Текст книги "Tasting Fear"

Автор книги: Shannon McKenna

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Текущая страница: 30 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

Rafael’s gaze shifted, from Vivi to Jack, back again. “Ah. I understand, angel. You just think about it. I won’t push.”

Vivi turned to Jack and reached out to take his hand. “The band is starting another song. Let’s go back near the stage, okay?”

Jack’s hand was stiff, unresponsive. “I’m ready to leave,” he said.

Rafael’s smile faded. He looked at Jack fingering the waxed ends of his moustache. “I hope I haven’t put you in a tight place, love,” he said. “Will you think about it?”

“Certainly, I’ll think about it,” Vivi said quietly. “And thank you. It’s a beautiful offer, and you’re a wonderful friend.”

Rafael gave her an impulsive hug. “Give me your cell number. Promise me you’ll give it some serious thought. I’ll walk you out to the van.”

She pulled out her phone. “I don’t get much mobile coverage out where I live,” she told him. “I’ll give you the landline number at my shop, and at Jack’s house, too.”

They exchanged various numbers as they strolled. Rafael’s eyes grew nostalgic as they stopped at the van. He turned to Jack. “Did Viv tell you that I—”

“Yeah, she told me,” Jack said dourly. “You painted the serpent.”

Rafael’s eyes turned dreamy. “This was my best van painting. I’d be more than willing to paint the other side for you, love. How about a portrait of the two of you? Chain-mail bathing suits, shreds of fur, a flaming sword? You can be hugging his leg. I love it when the girl hugs the guy’s leg.” His gaze flicked to Jack’s muscular thigh. “Mmmm.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Vivi said quickly. “I like just having the one.”

“I had such wild times in that van,” Rafael reminisced. “One night Billy and Ronnie and I got some tequila and limes and salt, and we—”

“You told me that story,” Vivi interrupted hastily.

“I painted that scene after I broke up with Ronnie,” Rafael said, wistfully. “That was my ‘man-alone-battling-his-demons’ period.”

“Yeah, that about sums up the last few years of my life, too,” Vivi said ruefully. She dug her keys out of her purse and gave Rafael a hug. “It was great to see you, Rafael. I’m happy to see you doing so well.”

“Thank you, angel. Let me know what you decide. Contact me on the astral plane, by all means, but call my cell phone, too, okay?”

“I’ll do that. Thanks.”

Jack climbed into the van and slammed his door shut. Rafael waved exuberantly as she backed out of the parking spot.

The silence was unbearable in the van. Jack sat like a graven image in the dark, not responding to her attempts to speak. They got to the toll bridge, and she scrabbled in the dark for quarters. He handed her the change. The small contact gave her courage.

She flung them into the basket. “Jack,” she began.

“Don’t start,” he said, in the cool, detached voice she had not heard for weeks. Not since before they had become lovers.

“But you have the wrong idea. Rafael is a good friend, but he talks too much, and he has no idea where my head is right now—”

“Shut up and drive, Vivi,” he said.

She closed her mouth with a snap. When she pulled into the driveway at home and killed the engine, he got out without a word and headed toward the house.

Vivi stared after him, wondering if she was still welcome in there.

Edna leaped and bounded at his heels, licking at his hand as he unlocked the front door, shoving her way in when the door opened. In any case, she had to retrieve her rambunctious dog. She walked slowly up onto the porch and stepped inside, shutting the door. It was dark inside the big room, but he had not turned on any lights, and she didn’t either. The dark made it easier.

“I don’t want Rafael’s job, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she told him. “It’s a fabulous offer, but it’s not for me.”

“That’s not how it looked.” Jack’s voice was bleak. “You looked tempted. And you should be. That job’s a road back to the career you always wanted. All your hopes and dreams and training. Do what you have to do. Don’t let me hold you back.”

She shook her head in helpless dismay. “But I have everything I need, right here! Rafael was trying to help me, but I don’t need any help! His timing just sucked, that’s all!”

