“Oh, I’m not sure that’s-” I started.
“I’ll take the couch.”
Oh. Right.
“No, I don’t want to put you out. I’m fine on the couch, thanks,” I protested.
But Cal ignored me, taking my bag and leading the way to a room at the end of the hall. He flipped on the light.
I’m not sure what I had expected Cal’s bedroom to look like. Maybe a few guns, posters of Rambo on the walls, camouflaged bedding. But, instead, I found myself in your average bachelor bedroom. A comforter in dark navy, a black dresser in the corner, hamper just slightly overflowing with dirty laundry. The only thing that wasn’t average was the larger than life fuzzy velvet portrait of Elvis on the wall.
I smirked.
“You have something against the King?” Cal asked.
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak without giggling.
“Good.” He grinned. “I’ll put some fresh towels in the bathroom. Let me know if you need anything else.”
With that, he backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him. I could hear him rummaging in the linen closet as I slipped out of my jeans and turned off the light, sliding between the sheets.
Cal’s sheets.
They were cool and smooth beneath my skin, and I was suddenly hyper aware that
I got up and put my jeans back on, then slid in again. Not that it helped. I could smell his aftershave on the pillow. Subtle, just a whisper of woodsy scent. But there. So very there. I inhaled, burying my face in it. And felt myself relax, the tension, adrenaline, and worry of the day slipping away as I melted into his pillow.
I was swimming. The water cool and smooth, enveloping my limbs. I peeled through the water. Long, even strokes, legs pumping, arms reaching, lungs burning. It felt great. Wonderful. I was in a lane that seemed to go on for miles. No matter how hard I pumped, I was still swimming, never seeming to get closer to the end, never hitting that wall. I pumped harder, faster, pushing with everything I had. If anything, the wall seemed to get farther away.
And then it happened.
The water started to cloud. Red. Swirls of bright red liquid surrounding me like tendrils as they mixed with the chlorinated water. I reached out to touch one, watching the wisps of colors slide over my fingers. Then there was more. And more. Suddenly the entire pool was red. Bloodred.
I screamed. Long, loud, lashing in the bloody water, feeling it suck me down, down, down. Lower and lower until no one could hear my screams anymore.
“Tina!” A sharp voice barked out my name.
I shot awake, blinking up into the face beside me. Cal.
What the hell was Cal doing in my bed?
I blinked again, my eyes slowly focusing on the room around me until I realized this wasn’t my bed, it was his. And his sheets were wrapped around my legs, tangled and twisted, his pillow clutched in my hands in a death grip.
“Hey, you okay?” Cal asked.
I looked down. And noticed that his hand was resting on my thigh. I gulped.
“Yeah. Just…a bad dream, I guess.”
“Well, I’d say after last night, you’re entitled to a nightmare or two.”
I sat up, shrugging Cal’s hand off and rubbing my eyes. “Aunt Sue up?”
He nodded. “Yeah, she’s in the kitchen making French toast.”
That woke me up. “She’s cooking?”
“Don’t worry. I’m supervising closely.” He looked down at my jeans as I jumped out of bed. And smiled.
“What?”
“You always wear jeans to bed?”
“I was cold,” I said. Even though the feel of Cal’s silky sheets on my bare skin had left me anything but.
“Well, let me know next time. You can borrow some sweats,” he said, rising from the bed and leading the way to the kitchen.
I found Aunt Sue at the little turquoise stove, manning a pan of egg-battered bread, a cup of coffee in one hand.
“’Morning,” I said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
“What?” she asked. I noticed her ears conspicuously absent of hearing aids.
“Goo-d morn-ing,” I enunciated.
“Huh?”
“Good morning!”
“Oh. Well, good morning to you, peanut. But there’s no need to shout, I’m right here.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right.” I leaned over and inspected the pan. Right color, right smell, no charred edges-so far so good.
“I took the liberty of calling your Aunt Millie,” Cal said, handing me a cup of coffee. Black with sugar. Perfect. I took a grateful sip. “She agreed to come visit with Sue again today.”
I nodded. “Good plan.”
“We’re going over to Hattie’s,” Aunt Sue said. “God rest her soul,” she added, then crossed herself. “Her only family’s some nephew in Hoboken, so I figured we’d pack up her place for her.”
The guilt from last night hit me full force. “That’s nice of you.”
“It’s the least we could do. You know, considering…” Aunt Sue trailed off. Cal cleared his throat. I stared down into my mug. It was unanimous-we all thought I was guilty.
Aunt Sue pulled a plate from the cupboard and transferred a slice of French toast onto it before shoving it in my direction. “Here. Eat something,” she directed.
While food was the last thing I wanted, I obliged. Mostly because the fight had been guilted out of me. I sat down at the tiny dining table, digging into the toast and shoving a forkful into my mouth.
And nearly choked.
I spit the bite back onto my plate, gulping down coffee to put out the fire that had exploded on my tongue.
“What did you put on this?” I finally managed to ask. Though it came out more like, “ut id ou ut in is?” since my tongue had somehow swollen to twice its size.
At first Aunt Sue gave me a blank look. Then she shrugged. “I couldn’t find the cinnamon. So I used cayenne instead. Gives it a bit of a kick, huh?”
I shoved the plate away. “A hell of a kick.”
At least now I was wide awake.
Chapter Twelve
Just as I was finishing my coffee-sans volcanic French toast-my cell rang. It was the LAPD, as predicted, asking Aunt Sue and me to come down to the station to give an official statement about last night. While reliving the scene was the last thing I wanted to do, as Cal had said, I didn’t have much choice in the matter now. I told the officer I’d be there as soon as I could, finished my coffee, and the three of us loaded into Cal’s Hummer.
Three hours later, I had completely spilled my guts to a homicide detective who was the spitting image of Kojak, and Aunt Sue had given a somewhat coherent statement to his partner, a woman with the most severe ponytail I’d ever seen. By the time we were finished, I had renewed purpose. I was going to find this guy if it was the last thing I did.
And I was going to start where we left off yesterday-Blain Hall’s agent.
As soon as we dropped off Aunt Sue at Millie’s, I plugged the agent’s address into Cal’s GPS.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Address of Jerry Leventhal’s place.”
