d forgotten that feeling. I’m so used to feeling shame and embarrassment for the mess from three years ago.

  Tears fill my eyes. I reach for her hand.

  “Thank you.”

  She waves me off, embarrassed by the show of emotion. “No need for thanks. I’m showing you the blueprints because there’s something I’ve never noticed before.”

  We lean in. She points to a line.

  “In the water rights fight the university was in a few years ago, we had new surveys done of the land. These just came out. In fact, the only reason I have them is because one of the professors I work for is on the committee to fight for more water rights for Yates.”

  What do water rights have to do with my dad? I wonder.

  “See this line?” she points. “I’m curious where that goes.” She traces a line that runs from the chemistry building, across a corner of the campus, then off the map to the right. It heads toward town.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “It could just be a pipe. Some sewer thing. Or maybe it’s something else. Water, gas...”

  “Where does it start?”

  Her eyes lock with mine.

  “At your dad’s old office, Carrie.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tap tap tap.

  The look Effie is giving me is so intense that when someone knocks on the front door, I make a little screaming sound.

  She looks completely shocked. Effie hurries to the door. “Who would knock on my door this time of night?” Unlocking the many chain locks and deadbolts, Effie opens the door then steps aside.

  There stands Mark, looking about as crisp and clean as a brown paper bag that’s been run over in a mud puddle twenty times then baked in the sun.

  In other words: we’re a perfect match.

  “Speak of the devil,” Effie says with a sarcastic smile. “Come in. You like gin?”

  “Not really,” he answers, unsmiling.

  “Too bad.” Effie pours him a cup of coffee. Actually, it’s more like she pours him a cup of gin with a splash of coffee thrown in for good measure. “Sit. Talk.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Blueprints,” I say. Mark nestles against me on the couch, his hip nudging me. We’re thigh to thigh, the long bones of our legs resting against each other. He smells like earth and dust, sweat and musk.

  Like someone who’s spent the entire day doing nothing but chase other people.

  “Blueprints? You majoring in architecture now, Carrie?” he jokes.

  “She’s majoring in figuring out what really happened with her father three years ago, Officer Paulson.” Effie’s eyes narrow. Her tongue sounds like it’s coated with acid.

  Uh oh.

  Effie does not like Mark.

  “Yes ma’am,” he says with a clenched jaw.

  “Not that you helped much with that,” she adds.

  Effie’s not afraid of anyone, is she? I guess if my son were police chief, I wouldn’t be, either.

  “Carrie and I are working on unwinding the past, Mrs. Cummings,” Mark says, looking right at her. His body language is anything but deferential.

  In other words, he’s not taking any crap from her.

  I look back and forth between them, like I’m at a tennis match. There’s a lot of history here I don’t understand. Right now isn’t a good time to ask.

  “Carrie,” Effie says in a boozy voice. “Your father was the head of facilities.”

  I see Effie has become Mrs. Obvious.

  “Yes,” I say slowly.

  “He was also the head of the exploratory committee that started looking into how water rights would affect the university,” she adds.

  It feels like a cold finger runs up my spine. Mark’s brow raises.

  “You take these blueprints and see where that line leads to. The dean doesn’t even know about these yet,” Effie explains.

  Mark gives her a sharp look. “Does the chief?”

  Her mouth tightens like a drawstring purse. “No. And if you’re implying that my son would ever—”

  “Not implying anything, Mrs. Cummings,” Mark says, genuinely surprised by her attack. “I was just asking to know whether I’d be the first to bring it to his attention.”

  Her brow relaxes. Lips, too. “Oh,” she says in a clipped voice. Effie brings her coffee cup to her mouth and downs the entire thing in one big gulp.

  “Why are you giving Carrie all of this information?” Mark asks softly, taking a sip of his own coffee. He turns away from Effie and makes a face in my direction. The coffee-gin is nasty.

  “Because that man is a cancer on the university community and I want him gone,” she says, pulling no punches.

  “And by ‘that man’ you mean—”

  “Landau. Scum of the earth.”

  “Why do you say that?” Mark’s words come out with a mixture of pure curiosity and a ragged kind of rawness. I can’t tell if it’s from the gin or from some deep reservoir of emotion.

  “Do you understand what that man has done at the university? He’s a sociopath. Pure and simple. He fools people with his charm and his awards. He gets these enormous government grants and spreads the money around, all while collecting information on people so he can blackmail them. He’s a sexual sadist and—”

  “Wait. What?” Mark barks, flinching.

  I frown and give Effie the hairy eyeball. “Sexual sadist?” I squeak.

  Her eyes shift from me to Mark, then back to me. “Ignatio Landau has driven off four different admins in nine years. Two men, two women. He’s an equal opportunity sexual harasser and he scares people. I’ve never seen Human Resources rush to hush up former employees like I have seen them do when it comes to him.”

  “When did he start working here?” I ask.

  “Nine years ago,” Mark and Effie say in unison.

  “Where was he before?” I wonder.

  “A university in Mexico,” Mark says slowly.

