in his tongue. Gasping for breath, he pulled away only to hear more words spilling from her. 'Tell me… damn it, out with the details!' she insisted as her hands roamed over his clothing, tearing away at his buttons and his belt.
He replied with lies between panting breaths and kisses, 'Yes, yes…just as planned. Went smooth as silk.'
'Tell me everything…while we make love. Tell me what her office looked like.' She went to her knees, ripping his pants and under shorts away to get at the prize she wanted, and he hoped that with her mouth around him, she would be stopped from asking any more questions.
'Like… any…office, but big, large.'
'What kind of pictures did she have on her desk? You see a photo of her parents? I've got to learn more about them.' She somehow talked with him inside her mouth.
The alternating of talk-suck, talk-suck, talk-suck only heightened Arthur's delight, making him gasp out answers he snatched from his imagination while at the same time seeing lights exploding in his head.
She had him on the floor now, and he was in her and pumping with eager anticipation over her, driving into her, glad she had finally shut up with the questions, when she asked, 'W-what… k-kinda pictures a-and paint-ings… she h-have on…her walls?'
'Pictures?'
'Paintings, photographs, prints, what?' She choked him with both hands. 'Tell me! Fuck me and tell me!'
'I…didn't really… pay…much…' He gasped. 'Heed!'
Arthur came inside her and fell atop her.
'Think!' she demanded, pushing him off and onto the rug where they had remained in the foyer. 'What graced her walls? And what little knickknacks did she have on her shelves and on her desk? A paperweight with a photo inside, a Waterford crystal ball, a letter opener, a calendar, blotter? Any trinkets or mementos? Personalized pen set?'
'Jesus, I was only there a second or two when someone came waltzing by and I had to rush out, Lauralie.'
She pushed away from him, getting to her knees over him. 'You've got to remember something!'
'All right…all right…she had a Van Gogh print on one wall.'
'Which one?'
'Which wall?'
'No, damn it, which Van Gogh?'
'Ahhh…the one with all the stars.'
'Sure…yeah…Starry, Starry Night. That figures. She's one of those eternal optimists, I bet. The bitch. So what did she have on her shelves?'
'Books, lots of books, and one of those plastic models of the brain, and…and a photo of that guy, Stonecoat, and a lot of papers, stacks of papers,' he continued to lie.
'The bitch has a full life, doesn't she. An excellent job, good money, the lover she wants. All of it is coming to an end…and soon, soon.'
Arthur wondered why the very paintings on the other woman's walls were so important to Lauralie, and he wondered if she would ever learn of his lies. He wondered if at some time this Sanger woman had taken a lover away from Lauralie, if maybe it was this guy Stonecoat or that other guy Lauralie had mentioned, Byron Priestly.
Arthur wondered how Lauralie would react if she ever learned that he had no idea what was on Sanger's walls and shelves and desk. That he had not gotten past the shrink's outer office to have one damn look in her actual office. He certainly couldn't tell Lauralie the truth at this point, that he'd had to leave the parcel in the garage for Dr. Sanger as she pursued him out the building. It was a secret he felt best kept in a vault inside his head.
He propped himself up on his elbow. 'When are you going to tell me what this is all about and why you hate her so much?' he pressed Lauralie.
'I want to hurt her, hurt her badly.'
'That's rather obvious, but why? What's it got to do with her cop lover, Stonecoat? Did the two of them once hurt you?'
'She did.'
'And him, Stonecoat? Did he hurt you?'
'It's enough that she loves him. I hurt him, I hurt her. Simple as that.'
'How did she hurt you?'
'Enough. I don't want to fucking talk about it.' She lowered herself over him and swallowed up his penis in her mouth again to shut him up, her hair tickling his stomach and groin as she worked to make him groan and end his list of questions.
When she finished, she propped herself on her elbow and said, 'I left the big package for Stonecoat with UPS addressed to him at the precinct. It'll arrive tomorrow. This one'11 kick ass.'
CHAPTER 7
An unusual silvery spray of desert rain played lightly over their features, awakening Lucas and Meredyth where they had slept with the creatures of the rocks, here beneath the starlit night that'd become twilight morning. The first of the eastern sun rays had still not reached the boulders, and now Meredyth sat watching the light creep in, creating long dark fingers out of standing cactus plants until these shadows stretched across the desert to them. On first awakening, Meredyth had found herself in the crook of Lucas's arm, and it felt not only good but safe.
They had agreed to turn off their cell phones, and so no one had been able to disturb their evening. On waking, Lucas had pulled free, checking any messages he might have as he rummaged about in the picnic basket and said, 'Hey, you hungry? Let's see what's left to drink and eat. Makeshift breakfast here.'
She was checking her messages, three-all from Byron Priestly-still desperately seeking her forgiveness. Let him beg another week, she thought, then cut him off at the knees. Byron had caught her at her private practice downtown, where they had often met for dinner and the theater in the past, but this time, she had stormed off from him, leaving him standing in the garage. She'd told him not to call or to come by, but here he was, bugging her.
She joined Lucas and they finished off what was left of the wine and bread, and after watching a circling pair of screeching hawks claiming the territory, Lucas suggested they start back for the city and the other reality awaiting them.
'We didn't make love,' she commented on the trip back.
'We were too busy making love to the desert,' he countered, 'together-of one mind. It was great.'
She smiled at this. 'You're more the romantic than you pretend, aren't you, Chief? My Wolf Clansman.'
Lucas and Meredyth arrived back in the city and at Meredyth's place a few minutes past nine A.M. in a steady rain, and the day doorman, Stuart Long, greeted them with an envelope from Byron and complaints. 'Lost time on the job over this thing…long and frustrating hours spent with that sketch artist. So I took over Max's shift last night, and so here I am, bloodshot eyes, dog's at home alone, nobody to feed 'im, putting in long hours here-get it, Long hours. Hi and hello,' he added, taking Lucas's hand, shaking it. 'I'm Stuart Long.'
'Detective Stonecoat, Lucas.' Lucas then asked, 'So, you got a sketch done at the station house?'
'Talk about long hours…going downtown to give a statement and a description of the guy who left that damnable parcel with me. I told 'em what little I know, Dr. Sanger, but it wasn't much. The guy was an everyman type, you know, nothing whatever to distinguish him. The guy was like medium everything, medium height, medium weight, medium shoe size, medium brown hair, glasses, kinda geekish-looking, wore a buttoned-up Ralph Lauren polo shirt knockoff over ordinary slacks. Nothing about his features stuck out. Clean shaven. I think the composite they did may's well be a blank slate.'
Meredyth had tom open Byron's envelope, glanced at the communique, and angrily stuffed it into her purse when she could find no nearby trash container. In her purse, she came across the folded copy of the sketch Kelton had given her the night before. She snatched it out, offering it to Lucas.
He frowned and stared at the depiction-mostly blank space-and said, 'Hmmm…I see what you mean, Mr.