“No, his timing was perfect,” Jack said. “I was starting to delude myself. I owe him for bringing me back to earth.”

That drove her right over the top. She ran over to him, and whacked at his chest with the heels of her hands. “You were not deluding yourself!” she yelled. “You were starting to trust me, and I deserve to be trusted! We have something special!” She whacked him, trying to shove him back toward the couch. “Thick-brained lug! Would you just take a goddamn chance on me?”

He trapped both her wrists in one hand. “Don’t get in a wresting match with me, Viv.”

“Why the hell not?” she shot back. “Why try to be good? What’s the point of controlling myself? Why even bother?”

“Because I’ll win.” He dragged her close and cupped her ass so she could feel his erection. “Is that what you want? I’ll give it to you like that, if it is. I’ll give it to you right now.”

They stared at each other, grim and furious. Angry as she was, he still aroused her. Her heart pounded when he tossed her onto the couch and shoved up her skirt. His fingers parted her folds, slid inside her, found her wet and yielding.

She clenched around his delving fingers. Ashamed, to make it so goddamn easy for him. It wasn’t right. She shoved at his chest, but without much strength. She was trembling, melting down.

And wondering, too, with what small measure of wit she had left, if sex might make him more mellow and receptive.

“You love it like this.” He wrenched open his belt. “I can feel it.”

“And? What if I do?” she responded, her voice shaking. “And besides. It’s not ‘it’ that I love. It’s you! Get it through your thick head!”

“Shut up, and let me work on the one thing we’ve got going for us,” he muttered, sliding the thick bulb of his cockhead up and down her slit.

“Don’t shush me, you son of a bitch—” Her protests were cut off as he kissed her. His kiss was angry and fierce, but so was she. She clawed at him, clutched him, cursed at him. Wound her fingers into his hair and kissed him as he spread her legs and nudged himself inside.

He thrust hard, driving inside all at once. It hurt, excited though she was. She cried out, and he stopped, lifting his panting mouth from hers. Staring into her shadowy eyes.

She jerked him closer with a furious yank. Ashamed to be sucked into that vortex of craving so instantly, but she was in it now, and there was nothing to do but ride it out to the end. Every plunging stroke of his cock was a licking lash of guilty delight. His hands on her breasts, his hot mouth, madly kissing her, his big body, pumping hard…yes.

She came, shuddering and wailing. He was still driving hard toward his own pleasure when she realized that he hadn’t used latex, but she couldn’t stop or even speak. Just whimper, at each wet slap of contact. His breath hissed with each jolt, gaining momentum, straining, jerking…and he flung back his head and came. And came, and came. Hot jets spurted inside her. He collapsed over her, panting.

Vivi stared up at the dark ceiling, pushed far beyond any recognizable emotion. Her fingers still wound into his hair, as if she could hold on to him. But no. He was slipping away. Receding into the distance.

And there wasn’t a goddamn thing she could do about it.

The sweat on their bodies was cool before either of them dared to move. He lifted his head, cleared his throat. “I, ah…I didn’t, um…”

“Yes,” she said. “I noticed that.”

He pulled himself out, stuffed himself back into his jeans, keeping his back turned to her. “Is it a dangerous time?” he asked.

“So-so,” she said. “I’m not too regular. Hard to say.” She got up, smoothed her skirt down. His sperm trickled hotly down her leg. “I wish I knew what you were trying to prove with this demonstration. That I’m a weak slut who can’t say no? That you’re stronger than me? What’s the message, Jack?”

“No message,” he said. “I just couldn’t stop. It’s that simple.”

She laughed, bitterly, and pressed her hand to her leaky nose, longing for a tissue. “Simple, my ass. You’re anything but simple.”

He sighed. “Jesus, Viv. This is hell. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to believe me when I say I love you,” she said.

He was silent for a moment. “Fine,” he said. “Marry me, then.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “Ah…what?”

“You heard me.”

She stared at his inscrutable silhouette, then got up and turned on the lamp on the table by the couch. His face was hard, as if he were bracing himself for a blow. She exhaled, slowly. “Jack,” she said.

