The One Safe Place (16 page)

Yeah, he wanted her so bad he couldn't think straight. But he wasn't going to have her. He wasn't going to let himself even try. Abstinence. Self-control. Common sense. Courage. Those were the words to live by, at least until she went home again.

Then, the very next day, he suddenly decided it would be fun to put his finger in her mouth and let her suck on it? Who was he kidding? He was just trying to get around the whole self-control thing. He'd just wanted her to touch him. He wanted to feel the velvet warmth of her tongue against his skin.

So, frankly, he deserved whatever discomfort he got.

And he got plenty. Even when things stopped throbbing, he stayed on edge, as if the slightest thing could set him off again. Who would have thought a Halloween carnival would be such a merciless pit of sexual temptation?

If she paused suddenly to look at something, and he collided with her, front to back, he was in serious trouble.

If the wind blew her hair across her lips, he was sunk.

If centrifugal force pressed her shoulder against his in the Scrambler, he was dead.

And if she smiled at him, her eyes sparkling like cinnamon fairy dust in the fall sunlight, he was an absolute, helpless goner.

He did his best. He kept Spencer between them while they walked. He suggested they alternate accompanying him on the rides. Reed had all the adrenaline he could handle. He didn't need the Tilt-a-Whirl to turn him inside out. Faith did it every time she spoke a word or moved a muscle.

Finally, when Spencer had ridden everything twice, he decided he wanted to play some midway games. Good, Reed thought. They definitely wanted to avoid the Haunted House, which might be too scary. Besides, maybe throwing darts at balloons, or pennies at saucers might work off some of this tension.

Yeah, right. He could throw that gigantic Ferris wheel clean off this goddamn mountain, and he'd still
be a wreck, still humming with awareness and aching with frustration.

But at least he'd be making Spencer happy. That mattered. It mattered even more than his own pathetic sex life—or lack thereof. The kid was something special. He was gutsy. He was going to get over this tough break, and he was going to be fine.

The first booth they hit had a squirt gun aimed at a grinning clown. If you could shoot straight enough to make the clown rise to the top of his ladder faster than everyone else, you won. Spencer and Reed each grabbed a gun. Faith hung back, watching.

Reed won six times in a row, each time trading one stupid stuffed toy in for a bigger stupid stuffed toy, until finally they got to the Super-Duper level. A hideous purple hippo.

Spencer hugged the gigantic toy as if he'd wanted it all his life. Then he turned to Reed. “I thought you couldn't shoot anything. I heard you tell Aunt Faith you couldn't.”

Reed slipped the gun back in the plastic bracket and moved aside to let the next sucker try his luck at winning a lovely hippo.

“I said I didn't own a gun. Not that I don't know how to use one.” He wondered if that had frightened the little boy, thinking he was being protected by a loser. “I don't hunt. I don't think it's fun to shoot things. But I can bring down a purple hippo with my trusty tranquilizer gun if I have to.”

Spencer's eyes lit up. “Yeah? Can I see it? Where do you keep it?”

“Where little boys can't find it,” Reed said, reaching out and ruffling his head. “Now where to?”

Next on Spencer's list was the balloon-dart thing. Three darts, three balloons. If you popped them all, you began the climb toward some disgusting toy all over again. This time, Reed let Spencer play alone.

He was pretty good. He hit two of the three balloons the first time. Then, with just the slightest adjustment in his release, he got them all.

“Touchdown!” Spencer cried as bits of balloon fluttered to the shelf.

“Touchdown,” Reed agreed. They gave each other a high five.

The midway huckster took down a horrible hairless pink mouse. “Here you go, kid. And just so you know. When it's darts, you call it a bull's-eye.”

Reed and Spencer exchanged grins, pitying the uninitiated. Even Faith was smiling.

Reed handed over another dollar for three more darts.

“Keep your mouse, mister,” he said loftily. “Where we come from, everything is a touchdown.”

 

B
Y NINE O'CLOCK
that night, as they pulled Reed's truck out of the crowded parking lot, the starry night was as cold as black ice, the Halloween party was in full swing, and Spencer was absolutely exhausted.

