Читать книгу The Sinner - Kathleen O'Brien - Страница 9

THE HIPPODROME SUPERMARKET on the outskirts of Heyday wasn’t exactly five-star shopping, but it was open all night, so Bryce made the trip. A disturbingly skinny spaniel had been hanging outside the kitchen door of the fraternity house for the past three days. Its whining was so pitiful Bryce realized he was going to have to feed the mutt. Otherwise, the ghostly frat-boy might end up with a spectral pet.

Bryce hated grocery shopping. Still, if he had to do it, eleven at night was the most desirable time. The brightly lit, cavernous place, which had been total chaos the last time he ventured in, was almost empty.

Half a dozen people, tops. A nurse taking home a frozen dinner after the late shift, a harried father buying diapers, a couple of kids from the college with a cart full of Twinkies and Bud Light, and one red-nosed old guy who was paying for his wine with dimes.

Bryce slung a huge bag of lamb-and-rice nuggets—how horrible did that sound?—into his cart. Then, remembering he was out of coffee, he decided he might as well spare himself a second trip.

Thankfully, his list was short. He hadn’t had the nerve yet to try out the frat house oven, which had about two inches of extremely suspicious black crust under the rack. He would hire a housekeeper eventually, now that he knew he was stuck in Heyday for a couple of months. Till then, he’d just eat out.

Still, he needed to keep the bare minimum on hand. Bread, coffee, beer, an apple or two…

The produce section, which was right next to the beer cooler, was comparatively busy. Two college boys were making a show of suggestively squeezing cantaloupes and alternately moaning and giggling.

Bryce couldn’t help smiling. Morons. If you added both their IQs together, the cantaloupe would still out-score them.

Predictably, they started flirting with a young woman who stood nearby, studying the bananas, a basket filled with fresh spinach and mushrooms hooked over her arm.

“Hi,” one of the boys said, sidling up to her. “Let me tell you about bananas. See, you want to get yourself a nice, firm one. And take my word for it. Bigger is definitely better.”

The boy shot a gleeful look back at his friend, still immature enough to be more interested in scoring joke points with his buddy than anything else. “Yeah,” he went on, delighted with his own brilliance, “these little stubby ones aren’t very satisfying.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”

The young woman’s hands gripped the banana so tightly Bryce was surprised it didn’t pop. He figured that any minute she’d turn and shove the whole thing down that idiot’s throat. Bryce took his time picking out a tomato. He’d enjoy watching that.

But she didn’t do it. Though the punk was waiting for a reaction, the woman just stood there, her hands frozen on the bananas.

Without speaking, she edged farther down the counter. She turned her head away, exposing the graceful, pale nape of her neck between her hairline and her jacket.

Something moved inside Bryce, some primitive awareness that was way ahead of his conscious mind. He knew that neck. He knew that woman.

It was Lara.

Though it was as preposterous as ever, he wasn’t really shocked. It was as if he’d been half expecting this for days, ever since that first class, when he’d looked out the window and hallucinated a vision of her.

Idiot kid. If the boy knew he was making a pass at Lara Lynmore, movie star, he’d probably faint headfirst into the avocados. She could have destroyed him with one look. But she clearly didn’t have the confidence to do that anymore. And why should she? She’d spent ten months stalked by a madman who had probably seemed, at first, to be as goofy and innocent as this kid.

Bryce walked up and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Hey, pal,” he said politely. “Do something for me, would you?”

“Huh?” The kid looked up, too surprised to be hostile. “What?”

Bryce gave him a cold smile. “Shove off.”

Before the kid could react, Bryce picked up the greenest banana on the display. “And take your banana with you. It won’t be ripe for years yet.” He picked up the kid’s slack arm and slapped the banana into his hand. He raised one brow. “If you know what I mean.”

The kid’s friend snickered—he got it, anyhow. And the dark flush creeping over the banana-boy’s smooth cheeks said he got it, too.