“We’re already working on making a baby, right? So let’s go all the way. Tomorrow, we go to town. We’ll get our documents in order.”

“You bastard,” she whispered.

“Yes or no, Vivi,” he said. “It’s a simple question.”

Vivi chose her words carefully. “It’s not a simple question. It’s not a real marriage proposal. It’s a rocket grenade attack. You’re setting me up. And jerking me around.”

He grunted. “That sounds suspiciously like a no.”

“That sounds like an it depends,” she said. “If I said yes now, you wouldn’t believe me anyway. Not in the state you’re in.”

She put her hand against his chest. He stepped back. Her hand dropped. “But since you haven’t said yes, we’ll never know, will we?”

Dread twisted in Vivi’s stomach. “I need for you to believe me,” she said. “I can’t keep trying to convince you. You’re exhausting me.”

“So get it over with. Dump me, Viv. I can’t stand the suspense.”

Vivi pressed her hand against her trembling mouth. “Dump you? How can I? That would imply that we were involved in a relationship. But we never were, according to you. You never let me get that close. You just wanted to fuck me, remember? And stay in the moment. So that’s where I’ve been living, Jack. For weeks, now. The moment.”

He was silent for a moment. “The moment’s over.”

“Yeah. I see.” She mopped angrily at her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Party’s over, huh? Everybody out of the pool.”

“Time for you to move on to the next big adventure. No regrets.”

Vivi put both hands over her face to block out the sight of him.

“You can stay up in the apartment for as long as you need to, of course,” he added, stiffly. “I’m not throwing you out to the wolves.”

A derisive laugh jerked out of her. “As if I would. Don’t worry. I’m convinced. I’ll be gone as soon as I can pack.”

She wiped her hands on her skirt and started to walk past him toward the door. As if she were walking the plank.

One sign from him, the slightest softening, and she’d fall over backward. Marry him. Have his children. Weld herself to him. She stopped moving when she passed in front of him. Waited. Hoping.

“Better sooner than later,” was all he had to say.

Well, then. She walked on outside, as stiff as an automaton.

She went up to the apartment, began to pack. She hadn’t bought much stuff since she’d been there, just a set of Miraben’s plates. She’d been sprawled all over Jack’s life. Eating off his dishes, using his soap, sleeping in his bed. Too busy madly boinking to think of how she was going to feel when it all came crashing down on her head.

As she’d known it would. Goddamn it, she’d known. She was so pissed at herself.

She filled her arms with shopping bags, and staggered to the van. Soldier on, she told herself. You’ve been through worse.

But she didn’t feel strong. Why bother soldiering on? To where? She was going nowhere. Her life sucked. The Fiend was welcome to it.

Well, then again. Maybe she wouldn’t go quite that far.

Several of her new Miraben dishes broke as she tossed the box down onto the floor of the van. She didn’t bother to check how many.

Chapter

10

John waited until the last few people came out of the Wilder Gallery. An hour or so ago there had been an exodus of well-dressed buttheads flooding out of the big opening for some hotshot new artist. The ones trickling out now were the employees of the gallery itself.

He shrank back into the shadows behind a Dumpster as the skinny foreign slut came out. Her tits were shoved up into a glittering silver tube dress, her lips shiny with hot-red lipstick, and her black hair was freshly bobbed with cruelly short bangs, like a dominatrix. Wilder’s assistant, Damiana.

She was usually the last one to go, apart from Wilder himself. Probably stayed behind to suck the boss’s dick.

And there was Wilder, a few minutes later, stepping out the door. Last one to go. Bastard didn’t trust anyone else to close for him. First he armed the alarm with his remote, punching in a code. Then he got to work on all the locks and bolts. After came the rolldown metal door.

John sauntered over while he was still working on the locks. “Evening, Mr. Wilder.”

The guy jerked back, hit the door, and dropped his keys. “What?”

