True Evil (10 page)

"You know what I was thinking?" she said.

"What?"

"We haven't tried to get me pregnant in a while."

No remark could have surprised him more. "You're right."

"Well…?"

She slowly spun his chair until he found himself facing her bare breasts. Normally, they were porcelain pale—her Danish blood—but like her friends, Thora had recently become an addict of the tanning salon, and her skin glowed an uncharacteristic burnished gold, with nary a line in sight.

"Kiss them," she whispered.

He did.

She a made a purling sound deep in her throat, a nearly feline expression of pleasure, and he felt her shift position. While her fingers played in the hair at the back of his neck, he worked delicately but steadily at her nipples. They were infallible sources of arousal, and soon Thora was breathing in shallow rasps. She bent her knees and reached down to see if he was ready. Finding him hard, she unsnapped his pants, then knelt and tried to pull them down. He raised his hips for her, then sat back down.

Without delay Thora lifted her gown and sat, wrapping her strong legs around his waist and the chair back. Chris groaned, nearly overcome by her urgency, which he had not experienced in some time. But tonight Thora was the woman he had fallen in love with two years ago, and the power of this incarnation pushed him quickly toward climax. She gazed into his eyes as she rode him, silently urging him on, but at the last moment she planted both feet on the floor and thrust herself up and off him.

"What?" he cried.

"That's not exactly the ideal position for bringing a new generation into the world," she said, her eyes teasing him with mock reproach.

"Oh."

Taking hold of his penis, she pulled him over to the leather sofa, then lay down on her back and motioned for him to mount her. After staring at her long enough to engrave the image in his mind, he did. As Thora whispered lewd encouragements in his ear, the interview with Alex Morse rose inexplicably into his mind. Their conversation had a surreal quality now. Could such a thing be possible? Had someone pretending to be a patient actually lied her way into his office and then accused his wife of murder? And
before
the fact? It was crazy—

"Now,"
Thora told him.
"Now, now, now…"

Chris thrust deep and held the contact, letting Thora take herself over the threshold. When she cried out, her nails raking his shoulder blades, he let himself go, and a white glare burned away all ambiguity.

As he came slowly back to the present, Thora strained upward to kiss his lips, then fell back, sweating despite the steady flow of air-conditioning. Chris drew out and lay beside her on the cold leather.

"You can get up if you want to," she said. "I'm going to stay here a few minutes. Let things take their natural course."

He laughed. "I'm fine right here."

"Good answer."

They lay in silence for a while. Then Thora said, "Is everything all right, Chris?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You seemed distant today. Did something happen at work?"

God, did something happen.
"Just the usual."

"Is the new house bothering you again?"

"I haven't even thought about it."

She looked disappointed. "I don't know if that's good either."

He forced a smile. "The house is fine. It just takes a while to turn a country boy into a city boy."

"If it's possible at all."

"We'll soon find out."

Thora pulled damp hair out of her eyes. "Oh, I forgot. I wanted to ask you something."

"What?"

"Laura Canning is going up to the Alluvian this week. She asked me to go with her."

"The Alluvian?"

"You know, that hotel in Greenwood. Up in the Delta. The one the Viking Range people remodeled. It's supposed to be stunning. You practiced up in the Delta for a while, didn't you?"

He laughed. "My patient base couldn't afford that kind of place."

"They supposedly have a terrific spa up there. People fly down from New York to stay there. Morgan Freeman has that blues club in the Delta, you know, and he's stayed at the Alluvian."

Chris nodded. He liked Morgan Freeman's work, but he wasn't into picking spas based on where Hollywood actors went. He wasn't into spas at all, to be honest. He broke all the sweat he needed to while maintaining the twenty acres of land around his house.

"If you don't want me to go, I won't," Thora said, seemingly without rancor. "But this is Ben's last week of school, and he always asks you for help with his homework anyway. I don't have the patience."

Chris couldn't argue this point. "When are we talking about?"