On the way here, the little boy had ridden in the
flat bed with Sergeant Braveheart and the many jack-o'-lanterns, which had been donated to the Haunted House. But it was too cold to ride outside now, so the three of them crowded into the front seat, Spencer in the middle, half-asleep.

Reed stretched his arm out across the back of the seat. Faith leaned her head against it and shut her eyes, smiling.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “I had a wonderful time.”

He touched the side of her face lightly, brushing her hair and tucking it behind her ear. “Me, too,” he said.

It was true. In spite of the shaky beginning, watching Justine and Suzie argue over poor Mike Frome, the day had been nearly perfect. She couldn't remember a lovelier afternoon, not ever in her life.

They hadn't won the scarecrow contest. As Reed had predicted, Suzie Strickland won, which pleased Faith, who knew better than anyone that Suzie's mood could probably use a boost right now.

It pleased her even more to see that Suzie's entry was a papier-mâché guardian angel. The angel had huge feathery wings made of pieces of petticoat netting glued to wire frames and sprinkled with glitter. She had a halo of silver and white pipe cleaners. She was incredibly beautiful, attached high on a black stake so that she seemed to be flying, her arms outstretched, as if showering blessings on everyone in Firefly Glen.

“I told you we should have made an angel,” Faith had said, pretending to pout, enjoying the moment tremendously.

Spencer had made a rude sound. “Yeah, like ours would have looked like that anyway.”

But nobody minded that they didn't win. It had been enough just to be a part of the whole wonderful fantasy of it all. Faith realized she'd almost let herself forget how nice it was to be part of real, bustling life.

Suddenly Spencer wriggled in his seat. “Aunt Faith? I have to go to the bathroom.”

She looked over his head at Reed. “We'll be home soon,” she said. “Can you wait?”

“I don't think so. I think I had too many corn dogs.”

Reed chuckled. “I won't say I told you so,” he said. “No. Wait. I think I will. I told you so, sport. Any way you look at it, four corn dogs is too many corn dogs.”

“Well, I still have to go to the bathroom. Now.”

Reed didn't seem annoyed. They hadn't left Main Street yet, so he stopped the truck in front of Theo's Candlelight Café.

“I don't think I can find a parking space within two miles of here,” he said. “Are you comfortable taking him in by yourself? Theo won't mind.”

“No, I'm fine.” She didn't feel a bit of fear—amazingly, she hadn't felt afraid all day, though she had moved constantly among mummies and witches and monsters. Besides, she loved Theo's café, with
its elegant silverware and candles on every table. And she loved Theo, too.

She nudged Spencer. “Come on, porky. Let's see if Miss Theo will let you use the rest room at her place.”

The café was packed, and right away Faith saw several people she knew. Natalie Quinn was in the corner, whispering and stealing hungry little kisses with a hunky guy who undoubtedly was the legendary Matthew Quinn. Faith looked at him carefully. Even on the roof, huh? Wow.

Ward Winters waved at her from the back, where he was sharing a hot chocolate with Madeline Alexander, who obviously had aced the audition for a spot in the Cadillac. Madeline smiled, gesturing that they had an empty spot, but Faith waved back, shaking her head. She pointed toward the rest rooms, and then to Spencer. Madeline nodded, sympathetic.

It was nice, Faith thought, to see so many friendly faces—to sense that, even in some small way, she had begun to fit in here. She felt as if she'd been gone from her own life, her own home and her own friends, for a very long time.

She wondered, suddenly, why she didn't miss it all more.

While she kept guard outside the bathroom hall, she found herself standing next to the pay phone. Had any of the people in her old life missed her, she wondered? Had they been calling, maybe even worrying? She had had time to notify only a few special friends
before she left, and she'd been very vague even with them.

It hadn't seemed to matter much. With Grace gone, she had no family left. No one who would really worry. No one who really had to be told the truth.

She dug in her pocket and pulled out a few quarters. And then she dialed her home number. When the machine picked up, she entered her code.

Yes, there were messages. Fourteen of them. The dry cleaner, the housekeeper, her exercise instructor, the woman who would have taught her belly dancing. A couple of clients, a fabric supplier. A couple of friends, a couple of men she occasionally dated. Nice men. But she could hardly remember their faces now.