John smiled, toothily. “Good evening,” he repeated.

“What are you doing here?” Wilder’s forehead was already shiny.

“I’m here to discuss the phone call we had a couple of hours ago.”

“What’s there to discuss? I already told you everything I managed to learn. Rafael Siebling was here tonight at the opening. He ran into D’Onofrio yesterday, in Oregon. Some place called Pebble River. She’s opening a shop there. That’s what I was told, and that’s absolutely all I know. I did not speak with her, or get her number. I cannot help you any more than that, so…so, uh, good night.”

Wilder gave him a smile that said, Alrighty, then, you big inconvenient asshole, you’re dismissed. John waited until that smile started to quiver, and unravel itself. Into the raw components of fear.

“How about Rafael Siebling’s address?” John asked softly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have it. It really shouldn’t be all that hard to find. His gallery is very ‘in’ these days, though I can’t imagine why. He has no taste. All flash, no content. I don’t have his number in my cell phone because he’s the last person I would ever call. I don’t even know why he came in here tonight. To gloat, I suppose.”

“Gloat?” John cut off the guy’s babbling. “Why would he gloat?”

Wilder made an impatient sound. “Oh, he and Viv are old friends,” he said. “I think he wanted to rub it in about her new boyfriend. As if I gave a shit who she fucks. She could do dogs and pigs for all I care.”

New boyfriend? A hot, red glow began to obscure John’s vision. His hands clenched. Boyfriend. So, it was true. Vivien, too. A slut, just like her slut sisters. He pictured her writhing and begging, taking it in every hole. And, all the while, laughing at him. Mocking at him.

Brian had shrunk back against the door, hands up, and his voice was a constant breathless babble that John cut off.

“What’s the name of the new boyfriend?”

“Like I care,” Wilder said. “Some big redneck farmer clod.”

John immediately pictured the raw-boned, thick-necked guy, naked but for a John Deere cap, fucking Vivien from behind. She was bent over a bale of hay, squealing with delight at each poke, and looking up at John, that pink mouth open and panting, eyes bright with lust and malicious glee. Calling John a tub of lard. A big, dumb fuck.

Punish. He had to punish someone. Had to calm the screaming inside him. The wild hurricane wind. It wanted something. Tidal waves, atom bombs rigged to blow, hammers crushing. Had to be appeased.

Punish. Now.

“You must have Siebling’s number in your office files,” he said.

Wilder looked blank. “I don’t think so.”

“But you’re not sure, hmm?” John picked up the bunch of keys, and shoved them into Wilder’s limp hand. “Let’s go check.”

“I really…uh…I don’t think that would be a good—”

“Let’s…go…check.” John hissed the last word, a sharp, silibant punch that made Wilder cringe against the door.

“Ah, um, whatever,” he muttered. He unlocked the door with hands that shook. “But I’m sure it’s useless.”

“We’ll see,” John said. Blood roared in his ears.

The place was dark, but Wilder flipped an all the big hanging banks of lights that hung from the high ceiling. He muttered as John followed him through the main gallery. They passed tables, one of which had several bottles half full of white and red wine, and trays of food with silver brocade cloth napkins flung over them.

Wilder’s nervous prattle came briefly into focus, like a radio tuning into an elusive frequency. “…useless cunt didn’t even finish cleaning up the food,” he said. “I’m kicking her scrawny little Italian ass tomorrow. If we get rats, it’s her fault.”

He started up the staircase, shooting nervous little looks over his shoulder. As if he thought John was going to play grab-ass with him.

But Wilder’s ass did not appeal to him. And it would take a lot more than that to calm the screaming, the pounding inside him.

He followed Wilder all the way around the upper balcony level of the gallery, to the lavish office in the back. Wilder unlocked the door, and pushed it open, blocking the door with his body. “Ah, one moment,” he said. “Wait here. I’ll check that address for you.”

Not in this universe, you little squeaking shitbird. John smiled and followed him in. Wilder rolled his eyes and scurried to his desk. He powered up the laptop and thumbed through his desk Rolodex. He clicked and tapped on the laptop, and shook his head.