"A couple of days from now, probably. We'd just be gone three nights. Then right back home. Mud packs and champagne, a little blues music, then home."

Chris nodded and forced another smile, but this one took more effort. It wasn't that he didn't want Thora to have fun. It was Alex Morse's voice whispering in his head:
Is your wife planning to be out of town anytime soon?

"Chris?" Thora asked. "Tell the truth. Do you want me to stay home?"

He recalled her face as she made love to him, the unalloyed pleasure in her blue-gray eyes. Now she was lying on her back on chilly leather so that his sperm would have the maximum probability of impregnating her. What the hell was he worried about? "I think I'm just worn-out," he said. "Between work and rounds and working on my project—"

"And baseball practice," Thora added. "Ninety minutes a day in eighty-five-degree heat with a bunch of wild Indians."

"You go up to the Delta and chill out," he said, though he had never associated the words
Delta
and
chill
in his mind before. "Ben and I will be fine."

Thora gave him an elfin smile, then kissed him again. "You stay right here."

He stared as she jumped up and ran to the studio door, then disappeared through it. She reappeared a moment later, holding both hands behind her back.

"What are you doing?" he asked, feeling strangely anxious.

"I've got a surprise for you. Two surprises."

He sat up on the couch. "What? I don't need anything."

She laughed and moved closer. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She brought her right hand from behind her back. In it was a plate of chocolate chip cookies. His mouth watered at the scent of them—until Alex Morse's warnings sounded in his head. Before he had to make a choice about eating the cookies, Thora held out a cardboard tube like the ones she used to carry blueprints for the new house. Chris forced a smile, but the prospect of discussing the Avalon house did not please him in the least.

"I see that frown," Thora said, setting the cookies beside him, then perching her perfect derriere on his knees. "You just wait and see."

She removed a sheet of paper from the tube, unrolled it, and spread it across her nude thighs. Chris saw what appeared to be plans for a new building behind the seven-thousand-square-foot house that was now nearing completion. A rather large building.

"What's that?" he asked, groaning internally. "A private gym?"

Thora laughed. "No. That's your new studio."

His face flushed. "What?"

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "That's my housewarming present to you. I had our architect consult with an expert in New York. You're looking at a state-of-the-art video production studio. All you have to do is select your equipment."

"Thora…you can't be serious."

Her smile broadened. "Oh, I'm serious. They've already poured the foundation and run the high-tech cabling.
Very
expensive."

This was almost too much to absorb after what Chris had endured today. He wanted to get up and pace the room, but Thora had him pinned to the couch. Suddenly, she tossed the plans and the tube onto the couch and hugged him tight.

"I'm not letting you slip back here every time you want to edit your videos. You're stuck with me, understand?"

He didn't. He felt as though he had swallowed some sort of hallucinogen. But then, if Alex Morse had not visited his office this morning, none of this would seem anything but a wonderful surprise.

"I finally surprised you," Thora said in an awestruck voice. "I did, didn't I?"

He nodded in a daze.

She took a cookie from the plate and held it to his lips. "Here. You need your strength."

"No, thanks."

Her disappointment was plain. "I actually made these from scratch."

"I'm sorry. I'm really not hungry. I'll eat some later."

She shrugged, then popped the cookie into her mouth. "Your loss," she said, her eyes twinkling as she chewed. "Mmm…almost better than sex."

Chris smelled the melting chocolate in her mouth, watched her swallow with exaggerated pleasure.
Alex Morse is batshit,
he told himself.

Thora looked into his eyes, then took his hand and cupped her breast with it. "You up for a second round? We can raise the odds by two hundred million or so."

He felt like an astronaut cut loose from his spacecraft, drifting steadily away from everything familiar.
Who could live like this?
he wondered.
Second-guessing every move in my own house?

He closed his eyes and kissed Thora with desperate fervor.

CHAPTER 7

Alex's heart leaped when she saw the little red icon turn green, indicating that Jamie had logged on to MSN. She'd been checking for the past three hours, playing Spider Solitaire and waiting for Jamie's icon to light up.