“Sure, man, whatever. Hey, I didn’t know she was with you.”

And then, desperately trying to look cool about it, the boys sauntered away.

Bryce took a deep breath and slowly turned around. He came face to face with a snub-nosed, freckle-faced, jean-clad young woman. A typical, grungy coed who just a month ago, according to Vanity Fair, had been Hollywood’s Sexiest Newcomer.

“Lara,” he said. “Lara Lynmore.”

“No.” She spoke softly, shaking her head. “Lara Gilbert.”

She looked so young without her makeup. Her eyes were so dark, so haunted, and her face so pale. He didn’t have the heart to say what he’d been planning to say.

Instead he simply took her basket of vegetables and plopped it into the cart next to his dog food.

“Okay then, Lara Gilbert,” he said. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink. You’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”

LARA WONDERED where Bryce was taking her.

At this hour on a winter’s night, a little town like Heyday was fast asleep. Pointy stars glittered like frost on the black sky, unchallenged by man-made lights. The fields they passed were empty—even horses and cows knew when to hunker down.

Ahead of her, Bryce’s expensive sportscar seemed almost ghostly as it glided down the tree-lined road. Silver metal skimming across glittering snow at the edges of the road, flickering in and out of shadows, brushing past bony black fingers of oak and elm.

He had slowed down once, as they approached a roadside diner. But at that very moment the diner’s marquee lights blinked off, and the clock in Lara’s car changed to midnight. Now what? They were almost ten miles outside the Heyday city limits, halfway to Grupton, the next little town. Was there anything out here at all?

Suddenly his turn signal began to pulse red, warning her that he was about to pull off the road. She looked to the right, surprised to see that a long, low building had sprung up out of the shadows.

Absolutely Nowhere. That’s what the small red neon sign said. The name definitely fit.

Amazingly, at least five other cars were nosed up to the long brick building, looking as if they planned to stay all night. On closer inspection, the place was bigger than she’d realized. The part that fronted the road was small, just an average hideaway bar, but behind that the building stretched out in a long line of brick motel units. Another red sign flickered in front of the first one. Vacancy.

Bryce parked first, then waited so that they could walk in together. A gentlemanly gesture, but his un-smiling silence sent a different message. Lara’s stomach tightened as she brushed past him through the door he politely held open.

Inside, the bar was much more civilized than she’d expected. Booths lined the perimeter, each with a red tablecloth and a red-globed candle. Huge, framed maps decorated every wall, each with a red arrow pointing to some famous city, and the helpful words, “You are NOT here.”

She had to smile. Of course you weren’t in Paris or London or New York. You were Absolutely Nowhere.

And there wasn’t a single zebra in sight. Obviously they were no longer in Heyday, either.

Bryce led her to a booth in the corner, as far away as he could get from the other couples in the room, most of whom were huddled in pairs, twining fingers, nuzzling necks. With surprise, Lara recognized one of the librarians from the college, who was toying with the ear stud on a man about half her age, a man who didn’t look like anybody’s husband. They appeared to be about one drink away from renting a room.

Instinctively, Lara didn’t say hello. She was still uncomfortable drawing attention to herself, for fear someone might recognize her. Besides, Absolutely Nowhere was clearly the in-destination for people who didn’t want to be spotted by the folks back home.

A waitress appeared, and while Bryce ordered his beer, Lara wondered what to get. She’d planned to ask for a sparkling water, but suddenly she thought she might need something stronger.

“I’ll have a rum and Coke,” she said.

“With extra ice, please,” Bryce put in automatically, but he clenched his jaw afterward, as if he regretted saying anything. As if he would like to pretend he didn’t remember that small detail, or anything else about their six weeks together.

But he did remember. Lara hugged that thought.

When the waitress was gone, he leaned back against the bench seat and regarded Lara steadily for a long moment. She fought not to fidget, though she knew she looked awful. That was part of her “disguise,” and it had worked well so far.