“Sorry, no Rafael Siebling here,” he sang out. “Can’t help you.”

“Then why don’t you just do a search for me, on your computer?”

The guy looked miffed. As if he were way too important to perform such a basic, simple favor for John. As if he were better than John.

Giving him that look. The look that said, “You big, dumb fuck.”

John began walking toward the desk. Wilder turned gray, and scrambled to punch Siebling’s name into the search engine.

“Hey!” His voice was passionately relieved. “Here’s his gallery’s home site. I’ll just print out this page for you.” The printer’s buttons lit up. It hummed, and spat out a sheet of paper. Wilder grabbed it and handed it to John with a big, fake smile. “See? Address, phone number, e-mail, and website address. So glad to help. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment that I’m already late for.”

John glanced at his watch. 2:39 A.M. “At this hour?”

Wilder yanked the door open. “Don’t want to keep her waiting. You know. Women.” That genial tone, that world weary-smile irritated the shit out of John. Condescending to him. You big, dumb fuck.

The mocking words echoed in his head as he followed Brian out the door onto the gallery walkway. Wilder began walking faster. John lengthened his stride, closed the gap. Wilder began to trot.

Enough. John leaped, took him down. Wilder’s shoulder hit, with a brutal crunch, against the iron balcony rail. Wilder started to scream.

It hurt John’s head. There was already too much screaming inside, that constant screaming, driving him crazy. He grabbed the guy by his collar and his belt, lifted, swung, heaved him over the rail….

The screaming stopped.

Ah. He could breathe again, in the sweet, calm silence. John panted there for a moment, enjoying a sensation of intense relief, and began to stroll the entire perimeter of the balcony. It gave him an opportunity to enjoy the effect of his handiwork from every angle.

He was feeling much better. His vision had cleared, his breathing deepened, his heartbeat normalized. He was even feeling…nibblish.

He stopped at the table next to the enormous Waylan Winthrop bronze that held pride of place in the center of the gallery. The one he’d been so fascinated with a few weeks before. The one entitled Teeth.

He grabbed one of the napkins, and loaded it up with water crackers, mini caviar sandwiches, chunks of cheese, artichoke tarts. And a couple of juicy pineapple chunks from the remains of the fruit bowl. He’d be wise to tank up on food. There would be no time for a meal. He’d need to race to whatever airport had the earliest flight to Portland, Oregon. That old turd Haupt would insist on going, too, but at least John had finally gotten a lead. Maybe it would earn a break from the scolding. Lucky, that he’d been able to unload some bad energy.

He stuffed his face with tasty tidbits as he gazed up at the new, revised version of Teeth. Dark drops of blood plopped heavily down, dangerously close to his shoes. He moved his feet out of range and ate another couple of juicy chunks of pineapple as he gazed up, admiring the effect. He dug out his cell, framed the shot, snapped a few pictures.

He’d gotten a feeling, weeks ago, when he first saw those sharp, spiky teeth pointing straight up into the air, that the sculpture was missing something. It lacked that extra little thing, some color, some interest, that would really make it pop.

It was perfect, now.

The gophers were eating the Asiatic lilies again. He was going to have to rotate the bulbs to another field. The idea exhausted him.

Jack rocked back on his heels and stared at the big, spotted orange lilies, struggling to remember what the fuck he was doing. Bucket. Lilies. Clippers, in his hand. Yes, it would seem that he was cutting them. Then, haul them to the cooler. Before dawn, he had to drive them into Portland.

He grabbed the bucket, pushed his way listlessly through the towering stalks of Aconitum columbianum. The royal blue blossoms were about to open. The vivid pink of the Campanula medium hurt his eyes. The Penstemon azureus was about ready. And the Crocosmia ‘Lucifer.’ The gladioli, too. He was behind. Slacking off. He’d been too busy rolling around in bed to keep up with his flowers. He was going to lose money if he didn’t haul ass. That idea exhausted him even more.