  Effie raises one eyebrow. “You know a lot about him for someone who’s just a cop on the force.”

  Mark returns the eyebrow and ups the ante. “And you know a lot about him, too, for someone who is on staff and has no law enforcement position, Mrs. Cummings.”

  The share a laugh. The tension in the room recedes.

  My shoulders relax. Good. We’re all on the same team now.

  Team Joe. Let’s vindicate my dad.

  Effie points with one wrinkled, twisted finger. Her knuckles are bulbous, like small peas stuck under the skin. She traces the blueprints again, then looks at me. Her eyes are bloodshot, but determined.

  “Figure out what that line is. Once you do, I think you’ll have more answers.”

  Mark’s walkie-talkie screeches. He stands, walks outside, and talks into it.

  My phone buzzes again.

  Turn on the television, the text from Elaine says.

  “Turn on the TV,” Mark says suddenly.

  Effie reaches for the remote control, pushes some buttons. A cable news channel comes on.

  Helicopters
. The desert. A van.

  Then the words underneath the scene hit my brain before I hear the announcer.

  “Two more bodies found. Missing women confirmed among the dead.” I don’t want to hear the names. I don’t want to hear the names. I don’t want to hear the—

  “Aureliana Diaz and Juana Partan are confirmed dead in a—”

  Mark jabs the Power button to turn it off.

  I reach for my coffee and drink it, cold and nasty with gin. I need it.

  “Fuck,” Mark mutters under his breath.

  “Motherfuckers,” Effie adds.

  We both look at her in shock.

  “What? Your generation thinks it invented profanity. Please,” she says with a dismissive wrist flick.

  “Let’s go,” Mark says. “You okay to drive?”

  I nod. “You?”

  He looks at his discarded coffee. “Yeah. Fine.”

  Bzzzzz.

  His phone. He reads the text.

  “FUCK!” he says, loud. “Gotta report to the station. Big meeting. So much for us and tonight,” he says quietly, giving me a meaningful look filled with regret.

  “It’s okay,” I say. I mean it. “This is more important.”

  “Do you mind?” Effie mutters. “I haven’t had sex in twelve years, since my Milton died. I don’t need to watch you two schedule it in my own house.” She gives me a pat on the arm and shuffles toward the front door.

  Mark blushes. Blushes! I’ve never seen that before.

  We make our exit. Effie shoves the blueprints in my hands. “Be careful with these.” She looks at Mark. “You have a week or so of lead time on this. The entire water rights committee will know about it soon.”

  We leave. Effie shuts the door and spends the next two minutes locking so many locks it sounds like someone’s tap dancing on her door.

  “What a strange old bat,” Mark says. There’s a tone of admiration there.

  I punch him lightly. “Don’t call her that! Effie’s great.”

  “She sure does love her gin.” He makes a face and shakes his head. “There’s a taste I can’t get out of my mouth.”

  I stand on tiptoes and give him a kiss. He turns the light peck into a deep, soulful French kiss. He leaves me breathless when he finally pulls away.

  “Ah. Much better. Now I just taste you.”

  “Get a room!” Effie’s muffled shout startles us. We look up to see her behind the window, the curtains pulled back. She’s frowning and shaking her head.

  Mark bursts into deep laughter. I join him as we walk to our respective cars. I wonder what it’s like to love someone and be married to them for most of your life, then lose them? Losing Mark three years ago was hard enough. I can’t imagine spending four or five decades with him and having him die.

  Then again, that’s life. If you’re lucky that’s how it goes, right? I hope Effie and Milton had lots of love while he was still alive.

  “Hey,” Mark says with a sigh as we get to my car. It’s full nighttime now, the moon hiding behind a thin layer of clouds. The moonlight that shines on us is gauzy, a haze that’s as unclear as my mind.

  I lean against the driver’s door. He presses against me. The heat of his body makes me go weak.

  “I want you to sleep in my cottage tonight,” he says, fishing in his pocket for a key that he hands me.

  Dumbfounded, I look up at him. The metal is warm to the touch as he places it in my palm.

  “Huh?”

  His expression is so serious. “I don’t like the idea of you alone in that trailer. All it took was a pair of bolt cutters for me to be able to break in that night when you were screaming in your sleep. That means anyone could break in before you realized it.” His nostrils flare and fists tighten. “And I won’t allow that.”

  “But that’s where I live!”

  “I know,” he says in a soothing voice. “And I’m not trying to change that.”

  I can feel the word yet hanging in the air between us.

  My heart speeds up.

  “Just for tonight.” He’s not asking. There is no plea in his voice. He’s not even trying to persuade me. This is just being laid out as something he wants.

  I slide my fingers and thumb along both sides of the key. His hands rest on my shoulders now. Mark’s bent down a little, protective and curled around me.

  I look up.

  “Okay. Fine. I will.”

  His face breaks into a relieved grin.

  “Good. I’m glad you agreed,” he says as he gives me a quick kiss and begins to walk away.

