most. The couple embraced her like oddly impassioned friends. The idea of how the three of them might look to someone passing by flashed through her mind. Beyond strange. She felt their warm flesh against her own. So intimate. She could hear them breathing. Or was that her?
As she began to fade in and out, it seemed that they loosened their grip on her. Was that just because she was losing consciousness, or were they actually doing that? Inexplicably she thought of her ex-husband with an angerless regret. She thought of the girls. They would be all right. She had gotten through the tough years with them, and they were leveling out. The rest of it was going to be okay. Nathan. Bless his heart. He would be dumbfounded.
There was a moment of brilliant, mind-blinding panic, and she fought her abductors. And she fought her departure. Of all the silly things to happen to her… Who would've thought it would be something like this, something so profoundly, utterly mystifying?
Well, she was glad she'd taken the dark sable brown suit to the cleaners. That's the one the girls would choose. But Nathan would have to think of it being at the cleaners when they couldn't find it in her closet.
Suddenly her head was bursting, and she felt nauseated. And she was so hot!
Chapter 31
Titus was shaving, a towel wrapped around his waist. His neck was stiff despite the long shower he'd taken to try to loosen it up. A cup of coffee sat on the countertop by his shaving mug, along with a half-eaten piece of toast. The outside of his eyebrow was swollen, and the flesh around it was purple. He looked out the glass wall to the pool, feeling thickheaded. The four hours of sleep had felt exactly like four hours of sleep: not enough.
Nevertheless, he had to admit the conversation with Garcia Burden in the small hours of the morning had been fascinating. Burden had made good points about Titus's concerns that he had done the wrong thing, but he hadn't really offered anything concrete. Titus still had that uneasy feeling that his decision to work with Burden was going to result in yet more tragedy. But, as with Burden, he couldn't come up with any specific, factual data to justify his anxiety.
He washed the lather off his face and walked into his closet to get his clothes. After dressing, he felt a little less fuzzy headed as he made his way along the atrium to the kitchen. Rita was again sitting at the island, nursing a glass of orange juice.
“You want anything besides that piece of toast? ”she asked. She, too, looked exhausted.
“No, I'm fine, ”he said, dumping his cold coffee down the sink. He turned around and leaned against the counter.
“How's your head feeling? ”Rita asked.
“Lousy.”
“Let me see. ”She got up from the bar stool and went over to him. He waited while she examined him. She was close, and he could see the blond fuzz along her temples, smell her shampoo.
“The swelling's going to be with you for a while, ”she said, returning to the island.
The front gate intercom buzzed behind him on the counter panel, and he reached over and pushed the button.
“Yes?”
“This is Deputy Seams with the Travis County Sheriff's Office. This Mr. Cain?”
“Yeah. Yes, it is.”
“Wonder if you could open the gate for me, Mr. Cain?”
“Uh, sure, ”Titus said, frowning and looking over at Rita as he hit the gate button.
Rita was motionless, her questioning eyes locked on him.
“I don't have any idea, ”he said, and headed for the door to the veranda. Rita followed him, and they both stood in the morning shade and watched the sheriff's car come slowly over the rise on the paved drive, seeming to take too long to curve around and approach the turn that brought him behind the high hedges. He pulled up behind Herrin's trucks and turned off the engine.
Oddly, the deputy took off his regulation summer western hat and laid it on the seat of the patrol car before he opened the door. As he got out, the scratch of radio transmissions came with him and then went silent as he closed the door. He looked around as he walked over to the veranda where Titus and Rita were waiting at the edge of the flagstones, under the morning glory vines. Mourning doves soughed in the rows of peach trees in the orchard, their cooing carrying surprisingly far in the morning stillness.
He bobbed his head at Rita and said, “Ma'am, ”and then reached out his hand to Titus. “Ward Seams, ”he said, dropping the “Deputy.”
“I'm Titus Cain. This's my wife, Rita.”
Now the deputy bobbed his head at her again and shook hands with her, too. He looked at Titus.
“I'm sorry, ”he said, “but I've got some bad news for you, Mr. Cain. I understand Ms. Carla Elster is your personal assistant?”
Titus could only nod. The only thing that remained for him to know was how it had happened.
“Ms. Elster is dead, Mr. Cain.”
Rita gasped, then gasped again, two expurgations of air that sounded as if she'd been hit in the stomach. Titus couldn't respond at all.
Seams talked slowly, carefully, as if he were trying to coax a frightened animal.
“She was found just about an hour ago near her home,” he said. “She was lying by the roadside. Been jogging. EMS people tell us it looks like she died of allergic reaction to insect stings.”
Incredibly, Rita gasped again. Seams threw a look at her again and then went on.
“She was wearing identification, ”he explained. “EMS took her to Seton downtown. I went by the house and neighbors told me her two daughters were out of town for the summer. They told me she worked for CaiText, and the people there told me she worked for you. That you were old friends.”
He reached out and put his hand on Titus's shoulder, an unexpected gesture.
“I'm really sorry, Mr. Cain. ”And he seemed to be. He looked at Rita again, then back at Titus. “This is hard, I know, but I need to ask you some questions about the girls. We need to talk about how to handle it. Somebody has to tell them. We've got to decide how to go about doing that.”
Rita had sat down in one of the wrought-iron chairs in the veranda and was crying as Titus stood and watched the deputy's car go down the drive to the front gate. He watched it until it was out of sight.
What he was feeling was indescribable. It was an emotion like no other, and it grew stranger as he stood under the morning glories and listened to Rita crying softly, even politely, but without consolation. There was a world of bewilderment in her weeping as well as fear and anger and stupefaction and emotions that no one had ever named.
For Titus, though, the overriding feeling was one of nausea driven by an appalling sense of guilt. If he had… if he had… if he had… In an instantaneous swarm of remembrances, he blamed Luquin… and Gil Norlin… and Garcia Burden… and himself for not seeing at every turn where all this was going, for not having enough insight, for not having enough intelligence, for not having enough savvy… for not having enough guts…
“Goddamn it all! ”he swore, and wheeled around, his face flushing, his body thrilling with the adrenaline that was exploding through him, driven by the hyperagitation of his own mind. “Goddamn it! ”he repeated, and barged across the veranda and onto the courtyard, headed for the guest house, where Burden had spent what was left of the night instead of going back down the hill.
“Titus! ”Rita lifted her head out of her hands. “Titus!” She stood, but she was frozen to the spot.
Titus flung open the door of the guest house with such force that it slammed against the inside wall like a gunshot. His entrance was so volcanic that Herrin and Cline, who were working at computer monitors, actually jumped to their feet in shocked surprise.
“Where the hell's Burden, ”he demanded, his throat thick with emotion, just as Burden stood up from the sofa where he'd been sitting, his telephone still to his ear.
“Get off the goddamned phone, ”Titus barked at him.
Burden said something into the phone and snapped it shut. The two men faced each other.
