Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 02 - Elective Procedures (26 page)

“Go away,” I told him. “You’re not here.”

“No?” He kissed the back of my neck, raising goosebumps.

“Stop it!” I swatted the spot he’d kissed, startling myself. “Get lost, Charlie. You had your chance and blew it.”

I had to get a grip; was talking to an empty room. I splashed water onto my face. Took deep breaths.

When I came into the living room, Becky was still going on about Chichi, how romantic he was. How musical his voice, how sensitive his nature, how fascinating his thoughts, how chiseled his abs. How she loved to watch him dance. How she could watch his hips all night. She mimicked his moves. I wanted to shake her and scream: shut up. Enough! Could she not go ten minutes without talking about Chichi? Could she not spare us the elaborate details about his body parts? His kissing techniques? His passion? I wanted to slap her. I pictured it, the pinkness in her cheek. The sting of my palm.

Charlie whispered in my ear. “You’re jealous, Elf. Don’t be. You have me.”

I was jealous? Of Becky? No. I refused to think so. I was just
tired of her being so absorbed in her love life. And I was tired of Jen, too. Her constant whining about being uncomfortable. Good God, she’d had surgery. What did she expect? No, I was fed up with both of them. Didn’t they realize that two women had died there? Hell—apparently, three—
I’d
died there, too. But they went on as if none of that had happened. I couldn’t bear to hear them, the lilt of their voices. My nerves were frayed. I went to the kitchenette, got them each a glass of lemonade. Then I hurried to change into my bathing suit. Even if I couldn’t get my leg wet, I could still sit by the pool. Or at the bar. Anywhere but near Becky and Jen.

I grabbed my sun hat, my beach bag and felt a wave of guilt. Why was I so angry? What was wrong with me?

I stopped, remembering what Susan had said. Before fleeing to the beach, she’d said she’d wanted to hurt somebody. To break dishes and throw furniture. Susan had expressed the same welling hostility that I felt.

I sat on my bed, trying to sort out what was happening. Normally, the four of us got along effortlessly. We teased each other about our quirks. We laughed about our differences. We tolerated and balanced each other—hell, we
liked
each other. So what was happening to us? We’d been fine until we’d taken this trip. Until we’d checked into the suite. Oh God.

Could the hotel be toxic? Could it be haunted by hostile spirits, ghosts who enjoyed messing up the living?

Really? Was I seriously considering that? I didn’t believe in ghosts, not even Charlie. He was a product of my emotions, part of my grieving process. But ghosts? No such thing. Madam Therese surfaced in my mind, shaking her head, insisting, “Spirits are drawn to you. You know this to be true.”

No. I didn’t know about spirits. But I did know that if I stayed in the suite much longer, I’d do something drastic. Maybe I’d be overcome with an irresistible urge to break things like Susan. Or cut my leg off like Greta. Or fall off the balcony like Claudia. I called out that I’d be down at the pool and hurried
out the door like a condemned person escaping execution. Limping, I hopped down the hall in such a fury that I almost crashed into a maid and apologized without stopping.

She didn’t seem to notice. As I passed, she looked the other way.

I burst out of the hotel, into the sunlight, and kept moving. I didn’t look for Susan. Didn’t look around. Hiding behind sunglasses and under my sun hat, I didn’t stop until I got to the far end of the pool, and lugged a lounge chair away from the cluster to a quiet spot under a palm tree, facing the ocean. I wasn’t alone; people surrounded me. But if I closed my eyes to the wandering vendors and ignored the blaring music, I could pretend I had a smidgeon of solitude.

Until someone landed beside me on the lounge. I jumped, startled.

“Señora,” Luis’s butt touched my thigh.

“Luis?” I moved my legs away.

“I startled you?” His eyes sparkled. “I only want to tell you how glad I am to see you here. I was there, señora. I saw you and your friend boogie boarding. And then I saw you, lying so still, I would have sworn you were lost to us.” He took my hand, placed a gentle kiss on my palm. “It is a miracle that you survived. People are saying that the Virgin of Guadalupe herself saved you. I believe it.”

I pulled my hand away, felt the tingle of his lips.

“When we last spoke, I was harsh.” He leaned over me, speaking softly.

Yes, he had been. But so had I.

“When I saw you lying there on the beach, lifeless, I felt a terrible loss and sorrow. It made me want to clear the air between us.” He smiled shyly, his head bent, eyes timid. Timid didn’t fit Luis, he looked uncomfortable, like his clothes were too small.

“Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say. My shoulders tensed. I felt trapped.

“Are you feeling all right?” He looked at my leg.

“My lungs are still sore.” Why was I telling him that? What did he want? Was he still stalking Melanie? Was I next?

“And your leg?” His hand landed on my knee, gently massaged it.

In a whoosh, I saw a face blurred by water. Felt something pulling me under, tugging me down. Heard Sergeant Perez declare that my wound hadn’t been accidental, that someone had stabbed me.

And now, Luis was reminding me that he had been there. Oh God. The attack had happened right after I’d confronted him. Had he been afraid I’d get him in trouble? That he’d lose his job? Had he attacked me—tried to kill me? Was he here now not to wish me well, but to see if I’d recognized him in the struggle?

My mind raced. Luis’s hand was still on my knee. I removed it. Tried to tune in to what he was saying.

“No hard feelings between us. We all make mistakes.”

Was he apologizing? Admitting that he’d attacked me? He was too close, invading my space. Trying to intimidate me. If I edged farther away, I’d fall off the lounge chair. I was cornered by his body, couldn’t get up unless he moved. I put a hand on his chest, pushing him away. He wrapped his hand on mine as if embracing it, but squeezing it tight.

