it’ll cure more than your hangover.”
He tugged at his hair. “We didn’t really, did we?”
“Eat. It’s getting cold. You should be hungry.”
He collapsed back on the bed, set the cup on his forehead.
The cool oozed out of the cup and into his aching head.
He was famished, hated the fact that he was, hated the thoughts running through his aching brain. There was no denying the
fact that Helen aroused his sense of curiosity. But if he had slept with her, he should remember something. He remembered
nothing, nothing since Baltimore. Frustrated, he screamed, “Put some clothes on!”
He winced, tried to hold his brains in as his head started throbbing, but nothing worked.
“Take the Midol,” Helen recommended.
He tried to open the bottle, but his hands just wouldn’t work. Helen opened the bottle and gave him two pills. He wanted three
or four, but she said two would work just fine. Afterward, she fed him while he lay on his back.
He asked her later, “What happened yesterday? I don’t even remember this room.”
Helen said, quiet and firm, “If you ever hurt me again, I’ll find a way to kill you. I will.”
She had a fork in one hand, a knife in the other. He edged away from her. “That wasn’t me yesterday, Helen.”
“I think it was, especially when we got around to it.” His eyes showed disbelief.
She used his confusion and kissed him on the mouth. She crawled up on top of him, peeled off her bra, placed his hands on
her breasts. “You like the feel of them, don’t you? Want to try to get it right this time? I can tell you’re a real ladies’
man.” He put his hands to his head. The room was spinning. She kissed her way down to his belly. He tried to push her away.
She held on and went at it with even more vigor. He grabbed the mattress with both hands as she moved faster and faster. For
a few moments, the pounding in his head went away.
When it was over, she giggled and worked her way back to his mouth. She said, “Now it’s the truth and not a lie, and no one
will hurt Jessica.”
“What the hell is that supposed to, to—” he stopped tried to think of what he was going to say, “to mean?”
“I did, you didn’t. You did, I didn’t.” She wiped her lips, put her bra back on and left the room.
He wanted to chase after her, but found his shoulders were too heavy to lift off the bed and his eyes, he just couldn’t keep
them open. He used one hand to hold the other while he forced his droopy eyelids open. “Did you put something in that?”
“Night night,” Helen shouted back at him. “Sleep tight. You were marvelous, baby, marvelous.”
Chapter 9
Tampa, Florida Sunday, 9 January
“A truce,” Scott told her as he sat up. Helen sat down on the bed. He took in the deep purple bruises on her neck and the
thick makeup on her cheeks and eyes. “My head is killing me, and no, I don’t want anything for it.”
She whispered, “You hurt me.”
“A truce,” he repeated. “I’m not a good drunk, usually not a bad drunk, but never a good drunk.”
“Never touch me. Never touch me.” She buried her face in her hands. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me. You promised you wouldn’t
let anyone hurt me.”
Scott sucked at the air. He wasn’t sure if he should put his arms around her to stop her shivering, but did anyway. “If I
could take back what I did, I would, but I can’t. We need each other, Helen. You want to find your sister. I want to find
what was in the attaché case. We need each other.”
“May’s dead. Jessica’s next. It’s my fault.”
He put her at arm’s length. “Because of the money? How much does it take to sell out someone you love these days?”
“Enough to keep the Symphonic from bankruptcy for a long, long time.”
“Who paid you?”
“‘It’s all very simple,’ he told me. I give him the box. He gives me the money. I never see him again. Nothing ever happens.”
“Tell me how I can find
He tugged at his hair. “We didn’t really, did we?”
“Eat. It’s getting cold. You should be hungry.”
He collapsed back on the bed, set the cup on his forehead.
The cool oozed out of the cup and into his aching head.
He was famished, hated the fact that he was, hated the thoughts running through his aching brain. There was no denying the
fact that Helen aroused his sense of curiosity. But if he had slept with her, he should remember something. He remembered
nothing, nothing since Baltimore. Frustrated, he screamed, “Put some clothes on!”
He winced, tried to hold his brains in as his head started throbbing, but nothing worked.
“Take the Midol,” Helen recommended.
He tried to open the bottle, but his hands just wouldn’t work. Helen opened the bottle and gave him two pills. He wanted three
or four, but she said two would work just fine. Afterward, she fed him while he lay on his back.
He asked her later, “What happened yesterday? I don’t even remember this room.”
Helen said, quiet and firm, “If you ever hurt me again, I’ll find a way to kill you. I will.”
She had a fork in one hand, a knife in the other. He edged away from her. “That wasn’t me yesterday, Helen.”
“I think it was, especially when we got around to it.” His eyes showed disbelief.
She used his confusion and kissed him on the mouth. She crawled up on top of him, peeled off her bra, placed his hands on
her breasts. “You like the feel of them, don’t you? Want to try to get it right this time? I can tell you’re a real ladies’
man.” He put his hands to his head. The room was spinning. She kissed her way down to his belly. He tried to push her away.
She held on and went at it with even more vigor. He grabbed the mattress with both hands as she moved faster and faster. For
a few moments, the pounding in his head went away.
When it was over, she giggled and worked her way back to his mouth. She said, “Now it’s the truth and not a lie, and no one
will hurt Jessica.”
“What the hell is that supposed to, to—” he stopped tried to think of what he was going to say, “to mean?”
“I did, you didn’t. You did, I didn’t.” She wiped her lips, put her bra back on and left the room.
He wanted to chase after her, but found his shoulders were too heavy to lift off the bed and his eyes, he just couldn’t keep
them open. He used one hand to hold the other while he forced his droopy eyelids open. “Did you put something in that?”
“Night night,” Helen shouted back at him. “Sleep tight. You were marvelous, baby, marvelous.”
Chapter 9
Tampa, Florida Sunday, 9 January
“A truce,” Scott told her as he sat up. Helen sat down on the bed. He took in the deep purple bruises on her neck and the
thick makeup on her cheeks and eyes. “My head is killing me, and no, I don’t want anything for it.”
She whispered, “You hurt me.”
“A truce,” he repeated. “I’m not a good drunk, usually not a bad drunk, but never a good drunk.”
“Never touch me. Never touch me.” She buried her face in her hands. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me. You promised you wouldn’t
let anyone hurt me.”
Scott sucked at the air. He wasn’t sure if he should put his arms around her to stop her shivering, but did anyway. “If I
could take back what I did, I would, but I can’t. We need each other, Helen. You want to find your sister. I want to find
what was in the attaché case. We need each other.”
“May’s dead. Jessica’s next. It’s my fault.”
He put her at arm’s length. “Because of the money? How much does it take to sell out someone you love these days?”
“Enough to keep the Symphonic from bankruptcy for a long, long time.”
“Who paid you?”
“‘It’s all very simple,’ he told me. I give him the box. He gives me the money. I never see him again. Nothing ever happens.”
“Tell me how I can find
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