Let Me Go (29 page)

She always liked it when he told her that she looked like Gretchen. He knew she took it as a compliment.

Rachel lifted her hands and peeled the mask up over her head. Her hair was messy, her face pink. Her lipstick had smudged. “You think I look like her?” she asked hopefully. She tossed the mask on the floor. Her eyebrows lifted. “Tell me how I look like her,” she said.

Archie looked at where the mask lay on the floor, inside out, pink and glistening, like something fetal, then back at Rachel.

She bit her lip, looking at him with anticipation, waiting. She had resumed her provocative stance, a hand on each hip, one leg turned out slightly.

Archie would never understand women.

“You have similar hair,” he said flatly. He looked her up and down. “Your breasts are a similar shape and size.” He reconsidered that. “But your areolas are smaller,” he said. “You're roughly the same height. She's a little taller.” He knew exactly by how much. “Two inches taller,” he said. “Your face shape is the same. Her nose is slightly longer. You have similar mouths. But you have capped teeth. Her teeth are natural. You both have blue eyes, but Gretchen's are lighter, with a darker blue ring at the edge of the iris. Her eyes are a little larger and farther apart than yours. You have beautiful skin, like she does. But you're tanner. Her skin is very pale, almost translucent. It feels smoother than your skin does. And you smell different. She always smells flowery to me.”

He looked up at Rachel defiantly. He expected her to be offended. He wanted her to be offended.

Her mouth was slightly open. “You did it,” she said softly. “You slept with her.”

The room felt very close and hot. “Maybe I just have an eye for detail,” Archie said.

Another song started playing. It had a disco beat and lyrics Archie couldn't understand.

Rachel closed her eyes, and stood very still for a long moment. Her breasts lifted as she breathed. Her hands were at her sides and she slowly slid a finger along the edge of one of her stockings. And then she opened her eyes and started to dance.

Archie sat quietly, unsure how to react.

Rachel's eyes remained trained on him as she moved, her hips undulating. She ran her hands over her breasts and down her belly and moaned. Her fingers moved over her pelvis and she gyrated under her touch, and Archie felt blood rush back to his groin. Rachel's mouth was open. Her tongue flicked over her bottom lip. All the while her hips kept swinging. Archie's breath felt hot in his mouth. He didn't know a lot about lap dances, but it was clear that Rachel was good at them. He didn't know how she managed not to fall in those heels.

Rachel smiled as she put a hand on each of his knees and then pushed them apart. She stepped between his legs so that her breasts were at his face and Archie strained against the handcuffs, breathing hard. Rachel turned around and, hips moving in circles, lowered herself slowly onto his crotch. She made him wait, moving in exquisite slow motion, so that by the time she made contact he was so hard that every muscle in his body felt coiled.

Her blond hair was in his face as she writhed against him. Archie could barely breathe. Every movement of her body sent a shudder through his solar plexus. His legs felt weak. His head was light.

She lifted off him and slowly turned to face him. One of her bra straps had slipped over her shoulder and hung loose around her upper arm. She unhooked one of the hook-and-eye closures of her black corset. Archie licked his lips, which suddenly felt chapped. Rachel unhooked another. The corset started to spread open. Archie curled his toes. His pelvis was on fire. Rachel unhooked the last hook and the corset split open around her and dropped to the floor.

The skin of her abdomen bore faint red seams where the wires of the corset had pressed against her flesh. Her nipples were hard pink pebbles under the black lace. The small silver key was visible, pressed against the flesh of her left breast under the lace.

The heat in his groin was almost unbearable. Archie dug his wrists against the cuffs, to distract himself from the discomfort.

This was its own kind of torture, not being able to move his hands, not being able to touch her.

His scalp itched.

She squatted and placed a hand on each of his knees and then scooted forward, her thumbs tracing the insides of his thighs. When she was entirely between his legs she started unbuttoning his shirt. She did it deliberately, starting at the bottom and working her way up. When she was done, she moved the shirt open and unbuttoned his pants.

