The Woman from Cheshire Avenue Page 7

  He was always washed when she saw him; his hair was always clean, and he brought his own coffee. Around noon, he took a quick break for lunch, came back, and resumed his reading. He left every day at exactly 3:45 p.m.

  She couldn’t understand it, and she didn’t try. She just pointed the way to the books and ignored him for the most part.

  Until the day he started speaking to her about things other than books.

  It was a boring Monday afternoon, and Lilith had been cataloguing worn-out first editions all morning. Sitting in her dimly lit office, she registered book after book with the school’s system, by noon she was still yawning. Eric came into her doorway and hesitated for a moment before finally asking,

  “Lilith?”

  “Mm?” she asked absently. Her hands had been moving the same way for three hours, and now they moved of their own volition.

  “Do you want go…grab something with me?” he asked tentatively.

  Misunderstanding him, she yawned, “What do you need?”

  “No, no, I meant….” He trailed off, and for a split second considered fleeing. But then Eric forced himself to say, “There’s this Greek café I’ve gotten attached to and….” His throat shut down again as she looked up at him, disbelief growing in her eyes.

  “Khariklo’s?” she asked.

  Rendered mute, Eric simply nodded. His heart beat fiercely in chest, and he was grateful for the dim light of her office. It covered his growing blush.

  She paused, unsure of how to respond. She was hungry, and she was fond of the lamb skewers at Khariklo’s, but she wasn’t sure going to lunch with Eric Quisling was the best idea in the world. When it came to Eric, it seemed, there were eyes fixed on Lilith, watching her every move. Even though she hadn’t told her family about what was going on—and didn’t really have any intention of telling them—something told her that where Eric was concerned, they were going to find out anyway…and be extremely displeased.

  Michael in particular would not like this at all.

  “Sure,” Lilith suddenly heard herself say. “Why not?”

  * * *

  “…it’s weird,” Eric was saying. “They say knowledge is power, but I’m not sure I feel empowered yet.”

  It was their fifth lunch in as many days, and Lilith wasn’t sure how she felt about that. They shared a love of Greek food, and Khariklo’s had become their immediate favorite. They sat at the same table every day, by one of the front windows, and he always paid the check, like a gentleman. She found it deeply unnerving, yet not enough to stop lunching with him.

  “Have you thought about going back to school?” Lilith asked.

  Eric nodded. “I have some tests to take, and I have to decide what I want to major in, but I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just don’t know.”

  “I think you’d be a good student,” Lilith encouraged him. “You have the discipline. And the focus.”

  Eric smiled brightly, but there was a strange sadness to his eyes. “Thanks, Lilith.” He paused, tilting his head. “Lilith…that’s Hebrew, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she chuckled, “and to answer your next question, my dad’s mother was Jewish.”

  His eyes widened. “Oh?”

  “Oh,” she snickered, “and yes, she was a Holocaust survivor. She was a small child when her family finally escaped Germany.” And she most certainly wouldn’t approve of my talking to the likes of you. While we’re on the subject, why am I talking to the likes of you?

  “Well,” Eric nodded awkwardly, “good for her—surviving, I mean. She helped build an, um, impressive family.”

  Lilith sighed. “I like to think we are. But we’re not old money or anything, in case you were wondering.”

  Eric blushed; he had, in fact, wondered how long the Wells family had had money. Seeing his reddened cheeks, Lilith laughed even harder.

  “So…,” he muttered sheepishly, “your dad scored a $2.5 mil deal, huh? He must be ecstatic.”

  “Oh, that’s just a grant for his work,” Lilith waved her hand. “I wish he hadn’t, honestly. When I found out some of the money came from the Hirosawa family as part of their investment in Cherrywood—”

  The alarm in his eyes instantly reminded her why she initially worked hard to never drop that specific name in his presence.

  “The Hirosawas?” he demanded. Almost in an instant, some of the old Eric seemed to bubble to the surface. He sat up straight, immediately forgetting his food and suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings. “They’re…investing in Cherrywood?”