In fact, she looked less like a movie star than half the people in this room. At least they had dolled themselves up for their late-night assignations. Lara hadn’t even combed her hair before twisting it back into a plastic clip. Her old jeans were fraying at the cuff, and she was sure this T-shirt had a paint stain on the front.

For the first time in months, she almost wished she had taken her mother’s advice, and never left the house without being painted and costumed and battle-ready.

“Okay, let’s hear it,” he said. “What the devil are you doing in Heyday?”

His voice was cold. He obviously wasn’t going to make this easy. But then, why should he? Back in L.A., he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in pursuing their relationship, and now here she was, living in his hometown. She suddenly realized exactly how strange this must look to him.

“First of all, I’m going to school,” she began. She held up her hand to stave off his protest. “Don’t laugh. It’s true.”

“It may be true, but it’s ridiculous. Unless—is this some kind of undercover research? Did you land a role as a coed?”

“No. It has nothing to do with films. I’m through with films.”

He tilted his head. “Oh, come on.”

His tone wasn’t exactly insulting. He sounded too amused for that. But even so she felt stung.

She was so tired of having this argument. No one could understand why she’d quit, why even a million dollars wasn’t enough to compensate for working at a career you hated. In fact, no one could understand why she’d hated it—wasn’t it what every girl dreamed of?

But the dream of being an actress was very different from the reality. No girl dreamed of standing around for twelve hours straight, with strangers tugging on you as if you were no more human than a mannequin, arguing about how to hide the fact that one breast was a millimeter larger than the other. No one dreamed of seeing your own head superimposed on some naked body, then plastered all over the Internet, or of the nasty, suspiciously stained letters that flooded your mail for months afterward.

No one dreamed about the claustrophobia of never being private, or the isolation of not knowing who to trust. No one dreamed of a stalker.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” she said. “My agent doesn’t believe it. My own mother doesn’t believe it. But I’ve left Hollywood for good. I’m studying to be a music therapist.”

He cocked an eyebrow, a mute but eloquent incredulity.

“This is only my first semester, but I think I might have a talent for it. I’ve always liked to work with people. The very best times, back in Hollywood, were when they sent me to a hospital, or a nursing home. When I could really connect, and be myself. Of course there are lots of ways to make a career working with people. But music is very special to me. I think I’ve always understood its healing qualities. Actually, I’ve used music as a kind of therapy my whole life, to see me through the rough times.”

She heard the crack in her voice, and she stopped. She didn’t want to get maudlin. He would hate that. Besides, he didn’t know a thing about her childhood, about the years before her parents divorced, when tension hung in the air like smoke, hiding terrifying fires she couldn’t see, couldn’t predict, couldn’t avoid. Fires that would flare up suddenly in tears and slamming doors and shattered dinner plates, and in her mother’s blistering tirades. “I’ll leave. And I’ll take Lara with me. You’ll never see your daughter again.”

Finally, one day when Lara was thirteen, the fire went out. Her father left them both for a young woman of twenty-one. And then there was only the cold, empty air of abandonment, and her mother’s determination that they would show him. Lara would be a star.

She tucked the memories back into her subconscious and arranged her face into what she hoped was a calmer control. She even tried to smile. “At least I’m already trained in music. All those years of voice lessons, piano lessons—they might finally be worth something, after all.”

His eyebrow rose. “As I recall, they already were worth something—like a million per movie and climbing.”

“I don’t mean money,” she said. “I mean personal satisfaction.”

He tilted one corner of his mouth wryly. “You may be the only person in Hollywood who thinks there’s a difference.”

“Which is why I didn’t fit in there. Which is why I needed to leave.”

“Sure, for a vacation, maybe. A month in the Bahamas. Even I needed one, after the whole Kenny Boggs thing. I can see why you might have trouble getting over that—the guy was a head case. But you will get over it. You’ll go back.”