She erased all the messages with a strangely hollow feeling. Was that it? She had lived in New York City since she was born. How was it possible that not one of these people, not one of these messages, had seemed to be worth saving?

That had been her life. How weird that she didn't really miss it.

Spencer finally came out. “I'm better now,” he said, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Let's go home.”

She took his hand. They walked through the café, talking to some people, waving at others. And when she opened the door and looked out onto the bustling, twinkling town square, when she saw Reed's clean white truck waiting patiently by the curb, she realized something shocking.

Something that made her hold her breath, overcome by a new and terrifying kind of vulnerability.

Of course that apartment didn't feel like home to her anymore.

Autumn House did.

D
OUG LIKED TO THINK
of himself as a patient man, but this time he couldn't force himself to wait. He needed to listen to Faith Constable's messages. Halloween or no Halloween, he'd have to risk it.

Not that it was such a big risk. He washed his hair, put in his dentures. He wore a pair of khakis and a polo shirt with an expensive logo, to look like the dream daddy. He added a Casper the Friendly Ghost mask—Dream Daddy in touch with his inner child. He carried a huge bag of candy—Dream Daddy overindulges the neighbor kids.

Most people were dumb as rocks anyhow. They might notice that Dream Daddy had no kid, but they wouldn't really think about it. They'd make some easy assumptions—kid was at a party, kid was down the hall, kid was inside apartment with Dream Mommy. And then they'd go on with their own lives, which were all they really cared about anyhow.

As it turned out, he rode the elevator alone. This apartment house was the “in” spot for young, trendy singles. Halloween apparently wasn't that big a deal around here. He chucked the Casper mask before the third floor.

The minute he opened Faith's apartment door, he could smell the difference in the air. It wasn't just Faith's scent in here anymore. His was here, too. He liked that. He thought he might just spend the night and work on it some more. Before he was finished, his scent would be dominant. As it should be.

Besides, he was sick of the homeless shelter. The kick of fooling the cops had long since worn off. He was tired of vermin, whether six-legged or two-legged. He was tired of bad food and mildewed mattresses. He was tired of no privacy, no comforts, no women.

Frankly, the longer he had to live there, the worse Faith Constable was going to suffer. So if she knew what was good for her, she'd better have left some decent clues on that damn recorder.

He went into the bedroom, kicking aside the underclothes he'd tossed around the last time. He looked down at a bra he'd torn in half and tentatively stroked the front of his pants. Nothing. Stupid bitch didn't even get him hard anymore. He was so ready for her to be dead.

But when he looked down at the machine, he thought for a moment he must be losing his mind. The red light was steady, unblinking. The number it showed him was zero.

Zero. A big fat goose egg.

He knew he had seen messages there before.

What the hell was going on here?

Had someone beaten him to it? Impossible. He
knocked the telephone off the table. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and tried to think.

Who could possibly have come in here and retrieved those messages?

The answer, when it finally came, was as simple as it was beautiful. No one could have come in. If anyone had been in here, if they had seen the empty beer cans and the wrecked bedroom, they would have called the cops. And a guy with a badge would have been watching that door tonight.

So if no one had come in, what happened to the messages? Obviously, Faith herself must have called in, from wherever she was, and played them. And then she had erased them.

He picked up the receiver from the floor, made sure there was a dial tone, and then he punched in three lovely buttons. Star. Six. Nine.

A mellow female voice spoke to him. She had no choice, she was programmed to give the information he wanted. “The last number to call your line,” she said gently, “was…”

He didn't need to write it down. He had a wonderful memory. He got another dial tone, and then he punched in a new set of numbers. Long distance, but not all that far. Somewhere in upstate New York, judging from the area code. A few hours drive at most. He'd have to steal a car, but that was no big deal. And now that he knew where she was, he could take his time.

It rang only twice. And then, amid a lot of clanking
and talking and laughing, he heard an older woman's voice.

“Candlelight Café, the finest food in beautiful downtown Firefly Glen,” she said with a cheerful flourish. “Theodosia Burke here, answering the pay phone when she ought to be taking care of her customers!”

