Present Danger (16 page)

Her last thought before drifting off to sleep was a wry one. At least now, she thought with groggy humor, I can tell Mary that James T. Ryder slept in my bed. Maybe I’ll leave out the fact that he had to be beaten black and blue to get him there.

It was late when Aunie awakened the following morning and for a few disoriented moments she couldn’t quite comprehend why she was sleeping on the couch. It was the sight of her spike-heeled evening pumps, one upright, one lying on its side, that sparked remembrance of the early morning hours of the previous night, and she pushed herself to a sitting position, yawning and raking a hand through her hair.

Was James still here?

He was, she discovered a few moments later when she peeked into her bedroom. He was lying on his back in her bed, the covers kicked loose. Except for the sheet with its English Garden pattern draped over his loins and one leg, he had managed to dislodge the rest of her bedding and it sagged off one side of the mattress. He looked large and masculine against her feminine sheets and even more beat-up than he’d appeared last night.

Aunie tiptoed into the room and quietly raided her closet and drawers. Twenty minutes later, showered, shampooed, and dressed, she let herself out of the apartment.

Lola answered the door and smiled welcomingly when she saw who her visitor was. “Good morning, woo-mon! How was your big night out wid your friend Mary?”

“It was fun until I got home,” Aunie replied wryly and then filled Lola in on the early morning events with an economically worded report. “Do you think you could give me a hand? Someone should be there in case Bob calls back and to sit with James until he awakens. But once he wakes up, he’s gonna need something easier to don than what he was wearin’ last night. Do you think he’d mind terribly if I let myself into his apartment to gather a few things together?”

“The mon better
not
object, not after the way he commandeered your help last night and then took over your bed.” She eyed her friend in concern. “You should’ve awakened me, Aunie. He couldn’t have been easy to maneuver.”

“Believe me, I wanted to … if for no other reason than to help me talk some sense into him. He really should’ve seen a doctor, Lola. But he wouldn’t hear of it. Even all beat-up, he can be incredibly stubborn.”

Lola laughed. “That’s James, all right. And determined. If you hadn’t been there to help, the mon most likely would’ve dragged himself up to his apartment on his own.”

“He might have tried,” Aunie agreed wryly. “He wouldn’t have gotten any further than the front door, though. Apparently, along with his car, his brother has all his keys as well.”

Moments later, Aunie let herself into James’s apartment with Lola’s duplicate key. She hesitated a moment in the hallway, feeling awkward about being there without his permission. He had been in her apartment several times now, but she’d never before been in his, and somewhere along the line she had gained the distinct impression he jealously guarded whatever privacy he could find behind these four walls.

She knew she couldn’t stand here waffling about it all day long, however, so she finally flipped on a light and stepped into the living room. Immediately, she came to a halt, staring around her in wonder. She had the uncanniest feeling she could’ve been shown a dozen different apartments and instinctively would have picked this one as his. It looked just like him.

It was masculine and offbeat, like James. The furniture was black leather, chrome, and glass; the walls were white. Books, magazines, and a number of gadgets were stuffed haphazardly onto the bookshelves until they overflowed; but the rest of the room was almost painfully neat, except for two empty beer bottles and an ashtray full of burnt matchsticks on the coffee table.

Aunie tried to picture James sitting on his couch, sipping from his bottle of Mexican beer while he struck matches and tossed them into the ashtray, but it was a difficult image to conjure. It was her impression he was always on the move. The kind of boredom that heap of spent matchsticks seemed to convey was hard to envision in conjunction with the man she’d perceived him to be.

She dragged her eyes away from the coffee table and glanced around the walls. His artwork was, to
say the least, eclectic. Two exceptionally fine prints shared space with a Lynda Barry “Poodle with a Mohawk” poster and a limited edition Olivia De Berardinis lithograph. There was a classic Wurlitzer jukebox with bubbling colored lights in one corner of the living room and a white formica drafting table with black trim and mounted light in the other.

Feeling as furtive as a trespasser but unable to resist, she crossed the room to peek at his work in progress. Fingers skimming over the cartoon on the drafting table without actually touching it, she lightly traced its outlines in the air.