  Lilith sorely wished to recall her words, but all she could do was sit dumbly before him, afraid to say anything more.

  Eric paused, looking her over and gauging her reaction. “Is a man named Michael attached to this project?”

  Lilith cringed, and he saw that too.

  “So,” he said stiffly. “You’ve met Michael Hirosawa.”

  She nodded tensely.

  “He’s an associate of your father’s?” There was an iron tone in his voice which chilled her to the bone.

  Lilith shook her head. “Michael said he’s just…an underling. That he merely follows orders, like a representative.”

  Eric laughed shortly, his voice coming out harsh. He sounded completely unlike the Eric she was getting know.

  “Michael’s no underling,” he assured her, “and don’t let his charming smile fool you—he’s a killer.”

  Aghast at his blatant hypocrisy, she leaned in and rasped, “Aren’t you?” without thinking. She immediately regretted that as well.

  But if she expected his wrath, she got his shock instead. His eyes widened with a mix of horror and shame. Eric looked as though she wounded him deeply, and when he said her name, his voice was hoarse with that same pain she often saw in his eyes. It was as though he was remembering something in torrents, recalling another place and time, reliving another life, and the dark memories were washing over him in bitter waves.

  Army of zombies to my right, led by the apparition in red….

  “Lilith….” He tried to speak further, but felt his throat closing in on him again. It seemed to do so often around her; it was like her mere presence triggered a powerfully negative reaction within him. He was hallucinating again, and if he didn’t calm himself soon, it was going to get seriously ugly. Already the demon in red and her ghoulish army appeared next to their table; the faux-Lilith smugly posed with her hands on her hips, smirking in satisfaction at her triumphant return.

  Eric struggled to get a grip on reality. Meanwhile, Lilith tried to do damage control.

  “Look,” she said quickly, “I know what Michael is, okay? You don’t have to tell me; I knew from the moment I saw him. Now I don’t know what all’s going on between you two—”

  “Nothing is going on,” he interrupted her urgently. “Not anymore. I was his liaison to my former boss. The deal soured when my boss tried to cheat him and run. I haven’t heard from either of them in weeks. I’m not that person you met on Cheshire Avenue, Lilith. Those days are over, and I never want to go back to them.” He trembled as he spoke, his voice shaking and betraying his emotional fragility.

  “It’s okay,” she tried to soothe him, touching his hand for the first time. She saw his whole body jump at the touch, right before he blushed.

  That’s when it fully hit her.

  “Eric?” she asked, noting how mild her tone was, despite the pounding of her heart. “Why do you keep inviting me out?”

  His pained expression answered her question, as he suddenly appeared incapable of actual speech. The waiter dropped off the check and Eric immediately placed cash atop it before shakily rising from his chair. He gave her one last anguished look before mutely leaving the café.

  Lilith stared at his empty seat for long, long moments, trying to make sense.

  “You know,” a voice cut into her thoughts, “you should’ve nipped this in the bud ages ago.”

  She looked up to see the ever genteel Michael Hirosawa. He
claimed Eric’s empty seat without waiting for an invite, and casually lounged in it, smiling humorlessly at her. “After all,” he added dryly, “a man’s not going to be satisfied with these chaste little lunches forever.”

  Lilith was in no mood for him. “This is none of your business,” she snapped. “And it’s not like that.”

  “If this is how you read men,” he raised an eyebrow, “then it’s no shocker you’re still alone.”

  His words stung more than she expected. “Michael—”

  “You can take the boy out of the street, Lilith, but you can’t take the stench of street out of the boy,” Michael said brutally. “Not all the showers and book-learnin’ in the world can change the fact that Eric’s a dirty, insignificant waste of space.”

  Strange…Michael’s insulting Eric actually hurt her feelings a little. Why on earth was that? Why did Eric matter to her at all? Because he showered now? Because he took off his swastika necklace, picked up a book, and treated her to lunch?