He hauled the bucket across the field and squatted in front of the Physostegia, staring stupidly at the white blossoms. Snip. Put the cut stalk upright into the bucket. Mind on what he was doing. Second by second. Better to get used to it all at once. Much better than to get attached just to have it ripped away again. He’d be okay. He always was.

But she was everywhere. The cosmos flower reminded him of her posture. Colored yarrow, crimson bee balm made him think of her hair, her lips. His bed seemed as wide as a football field without her curled up in it. And her freckles. Faint constellations on her shoulders and throat. He knew them the way an astronomer knew the night sky.

He stared at a ladybug that was clambering into the glowing white cavity of a half-open Physostegia blossom, and thought of her skin, her throat. Her red hair, vivid against his pillows.

He’d never even told her he loved her. Didn’t want to confuse things, complicate things.

It was raining. He’d hunkered on his haunches so long, his feet had fallen asleep. He staggered to a tree and leaned against it, waiting for the pins and needles to die down. Rain pattering on the pine needles reminded him of the first time he’d seen her. The way her shirt clung.

He picked up the bucket and slogged toward the house, with the vague notion of making coffee, maybe some lunch, though it was late for lunch. He hadn’t eaten any breakfast. He’d have coffee. See if there was anything edible in the fridge. Didn’t really care if there wasn’t.

In his kitchen, he was as confused and slow as he had been in the field. Coffee. He unscrewed the pot, moving like an arthritic old man. Grabbed the half-and-half out of the fridge. The carton was empty.

He stared at it, wondering what he must have been thinking, putting an empty carton back into the fridge. So, he’d drink it black.

It took a long time to realize that the phone was ringing. Even longer to decide whether or not he cared enough to answer it. Whoever was calling was stubborn to the point of insanity. His brain kept count. Twenty-two rings, twenty-three, twenty-four.

Blessed silence. He’d just breathed a sigh of relief and slumped back down again when the fucking thing began to ring again. Jack jerked to his feet with a filthy epithet, and grabbed the thing off the wall. “Yeah! Who the hell is this?”

There was a nervous pause. “Uh, this is Rafael Siebling. Is Vivi there? Because I really need to—”

“No, she’s not here, and she’s not going to be in the future. Delete this number from your phone, and call her fucking cell.”

He slammed the phone down, suppressing a twinge of guilt at having been needlessly rude. The guilt evaporated in an instant when the phone rang again. He snatched it up. “What?” he bellowed.

“I will overlook what an asshole you are because this is so important,” Rafael said, his voice frigid. “I have to talk to Vivi, and I—”

“I told you! She’s moved out! Call her cell!”

“I did, you cretin!” Rafael yelled back. “Her cell’s not working! And I have to get in touch with her, like, now! It’s a matter of life or death!”

Jack finally registered the fear in the man’s voice. Life or death? A chill gripped him. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Well, since you’re so monumentally uninterested in anything having to do with Vivi, I won’t bore you with—”

“Cut the shit.” Jack’s voice slashed across the other man’s nervous bitching. “Just tell me.”

“It’s a creepy coincidence.” The other man’s voice shook. “I went to an opening at Brian Wilder’s gallery last night. The man is evil incarnate, but I thought it would be fun to do a little networking at Wilder’s expense and let that nasty dickhead know that Vivi’s happy and thriving, since he tried so hard to destroy her. But of course he didn’t succeed, because she’s a goddess with more talent in her pinkie than—”

“And the creepy coincidence?” Jack’s guts twisted nastily.

“It’s horrible.” Rafael’s voice rose in pitch. “The prick deserved it, if anyone ever could, but even so, it gives me the shudders that I was actually talking to him just hours before it happened, and he just—”

“What happened to him?” Jack bellowed.

“He…well, his assistant found him this morning. Impaled on the spikes of a big Waylan Winthrop bronze sculpture, like a hot dog on a stick. They say the sculpture was completely drenched with blood. Wilder’s assistant is in the hospital, having a total breakdown.”

