Jeffery Deaver - XO

Then he seemed to control himself.

She said, “At least, let me clean up? Just a shower please. I don’t feel comfortable like this.”

“I don’t think so.”

She snapped, “And you say you’re Mr. Today? Bullshit. I just want to take a fucking shower and you won’t let me?”

He frowned. “All right. Only don’t say words like that. Don’t ever say words like that again.”

“All right, I won’t.”

“You can take a shower. But you know I have the only keys and there’re no weapons here. And all the windows are barred.”

“I figured that. I really just want to clean up.”

He undid the cuffs and she rubbed her wrists.

Shoulders slumped, she walked through the narrow space into the bathroom.

“Oh, Kayleigh. Wait.”

She stopped and turned. He was awkward. Was his face reddening? “About that woman I was telling you about. The one in Seattle. You don’t have to be jealous. It wasn’t serious between us. I never slept with her. Really. Honest.”

Kayleigh could see he was lying but what shocked her was that he seemed honestly to believe that his fidelity was important to her.

He smiled. “Hurry back, love.” And he walked into the bedroom to wait.

EDWIN COULDN’T DECIDE which of her songs was his favorite.

But then he realized that that debate was a clunker, another of his mother’s terms. It was like you didn’t have a favorite kind of food, you liked everything (well, he did, at any rate-he would have weighed three hundred pounds if Kayleigh hadn’t been in his life to keep him trim).

He clicked the air conditioner on a little higher-with the camouflage tarp covering the trailer it was beastly hot inside. But he still kept the temperature warm. Kayleigh, he’d noticed before she headed to the shower, had been sweating. The beads on her skin had turned him on even more. He imagined licking her temples and scalp and grew even more aroused. It had been okay fucking Sally, with Kayleigh Towne’s voice singing through the speakers, but this would be a thousand times better.

The real thing.

Hey, that was a pretty good title for a song. “The Real Thing.” He’d mention it to her. He had this idea that they could write songs together. He’d come up with the words and she’d write the melodies.

Edwin was good with words.

He thought again: Wedding afternoon. Not wedding night. Afternoon.

That was pretty funny.

That got him wondering if she’d ever made out with anybody when she and her family had lived here. There was that line in her song where she referred to “a little teenage lovin’,” at the old house, which had made him absolutely furious when he’d first heard it. Then he remembered Bishop had sold the place when she was about twelve or thirteen. And because she was a good girl he doubted that she’d done anything more than kiss a boy and maybe do a little petting, which nonetheless also stabbed him with jealousy.

Bobby…

He hoped the fucking roadie had felt a lot of pain as he died. At the convention center he hadn’t screamed as much as Edwin would have liked.

Edwin listened to the running water, pictured her naked inside the shower. He was growing hard. He remembered the article in Rolling Stone about her.

Good Girl Makes Good.

And he decided to relent.

He’d forgive her for fucking Bobby. He’d ask her again and insist she be honest. He had to know but whatever she said, he’d forgive her.

He stripped his shirt off and kneaded his belly. Still a bit of excess skin from where he lost all that weight. But he’d kept the fat off, at least.

Anything for Kayleigh.

Should he take a shower too? No. He’d taken one that morning. Besides, she’d have to get used to having him on top of, or behind, her whenever he was in the mood, whether he was clean or not.

She was his wife, after all.

He turned on the radio and caught the news. It seemed the police hadn’t gone with the innocent interpretation of Kayleigh’s disappearance. Pike Madigan’s voice was explaining solemnly about the kidnapping and alerting people that it was likely that Edwin Sharp and Kayleigh Towne were on their way west, heading toward the Monterey area.

“We don’t know the vehicle they’re in, but go to the website we’ve set up and you can find Sharp’s picture.”

Ah, I knew I could count on you, Sally, you lying little slut. He wondered momentarily who’d gotten her to talk. Kathryn Dance came to mind. Had to be her.

Of course, the diversion about Monterey would buy them only so much time. They’d have to move but this place would be safe for a month or so. Kayleigh had said she liked Austin. Maybe they’d go there next. It was Texas; there had to be wildernesses to hide out in. But then she also had commented in her “On the Road” blog that she liked Minnesota. That might be a better place, especially when she had the baby. The weather would be cooler. Tough to be pregnant in the heat, he imagined.

Babies…

Edwin had Googled that cycle thing about women’s bodies. He wondered where Kayleigh was with that. Then decided it didn’t matter. They’d make love at least every other night, if not more. He’d hit the target sooner or later.

He undid his jeans, slipping his hand into his Jockeys, though he didn’t need any preparation there.

Then the shower water stopped. She’d be toweling off now. He pictured her body. He decided to establish a rule that they had to walk around the trailer naked. They’d only get dressed when they went outside.

Inhaling deeply, he smelled the sweet scent of shampoo fragrance on the humid air.

“Edwin,” Kayleigh said, a playful tone. “I made myself ready for you. Come look.”

Grinning, he walked to the doorway and found her in front of the bathroom door, fully clothed.

Edwin Sharp blinked. Then the smile vanished and he cried out in horror.

“NO, NO, NO! What’d you do?”

She’d found tiny blunt-end fingernail scissors in the vanity kit he’d bought. TSA approved for air travel and therefore safe.

But they would still cut. And that’s just what she’d done with them: she’d sheared off all her hair.

“No!” He stared in horror at the pile of glistening blond strands on the bathroom floor as if looking at the body of a loved one.

“Kayleigh!”

A two- to three-inch mop of ragged fringe covered her head. She hadn’t showered at all, she’d spent the ten minutes destroying her beautiful hair.

In a mad singsong, she mocked, “What’s the matter, Edwin? Don’t you like me now? Don’t you want to stalk me anymore?… It doesn’t matter, does it? You love me, right? It doesn’t matter what I look like.”

“No, no, of course not. It’s just…” He thought he’d be sick. He was thinking, how long does it take for hair to grow?

Ten years, four months…

She could wear a hat. No, he hated women in hats.

“I think it looks like you care a lot. In fact, you look real upset, Edwin.”

“Why, Kayleigh? Why did you do it?”

“To show you the truth. You love the girl on the album covers, on CMT, on the videos and the posters. In Entertainment Weekly. You don’t love me at all. Remember that day we were alone in the theater in Fresno? You said my voice and hair were the best things about me.”

Maybe he could find somebody to take her hair and make a wig until it grew back. How could he do that, though? They’d recognize him, they’d report him. No, no, no, no, no! What was he going to do?

Kayleigh taunted, “You want to fuck me now? Now that I look like a boy?”