  “What if I hadn’t?” I call out as he closes his door, his arm resting against the open-windowed door.

  He grins. “I’d have had to learn what it’s like to unlock my own front door while carrying you, kicking and screaming, into my house.”

  Mark’s palm thumps the outside of his car door and he drives off, laughing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Help me! Help! Carrie!” Amy’s cries for help sound faint, like a trickle of water down a long, tall mountain. I can hear her desperation, the cries making my heart explode in my chest. Electric shocks pump through my veins.

  “Where are you?” Amy calls out. I follow the sound of her voice. I’m in a tunnel, one that narrows as I continue down it. The insides are slick with slime and wetness. As I continue, I have to duck. The tunnel is a pipe, and it’s getting narrower and narrower. The sound of water rushes everywhere.

  I hear a squeak and see a rat at my feet. My scream dies in my throat. The light fades more and more as I move toward the sound of Amy’s voice.

  “Quickly! He’s coming!” she begs.

  “Who?” I ask.

  But she doesn’t answer.

  Now I am hunched over, crawling on hands and knees. The muck is half a foot deep. Everything smells like burning metal.

  I see the outline of a door, far in the distance.

  “Help! Hurry, Carrie!” Amy shouts.

  “Crawl to me!” I plead as I get close to the door. She sounds like she’s on the other side. All the edges are shining, like there’s a bright light behind it.

  I try to open it. The doorknob twists easily.

  And when I pry it open, I find Amy.

  Armless and legless.

  Hanging from the end of a magician’s wand, choking.

  “Carrie! Carrie!” Strong hands, warm and powerful, are pushing my shoulders. I open my eyes and sit up, scrabbling across the bed backwards like a crab. My hand goes back for one more movement to get away and finds empty air.

  I pitch backward, falling off the bed and onto my shoulder, then head, then hip. The three-part pain jolts me, and I groan, rolling onto my side.

  The room is dark, stuffy and frightening.

  And I swear I hear Amy’s voice, still calling my name.

  “You were dreaming again,” Mark says, climbing off the bed. Gentle hands touch my neck and back. “Are you okay? That sounded like it hurt.”

  “Amy,” I groan. “Where is she? Where are her arms and legs?”

  I’m pulled up and my face is in Mark’s chest suddenly. He’s shirtless, and my cheek presses against his pec. He begins to rock me like one would a small child.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe,” he croons.

  “But Amy?”

  He sighs. “We still haven’t found her.”

  “I did. In my dream. But then when I got to her it was t-t-t-ooo l-l-l-ate,” I sob. I snake my arms around his waist and hold on. Mark is so warm, his body hard and cut. He cradles me. My head pounds from the fall, and my shoulder feels twisted. I squirm, finally finding a comfortable spot.

  “I’m okay,” I say, my tears thick in the back of my throat. “It was just a dream.”

  “You have a lot of nightmares,” Mark says softly.

  “I have a lot of them, yes,” I say, nodding. “My roommates in Oklahoma used to just bang on the door with a shoe to wake me up when I screamed.”

  “Oof,” he says, stroking my h
air. “I wish I could have been with you, in Oklahoma. I would have helped you.”

  My heart feels like he’s squeezing it. “Oh.” I don’t know what to say.

  I would have loved that. To have a friend there. Someone to hold me and tell me it was going to be all right. I never had that. For three years I was all alone, scrambling to figure out how to help my dad. How would life have been different if Mark had been there? A DEA agent fighting for Dad might have made all the difference in the world.

  Dad might still be alive.

  I sniff and run the heel of my hand up my nose. “I need a tissue,” I say, standing awkwardly. My hip’s going to hurt tomorrow, and my shoulder will ache, but otherwise, I’m fine. The nightmare won’t leave my head, though. I look at the bedroom door, which is closed. A cold wave of nausea pours through me.

  Mark walks across the room and comes back with a box of tissues. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” I blow my nose. “What are you doing here?” I ask him.

  “I live here,” he says slowly, a half-grin dancing on his lips.

  I make a low chuckle, surprised by my own stupidity. “Right. Duh.” My eyes comb over him. “And you’re half naked because...”

  “Because you interrupted me from becoming naked all the way,” he says, leaning against his dresser and folding his arms across his chest.

  My eyes dart to the waistband of his uniform pants.

  They’re unbuttoned.

  Ah. I see.

  “You were crawling into bed?”

  “No. I was about to take a shower and then crawl into bed.” He walks across the room. “Care to join me in the shower?”

  “That shower isn’t big enough for two platypuses, much less two humans,” I joke. The eerie feeling from the dream is fading, thank goodness.

  Mark’s undressed body is making my heart skip beats for decidedly more delicious reasons.

  “We could try...” he says, stripping naked in one swift move.

  “Oh, God,” I say without realizing it, the words out before I can think. He’s unbelievably built, muscled and tall, so beautiful he makes me forget the horrors of the day.

  “Besides, I have a bone to pick with you,” Mark says.

  I look down. “I think you mean you have a boner to—”