Before Lara could respond, the waitress arrived and proceeded to drop cocktail napkins on the table. On each napkin was a cartoon of an angry woman. “Where have you been?” it read above her scowling face. And below it, the answer. “Absolutely Nowhere.”

Lara was glad to have an extra minute to decide how to respond to Bryce. Irrationally, she had hoped he would be different, that somehow, in spite of everything, he might sense her sincerity. But he’d merely echoed exactly what everyone else had said.

There, there, they’d all murmured, patting her back either literally or figuratively. Of course you were terrified, take a break if you need to, come back when you feel better.

They didn’t dare take her decision seriously. They needed her to come back and make them some more money. She’d been shocked to discover how many people had been expecting to get rich on the Lara Lynmore franchise.

“It wasn’t just Kenny,” she said when the waitress had finished arranging their drinks. “It was a lot of things. I understand why you’re skeptical, though. I’m committed to making a new life for myself, but I can see it will take time to convince people.”

“About a hundred years.” He tilted his beer on the napkin, rotating it thoughtfully. “But let’s just say for a minute that you’re serious, that you really want to be a…”

He glanced up.

“Music therapist,” she supplied evenly.

“Right. Even if you really wanted to be a music therapist, why here? You can’t tell me Heyday has the best damn music therapy school on the planet. We don’t have the best anything, except maybe the best selection of cheap souvenir zebras.”

Stalling, she took a sip of her drink. The first part of her explanation had been difficult enough—but it paled in comparison to this.

“Well, I looked at quite a few schools. Lots of colleges offer music therapy majors these days, and I visited several of them. But when I got here—”

She hesitated. How much could she safely say?

Bryce was still looking incredulous. “When you got here, what? You were overwhelmed by the cultural stimulation, the sophisticated residents, the endless choices of shopping, entertainment and excitement?”

She flushed. Is that what he really thought she was all about? Shopping and snobbery and utter self-indulgence?

“Actually,” she said, “I think I was impressed by the lack of all that. I was drawn to the quiet charm. The peace of the place.”

Toying with the damp edge of her napkin, Lara went on without looking at Bryce. “Frankly, I’ve had all the excitement I can stand for a while. And besides—” She raised her gaze. “I was curious about Heyday. The few things you’d said about this little town had been so emotional—”

He laughed. “Yes, but that emotion was pure contempt.”

“Still. It was intense. Obviously your years here had been important in shaping you, and I was curious. I wanted…” She chose her words carefully. “I wanted to know more about you. I—I’ve missed you. When we were together, it was—I was—”

If only she were better with words. If she were playing a role here, someone would hand her the perfect lines, eloquent, powerful words that would miraculously soften his eyes, gentle his tone, unlock his heart. Instead, there was only this foolish fumbling to make him understand when she hardly understood herself.

But she refused to chicken out and say something noncommittal. She’d spent too many years being afraid to speak the truth, too many years worrying what other people wanted, what other people might think. In this new life, she was going to be honest, no matter how terrifying.

“Our time together was—special,” she blurted as bravely as she could. “I know it sounds crazy, but during those weeks you came to mean a lot to me.”

A daunting silence greeted that line, and for a moment she wished she could take it back. But it was true. She’d been drawn to him, not just his virile good looks and strong, hot hands, but everything about him. The calm authority, the rare moments of unexpected kindness, the intelligence, the wit…and beneath it all, the sense of some unspoken pain.

Lara held her breath, suddenly overly aware of the librarian and her boyfriend, who had begun to shuffle out of their booth giggling and whispering and fumbling with their check.

Finally Bryce shook his head slowly.

“That,” he said, “is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said in this entire preposterous conversation.”

She tightened her hand on her glass. She reminded herself that she had expected this. Shortly after Kenny’s shooting, when she had seen Bryce at one of their many interviews with the police, he had made it clear he didn’t think they had a future together. He hadn’t said so outright, but she knew he resented having had to kill a man to protect someone as frivolous as Lara Lynmore.

