A Cold Day in Hell (9 page)

Eileen burned inside. Her skin tingled.

Then he was in the water, too, pushing up her knees, settling between them. With his palms, he made circles over her nipples and she shivered at the friction from her lace bra.

“Christian,” she said. “Hurry. Please.”

His face was dark, the veins at his temples distended. The wet bra didn’t come off easily enough to please him but he was careful with the fastening.

With his forearms beneath her back, he stretched on his stomach over her and rubbed their bodies together, inciting her with the hair on his skin, with the sensation each time he pushed inside her a little, only to withdraw again.

He blinked, his expression tense, then kissed her. With his hands supporting her head, he coaxed her with the tip of his tongue on the tip of hers. Eileen softened, she wrapped her arms around his neck and they kissed for a long time.

She reached between them to touch him, to guide him, and he swept into her, huge and hard, demanding—perfect. They fought each other in the water, demanded more and more.

Eileen’s nerves strained, rushed toward another release, and she saw when Christian’s eyes fixed and his teeth clenched.

The skylight exploded overhead, sprayed pellets of glass in a stinging shower.

Then a deafening crack burst like lightning.

Gunfire.
Someone had shot out the skylight and now they were firing into the bathroom.

Christian covered Eileen, held her face against his neck. “It’s okay,” he said and she felt his body tense, as if to spring. “Hold on.” He hauled them both from the tub.

Another shot came as they slithered, drenched, across the floor with its bruising scatter of glass pebbles.

Christian all but threw Eileen into the shower and followed, covering her again. “The angle would be hard with us here,” he said.

What did he mean? What was happening to them?

The next sound was of someone scrambling from the roof. Instantly, Angel was out of the shower and rushing, naked, for the door. “Don’t go after him!” Eileen screamed.

“If he knows what he’s doing, I’ll never catch him. But I might see his vehicle,” he yelled back at her. “And I need to look for anything he’s left behind.”

Eileen crouched in the shower, shivering.

Shattered beads of safety glass glinted all over the bathroom.

A fractured mirror showed where the first bullet into the room must have ricocheted.

Water ran from a second bullet hole in the bottom of the tub.

E
ileen hobbled across the floor to rescue her sweat suit and haul it over her wet skin.

Water pouring from the bottom of the tub ran into a drain in the floor, but not fast enough to keep the tiles dry. Angel’s discarded jeans were soaked from waist to hem on one side, but Eileen grabbed them and headed out the door. She didn’t get away without punishing her feet on the glass fragments.

He’d turned out the lights in the next room.

Fumbling, bumping into a wall, she made it to the gallery. The rest of the house was in darkness. So, he preferred to work in the dark. Or, more likely he was trying to make sure an intruder couldn’t pick him out—and pick him off.

She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled forward until her hand, and her head, bumped a bannister. Then she was on her feet again, Angel’s wet jeans slung over her shoulder. She felt along the stair railing all the way down to the hall.

Cold air blew through the open front door, bringing rain with it, and leaves. Faint light also slanted across the hall and Eileen remembered the gun in her purse—in the salon.

Every move she made was painfully slow, but she knew better than to touch the lights. Somewhere outside, Angel…what could he be doing out there? The man who tried to shoot them should be away by now.

Who was it? Why had he tried to kill them?

She swallowed rasping sounds from her throat. At last she held the weapon in her hand and retraced her steps, working toward the vague glow from the open front door.

Inside the door, she stood with her back to the wall and listened. Gusts of wind and the muted clatter of rain on windows were all she heard.

When she had time to think, she’d consider how unreal this night had been.

Eileen slid outside and ran to the left, for the cover of tall, thick bushes. With her arms in front of her face, she forced herself into them and paused, listening again, parting branches to peer back at the front of the house. She was even more wet than when she’d pulled her damp sweat suit on.

Whoever had shot at them would be well away by now but she still whispered, “Angel?” and a little louder, “Angel?”

He didn’t answer. She strained to hear any indication that he heard or was in the area. Nothing.

Holding his jeans in front of her, she doubled over and crept along. The ground squelched, pushed mud between her toes and she grimaced.

“Darn it all, Angel,” she muttered. “You go rushing off into the night and I’m supposed to stay hiding in a shower?” She got more furious by the second. It hadn’t been her idea to go into his house and hang around longer than was good for her.

She wrinkled her nose. So, okay, it might not have been good
for
her, but it
was
good. It might be chilly, but she had a heat all her own. In fact she felt pink all over.