Her mouth tilted up. What must it be like to be so creative? Somehow, this morning, that aspect of his character seemed almost incongruous for a man who’d been beaten all but senseless the night before by enforcers from a subterranean drug world. She didn’t half understand him; that was a fact. But not for a moment did she doubt that James Ryder was one complex man.

Aunie gave herself a mental shake. She had no business snooping through his belongings like this. Briskly, she entered his bathroom and located his deodorant and toothbrush. In his bedroom she rapidly rifled his drawers until she found a pair of grey sweatpants, clean underwear and socks, and a forest green boat-necked cotton sweater. Not allowing herself another moment to explore as she would have loved to do, she let herself out of his apartment, carefully locking up behind her.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted her when she opened her own front door. Lola stuck her head out of the kitchen doorway. “You ready for a cup?” she inquired, hoisting her own mug. “All’s quiet. James is still sleepin’ and so far Bobby hasn’t
called. I got hold of Otis at the station and he say to tell you not to worry ‘bout James. He say if Jimmy say he didn’t need a doctor, then he most likely didn’t need a doctor.” She made a face, shaking her head. She had looked in on James as soon as she’d arrived and she’d seen his condition for herself. Aunie had not been exaggerating. “Mons,” she said with expressive disgust. “You ask me, they don’t none of ‘em have the sense they were born wid. Anyhow, Otis, he be here as soon as his shift is over this afternoon … in case James and his brothers need his help.”

“Thanks, Lola,” Aunie replied. She’d been rather proud of the way she’d handled last night’s situation all on her own, but it was a relief nonetheless to share the burden. “If you’ll pour me a cup of coffee, I’d appreciate it more than I can say. I’ll be right back.” She held up the small stack of James’s belongings. “I just want to put these in the bedroom.”

James’s first conscious thought as he slowly surfaced from the comalike depths of a healing sleep was that his entire body ached something fierce. It reminded him of the unrelenting agony of an abscessed tooth he’d once had; only this time the pain throbbed throughout his entire system. Nowhere was he immune from it.

What the hell happened? he wondered groggily as he pried his eyelids open. And where in hell was he? He stared without comprehension at a black-and-white photograph of a shirtless man, which was the first thing his gaze encountered. He looked down at the daintily flowered sheet draped across his lap, noticing its feminine ruffle next to the bruises on his
stomach and legs. He wasn’t in a hospital, obviously, not with this decor.

Inspecting his surroundings more closely, he eventually recognized them. Oh, hell, this was Aunie’s bedroom. He should’ve known the instant he’d seen the beefcake photographs gracing her walls. But it was the ornate wicker footboard that ultimately prompted his memory. So, okay, now he knew where he was. But what in God’s name was he doing here?

It all came back to him then: his inability to settle down last night, the call from Paul, Stubble-skull and Fancy-cut beating the crap out of him, Aunie finding him and helping him into the apartment house, Paul having his keys … and even Aunie’s little satin slip that he’d hidden from her and used like some damned two-year-old with a security blanket.

Jesus.

He’d told her not to expect him to get involved in her problems; from the very first, he’d warned her against that. Yet somehow, to some extent, he’d still found himself entangled in them. As if that weren’t bad enough, now she appeared to be just as deeply entrenched in
his
family’s messy affairs.

She hadn’t asked to be involved in the aftermath of last night’s beating and he knew it was irrational to blame her because she had been. Hell, all she’d done was lend him a hand.

But he was in pain and his pride still smarted furiously from the way he’d mooned around his apartment last night like some pimple-faced adolescent, keeping his eyes peeled for her return, jumping at the sound of every car driving down the block. And irrational or not, he
did
resent her involvement.

Damn her, what the hell was she doing getting all tangled up in his life?

Despite his pain, which severely undermined his habitually ironfisted self-control, he might have been able to keep his disgruntlement under wraps if he hadn’t noticed the little stack of his belongings on her nightstand. But first the familiarity of the sweater caught his attention; then he recognized the rest of the stuff. He knew then that she had been in his apartment, that she’d trespassed his only remaining sanctuary, and a lifetime of hard-earned discipline flew out the window.