So this was no surprise. She lifted her chin. “I’m sorry you think so.”

Bryce sighed heavily and leaned forward. “Look, Lara—”

But he never got to finish the sentence. Just then a tall, skinny man came up and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Well, if it isn’t Bryce McClintock,” the skinny man said. “It’s about time you paid me a visit. I’ve been waiting fourteen years to talk to you, son.”

Lara looked curiously up at the man, who she guessed to be about forty-five and who seemed to have been made of spare parts. He had a long, basset-hound face, which contrasted oddly with pointed leprechaun ears. But he was smiling broadly, which made him look charming in spite of the fact that it showed off a large gold front tooth.

Bryce didn’t look quite as thrilled, but he was perfectly civil.

“Slip,” he said, holding out his hand to shake the other man’s bony fingers. “You still own this dive?” He looked over at Lara. “Lara Gilbert, this is Slip Stanton. He built Absolutely Nowhere about fifteen years ago.”

“Hey, there, Ms. Gilbert,” he said. Lara held her breath momentarily, wondering if he might recognize her, but the man couldn’t have been less interested. He turned back to Bryce right away. “Yessir, I built this place, fifteen years ago this May, and it surely did put your pa in a pucker cause I wouldn’t build it in Heyday. He said he had some land he’d give me cheap, well, I knew what that meant. Swamp land. But anyhow I said what’s the point in putting a place like this in Heyday, where everybody knows everybody? You gotta get out of town before you can really let loose, that’s what I say.”

“And you were obviously right,” Bryce said politely. “Things look good.”

“Yeah, I stay in the black most of the time. Plenty of people looking to have a little fun, thank goodness.” He tugged on one of his big ears. “But that’s not what I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. I wanted you to know I stuck up for you back then, you know, back when it all happened.”

Lara saw Bryce’s face tighten, and her curiosity immediately spiked. She had learned his expressions pretty well. This one meant he didn’t want to talk about it.

But Slip Stanton obviously wasn’t quite as clued in. He kept on going. “Yeah, not that it did any good, but after you left town, I went to see your daddy. I thought somebody ought to tell him how it had really been that night. Hell, you weren’t much more than a kid, and the broad was all over you, buying you drinks until you could hardly see straight, much less think straight.”

Bryce smiled. “I can imagine how that little interview must have gone.”

Slip chuckled. “He jumped all over me, said it was all my fault. And partly it was, I guess. By law I should have checked your ID. I think he would have sicced the cops on me if he hadn’t been so desperate to hush it all up. Still, maybe he listened, because it wasn’t long before that little chippy was packing up and moving on.”

“Yes,” Bryce said with a short laugh. “But they all did that anyhow, eventually.” He raised his beer in a small salute. “Still, it was a nice gesture, and I appreciate it. Thanks.”

“Any time.” Slip grinned, his gold tooth flashing in the candlelight. “Not that you’re likely to need it again, I guess once is enough for that.” He glanced over at Lara. “Anyhow, sorry to interrupt your drinks. Nice to meet you, Ms. Gilbert. And Bryce, now you’re back, don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Bryce made another noncommittal salute and, combined with a smile, it was enough to send the other man off happy.

When they were alone again, Bryce turned to Lara. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t have brought you here. But Heyday isn’t exactly full of choices at this hour.”

“No problem. He seems nice. But what was that all about?”

“Oh, God, let’s don’t get into that at this hour of the night.” He looked suddenly tired. “Didn’t you say you moved here to unearth the secrets of my past? Well, I’ll let you ferret out this one for yourself. It shouldn’t be hard. That stale, seedy tale is the only thing anyone in Heyday remembers about me.”

She waited. Though she would have liked to hear this story from Bryce himself, she could tell he really didn’t want to tell her. She had to respect that. She had no right to crowd or push.

Still, there was one thing she could clear up. “All right. But that’s not really true, you know. I didn’t just come here looking for gossip.”