He made a grateful, hopeful noise and she looked up and smiled. Then she unzipped his pants and reached inside and lifted him out and Archie exhaled with relief. She kept her eyes on him as she put her mouth around his cock. The heat of her mouth, the firm slickness of her throat, made his whole body tremble. He could smell her, them, the sweat and sex. He was overcome. He lifted his hips so she would take him in more deeply and she closed her eyes, her brow knitted in concentration, as she opened her throat to him another inch. She held her hair back with one hand and began to pump her head up and down, and Archie could hear the smack of saliva and skin over the music. Each time she opened her throat to him, taking him deep inside her, his eyes fell on the black heart tattoo above the curve of her ass. He kept his eyes on it as it rose and fell. His body hummed with endorphins. Sweat ran down his chest. She took him again and again, hot and wet and tight, until he couldn't stand it any longer. His breath caught in his throat.

“I'm going to come,” he said.

He had thought she'd move off him, but instead her fingers tightened on his thigh, her nails stinging his skin, and she kept her mouth tight around the base of his cock.

He put his head back, opened his throat, and groaned as he released into her mouth.

Her fingernails dug into his thighs as she clung to him, pumping her head in the rhythm of his ejaculations, swallowing his cum.

When he was done, she slid her mouth off him and sat back on the floor at his feet. Her chin glistened with saliva and semen.

Archie's head swooned. His heart was pounding in his chest. Sweat dampened his shirt.

Rachel wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and grinned. “Happy birthday,” she said.

He should have been grateful. That was what Archie usually felt after a sexual encounter. But as the reality of what had just happened hit him, Archie felt increasingly uncomfortable. “Uncuff me,” he said.

Rachel's blue eyes studied him for a moment. Then she raised an eyebrow, shrugged, put her hands on his knees, and stood up. She worked her fingers inside her bra, removed the silver key, and walked behind him.

Her hair brushed against his elbow as she bent to unlock the cuffs. Handcuffs could be tricky. Unlocking them was sometimes a bitch. But Rachel didn't seem to have any trouble with it. He heard the key turn in the lock and then felt the cuffs fall away. He immediately brought his hands around to his lap and looked at them. Tender red welts circled his wrists.

Rachel stepped next to him and stood on one foot so she could unbuckle a shoe, and then kicked it off and did the same with the other foot. She picked up the shoes. She was a good four inches shorter now, her body transformed without the tilt. She ran her fingers through his sweaty hair and then bent down and kissed him on the cheek. Her skin felt cool. “Next time you handcuff me,” she whispered.

She stepped away then and he turned to watch her as she moved toward the bathroom, already unhooking her bra behind her back. The heart-shaped tattoo sat above the waistline of her thong. It rocked back and forth as she walked.

The bathroom door closed and the shower started.

Archie sat in the chair he'd been cuffed to, rubbing his sore wrists, as stomach acid burned his throat.

Ordinarily he would have joined her for a shower—he certainly needed one—but he didn't feel like it now. He rubbed his face, and then stood up, reordered himself, and zipped and buttoned his pants. The music was still blaring through his laptop speakers. Shirt flapping open, he walked over to the laptop and closed the music-streaming Web site that Rachel had running. The room went silent except for the sound of the shower running in the bathroom.

There was a beer in the fridge, and Archie went and got it out and opened it and took a long pull off the bottle before he'd even pushed the fridge door closed. Then he headed toward the living room, glancing again at the laptop as he passed. He froze, his eyes on the computer's built-in camera. It was just a small black square, smaller than an eraser at the end of a pencil, centered above the screen. He'd never used it. He didn't use Skype or take pictures with it. In fact, until now, he had forgotten it was there.

A prickly sensation spread across his shoulders, like dozens of sharp pins settling on his flesh.

He pivoted slowly to his left. The chair he had been cuffed to was in direct line of sight of the camera.

If Gretchen could take over control of a computer, she could control the computer's camera.

