It was apropos of nothing—they’d been talking about the sandwiches—but he knew immediately what she was referring to, and he nodded silently, not trusting himself to say anything. Thinking of the way her nipples had looked, and her pubic triangle, he was forced to lean forward and as surreptitiously as possible press down on his crotch with his elbow.
“I guess I should stick to black bathing suits.”
Although he didn’t know it at the time, he learned later that she’d been not just embarrassed and self-conscious but worried when he had seen her through the translucent material. She’d been afraid that he’d be turned off by her, that her body was not attractive enough, and it was only his rather blatant effort to press down on and hide his erection that let her know he found her physically desirable.
That night, in her room, they made love for the first time, and Gary knew, if he hadn’t before, that Joan was the one; that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her; that he would love her until the day he died.
Eight
Gary was putting away the last of his books when Reyn came over with Brian. Feeling more than a little paranoid, he’d locked his door, and he jumped when the loud knock sounded behind him. “It’s us!” Brian called. “Open up!” Gary hurried to oblige, and his friends entered, looking around.
“Not as bad as I thought,” Reyn offered.
“Yeah?” Gary whipped out his cell phone. “I took some pictures.” He flashed through several shots of the room that showed clearly the extent of the damage.
“Holy shit,” Reyn said. “Did they take anything?”
“Not that I can find.”
“Maybe it was just a warning.”
“Or they didn’t find what they were looking for.”
“I don’t think these people give warnings.” Brian was carrying a newspaper, the Daily Bruin, which he handed to Gary. Reyn grew silent, as if he knew what was coming. “Check this out,” Brian said. “I got it on my way to class this morning.” He pointed at the top headline: SOPHOMORE KILLED IN ACCIDENT. Next to it was a photo of a sheet-covered body lying on the ground in front of a car. “That’s the chick who gave you Joan’s parents’ phone number. The neighbor.”
Gary glanced at the article. It was indeed Teri Lim who had been killed. Witnesses at the scene reported that she had come running out from the campus path and dashed into the street, where she was struck by a black Jeep that immediately sped away. No one got a look at the Jeep’s license plates; one student who saw the accident claimed that the vehicle didn’t have any plates. Several witnesses told the police that a strange-looking older man in incongruously rustic clothes had arrived just as the accident occurred and that he had hovered over the victim, showing an unusual interest in her condition, before leaving, unseen, immediately prior to the arrival of the authorities.
Teri had died at the scene from internal injuries and the paramedics who arrived were unable to revive her.
Gary looked up from the paper, feeling chilled. This was far too coincidental. He thought about the oddly dressed man who had supposedly watched Teri die and then disappeared into the crowd.
An Outsider?
It seemed likely, and he told his friends what he was thinking.
Reyn nodded. “Makes sense.”
“The fuck it does.” Brian pushed a long tangle of hair away from the front of his face. “You think Joan’s church has some sort of standardized prayer asking for protection from a… a gang that’s hunting their people down?”
It didn’t seem logical when spelled out so bluntly, but Gary said, “Yeah. Maybe.”
“It might have nothing to do with that prayer,” Reyn conceded. “Or ‘Outsiders.’ But I’m willing to bet that that weird guy who was lurking around when Teri got killed has something to do with Kara and Joan being missing.”
“Then maybe he’s after us, too,” Brian said.
“I don’t think so. We were vulnerable there at Burning Man, but nothing happened to us.”
“Nothing?” Brian snorted. “Someone drugged us, man. And maybe they screwed up the dosage. Did you ever think of that? Maybe we weren’t supposed to wake up, but they miscalculated and just zonked us out for a while instead of killing us.”
“Maybe,” Reyn said skeptically.
“But you don’t think so?”
“We could’ve been picked off several times since then. Like Teri. Anyone following us would have had ample opportunity to off us. But no one has.”
“That’s true,” Gary agreed. He looked around his tidied room. “But they are fucking with us.” He took a deep breath. “And they have Joan.”
“And probably Kara,” Reyn added.
Gary nodded.
“You know,” Brian said, “my brother’s ex-girlfriend’s brother is a police dispatcher in Santa Mara.”
“Your brother’s… ex-girlfriend’s… brother,” Gary repeated slowly.
“I know how that sounds,” Brian said. “But it wasn’t a bad breakup, and Alyssa always liked me. I even met her brother a couple of times, and he seemed cool. I think he’d do us a solid if I asked.”
“And what exactly are you going to ask?”
“Here’s the thing. When he’s at work and it’s slow, he runs license plates. He’s not supposed to, but he does. He sees a hot babe pass him on the freeway? He writes down her plates, then looks her up. Finds out her name, who she is, where she lives. He does it with cars and trucks he sees in movies, too, or on TV. Sees a cool car chase, writes down the plates. Usually they’re owned by rental car companies or movie studios, but one time he ran a plate and it was actually registered to Bruce Willis. Anyway, he can do it backward, too. He can run a name and get address and license information. I figure I’ll have him plug in Joan’s name and see what comes up. We might get another address or a next-of-kin or even an alias. At the very least, we’ll prove she exists, and we can give that to the cops.” He smiled. “Anonymously, of course. I don’t want to get Dan in trouble.”
“Dan. Your brother’s ex’s brother.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t think the cops have already tried that?” Reyn asked. “I mean, if your distant acquaintance the dispatcher can do this, you don’t think the detectives assigned to this case could figure out to try the same thing?”
Brian threw up his hands. “What the fuck. I was just trying to help.”
“It’s a good idea,” Gary said cautiously. He glanced at Reyn. “And I’m not sure they would try this. My guess is they informed Kara’s parents that she’s missing, and now the parents are going crazy, pressuring the police for results, and they’re trying to find her and probably connect me to it. So I doubt they’re doing their best to find out about Joan. Who they don’t even believe exists.”
“You may have a point,” Reyn conceded.
Brian had his phone out. “Calls are being made even as you speak.” He quickly used an app to look up the number of the Santa Mara Police Department, and Gary and Reyn listened in as he talked his way through to Dan. After making sure that the call wasn’t being recorded or monitored, Brian spun a bullshit story about an amazing one-night stand who’d given him her name but no other information. “I need to know more about her,” he said. “I need an address, a phone number, some way to reach her.”
There was a short pause; then Brian grinned and gave the thumbs-up sign. “Joan Daniels,” he said. “Her name is Joan Daniels.”
Seconds later, he was thanking Dan and saying good-bye. Pressing some keys on his phone, he peered for a moment at the tiny screen before looking up. “There are six Joan Danielses registered in Los Angeles County, one in Ventura County and three in Orange County. None of them are the right age, though. The youngest is thirty. You think Joan could be thirty and passing herself off as—”