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185 pages, Kindle Edition
First published December 1, 2009
“Don’t take this the wrong way. I didn’t come out for you. I came out because I had compromised everything that I believed in, everything that was important to me. You were part of that, sure, but it wasn’t just about you.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Bodies under floorboards would not be good for business. Not even at a mystery bookstore.
“Believe it or not, once upon a time I did actually solve a number of police cases without your help.”
„I can’t promise that I’ll never hurt you again. I never deliberately hurt you. I wouldn’t deliberately hurt you. But…”
“Yes,” I clipped out, “I know. Hurt happens.”
I heard that long weary exhalation. “It does. That’s life. It’s the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful, the wins and the losses. I never thought you’d be too afraid to try. I thought you were stronger than that.”
I hoped to hell they’d never used him in trying to talk potential suicides down from ledges.
“(…) I can’t promise you“—I stopped, tried again—“that I can let go of everything that happened between us. As much as I want to. As much as I feel like I should. You’ve called it right. I am angry, and I guess I am hurt. I want to trust you…but I don’t even trust myself anymore. All I know.” I had to stop again. I took a deep breath steadied my voice. “All I know is, I can’t …face you leaving right now.”
You know what it is? It’s a dark tide sweeping in and pulling you out into the deep. Way out. And you go with it even when you know the end will be your destruction, because you’re too afraid not to. You’ll trade your soul for one day, one hour, one minute more of safety. It’s why people do the things they do—that dark tide dragging them along like an undertow.
(…)
I thought how Jake had swum in that dark tide for most of his life, and yet somehow kept from going under.
“I cried. And then I begged. You’re damn right I begged. I promised—not that I had anything worth promising—but I was willing to give anything for you to be able to walk away from that.” His smile was the rare one, the wide and unguarded one. “And you did.”
„You were the first in every way that counted. You were the first guy I ever kissed.” He smiled faintly, unreadably. “Come to think of it, you were the first guy I had sex with in a bed.”
“What?”
“You just seem…different.”
“I am different. I’m an imposter. I killed Adrien two years ago and buried him under the floorboards. My real name is Avery Oxford.”
He seemed to think that was unreasonably funny. When he stopped guffawing, he said, “You seem the same but…older.”
“Uh-huh. I hope you’re not counting on a pay raise anytime soon.”
“Not old. Older. Or more…”
“Wiser? Mature? Worldly?”
He was grinning. Yeah. All of the above.”
******
“(…) My father was an original.”
I couldn’t help remarking, “So were Vlad the Impaler and Adolf Hitler.”
“Don’t be bourgeois, darling.” Lisa gave me a chiding look. (…)
„I love you,“ Jake whispered. “Are you strong enough for this?”
"Would you, er, mind if we found a hotel tonight? I'll pay, obviously."
He put both hands on his hips and glared at me. "You think it's just about the money, do you? What about my time? You realize I'll have to cancel my date for tonight?"
"Your... date?" I regret to say that my shock at the idea was only too obvious, and that was pretty stupid too, because why the hell *wouldn't* Jake have a date? Wasn't I the one who predicted it'd be all wine, women and -- well, wine and song with him for the next decade or so?
So why was I stricken at this unsurprising news?
I blinked at him. He stared right back at me, tough and unsmiling, and then a tiny, malicious smile touched his mouth. "Gotcha," he said.
“Love you? Of course I love you. Baby, I fucking worship you.”
“So you're like a ... an amateur sleuth?"
"God no. I'm more like the hapless guys in those film-noir flicks we used to watch. I keep getting tangled up in bizarro events."
‘...."Are you strong enough for this?"
I made myself comfortable. Said over my shoulder, "Sure."
"Would you tell me if you weren't?"
I grinned. "Maybe. I can't think of a nicer way to commit suicide."
"That's good. I can't think of a more pleasant way to commit murder.”
‘He smelled like soap and sleep and bare skin. He smelled familiar. Not the deja vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like... the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow--or wanting back something you should never have given away.’
‘I thought of the words of the Renaissance philosopher Michel de Montaigne.
"If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I.”
Cryptically, she added, “But there's no question Jake Riordan is mad about you.”
I blinked. “There…isn't?”
“Although I suppose it's beside the point.”
“It is?”
“Of course.”
Was I drunk on one glass of wine?
“How are you?”
Pretty civil given the fact that I hadn't spoken to him for nearly two weeks and was choosing three in the morning to reopen the lines of communication.
“It's kind of a long story,” I said vaguely. “[The cat] got mauled by a dog. I'm not keeping him, though. He's only staying here until he's healed. After that he goes back to the alley.”
“Uh-huh. Did you name him?”
“Tomkins. John Tomkins.” I felt it necessary to explain. “I had to name him for the vet. He was a pirate.”
“Only you would have a pirate for a vet.”