  Exactly what was going on between them? Whatever it was, she hadn’t meant for it to go on this long. She certainly hadn’t intended to actually care about him. He was never meant to matter, only amuse.

  “How long have you known about this?” Lilith demanded, mentally kicking her self for letting her voice quaver so.

  “Since I bribed all the security people at the university,” Michael grinned. “That would be the morning I found out I was going to be stuck in Cherrywood hell way longer than I initially planned.”

  “Maybe your family’s upset with you,” she fired back. “Maybe this is exile.”

  He chuckled, “Hardly. There are so many people in these parts, each with a reasonable price range, Lilith.” Michael shrugged. “Why bankrupt yourself trying to buy a single senator when you can get mayors and councilors at a bargain rate?”

  She shuddered, visibly disgusted. Unlike Eric, however, her disgust didn’t bother Michael. In fact, nothing ever seemed to bother Michael, except for her growing friendship with Eric.

  “Your father’s not going to like this, sweetheart; it’ll make him look bad in his precious social circle,” he archly reminded her. “And since my family’s money is only partially funding your father’s projects, we can’t afford to have him looking bad in front of the other donors. Catch my drift?”

  “Michael, it’s not like that,” she bit out. “We talk about books, for Christ’s sake.”

  He seemed greatly entertained by her protest.

  “Lilith,” he murmured, leaning in, “you ever notice how Eric looks at you? I can tell you I’m not the only one who has. It’s only a matter of time before he actually gives in and pounces. Whatever it is he sees in you—and I’m still trying to figure that one out, by the way—whatever it is, it’s got him sprung. Hooked. Whipped, even. What did you do to him, anyway?”

  Lilith winced as she admitted, “I kissed him. It’s why he came looking for me the night of my father’s ball.”

  Michael’s mouth fell open while his eyes widened.

  “You put your mouth on that?” He even laughed as he asked, “Woman…where are your standards?”

  “It was out of spite, Michael,” she hissed. “I just did it to—to knock him down a peg. He and his Heil Hitler homie were being a couple of asses and I wanted to put him in check. But ever since then….” She trailed off, unsure of how to finish.

  Michael’s eyebrow went up again in sheer amazement. “With one kiss? You’ve got him bathing and reading and buying you lunch after one kiss?” He sat back in his chair, looking at her face more carefully. “Damn, girl. Seems I underestimated you.” His gaze leisurely ran over her, before meeting her eyes once more and suggestively raising his eyebrows.

  Lilith rolled her eyes, feigning invulnerability even as she noted once again how good-looking and flawlessly dressed Michael was, and how in a way, he was beginning to grow on her. There was a sensuous draw to the man; in a dark, dangerous way, he was extremely charming.

  While a relationship with him was obviously out of the question, she wasn’t adverse to a possible fling.

  “You’re not funny,” she brushed him off. Secretly, however, she felt pleasure. Michael had pointed out something she hadn’t even noticed all this time. Eric really was into her, and very much so. She’d brought angry, savage street demon to heel, tamed and domesticated him, and it took was an impulse kiss.

  It had been too long since Lilith last experienced a man’s romantic attention, and she forgot how good it felt. In fact, it felt so good it was all the more reason she was starting to care even less what Michael thought, or what her family might think.

  “Look, I’m not going to indulge him, okay?” she promised, not even sure whether or not she even intended to keep that promise. “I know he and I could never actually have anything together.”

  And the moment she uttered the words, she felt a subtle wave of sorrow.

  12th and Madison

  “I am Dr. Natalia Marquez. I am the resident psychologist here at Cherrywood shelter.” The tall Latina stood in the lobby of the women’s shelter, looking over her visitor with stark skepticism. “You are…?”

  “Dr. Rachel Hirosawa,” came the polite reply. The stunning Japanese woman smiled at her sweetly, which she noticed unnerved the good doctor further. Marquez probably wasn’t used to strangers in proper suits. Deadbeats in wife-beaters were more like it.

  Rachel repressed a chuckle, explaining gently, “I was referred to the case of Goldie Candler. May I see her?”