“Magnolia!” he roared furiously; then he swore, grimacing at the sharp stab of pain that was a result of stretching his mouth. Unreasonably, he deemed her accountable for that, too.

She was in the room practically before the echoes of his wrath had faded, searching his features with concern as she approached the bed. Lola was right behind her, but James failed to notice. His eyes were trained accusingly on Aunie.

She leaned over him, brushing his hair gently away from his face. “Are you in pain?”

“Hell, yes, I’m in pain. What’d ya think, I’d feel like running a friggin’ marathon?”

She recoiled from the venom in his tone but firmly instructed herself not to react to it. People were often sharp-tempered when they were hurting.

He pushed himself painfully to a sitting position. “Just who the fuck gave you permission to go snooping through my apartment?” he demanded belligerently.

Aunie flinched guiltily and flushed a painful red. Because that was exactly what she felt she’d been doing, she didn’t have one word to offer in her own defense.

Lola, however, was a different story; she felt no such
compunction. Whipping an arm the color of café au lait around Aunie’s shoulders, she hugged her protectively to her side and glared at James. “I did,” she said flatly. “And if you were any sort of a mon, James Ryder, you’d be thoroughly ashamed of yourself for even askin’ such a thing. This little woo-mon dragged your sorry butt up a flight of stairs, patched you up, and put you in her own bed, and you
dare
chastise her wid your filthy mouth for entering your precious apartment?”

Put like that, it did sound a little less than reasonable … never mind ungracious. James opened his mouth to apologize, however grudgingly since he was still irrationally furious, but Lola was on a roll and she rode right over whatever he might have said. As far as she was concerned, James had had his chance and he’d blown it.

“For your information, Mr. Big Shot,” she informed him coolly, “Aunie was in your apartment for seven minutes, maximum. She’d have to be mighty fast to snoop through your pitiful, raggedy belongings and still have time to locate and gather the stuff she thought you needed.” Her deep brown eyes, filled with scorn, transferred from his face to that of the petite woman hugged to her side. They immediately softened. “Come,” she said gently. “We go back to the living room and let this big baby sulk in peace. It’s a sorry day when a woo-mon tries to do something to make a mon more comfortable and gets the nasty side of his tongue for her efforts.” Wheeling them both around, she marched them smartly out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

That left James to stew all alone with a pain-riddled body, an enormous anger he didn’t have the first idea how to handle,
and
a galloping case of the guilts.
He whispered a long string of obscenities, but it didn’t make him feel better.

Creaking like an old man with arthritic joints, he slowly dragged himself out of Aunie’s comfortable bed. He picked up the disputed gear she had accumulated and shuffled with painful slowness out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom.

He helped himself to two of Aunie’s pain pills and took a hot shower. His face was too ravaged for him to consider shaving, and eyeing the apparent dullness of Aunie’s razor, he decided it was probably just as well. His guilt rose up to kick him in the teeth when he saw that she had included a rubber band to club back his hair, and then again when he noted the ease of donning his sweats as compared to wrestling his way back into last night’s jeans. Ah, hell. He longed to hang onto his righteous indignation, but the more he thought about the way he’d attacked her after all she’d done for him, the more of a horse’s ass he felt.

Bobby was in the living room drinking coffee and chatting with the women when James emerged from the bathroom. He lowered himself carefully onto the couch, and when Aunie silently handed him a mug of coffee and started to turn away, he caught her by the wrist, staying her. It felt fragile and small in his grasp.

“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly when she looked down at him without speaking. She shrugged one shoulder and turned away, forcing him to drop her hand. He glared at her back. He’d said he was sorry, hadn’t he? What’d she want, roses?

“They really worked you over, didn’t they, kid?”

James looked over at Bob, who was studying him closely. “Yeah,” he replied. “They knew just what they were doin’.”

“No concussion?”

“No.”

“Pissed any blood?”

“No.”

“I guess you’re gonna live, then. Bet it hurts like a son of a bitch though.”

James grunted his agreement.

Bob shifted his bulk uncomfortably. He sipped his coffee, scratched under his collar, then finally looked his brother in the eye. “Paul’s in the hospital.”