He hung the phone up quietly. And when he lay back on the bed, among the torn silk and ravaged satin, he laughed to himself.

What a good girl Faith was. She had made it so easy for him.

Maybe it had been deliberate, he thought, and felt his first stirring of the evening.

Maybe she really wanted him to find her.

 

F
AITH TRIED NOT
to go downstairs. But she couldn't help herself. She was so restless, so unsettled and edgy, that she knew she'd never sleep without help. A warm glass of milk might do it. Or maybe just an aspirin.

When she found the kitchen empty, with just the range hood light glowing, she felt a keen disappointment. She realized how much she'd been hoping Reed would be down here, too. Hoping that they could talk. She'd like to tell him what she'd discovered tonight.

She thought she might tell him that she'd probably never go back to New York City again. Not even if they caught Doug Lambert. Not even if it was one hundred percent safe.

No, what was she thinking? She couldn't tell him that. It might sound too much as if she were asking for…what? An invitation to stay? To make Autumn House her home instead?

She wasn't angling for any such thing, of course. That would be ridiculous. She'd only known him a month—even though it had been an amazing month.

She knew he liked her. They both had acknowledged there was a sexual spark between them that could easily be fanned into a fire.

But friendship and a little electricity didn't add up to anything permanent. And, now that she was Spencer's surrogate mother, she wasn't able to consider anything temporary. So, however sweet, in this case friendship and electricity added up to nothing.

Nothing but an edgy, sleepless night with no end in sight.

She opened the refrigerator and took out the milk, then poured some into a pan and lit the front burner. She got out the aspirin, too, for good measure. And maybe she should put a little brandy in the milk.

She saw his gray sweatshirt tossed over the table, the one he often wore when he was constructing the shelter out back. She picked it up and smelled it, then put it down quickly, feeling like a fool.

A
lot
of brandy might be even better.

He opened the back door then and came into the kitchen. A gust of cold air blew in with him.

She saw him before he saw her. He had his shirt off and was wiping his face with it, which gave her
a few seconds to take in the beautiful, naked chest, the broad shoulders and narrow hips.

It was freezing out there, and yet he was sweating. She wondered what he had been doing. Surely it was too late to be working on the shelter?

“Hi,” she said softly. “I see you can't sleep either.”

He looked up. His hair was tousled from his vigorous rubbing. Brown waves fell onto his forehead and tickled his eyebrows. A dusting of the same soft brown hair made a narrow vee on his chest.

There was something so completely male about his body that she felt herself answer it by softening inside, growing strangely, painfully more female.

She tried to cover the odd sensation by tightening the belt of her robe. She moved briskly toward the stove, talking cheerfully.

“I couldn't quite sleep,” she said. “So I thought I'd have some warm milk. You must be freezing. Would you like some, too?”

“No, thanks,” he said. He put down the shirt. “I think I'll just have a glass of water.”

“Let me get one for you,” she said.

But they reached the cabinet at the same instant. Their hands both grabbed for the small ceramic knob, and his fingers closed hard over hers. He pulled them back sharply.

“Sorry,” he said. “Really. Don't stop what you're doing. I can get it.”

It was a large kitchen, but from that moment on it
seemed much too small. They couldn't seem to avoid each other. When he crossed the room, she found herself in his path and couldn't choose the right way to shift to avoid him. When she moved to the sink, he was on his way to the refrigerator, and they collided.

It was as if, on some subconscious level, their bodies were magnet and metal, and invisible polar forces were drawing them together.

When she clumsily dropped the kitchen towel, for a moment neither of them dared to pick it up, sure that their hands would meet, or that their eyes and lips would come too close, and the magnetic field would take over.

“I'll get it,” she said finally, and added a small, disappointingly artificial, laugh. He nodded, backing up against the cabinet to give her extra space.

The light from the range hood spilled like buttermilk across his rippling chest. She remembered putting her head against that chest as they danced. She remembered how strong it was. How his heart beat just there….

Her fingers closed hard around the towel.

