The Obsession(77)

The tiles, cool on her back, his body hot, pressed to her, in her. The air so thick that breathing it in, letting it go, was a moan. She tried to hold on, to give back, but felt as soft and pliable as wax in sunlight. His lips toyed with hers, conquering by torment rather than force.

She said his name again as her eyes closed.

“No, no, look at me. Open your eyes and see me, Naomi.”

“I see you. Yes. God.”

“A little more. A little more until there’s nothing left. I’m going to take more.”

“Yes.”

He took more, kept them both swaying on that high wire between need and release, until it built beyond the bearing, until he let the wire snap beneath the weight.

—

Because she felt a little drunk, Naomi took great care packing her equipment. He’d taken her beyond her own boundaries of control, and somehow she’d allowed it. She’d need time and space to decide, to understand, what that meant.

And now wasn’t the time, not when everything in her felt so soft and vulnerable. When she could still feel his hands on her.

She packed her tripod, a camera bag, a case, a light stand, diffuser.

He walked in, smelling of her soap. “All that?”

“Better to have everything than leave behind the one thing you realize you need.”

She started to swing on a backpack.

“I’ve got it. Christ, does everything include bricks?” He picked up her tripod case, the light stand, started out.

As she picked up the rest, Tag barked as if dragons burned down the gates.

“Car’s coming,” Xander called back. “I’ve got it.”

“He’s got it,” she murmured. “That’s the problem. Why am I mostly okay that he’s got it?”

“Easy, killer,” Xander told the dog, and opened the front door. He recognized the official vehicle just pulling up beside his truck, and the chief of police behind the wheel.

“Relax, he’s one of the good guys.” Xander stepped off the porch, carted the equipment to his truck. “Hey, Chief.”

“Xander. Is that the stray I heard about?”

“Yeah. That’s Tag.”

“Hey there, Tag.”

Chief of police Sam Winston, a toughly built man with a smooth face the color of walnuts and a Waves cap on his close-cropped hair (the high school football team where his son stood as quarterback), crouched down.

Tag, nervous, crept close enough to sniff.

“He’s a good-looking dog.”

“Now, he is.”

Tag accepted the head scrub, then immediately ran back to Naomi when she came out.

“Ma’am.” Sam tapped the brim of his cap. “I’m Sam Winston, chief of police.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure about that. I’ve been meaning to come up, introduce myself. It’s good someone’s back on the bluff, and from what I hear—and can see for myself—you’re giving the old girl a face-lift. She needed one. You got Kevin Banner and his crew on it, I hear.”

“Yes.”

“You couldn’t do better. Looks like I caught you two on the way out.”

“Naomi’s going to take some pictures of the band.”

“Is that so?” Sam hooked his thumbs in his thick Sam Browne belt, gave a little nod. “I bet they’ll be good ones. I don’t want to keep you, and it saves me time to find you both here. It’s about Marla Roth.”

“If she’s trying to push an assault charge, I’ll push back. Again,” Naomi said.

“I can’t say if she’d go there. We can’t seem to find her.”

“Still?” Xander put in, turned back from stowing the equipment.

“Nobody’s seen or heard from her, the way it looks, since Friday night. Not long after your scuffle with her, Ms. Carson.”

“If she’s still pissed about that, she could’ve taken off for a few days,” Xander began.

Worn boots planted, Sam gave the bill of his cap a little flick up. “Her car’s at her house, and she isn’t. Chip finally broke in the back door this morning, then came back to see me. She didn’t go in to work yesterday, isn’t answering her phone. She could be in a snit, and it’s most likely she is, but Chip’s worried sick, and I need to look into it. Now, the story I’m getting is she went at you at Loo’s on Friday night.”

Missing could mean anything, Naomi assured herself. Missing didn’t mean an old root cellar in the deep woods. More often, much more often, it just meant a person had gone somewhere no one had looked yet.

“Ms. Carson?” Sam prompted.

“Sorry, yes. That’s right. She knocked into me a couple of times, then shoved me a couple of times.”

“And you clocked her one?”

“No, I didn’t hit her. I took her wrist, gave it a twist—leverage, pressure point, so she went down. So she stopped shoving me.”

“Then what?”

“Then I left. It was annoying and embarrassing, so I left and came home.”

“By yourself.”

“Yes, I came home alone.”

“About what time do you think that was?”

“About ten thirty.” Just doing his job, Naomi reminded herself, and took a deep breath. “I let the dog out, walked around with him for a while. I was angry and upset, and couldn’t concentrate on work.”