She could smell his sweat, sweet and acrid in the small space. “No.”
“I listened to the tape on my way home and I couldn’t believe it—how much alike we were.” She felt his wet lips on her mouth and fought to turn her head but couldn’t. The black canvas of her eyelids was filled with stars. “I listened to the words of the songs, and I knew what you were trying to tell me,” he said, his lips dancing on hers. “I knew that it was wrong for us to be together.”
He pulled away and she could feel the belt loosen, but she was still afraid to open her eyes, afraid of what she might see. “I was married. I was your teacher. But you were so mature for your age, so wise beyond your years. I wrote you a letter. I should never have done it, should never have put my feelings into words. But I took a chance. I gave it to you in class the next day and told you to read it after school, and you did.” He made a halting sighing sound that turned into something like a sob.
“And you came to me after the cast party. And we made love.” He grabbed her head in his hands then and she felt his lips on her mouth, his tongue pushing against her sealed lips. The belt tightened. “Open your mouth.”
Susan flung open her eyes and stared up at him, enraged. “That’s not how it happened, Paul,” she said. Finally saying it. Finally telling the truth. “I got drunk,” she spat at him. “I got drunk for the first time at the cast party after a stupid school play and you offered me a ride home and you fucked me in your car.” She leaned her head sadly against the bunk. “I was a kid. My dad had just died. I let it go on. I didn’t know any better. And you were my favorite teacher.”
CHAPTER
47
T he Kevlar vest forced Archie to breathe differently. The Velcro straps were snug and the weight of the thing constricted his chest, causing his ribs to throb and making every movement of his torso a mental victory. He tried to inhale air deeply, visualizing the oxygen moving through his windpipe down into his lungs, feeding his heart. It gave him something to think about as he and Henry and Claire made their slow way along the cement drive that zigzagged down the hillside to the boats below. An old silver Passat was parked at the bottom of the hill. Reston’s car. They walked at a casual pace, their vests under their civilian clothes, guns tucked away, but their bodies were tense, and anyone who happened to see them would be an idiot not to be alarmed. But there wasn’t anyone. Just the boats.
They reached the dock. It stretched into the river in a T shape, with boats on either side. The security lights that lined the gangways provided a lazy white glow that bounced off the black water and made everything look especially sharp. It was the cooler air, Archie supposed. It made everything look harder. He couldn’t see the damage from the fire—the boats were long gone, but a faint smell of charcoal lingered. He unsnapped the safety strap on his holster and let the smooth metal of his .38 press against the skin of his palm.
The numbers of the slips ran even on one side, odd on the other. Archie knew the boat wouldn’t be there even before they got to number twenty-eight. He just wasn’t that lucky.
“Fuck,” said Archie as they stood in front of the empty slip.
“What does that mean?” Claire asked.
“It means they’ve gone sailing,” said Archie.
“Boating,” Henry said. “It’s a powerboat. You say boating.”
“Fuck,” Archie said again.
Archie was standing on the deck of a twenty-eight-foot twin-screw hardtop cabin cruiser. He didn’t like boats. But he knew what kind of boat this one was because one of the River Patrol deputies had told him. The county River Patrol Unit wore green uniforms, painted their boats emerald, and called themselves “the Green Hornets.” Their winter staff consisted of one lieutenant, one sergeant, eight deputies, and a full-time mechanic. Within a half hour of Archie’s call, every one of them had reported for duty.