him. I could just tell him that the time apart will give us both a chance to decide whether our relationship should be permanent or not.
Just stop it, will you? You've been living with Jack for months. After that much time, you either know it's right or it's wrong. And if you're still saying you're trying to make up your mind - believe me, it ain't right.
It felt right at times.
That was a long time ago. I know you, Cindy. And I know you've been unhappy with Jack for months. Here's a guy who claims to be talking about making things permanent,' yet half the time he won't even give you a hint of what's really on his mind. And whatever the hell this big secret is that keeps him from talking to his big-shot father is too weird. I think he has a screw loose.
There's nothing wrong with Jack, Cindy said defensively. I just think the way his mother died and how his family handled all these problems has him confused about a lot of things.
Fine. So while he sorts it all out, you go have yourself a ball in Italy.
I don't know -
Well, Gina huffed, do what you want then. But it's a moot point, anyway. Once Jack hears who your traveling companion will be, it'll be over between you two anyway.
Cindy didn't answer. Gina had a point, but she didn't want to think about that right now. She just listened to the radio for a few minutes, until the early-morning jazz gave way to the local news at 2:00 A. M. The lead story was still Eddy Goss.
aEU| the confessed killer, said the newscaster, who was acquitted by a jury Tuesday afternoon on first-degree murder charges. This report was about Detective Lonzo Stafford's diligent efforts to link Goss to at least two other murders, to get him off the streets so that, according to Stafford, Goss will never kill again.
Cindy and Gina both pretended not to listen, though neither had the other one fooled. Jack's involvement in the Goss case had brought this killer a little too close to home. Cindy thought of Jack, probably by himself, back at the house. Gina thought of Eddy Goss. Out there. Somewhere.
Gina steered her champagne-colored BMW, a gift from her latest disappointed suitor, into her private town house community, a collection of twenty lushly landscaped units facing the bay. Gina could never have afforded waterfront property on her salary as an interior designer, so she leased this place from an extremely wealthy and married Venezuelan businessman who, as Gina once kidded, comes about three times a year, all in one night, to collect the rent.
Cindy's car was parked in Gina's garage, so Gina parked in a guest space across the lot. They stepped tentatively from the car with the disquieting newscast about Eddy Goss still fresh in their minds.
Nothing like a killer on the loose to make a marathon out of a two-minute walk to the front door, Cindy half-joked as they briskly crossed the empty parking lot.
Yeah, Gina replied, her nervous laughter ringing flat and hollow in the stillness of the dark night. She ran up the front steps two at a time. Cindy trailed behind, moving not quite as fast in heels as her long-legged friend. The porch light was on and the front door was locked, just the way they'd left it. Gina fumbled through her cosmetic-packed purse for her key and poked awkwardly at the lock. Finally, she found the slot and pushed the key home. With two quick turns she unlocked the dead bolt, then turned the knob and leaned into the door, opening it - but just a foot, as her body jerked to an unexpected halt. The door caught on the inside chain.
They froze as they realized they couldn't possibly have gotten out of the townhouse had they put the chain on the door.
Gina glanced at the clay pot on the porch that hid her extra key - a spare only a few people knew about. The pot had been moved.
Before Gina could back away, the door slammed shut, pushing her back and spilling the contents of her purse onto the porch.
Panic gripped the two women as they grabbed for each other. When they heard
Just stop it, will you? You've been living with Jack for months. After that much time, you either know it's right or it's wrong. And if you're still saying you're trying to make up your mind - believe me, it ain't right.
It felt right at times.
That was a long time ago. I know you, Cindy. And I know you've been unhappy with Jack for months. Here's a guy who claims to be talking about making things permanent,' yet half the time he won't even give you a hint of what's really on his mind. And whatever the hell this big secret is that keeps him from talking to his big-shot father is too weird. I think he has a screw loose.
There's nothing wrong with Jack, Cindy said defensively. I just think the way his mother died and how his family handled all these problems has him confused about a lot of things.
Fine. So while he sorts it all out, you go have yourself a ball in Italy.
I don't know -
Well, Gina huffed, do what you want then. But it's a moot point, anyway. Once Jack hears who your traveling companion will be, it'll be over between you two anyway.
Cindy didn't answer. Gina had a point, but she didn't want to think about that right now. She just listened to the radio for a few minutes, until the early-morning jazz gave way to the local news at 2:00 A. M. The lead story was still Eddy Goss.
aEU| the confessed killer, said the newscaster, who was acquitted by a jury Tuesday afternoon on first-degree murder charges. This report was about Detective Lonzo Stafford's diligent efforts to link Goss to at least two other murders, to get him off the streets so that, according to Stafford, Goss will never kill again.
Cindy and Gina both pretended not to listen, though neither had the other one fooled. Jack's involvement in the Goss case had brought this killer a little too close to home. Cindy thought of Jack, probably by himself, back at the house. Gina thought of Eddy Goss. Out there. Somewhere.
Gina steered her champagne-colored BMW, a gift from her latest disappointed suitor, into her private town house community, a collection of twenty lushly landscaped units facing the bay. Gina could never have afforded waterfront property on her salary as an interior designer, so she leased this place from an extremely wealthy and married Venezuelan businessman who, as Gina once kidded, comes about three times a year, all in one night, to collect the rent.
Cindy's car was parked in Gina's garage, so Gina parked in a guest space across the lot. They stepped tentatively from the car with the disquieting newscast about Eddy Goss still fresh in their minds.
Nothing like a killer on the loose to make a marathon out of a two-minute walk to the front door, Cindy half-joked as they briskly crossed the empty parking lot.
Yeah, Gina replied, her nervous laughter ringing flat and hollow in the stillness of the dark night. She ran up the front steps two at a time. Cindy trailed behind, moving not quite as fast in heels as her long-legged friend. The porch light was on and the front door was locked, just the way they'd left it. Gina fumbled through her cosmetic-packed purse for her key and poked awkwardly at the lock. Finally, she found the slot and pushed the key home. With two quick turns she unlocked the dead bolt, then turned the knob and leaned into the door, opening it - but just a foot, as her body jerked to an unexpected halt. The door caught on the inside chain.
They froze as they realized they couldn't possibly have gotten out of the townhouse had they put the chain on the door.
Gina glanced at the clay pot on the porch that hid her extra key - a spare only a few people knew about. The pot had been moved.
Before Gina could back away, the door slammed shut, pushing her back and spilling the contents of her purse onto the porch.
Panic gripped the two women as they grabbed for each other. When they heard
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