“Okay,” David said, “you’ve convinced me. We’re both at fault. How about calling it a draw?”
The woman looked confused; then she laughed, grateful that the awkward moment was over.
“My name is David Nash.”
“I know,” the woman said after a moment’s hesitation.
“You do?”
“I…I was listening when you were talking to that woman about the murder case.”
“You mean that Ashmore business?”
“She upset you, didn’t she?”
Now it was David’s turn to hesitate.
“It wasn’t pleasant for me to try that case, and it won’t be pleasant to retry it. I don’t like to think about it if I don’t have to.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said self-consciously. David immediately regretted his tone of voice.
“You don’t have to be. I didn’t mean to be so solemn.”
They stood without talking for a moment. The woman looked uneasy, and David had the feeling that she might fly off like a frightened bird.
“Are you a friend of Gregory’s?” he asked to keep the conversation going.
“Gregory?”
“Gregory Banks. This is his house. I thought you were with that group that was talking about the case. Most of them are Gregory’s friends.”
“No. I really don’t know anyone here. I don’t even know why I came.”
She looked down, and David sensed that she was trapped and vulnerable, fighting something inside her.
“You haven’t told me your name yet,” David said. The woman looked up, startled. He held her gaze for a moment and saw fear and uncertainty in her eyes.
“I’m afraid I have to go,” she answered anxiously, avoiding his question.
“But that’s not fair,” David said, trying to keep his tone light. “You know my name. You can’t run off without telling me yours.”
She paused, and their eyes met again. He knew that she was debating whether to answer him and that her answer would determine the course of the evening.
“Valerie,” she said finally. “Valerie Dodge.” And David could tell by the firmness in her voice that Valerie had resolved her doubts in his favor, at least for the moment.
David had a lot of experience with women, and there was something about this one that he found intriguing. Common sense told him to go slowly, but he noticed a change in her mood. When she told him her name, she had committed herself, and his instincts told him to take a chance.
“You’re not enjoying yourself here, are you?” he asked gently.
“No,” she answered.
“I wasn’t either. I guess that woman upset me more than I’d like to admit. Look, I’d like to make a suggestion. I know a nice place in town where we can grab a late supper. Are you interested?”
“No,” she said, momentarily dashing his hopes. “I’d rather you just take me to your house.”
DAVID’S CANTILEVERED HOUSEstrained against the thick wooden beams that secured it to the hillside. In the daytime you could stand on one of several cedar decks and look across Portland toward the snow-capped mountains of the Cascade Range. In the evening you could stand in the same place and see the Christmas-light grid of the city spreading out from the base of the hill.
The house was modern, constructed of dark woods that blended into the greenery of the West Hills. It had three stories, but only one story showed above the level of the road, the other two being hidden by the hillside. The house had been custom-built to David’s specifications, and the east wall was made almost entirely of glass.
David helped Valerie out of the sports car and led her down a flight of steps to the front door. The door opened onto an elevated landing. The landing looked down on a spacious, uncluttered living room, dominated by a huge sculptural fireplace that resembled a knight’s helmet with the visor thrown back. The fireplace was pure white and the carpeting a subdued red. There were no chairs or sofas in the room, but a seating platform piled high with pillows of various colors was incorporated into the sweep of the rounded, rough-plastered walls. The only other furnishings in the room were a low, circular light wood table and several large pillows.
A spiral staircase on the left side of the room led upward to the bedroom and down to the kitchen area. A balcony that ran half the length of the third floor overlooked the living room.
“This is magnificent,” Valerie said, taking off her shoes and walking barefoot across the carpet to look at a large abstract painting that hung to the left of the fireplace.
“I’m glad you like it. Do you want the grand tour?”
She nodded, and he led her downstairs into the kitchen and dining room, then back to the second level. The den was located on the south side of the house, and it looked out onto the hillside. It was small and cluttered with briefs, legal periodicals, books, sheets of paper, and pens and paper clips. A bookcase was built into one wall, and a filing cabinet stood in one corner. The walls were decorated with framed clippings from some of David’s best-known cases. Valerie skimmed the texts of a few of them.
“Did you win all these cases?”
“Those and a few more,” he answered, pleased that she had noticed them.
“Are you famous?”
David laughed.
“Only in circles that you’re not likely to travel in.”
“Oh, for instance?”
“Murderers, dope fiends, pimps, and rapists.”
“How do you know I’m not a rapist?” she asked. She had attempted to ask the question coolly and casually, but a tremor in her voice betrayed her nervousness. She heard the tremor and looked away, embarrassed, when he looked at her.
“I still haven’t shown you the top floor,” David said evenly. He led her up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. The lights were off and the bedroom curtains had not been drawn shut. They could see the moon floating above the pine shadows.
Valerie walked across the room and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the picture window, watching the lights of the city. David stood beside her and gently touched the smooth skin of her shoulder. She turned to face him and he took her in his arms. His lips pressed softly against hers. She hesitated for a moment, and her body tensed under his touch. Then she flung her arms around him, pulling him into her, returning his kiss with great passion.
David stepped back, surprised at the ferocity of her reaction. Valerie looked into his eyes and unfastened the straps of her summer dress. It floated down the long lines of her body in slow motion. She stood in the moonlight, her face in shadows.
David took off his clothes, his eyes never leaving her. Her body was magnificent. An athletic figure with breasts that were small and perfectly formed. He watched the gentle rhythm of her breathing and the rise and fall of her rib cage under her smooth, tanned skin.
They touched and she melted into him. They stroked each other, and he forgot where he was and who he was. There was desperation and abandon in her lovemaking, and she moved under him with violence and passion until her body suddenly arched and her eyes closed tight. He could feel her fingers digging into his back and he heard her gasp, then moan.
They held each other for a while; then David rolled slowly to his back. She pressed her head to his chest and sighed. He wound his fingers through her long blond hair. His fingers strayed to her cheek. It was damp with tears.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered.
“I’m always sad after I make love. Really make love. I feel…I don’t know…as if I’d lost something.”
He sat up and gently pushed her back. Moonlight illuminated her hair and made it look like strands of gold against the pale blue of the pillow cover.
“You’re very beautiful,” David said. She turned her head away from him.
“Have I said something wrong?” he asked.