“What do you want, Luis?” I wriggled my hand, trying to free it. “Let go.”

He tightened his grip.

I stopped fighting him, wincing. “Did you stab me? Was it you?”

“Me?”

“In the water—was it you?”

“Señora, how can you ask that? I came over here to wish you well.” He looked into my eyes. Dropped my hand. “Look, I don’t want trouble. Not with you or your
amiga loca
. I am trying to make peace.” His eyes blazed.

By strangling my hand and cornering me? Anger bubbled in my belly. I wanted to slug him. “Go away, Luis.”

He held my eyes another moment, then he reached over, lifted my hat, and planted a kiss on my forehead. “Be careful, señora,” he whispered. “I would hate to see you come to more harm.”

He replaced my hat, stood and, as he walked away, I realized that my hands were gripping the side of the chair. When I relaxed them, my fingers trembled, not in fear but in anger. I felt steam hissing from my ears, fire blazing in my blood. Aching for a fight, I got up and hobbled around, dragging my chair away from the palm tree into the sunlight. Maybe the sun would bake my brain, burning away the hostility that swirled inside me. Maybe it would turn my rage to ashes.

I looked around, unable to settle down. People frolicked in the pool or lay on lounge chairs, tanning and reading. Some sat at the bar, drinking and noshing under the thatched roof. Others wandered out to the ocean. I could see a bit of it beyond the fence. Light sparkled on the water. Swimmers dotted the surface. A blanket of clouds draped the horizon, but along the shore, the sun was hot and relentless. Susan had my sunblock. Damn. Never mind. I closed my eyes, felt anger pulsing through me, untargeted and generalized.

I’d been angry when I’d left the suite. And then Luis had agitated me more: The tightness of his grip on my hand, the intrusion of his lips on my forehead—his breath on my face. I should tell Sergeant Perez about him, have him investigated. But for what? Being at the beach when I’d been pulled out of the water? Bothering a woman who’d vandalized his room? Or maybe for squeezing my hand and kissing my forehead?

Actually, everything Luis had said had been completely benign. He hadn’t threatened me. Quite the contrary, he’d expressed good wishes and concern. But there had been unspoken
threats, hadn’t there? The edge in his voice, the flash in his eyes. I wasn’t sure. Maybe I was in such a hostile mood that I was projecting my own anger onto others. Maybe Luis had simply meant to wish me well. He was a rascal, not a killer. Besides, he’d had no motive for attacking me. If he’d wanted to attack someone, wouldn’t it have been Melanie?

Unless he was obsessed with her and saw me as an interference.

I had to stop. Had to think peaceful thoughts. Serene thoughts. Like going to the festival. I imagined people celebrating, seeing banners of greens, reds, and yellows so bright that they vibrated. The sun baked my chest. I tried to exhale tension, inhale peace. Exhale negative energy, inhale healing. But voices around me grated like squawking crows. Music pounded my skull. My muscles tightened and, finally, I stopped trying to control my mood. I allowed myself to be as ornery and belligerent as I wanted. I closed my eyes, saw a woman with scrawny fists, heard her call for vengeance. Maybe she was me. After a while, maybe I slept.

“Something beautiful for you, señora?”

I opened my eyes, saw a human form haloed by a golden corona. An angel?

“I have rings, bracelets. Have a look.”

Oh, not an angel. A vendor standing in sunlight.

“No, gracias.”

“Oh, go ahead,” a woman stepped out of his halo. Melanie. “Buy something.”

“Melanie. Oh, wait.” I moved my legs, started to stand up. “I don’t know how to thank you. You got me out of the water. You saved my life.” I stumbled on my sore leg, but managed to reach out and hug her. She was my height; our breasts crushed in the embrace. I felt how bony she was. Not an ounce of flab.

The vendor watched, gave up hope, moved on.

“I honestly thought you were gone, Elle.” She ended the hug, studied my face.

Apparently, I had been.

“You were limp in my arms. Deadweight.”

I remembered fighting, trying to swim away. When had I gone limp?

“You had no heartbeat. It was totally scary.” She looked me over, head to toe. “So, you’re feeling better?” She pulled a lounge chair over to join me. Plopped onto it. “Tell me, what do you remember?”

What did I remember? “What do you mean?”

“Like, do you remember getting hit in the head? Or being under water? Were you scared?”

My lungs started aching. I remembered them burning, ripping, exploding. I remembered flailing. I remembered Charlie.

“It must have been awful,” she went on. “I can’t imagine what you went through.”

“Well, it’s over.” I didn’t want to talk about it. “I was lucky you were around.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?” She turned to face me. “You got better really quickly.”

I had? “I don’t know. My lungs are still sore. And my leg—it’ll take some time.”

“I mean emotionally.” She paused. “I saw you just now. With Luis. Right there.” She pointed to the palm tree. “You two looked pretty intense. It was touching.”

Oh Lord. I didn’t want to revisit Melanie’s issues. “He was just wishing me well.”

Her lips curled. “He was practically on top of you.”

With all that had happened in the last day, I hadn’t thought about Melanie and Luis. Or how she’d reacted the last time she’d seen me talking to him. But now that I remembered, I didn’t have the patience to deal with her issues. Hell, I didn’t have the patience to deal with my own.

“Melanie.” I lay back on my lounge chair. Anger welled up in my chest. “Drop it. There’s nothing going on—”

“You don’t need to cover it up, Elle. You’re welcome to him.

I just don’t get it though. After everything you know about him—how can you be attracted to him?”

“Melanie, just stop.” My voice was steely. “We have nothing to talk about.”

She tilted her head. “Whatever. But be warned: Luis is bad news. As long as he’s in your life, you never know what will happen.”