Staying here was out of the question.

Very carefully, her gun against her shoulder, Eileen eased back out of the bushes and away from the driveway. If she approached the house from the side, she could stay out of any reflection on the front windows, just in case someone was watching from the driveway.

A hand, clamped over her mouth, and her feet being hauled from the ground, took months off her life. Her heart seared, fluttered, and didn’t seem inclined to settle in her chest.

Twisting violently, she kicked out at the shins behind her, bit down on the fingers over her mouth. Eileen tried to scream but only managed strangled squeaks from her throat. She scissored her legs, used her heels to bombard her assailant’s shins. And she twisted her body from side to side.

“Eileen.” It was Angel’s voice very close to her head. “For God’s sake, stop it. I thought you were the enemy.” He set her down.

“And you scared me sick.” She went limp, put a hand behind her to touch him and quickly withdrew it.

“The shooter’s gone,” Angel said. “When I heard you, I thought he’d come back.”

“I’ve never been so terrified,” she said. “I brought your jeans but I’ve dropped them.” With her back to him, she peered around in the bushes and on the ground.

“Better not look at me,” Angel whispered. “You’re too tender for what you’d see.”

“Smart ass.” She located the jeans, deliberately faced him and slapped the pants against his chest. “Put ’em on.”

He held them out. She could only barely make out his face. Inside, she clenched and trembled.

“A lady would turn her back,” he said.

Eileen crossed her arms, settled her gun in the crook of an elbow and put most of her weight on one leg.

Angel did foot-to-foot hops to get into his jeans, sucking in a breath as the cold wet denim must have raked over his skin. He jumped some more and grasped the waistband. She watched every move and looked down when he started to close the zipper.

“Better be careful how you do that,” she said.

Angel adjusted himself, grinning all the time, and finally snapped the waist closed. “When did you learn to be forward?”

“Aren’t you going to ask why your jeans are soaked?” Eileen said.

“They were on the floor. The bathtub’s got a hole in it.”

“And it’s leaking water all over the place,” Eileen said, her mouth twitching. “Good job there’s a drain.”

“I’m sorry,” Angel said. “I never wanted you frightened like that.”

“Yes.” She curled a hand over one of his shoulders and dug in her fingers. “The bullets were meant for us.” Her stomach flipped.

“Don’t think about it. I didn’t get a look at him, or his vehicle. He must have parked on the access road—I heard his car.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Not yet,” Angel said. “I want to look around first. I’m going up on the roof to look for casings.”

“It’s so dark.”

“I’m used to working in the dark. Can you use that gun?”

“Yes, I can. My father—who was the local police chief—taught us.”

Angel sighed. “Good.”

“We can’t keep all this to ourselves any longer, Angel,” she said. “I was almost ready to believe the swamp thing was—”

“Really an accident? But now you’re not. And neither am I, but I want you to bear with me. Give me a little more time before making me throw something to the cops. They’re going to be out of their league anyway.”

“You’re so quick to put people down just because they aren’t big-city types.”

“Garbage,” he said. “Come here.” He took her by the shoulders. Trying to twist away would be pointless. Angel kissed her. He broke the contact slowly, settled his lips at her temple and stroked her wet hair. “We have something to finish.”

And right now his timing wasn’t good. “What do you think may be going on?” she asked. “Do you think those gang types or whatever they are may be involved after all?”

He pulled her face to his neck. “I’m not sure. Really not sure.”

“Where did you learn to work in the dark?” she asked. There was too much mystery about him.

He hesitated, then said, “In South America. In the jungle. I put in some years with the CIA.”

In the distance a vehicle engine rumbled faintly, growing closer. Her van remained where she and Angel had left it, its dark paint shiny-slick. Eileen didn’t know what to do next. She reached for him. “There’s someone coming now.”

The engine grew louder. “Who the hell is it?” Angel asked, listening. “He’s got to be coming here—there’s nothing else around. You didn’t call anyone?”

She shook her head no.

They stood side by side and watched headlights burst on the scene. Eileen opened her mouth to breath.

“No one comes here,” Angel muttered. “Stay where you are. Don’t—and I mean it, Eileen—don’t get in my way.”

“Someone already was here, remember,” Eileen said. “We’re supposed to be dead in your glass bathtub. He could be coming back.”

“He wouldn’t risk it. I’m not in a vulnerable position now.”

Eileen shivered a little. She was too uptight to argue.