Breathing quickly, Archie turned back to the laptop. He threaded his hand through his hair, trying to think. He hadn't downloaded anything. He never downloaded anything. He hardly ever used that computer. He had viewed the surveillance footage from the island on it. Could there have been malware in that? He had no idea. What else was there? He stepped up to the laptop, put his beer down on the counter beside it, and opened up his documents folder, consciously averting his gaze from the camera. He scanned through the list of his computer documents, looking for anything that might jar his memory, something that would click. It didn't take long. As soon as he saw the document names, his spine went rigid. They were titled
Ryan Motley 1–7
. Each a different news story about a missing child, all victims of a serial killer named Ryan Motley. He'd downloaded those documents onto his computer from a flash drive almost three months ago. Susan had used the same flash drive to download the same documents onto her laptop. The flash drive had come from Gretchen. She'd given it to Archie over a year ago. Archie had kept it in a desk drawer while he tried to figure out what to do with it. Susan had finally forced the issue when she'd stolen it from his desk. Could Gretchen have masterminded such an elaborate plan that long ago?

The tingling sensation now burned down his arms. The small hairs on the back of his neck lifted. He recognized the feeling. It was the sensation of being watched.

Archie squinted at the tiny camera lens. It was like a small dark eye.

His lungs were heavy, like they were full of sand.

He wiped the sweat off his palms and then moved his fingers to the keyboard and clumsily opened a Word document. He could feel heat coming from the computer, hear its fan blowing. He blinked at the screen, ran his hand over his face, and told himself to stop right now, to call Ngyun, to call Henry, to slap the computer closed and turn around and walk away and wait. But he didn't do any of those things. Instead, keeping his eyes set on the camera, he typed a single sentence:

Are you there?

 

CHAPTER

36

 

Archie's eyes stung
from staring at the screen. Minutes passed. He had the feeling that Gretchen was poised with her fingers over a keyboard the entire time, and that she just wanted to make him wait. Then a letter appeared, and another. He was watching, live, as she typed her response below his question in the document he had opened. A word appeared, then a second and a third. Three words, but it was enough to make Archie feel that the floor had gone out from under him.

 

I

have

Susan.

His body betrayed him. That's what panic does—it takes over. Blood flow was rerouted. Pupils dilated. The heart and lungs accelerated. Saliva and tears dried up. Archie tried to think about this now, to abstract what he was feeling so he could put it aside and function. He looked at his hands. They were trembling.
Don't be weak,
he told himself.
Stay in control.
He stared at his fingers, forcing them to steady, and then returned his eyes to the screen as a new sentence appeared one letter at a time until they formed three more words. This time, it was an instruction.

Wait

for

me.

Archie went to the mail table by the door, got his gun, and returned to the counter. He made sure there was a cartridge in the chamber and then tucked the gun back in the holster and clipped the holster to the waist of his pants, leaving it unsnapped.

He had to make himself breathe. He had to place his hands on the bar in front of him and stare at them, willing them to stop trembling. He had to collect himself. After a few moments, he could feel the panic begin to bleed away, replaced by a stillness and a chilling calm.

His bedroom door opened behind him and he composed his expression and turned around to face Rachel. Her hair was wet and combed back flat against her head and her face was clean of makeup. She had put on a pair of gray yoga pants and a white tank top that she kept in a drawer in his bedroom, and she was carrying his handcuffs.

He was certain now that she had adjusted the laptop when she'd turned on the music, angling it so that it provided the camera with the perfect view. She'd known exactly what she was doing. She had set him up.

Now she moved toward him, smiling, her bare feet soundless on the wood floor. He could see her black bra under the ribbed white fabric of the tank, the black thong under the yoga pants. As she got close he smelled the familiar scent of his own shampoo. When she reached him, she laid the handcuffs gently in his hand.

Archie's fingers tightened around them. “You're good with these,” he said. “A lot of people get tripped up by the locking mechanism.”

She winked at him. “Thanks.”

“Good, for an amateur,” he said. He reached behind her and easily snapped a cuff around one of her wrists. She looked startled, and he moved quickly, walking her backward to the chair and sitting her down before she had time to process what was happening. Then he threaded the cuffs under the bottom slat of the chair back and snapped the other cuff around her free wrist. “You always want to anchor the cuffs if you can,” he said. “That way the suspect can't move.”