Jack’s body was electrified with fear. Thrumming with the excess voltage. “And Vivi won’t answer her cell?”

“I’ve been calling for over an hour. As soon as I found out.”

Jack ran it through his head. “Did you tell Wilder where Viv was?”

“I did mention that I saw her at a concert in Pebble River night before last,” Rafael faltered. “And…but why should that…” His voice choked off for a moment. He gasped. “Oh, my God,” he whispered. “Oh, my sweet God. What the fuck is going on?”

“Are you at home now?” Jack demanded.

“No, actually. I left this morning to meet a friend up in East Hampton. Why?”

“Don’t go home,” Jack said. “Under any circumstances.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Rafael moaned. “What have I done? What in holy hell is she mixed up in?”

“It’s bad,” Jack said. “But it’s not her fault. And you’re mixed up in it, too, so watch yourself. I have to go.”

“But I…but no! Wait! Tell me what this is all—”

“I have to go find Viv. If they knew where she was late last night, they could be here by now. Or they could call someone in the area. Call this number.” He rattled off Duncan’s cell to the other man. “That’s Viv’s future brother-in-law. He knows everything. He’ll tell you what to do. Do not go home. You got that straight?”

“Got it,” Rafael echoed faintly.

“Good.” Jack hung up on him and dialed Vivi’s cell from his landline. The recording told him it was turned off or out of area.

The stench of burning rubber assailed his nose as he sprinted through the room. The coffee had all boiled away, and the heat had melted the rubber ring while he was on the phone.

He flipped off the gas, on the fly, and bolted toward his gun safe.

Vivi locked up her shop and headed toward her van. She’d finished painting the place, finally, and she was a rumpled, snarled, ivory-spattered mess. She caught sight of herself in the mirror as she started up the ignition, and winced. Yikes. Eyes red and puffy, face paper white, mouth blurry-looking. But who cared how she looked?

She pointed the van in the direction of Evergreen Acres. She’d asked around yesterday, and that was the one place she could afford that would accept her dog. It also bordered on a creek and had a little forested area nearby for Edna to run and catch sticks and do her doggie business. The downside was, it was a pathetic dump. It was clear that the creek had overflowed its bounds and flooded the rental units more than once. The number of discolored waterlines and the rotting carpet were her clues. And the overwhelming stench of mold, of course.

The cinder-block cube they’d assigned to her was the last in the row. Tiny and cramped, and it stank of cigarettes, damp, and, faintly, of urine. The ceiling was so splotchy, it looked like it would fall down right on top of her. The curtains were full of cigarette holes.

She pulled into the Acres, parked her van next to her wretched little abode, and stared at it, dispirited. Back to roughing it. Making do.

Well, then. Chin up. Feeling sorry for herself would not help. She’d learned that lesson so many times, in so many ways in her life, it still amazed her when the “poor-little-me’s” took her by storm.

She let Edna out of the van, and they headed down to the creek, so Edna could stretch her legs. After that, she would clean up, change, organize her stuff, and get motivated for some tight-assed, one-dollar-a-day grocery shopping. Not that she had any appetite, but still. Starving herself would not help matters. She had to be a grown-up.

She flung the stick for Edna until her arm felt like it was about to fall off, and decided to stop procrastinating. She walked back to the cabin. Staring at the flimsy door with the knob lock that a credit card could swipe open in one pass. At the single-paned windows with the warped, swollen wood sills that she was not able to wrench closed.

She hadn’t known how safe Jack’s infrared alarm and his tough, stalwart presence at her side had made her feel until now. She’d been so relaxed, soft and open inside, for weeks. Now that it was taken away, she felt like a snail with no shell. With fear her constant backdrop.

She shoved the key into the lock. Edna stopped at the threshhold and shrank back, whining, but Vivi was trying so hard to be tough and grown up, and not cringe at the stinky little room, she didn’t register the dog’s gesture until she’d stepped in, flipped on the light—