A new screen like a small TV appeared within her main screen, but the TV was blank. Then an image of Jamie sitting at his desk in his room at Bill Fennell's house flashed up. The immediacy of the webcam was overwhelming at first. It truly was like being in the same room with the person you were talking to. You could see every emotion in their eyes, every movement of their face. Tonight Jamie was wearing an Atlanta Braves T-shirt and the yellow baseball cap of his Dixie Youth team. His eyes weren't looking at her, but at his monitor, so that he could watch her image projected from his screen. She knew that she looked the same to him, since she was staring at his image and not the camera mounted atop her screen.

"Hey, Aunt Alex," he said. "Sorry I'm late."

She smiled genuinely for the first time all day. "It's okay. You know I'll be here whenever you log on. What you been doing, bub?"

Jamie smiled. "I had a baseball game."

"How did it go?"

"They killed us."

"I'm sorry. How did
you
do?"

"I got a double."

Alex yelped and applauded. "That's great!"

Jamie's smile vanished. "But I struck out twice."

"That's okay. Even the pros strike out."

"Twice in one game?"

"Sure they do. I once saw Hank Aaron strike out three times in one game." This was a lie, but a harmless one. Hank Aaron was about the only player whose name she knew, and him only because of her father.

"Who's Hank Aaron?" Jamie asked.

"He hit more home runs than Babe Ruth."

"Oh. I thought that was Barry Bonds."

Alex shrugged. "It doesn't matter. You got a double, that's what matters. What else has been going on?"

Jamie sighed like a fifty-year-old man. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Come on."

"I think she's over here right now."

"Missy?" Missy Hammond was Bill's mistress.

Jamie nodded.

Anger flooded through Alex; she tasted copper in her mouth. "Why do you think that? Did you see her?"

"No." Jamie glanced behind him, at his bedroom door. "Dad thinks I'm asleep now. He came in to check, and I had the lights off. After a few minutes, I heard the back door. I thought he might be leaving, so I sneaked out to the rail. I didn't see anything, but after a while I heard somebody laughing. It sounded exactly like her."

Alex didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, Jamie. Let's talk about something else."

The boy hung his head. "That's easy for you to say. Why don't you just come get me? Dad wants to be with her, not me. I'm not sleepy at all."

"I can't just come get you. We talked about that. But your father wants you, Jamie." Alex wasn't sure whether this was true. "He wants both of you."

The boy shook his head. "After the game, all Dad talked about was my strikeouts. And what else I did wrong. Nothing about my double."

Alex put on a smile and nodded as though she understood. "I think a lot of dads are like that. Your granddad did that when I played softball."

Jamie looked surprised. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah. He didn't hesitate to tell me what I did wrong."

This wasn't quite true. Jim Morse could give constructive criticism, but he knew how to do it without making you feel bad. And most of what Alex remembered from being ten years old was unconditional praise.

"Your dad's just trying to help you improve," she added.

"I guess. I don't like it, though." Jamie reached down, then lifted a heavy book onto his desk. "I was supposed to do my homework earlier, but I didn't feel like it. Can I do it now?"

"Sure."

"Will you stay on while I do it?"

Alex smiled. "You know I will."

Now Jamie was grinning. They had done this many times since Grace's death. While Jamie read his assignment, Alex sat watching him, her mind roving back through the past. For some reason her father was in her mind tonight. Jim Morse had loved his grandson more than anything else in the world, and that might have included his own daughters. When Grace and Alex were young, Jim had been building a business, and despite putting real effort into being a father, he had seen them mostly in passing. But with Jamie, he'd had endless hours to spend with the boy. Jim had taught him to hunt and fish, to water-ski, to fly kites, and not just to throw a baseball but to pitch one for real. Jamie Fennell could throw a curveball when he was eight years old. Jim had spent all this time with Jamie despite the fact that Jim and Bill Fennell did not get along. In Alex's eyes, her father had proved his manhood for all time by compromising as much as was required to keep close contact with his grandson.