“No. I’ve left a message for Mish, but she hasn’t called yet.”
Jeannie went on: “Don’t worry. He has no idea we’re onto him. But you haven’t heard the best part. Who else do we know called Jones?”
“Berrington, of course! I think Harvey has been brought up as Berrington’s son!”
She took his hand. “Hey, look at your nails!”
“They grow so fast! When you came out of jail, they were all jagged and broken. Now they look great!”
“I always heal fast.”
She turned his hand over and licked his palm.
“You’re hot today,” he said.
“Oh, God, I’ve come on too strong, haven’t I?” She had been told this by other men. Steve had been kind of reticent ever since he came in, and now she understood why. “I know what you’re saying. All last week I was pushing you away, and now you feel like I’m about to eat you for supper.”
He nodded. “Yeah, sort of.”
‘That’s just the way I am. Once I decide for a guy, that’s it.” She bounced up out of the couch. “Okay, I’m backing off.” She went into the kitchen nook and took out an omelet pan. It was so heavy she needed both hands to lift it. “I bought food for you yesterday. Are you hungry?” The pan was dusty—she did not cook much—so she wiped it with a dishcloth. “Want some eggs?”
“Not really. So tell me, were you a punk?”
She put down the pan. “Yeah, for a while. Ripped clothes, green hair.”
“Drugs?”
“I used to do speed at school whenever I had the money.”
“Which parts of your body did you pierce?”
She suddenly remembered the centerfold on Harvey Jones’s wall, of the shaved woman with a ring through the lips of her cunt, and she shuddered. “Only my nose,” she said. “I gave up punk for tennis when I was fifteen.”
“I knew a girl who had a nipple ring.”
Jeannie felt jealous. “Did you sleep with her?”
“Sure.”
“Bastard.”
“Hey, did you think I was a virgin?”
“Don’t ask me to be rational!”
He held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Okay, I won’t.”
“You still haven’t told me what happened to your dad. Did you get him released?”
“Why don’t I phone home and get the latest news?”
If she heard him dialing a seven-digit number, she would know he was making a local call, whereas his father had mentioned that Steve Logan lived in Washington, D.C. He held the cradle down with a finger while he tapped three random digits, to represent an area code, then he released it and dialed his father’s home.
Dad answered, and Harvey said: “Hi, Mom.” He gripped the handset hard, hoping his father would not say, “Who is this? You must have the wrong number.”
But his father got it immediately. “You’re with Jeannie?”
“Colonel Logan is still under arrest, but he’s not in jail. The military police have him.”
“That’s too bad, I was hoping he might have been released by now.”
Hesitantly, Dad said: “Can you tell me … anything?”
Harvey was constantly tempted to glance at Jeannie and check whether she was buying his act. But he knew such a glance would give him a guilty air, so he forced himself to stare at the wall. “Jeannie has worked wonders, Mom. She’s discovered the real rapist.” He tried hard to put a pleased tone into his voice. “His name’s Harvey Jones. We’re just waiting for the detective to return her call so she can break the news.”
“Jesus! That’s terrible!”
“Yeah, isn’t it great!”
“At least we’re forewarned. Can you stop her talking to the police?”
“I think I have to.”
“What about Genetico? Does she have any plans to publicize what she’s found out about us?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Make sure you find out. That’s important too.”
“Is it safe?”
“Just ask for Steve.” He laughed, as if he had made a joke.
“Jeannie might recognize my voice. But I could get Preston to make the call.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay.”
“Bye.” Harvey hung up.
Jeannie said: “I ought to call police headquarters again. Maybe they didn’t understand how urgent this is.” She picked up the phone.
He realized he was going to have to kill her.
“Kiss me again first,” he said.
She slid into his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. She opened her mouth to his kiss. He stroked her side. “Nice sweater,” he murmured, then he grasped her breast with his big hand.
Her nipple stiffened in response, but somehow she did not feel as good as she expected to. She tried to relax and enjoy the moment she had been looking forward to. He slipped his hands under her sweater, and she arched her back slightly as he held both her breasts. As always, she suffered a moment of embarrassment, fearful that he would be disappointed with them. Every man she had ever slept with had loved her breasts, but she still harbored the notion that they were too small. Like the others, Steve showed no sign of dissatisfaction. He pushed up her sweater, bent his head to her chest, and started sucking her nipples.
She looked down at him. The first time a boy had done this to her she had thought it was absurd, a reversion to childhood. But she had soon come to like it and even enjoyed doing it to a man. Now, however, nothing was working. Her body responded, but some doubt nagged at the back of her mind and she could not concentrate on pleasure. She was annoyed with herself.
He sensed her unease. Straightening up, he said: “You’re not comfortable. Let’s sit on the couch.” Taking her agreement for granted, he sat down. She followed. He smoothed his eyebrows with the tip of his index finger and reached for her.
She flinched away.
“What?” he said.
“You … you … did that thing, with your eyebrow.”
“What thing?”