He frowned. “Well, you couldn’t have come here looking for me.”

“No,” she said. “Actually I thought this was the last place on earth you’d be. I know how you’ve always despised Heyday. I was shocked when one of the other students told me you were teaching a class at the college.”

“Yeah, well, God knows it shocked the hell out of me.” He took a long drink of beer and, putting the bottle down, gave her a half smile. “So help me out here, Lara. If you didn’t come to find me, and you didn’t come to snoop into my checkered youth, I’m back to my original question. What the devil are you doing here?”

She took a breath. “I guess I needed a quiet place to think things through. To begin to heal after—after Kenny. Heyday seemed perfect for that. I want you to know I didn’t intend to come across like some kind of stalker myself—as you said, I had no idea you’d ever set foot in Heyday again. But knowing you had once lived here, that it was your hometown, well, it made Heyday seem a little less foreign than other cities I might have chosen. A little safer.”

She looked at him, feeling ridiculously anxious. She didn’t need his permission to live in Heyday. He didn’t own it. Well, actually, she’d heard that he did own a lot of it. But even so—he couldn’t exactly run her out of town.

He had a deep crease between his brows and a tension in his shoulders that told her he wasn’t buying it.

“For God’s sake, Lara. You’re smarter than that. I understand that you’re scared, that you need something to make you feel safe. But there’s nothing magical about me, or the town where I was born. I’m nobody’s guardian angel.”

“I know that. It’s just that I—”

“Look, this idea that you…care about me. It’s absurd. You hired me to carry a gun and use it if Kenny Boggs got too close, and that’s what I did. It was a job, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” She squared her shoulders. “Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

For the first time, she felt a touch of anger rising. She knew he hadn’t much respected the well-oiled, waxed, tanned and highlighted Lara Lynmore. He had despised her sweet-and-sexy, mega-expensive designer clothes that lured fans into hungry obsession. He’d stood somberly by through the long hours of her late-night parties, refusing to be moved even when she twirled over, tipsy enough to tug his hand and beg for a dance. And though he hadn’t said a word as he mutely handed her an aspirin the next morning and turned her over to her personal trainer whose job it was to ensure that the parties didn’t wreck her all-important looks, she knew what he was thinking.

He was thinking that Lara Lynmore was a self-absorbed, superficial piece of eye candy.

No, he hadn’t respected her. Maybe he hadn’t even really liked her.

But he had wanted her. It was dishonest, and pointless, to try to deny that now. Within days of his arrival, every time they were in the same room, the air had sizzled. Within weeks, they had been in each other’s arms.

“What about the night of the art gallery opening? When we got home, when you kissed me… If Darryl hadn’t called—”

“That night was a mistake,” he said flatly. “But even so, it was just sex.”

“Just sex? I don’t feel like that very often, Bryce. Can you honestly say you do?”

He shrugged. “Often enough to recognize it for what it is.”

“And that is?”

“An intense but temporary hormonal flare-up. Quite pleasant, as long as you don’t read anything more serious into it.”

She felt her cheeks grow hot. Part of her simply couldn’t believe he’d said that. Were they talking about the same night? Her veins buzzed a little whenever she remembered it, even now.

But she had no intention of sitting here begging him to admit that their interlude had been something magical. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe it had only seemed extraordinary to her because she had so little to compare it to.

“All right,” she said, struggling to keep her voice from sounding as hot as her face. “If you say it meant nothing, I believe you. Even so, I would have thought that you might, at the very least, respect my efforts to remake my life. But if you don’t, that’s not going to stop me, because this isn’t, in the end, really about you—or even us. It’s about me.”

“Lara—”

“Please. Hear me out. I didn’t come here to pester you, and I don’t intend to. Heyday is small, but surely we can avoid each other if that’s what you’d prefer.”

She stood up. “And now I think I’d better get home. Because, as ridiculous as it might seem to you, I have an early class in the morning.”