“Got it,” she said, holding it up stupidly, as if there had been any doubt. He must think she was an idiot. He couldn't know that, for a moment, as she looked at him, she'd felt so weak she wasn't sure she could make a fist.

He stopped moving around the kitchen altogether, as if he knew that no square inch was truly safe. He held his position by the cabinet, next to the light. He
bent his golden-muscled arms back, propping the heels of his hands on the countertop. His grip on the granite was so tight his knuckles had gone white.

When her milk was ready, she took it to the sink and poured it carefully into a mug. She was proud that she didn't spill a drop. She could feel him watching her, and the touch of his gaze made her blood pulse in her veins so violently her fingers trembled.

“Well, that's ready. I guess I'll just go, go back to bed. Upstairs,” she said, giving him another strained smile. “Try to, you know, get some sleep.”

He nodded. “Good night, Faith,” he said.

She hesitated, wishing she could tell him at least one of the million things she had wanted to say. She'd like to thank him again for the oasis of today. She'd like to thank him for the gift of Spencer's voice. She'd like to say she was sorry she'd invaded his home, made him uncomfortable in his own kitchen.

But none of those simple things belonged in this thick, heavy moment. The only language in this room right now was passion. And that was the one tongue they weren't allowed to speak.

“Well,” she said. “Good night.” Her voice sounded flat and toneless. She smiled to try to soften it.

He didn't smile back.

“Faith,” he said suddenly. “Before you go, tell me you know I want you. Tell me you understand how desperately I want to make love to you right now.”

She caught her breath against a stab of heat in her belly. “I think I do,” she said.

“I'm on fire with it,” he said. He glanced down at his hand. “If I touched you right now, my fingers would burn your skin.”

“I know,” she said. She let her eyes drift shut, imagining it. Ripples of cold fire raced across her arms and legs, and she shivered.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Why don't you do it, then? Why won't you come over here and touch me?”

The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he tightened his grip on the counter. “Because my job is to protect you.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He smiled with a ragged tenderness. “You're so beautiful, Faith. Every man who sees you is going to want you. Doug Lambert wanted you. I have to be different. I have to show you that a man can want without taking.”

Dear God, was that the only thing holding him back?

She put the milk down on the countertop. She began walking toward him. He was shaking his head, a hundred muscles tightening, preparing to reject her. But she didn't stop until she was so close her robe drifted softly between his legs and her hands could easily find their resting place on his chest.

She covered the wild knocking of his heart with her palm.

“I already know you're different,” she said. “I've seen your restraint, and it's true, in the beginning I needed to see it. It comforted me. It helped me to remember that sexual attraction isn't always dangerous, it isn't always about power and terror and control.”

His heart kicked. “God, Faith! If I could kill him, I—”

She laid a finger across his lips. “But I don't need your restraint now. Not anymore.”

He looked at her, his eyes dark. “What do you need? Whatever it is, I'll give it to you if I can.”

“I need your lips,” she whispered, looking at them. “Your arms.” She ran her hands down their clenched length. “Your whole body.”

He was strong, but he was a man, and she knew, as if she could read the Morse code of his racing heart, that he was on the edge of surrender.

She stepped in closer and felt where the heat was gathering, where his need was strong and straining. “I need you and me together, Reed. Just for tonight, I need there to be an
us.
”

“Faith, I—”

But there were no words, and he knew it. He groaned, releasing the countertop roughly. He let his arms find their way around her, let his lips claim hers, let their aching bodies come together with such perfect force that she cried out her relief.

She'd been so afraid he'd say no.

He kissed her until the room spun and her lips were
swollen. He untied with dexterous fingers the knot of her robe and dragged it down over her shoulders, past her trembling arms, beyond her shaking fingers, and let it fall.

He bent his head to her breast, his mouth so hot the cotton of her gown was no real barrier.

She stopped him with uncertain fingers.

“Here?” she whispered helplessly. If he said yes, here, she couldn't stop him. But somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered caution, remembered Spencer, although she was forgetting fast.

He smiled.

“Here first,” he said.

And then he bent his head again, bringing the cold darkness and the white, pointed stars inside the room. She clung to his shoulders, shivering, and filling with stars.