  Dr. Marquez was not impressed. “I have received no such referral.”

  “Doctor,” Rachel bowed her head courteously, “I understand your hesitance. After what Miss Candler experienced, I appreciate your wanting to keep her safe. But I’ve been hired by the city to compare her statements to those of similar victims. Police Chief Bryant thinks there’s a pattern.”

  Dr. Marquez remained cynical. There was something off about this woman, this tall, smiling young woman with her chin-length highlighted hair and her panther-like movements. She stood with her hands behind her back and her legs apart, much like a soldier at ease.

  “Bryant hasn’t called me,” Dr. Marquez insisted. “And I’ve never known him to be negligent.”

  “Doc, it’s okay,” came a soft voice from the shadows of the hallway. Goldie stepped into the light, wearing a faded bathrobe, her long hair still damped. She looked directly at Rachel, asking, “You said you’re a Hirosawa?”

  Rachel smiled broadly, nodding.

  “I’m Goldie.”

  “Hi, Goldie; I’m Rachel.”

  The blonde turned back to Dr. Marquez, “It’s okay, Doc. She can come with me.”

  “Goldie—”

  “I’d appreciate some privacy, Doc,” Goldie stated firmly, before leading Rachel up to her room.

  Once the door closed and they were alone, Goldie looked at Rachel once more and said, “You’re a Hirosawa.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Aryan once told me about the deal he had with your family. The one that went south. You must know Michael.”

  “He’s my brother,” Rachel nodded. “He’s having trouble finding your boyfriend. They have a few things to discuss.”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Goldie corrected, “and don’t patronize me. Michael wants Aryan dead for skipping town with his money.”

  Rachel chuckled, clearly amused. “Right again, sister.”

  Goldie paused, thinking for a moment. “I take it Aryan’s not at the warehouse.”

  “Nope,” Rachel shook her head. “However, we did find a guy there named Derek, grabbing some last minute items.”

  Goldie’s eyes lit up. “Derek Hirsch?”

  “That’s the one.” Rachel snickered. “It didn’t take long to make him talk. Of course, it didn’t matter once he did. Michael’s not known for his mercy. By the time he finished, ole Derek looked like a tarot card—Ten of Swords, to be exact.”

  Goldie didn’t care about Derek right
now. She wanted Rachel to get to the point. “And you once got Derek talking, he helped you find me?”

  Rachel cocked her head to the side, her smile betraying her delight. “You know, you’re a lot smarter than he said you were.”

  Goldie looked grim. “You learn a few things when you aren’t shoveling coke up your nose night after night. Here’s the deal, I can help you find Aryan. Back when he still pretended to give a fuck about me, he told me about a few spots he kept secret from the others.”

  Rachel nodded, appearing more solemn now. “My family is grateful for your assistance in this. Michael is prepared to compensate you handsomely.”

  Goldie was sick of money. The chase, the lust, the endless seeking of cash had done her no good. No…she only wanted something else now.

  “No offense, but I don’t need your family’s cash,” she replied clearly. “When we find Aryan, I just want to watch.”

  Rachel’s upper body moved slightly backward, her expression obviously showing her surprise. This girl was not what she’d expected.

  * * *

  Eric didn’t go home after his shift at the library. Instead he walked the streets of the west end. He was more frustrated than ever, even more than the day Lilith first kissed him. Yes, he had wanted to be well-read again, to be articulate again, to be someone again, but he had also wanted to be close to her. He’d wanted their first real conversation to be on equal footing; he hadn’t wanted to be caught off guard again. It had taken great restraint to leave her alone for all that time to strictly concentrate on reading. There were times when her perfume smelled so sweet, or one of her silken blouses stretched so tightly across her chest that he wanted to simply throw her over his shoulder and head for her office.

  Even now he was feeling it, as his blood rose to the surface and heated his skin. He felt the cool night air sweeping over him and it was deliciously pleasant. He was awake, alive, and extremely aware of his surroundings, as though possessed by some primitive mating instinct.