“Shit,” Angel muttered. “What d’you want to bet it
is
our gun-toter being real clever. First the rear attack, then right in the front door with some big excuse. He must have heard us yell and known he’d missed us.”

The headlights went out, the engine cut and a figure got out of a nondescript sedan. A man. He walked toward the open front door and Eileen felt blood rush to her feet. Her face prickled.

“I think it’s time to surprise our visitor,” Angel said, his gun in his hand.

Eileen gripped his elbow tightly. “That’s Chuck!”

He turned his face toward her. “Who? Chuck, your
husband?
”

“Ex-husband.” She could scarcely get the word out.

“He’s back in Pointe Judah? How long have you known?”

She swallowed. “I knew this afternoon. That’s why I went out to the parking lot at Oakdale. He was waiting there in his car. He called me to go and talk to him. Chuck was the
appointment
I told you about.”

“And you went? Just like that? The man’s been a pig to you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Don’t,” Eileen said. “I want him to go away again, is all. Getting mad takes too much energy.” And she was confused, confused about his return and about his coming to Angel’s. How would he know where she might be tonight? He didn’t know anything about her life since he’d left. Or did he? “I hate this,” she said through her teeth. “He was never supposed to come back.”

“You’re sure that’s him?” Angel said. Chuck had approached the front door and they could see him with his head inside, listening.

“I’m sure.”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know.” No longer warm, she pressed her fingers to her mouth. The wind picked up again and tossed wet leaves around. “I didn’t think he’d ever leave the rigs but he said he’s come back to be here for Aaron…and me,” she finished in a tiny voice. She wanted to close her eyes, open then again and find that Chuck had never been there.

“Really?” Angel said. “If he works on the rigs, he shouldn’t have difficulty climbing around on rooftops.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

Angel fell silent.

She touched his arm. “I mean he’s a selfish man, and he wasn’t faithful to me, but I don’t think he’s physically dangerous.” Except when he was alone with a woman who couldn’t defend herself.

“You don’t think? But you don’t know for sure?” Angel wrapped an arm around her. “You’re shaking.”

She knew Chuck had a twisted imagination and there had been no end to the punishments he’d thought up for her. “I want to stay here and wait for him to go away,” she muttered.

He massaged her scalp, bent to kiss her. “If he goes quickly, I’ll go along with that. Otherwise I’m going to have to persuade him to leave.”

“I don’t want any fuss with him,” Eileen said. “I don’t need that and neither does Aaron. He’s got some crazy notion about getting back into our lives. He could make it really difficult for us if he keeps popping up.”

Angel kissed her ear and said, “Whatever it takes, I’m going to make sure he doesn’t do that.”

He almost made her believe he could do anything. He also made her apprehensive. That hint of violence was there again and it terrified her. There were still parts of Angel she knew nothing about but she wondered how she would feel about them.

“Angel—” Her voice stuck. Chuck had stepped inside Angel’s house. “He’s gone in and he didn’t even ring the bell,” she said.

“Don’t come out of here,” Angel said, his voice toneless. “Please. I’ll go and explain about trespass. He’ll be gone soon enough.”

She stood with the rain beating on top of her head. The tracksuit was soaked. When Angel slipped away, the wet skin on his torso glistened in the dappling of shadow and light through the leaves.

Eileen shrank back until she stood close to an oak with a barrier of bushes in front of her. Cold struck up through her feet and her teeth chattered. The thought of a terrible fight paralyzed her. She didn’t know if she was more afraid of Angel being arrested for killing Chuck, or of Chuck managing to hurt Angel.

Gun in hand, Angel stepped from the undergrowth and walked directly, if lightly, toward the door. He slowed when he got close.

Chuck appeared in the doorway again, saw the gun and raised both hands. Eileen was too far away to hear what was said. She did see how Chuck turned his palms up in a submissive attitude and actually heard him laugh. The sound made her feel creepy.

She worked her way through the bushes. No way could she hide out and not hear what was being said. It was her business.

Now she could make out Chuck’s car, a Ford Taurus in a light shade.

Angel put the gun into his waistband and Chuck dropped his arms. He leaned on the doorjamb. Eileen had noticed earlier that his sideburns were turning gray. Still fit, still good-looking in a hard-jawed, watchful-eyed way, he’d kept himself in shape. She wondered, not for the first time today, why he’d left the rigs. He had always liked the chunks of money he made and the weeks off between stints out there, when he could hang around, turn her into his slave and drink too much.