The Sound of Broken Ribs(58)

“Jesus Christ, Harry… I’m in California.”

“Why?”

“On business.”

“No you’re not. I called your agent and publisher first, you know, so I wouldn’t jump to conclusions. According to them, you’re supposed to be in New York for the next three days. They’re just as concerned as I was… as I am. So. Why are you in California, Lei?”

“Don’t do this, Harry.”

“Do what? Be concerned about my wife and the possibility that she’s about to make a terrible fucking mistake?”

This caused Lei to pause. “What do you mean?”

“You found her—didn’t you?”

Goosebumps crawled up Lei’s arms. At first, she’d thought Harry believed she was out here having a fling or something. Now she didn’t know what was worse—the idea that he could believe she’d be unfaithful, or the fact that he somehow knew the truth.

“I know about the PI, Lei—the woman you sent after the woman who hit you. Fucking hell, I didn’t expect you to actually go after the crazy bitch.” His use of bitch was so unlike him that Lei flinched at the sound of it.

“How’d you—”

“You never could whisper worth a damn.”

The phone calls. All the calls from Jack Lei had taken while at home. Fuck.

“What are you planning to do when you find her?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Please don’t lie to me, Lei. I can’t take any more—”

“I really don’t know.” A tear slid down the foundation covering her cheek. “I guess I wanna start with looking her in the eyes. I want to ask her why. And then I’ll go from there.”

“Have you considered the idea that she might not be receptive to meeting you? You don’t know how she’ll react. When cornered, rats are known to bite curious hands, no matter the hand’s intentions.”

“You should’ve been an author.”

“I married one. That’s enough fiction for me.”

That hurt. She knew what he meant, but the comment still stung like a bastard. She said, “No more lies. I promise.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see, won’t I.” It wasn’t a question. “Don’t do anything stupid. And come home to me. Please, Lei. Whatever you do, I want you to come home. That’s the most important thing. I almost lost you once. I can’t do that again. Not now.”

“I love you.”

“Then prove it. Come home.”

“I will.”

“I hope that’s true. I love you, too.”

She pressed end before he could say anything else.

She sat in the corner booth of Baker’s and cried. She had to have looked like a mess, but she didn’t care. The only thing she cared about right now was two thousand miles away and mad at her.

What the fuck was she doing out here? There was no sane reason to confront Belinda Walsh. None whatsoever.

Yes, there is.

The press of cold flesh against her ear did not startle her. She was in a corner booth; there was no way someone could be behind her. But she still wasn’t shocked to feel and hear the presence in her ear.

“Go away,” she hissed, her words tremulous with hatred.

You have something to do and we both know you want to do it.

Yes. She could lie to Harry about why she came all the way out here to California but she could not lie to herself.

No. You cannot lie to yourself.

Lei Duncan meant to kill Belinda Walsh. But before she died, Belinda would know the pain she had wrought. She would become all too acquainted with agony. She would come to know The Ebony One and all its secrets.

Oh, yes. All of my secrets. I know so much, and you have been an apt pupil. Let us teach the Walsh woman. Let us show her what I am capable of.

“Yes,” Lei said aloud.

The old man in the polo and golf shorts was passing her as she said it. He looked at her questioningly.

“Bluetooth ear bud.” She tapped the ear he couldn’t see.

“You kids love your fancy technology. My three-year-old great granddaughter has her own tablet computer. Uses it better than I use my own television.”

“Crazy,” Lei said.

“You have a good day,” he said with a nod and was gone.

Oh, she will. Won’t you, Lei?

She was suddenly parched.

“Yes,” she repeated, and sipped her coke. But it was no use. Only one thing would quench her thirst.

*

Belinda dreamed her finger was in a vice and Jack Kennedy was working the lever, grinding the jaws of the tool tighter and tighter.

She woke up feeling frozen and sick inside. Had she vomited ice cubes, she wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised. She sat up on the edge of the bed and lifted her ravaged finger into view. The blood had finally soaked through. Thick pearls of blood dripped from the soggy paper. She couldn’t believe she was still bleeding after all this time.

She had to get this seen about. She needed stitches, that much was sure. But what concerned her the most was infection. Mouths were filthy places, breeding grounds for all kinds of nasty shit.

Antibiotics. She needed Antibiotics.

She dropped the old bandage into the commode and flushed. Using more toilet paper, she re-wrapped her shredded finger without looking too hard at it. It was fucked, she knew that much, and that’s all she wanted to know. The more she thought about it, the more she figured she might lose the finger. But that would be a small price to pay for getting away with murder.