Salem Falls Read online

  "Yes. The antitrust commission swung by last September to investigate."

  "Zip it, will you, Jordan?"

  "You could get it towed," he suggested. "You could rent a car."

  Selena shrugged, considering this.

  "Or you could just stay with us for a while," Jordan said, and the moment the words were out of his mouth, he wondered where they had come from. The last thing he wanted was Selena Damascus around, reminding him of what might have worked out in a different time and place.

  "You can barely stand to look at me. God, Jordan, you took your cereal bowl into your bedroom this morning to keep us from having to eat breakfast together."

  He looked away.

  "Not to mention all that ... history ... between us."

  She was asking him, Jordan realized, not telling him. He was very quiet for a moment, remembering how he had stayed up all night waiting to hear the tumblers in the lock announcing her return with Thomas, how he'd sat on the couch after putting away her blankets this morning and realized the scent of her was now a part of it, as much as its color and weave.

  "If I stayed, we'd just be asking for trouble," Selena said.

  "It would be a stupid move," Jordan agreed.

  "Stupid?" she snorted. "It would be one of the ten biggest mistakes in the history of the world."

  He laughed along with her, both of them completely aware that they were already moving toward his car, inching in the direction of home.

  If Addie was surprised to discover that she liked sex, she was absolutely stunned to realize that she was addicted to the moments afterward.

  She would lie on her side, drawn into the shell of Jack's body like a precious pearl. She could feel him the whole length of her, could taste herself on his fingers, could sense the moment his breathing evened into sleep. But most of all, while they were curled together, she knew that they were equals. No one was on top, no one was pleasing someone else, no one had the upper hand. It was just Addie, listening to Jack, who was listening to Addie.

  Where would you go if you could board a plane for anywhere?

  What's the first thing you remember from your childhood?

  Would you want to live forever?

  These were the things they talked about while the night settled and bled into morning. His reticence to talk about the past had broken like a dam; now, he told her about his teaching days, about his arrest, about his time in jail. Sometimes, while Jack was asking her a question or answering one of hers, he'd slide his hand up to cover her breast. Sometimes his fingers would stroke her from the inside out, making it a challenge to listen. He did it so often, and so well, that she stopped jumping every time it happened.

  "You can ask me anything," Jack said solemnly, "and I'll answer."

  Addie knew he was telling the truth. Which is why, sometimes, she bit down on the question she most wanted Jack to respond to: What would it take to make you run?

  Jack stood at his window in Roy Peabody's guest room, grinning like a fool at the sight of Stuart Hollings walking his cow down Main Street once again. He felt, unbelievably, like whistling. Addie had done that to him. He opened the door and sauntered into the living room, humming under his breath. "Roy, it's such a good morning I think I can stomach even you."

  He stopped short at the sight of Addie, arguing with her father in heated whispers.

  "Jack," she said, blushing. "Hi."

  "Hi," he answered. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  Roy looked from one to the other and threw up his hands. "For the love of God. You think I don't know what you two are up to? Christ, Jack. You've barely been sleeping here enough, Jack, for me to charge you rent. Forget the false modesty and sit down next to her. Just don't start pawing her until I've had a cup of coffee, all right? There's only so much a man my age can take without a strong jolt of caffeine."

  Addie smiled weakly at Jack. "So," he said, feeling like a seventh grader beneath Roy's hawkeyed regard. "What were you two talking about?"

  "Well--" Addie began, at the same minute that Roy said, "Nothing."

  Then Jack noticed the bucket of soapy water beside Roy's armchair. A sponge floated like seaweed on the top. "Planning on washing your car?"

  Roy scowled. "Kick a man while he's down, why don't you?"

  "He doesn't have a car," Addie said, sotto voce. "Those DUIs."

  "Ah. Spring cleaning, then?"

  Roy and Addie exchanged a look. "Yeah," he said, leaping on Jack's explanation. "I've got to do these windows. It's gotten so that when I look out 'em, I can barely tell Stuart from the cow."

  "I'll do it," Jack said, getting to his feet.

  "No!" Addie and Roy said in unison.

  "It's no trouble. And I promise I'll be down to work on time. Matter of fact, now that I think of it, isn't there a ladder in the storeroom downstairs I can use?" He sidestepped the bucket, strolled to the door, and opened it.

  The paint was still dripping, angry and red: GO HOME.

  Jack touched the words with one shaking finger. "This isn't the first time, is it?"

  "Happened yesterday, too," Roy admitted. "I got it off before you woke up."

  "Why didn't you tell me?" Jack rounded on Addie. "Or you?"

  "Jack ... If you ignore whoever's doing this, they'll just go away."

  "No," he said. "If you ignore it, it steamrolls you." Then he pushed out the door, bracing his hand on the wall, leaving behind a smudge of red paint like first blood drawn.

  Gillian dreamed that the doorbell was ringing. She was in bed, so sick she could barely lift her eyelids, but whoever it was wouldn't go away. After eons she managed to swing her legs over the side of the bed. She stumbled down the stairs and yanked open the door. Standing there was her father, holding a gun. "Gilly," he said, and then he shot her in the heart.

  She woke with a start, sweating, and pushed back the comforter on her bed. It was still early--barely 6:30 in the morning--but she could hear voices rising from downstairs.

  Moments later, she inched toward the kitchen. "All I'm saying, Tom, is that I live here for a reason," her father said.

  He was talking to Whitney's dad. Peeking in, Gilly saw Ed Abrams, too, and Jimmy from the pharmaceutical plant. "I don't see how we can do anything about it," Tom answered. "Noticed you didn't invite Charlie Saxton to this tete-a-tete, either."

  "Charlie's welcome to join me anytime, so long as he checks his gold shield at the door."

  Ed shook his head. "I don't know, Amos. It's not like he's made a move."

  "Who?" Gilly said, coming out of her hiding spot and entering the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of coffee with the aplomb of a woman twice her age, then slid beneath her father's arm. "Morning, Daddy," she said, kissing his cheek. "Hi, Mr. Abrams. Mr. O'Neill. Jimmy." The men muttered greetings, turning their eyes away from her pajamas: a baby-doll T-shirt and a pair of her dad's boxers. A thin line of powder-pink skin showed between the sagging waistband and the hem of her shirt. "Who hasn't made a move?"

  "This," Amos said suddenly. "This is why we have to take the first step." He grabbed the edge of his daughter's T-shirt, wrinkling it in his hand, so that it pulled tight across the buds of her breasts. Gilly froze, caught somewhere between absolute humiliation and the strange power she had knowing her body could keep these men in thrall.

  Tom O'Neill stood up. "Count me in."

  Ed Abrams nodded, and so did Jimmy.

  Amos walked the men out, talking quietly in a voice Gilly was not meant to hear. Something had happened, though, something she meant to find out. She waited for her father to return. "Daddy, aren't you going to tell me what's going on?"

  Amos stared at her for a moment before finding his voice. "Let's get you dressed," he said simply, and he took her hand and led her upstairs.

  Charlie jumped as the door to his office burst open. Standing on the threshold, fuming, was his resident registered sexual offender, Jack St. Bride. A step behind, his secretary shrugged. "Sorry, boss. I tried to get