1st to Die - James Patterson [89]
A month—four lousy weeks.
When I got back to the office, a few of the guys were standing around grinning at me. There was a beautiful bouquet of flowers on my desk. Wildflowers.
I smelled them, taking in the sweet, natural scent. I read the card. There’s a hill of these where I have a cabin up at Heavenly. Tomorrow’s Friday. Take the day off. Let’s go there.
It was signed Chris.
It sounded like what I needed. The mountains. Chris. I would have to tell him, now that the truth would come clear soon.
My phone rang. It was Chris. “So?” No doubt someone in the office, playing cupid, had alerted him that I was back.
“Haven’t opened your card yet.” I bit my lip. “Too many others to sort through.”
I heard a disappointed sigh, let it linger just a moment. “But on the chance you were asking me away, the answer is, I’d love to. It sounds great. Let’s be on the road by eight.”
“Late riser,” he said. “I was hoping we’d beat the morning rush.”
“I was talking tonight.”
I had a month. I was thinking, Mountain air, running streams, and wildflowers is a good way to begin.
Chapter 100
WE SPENT THE NEXT TWO DAYS as if we were in a beautiful dream.
Chris’s cabin was funky and charming, a redwood A-frame ski chalet on Mason Ridge overlooking Heavenly. We hiked in the woods with Sweet Martha, took the tram to the top of the mountain, and walked all the way down. We grilled swordfish on the deck.
In between, we made love in the comfort of his large four-poster bed, on the sheepskin rug in front of the wood-burning stove, in the chilly thrill of the outdoor shower. We laughed and played and touched each other like teenagers, discovering love again.
But I was no starry-eyed adolescent. I knew exactly what was taking place. I felt the steady, undeniable current rising inside me like a river spilling over its banks. I felt helpless.
Saturday, Chris promised me a day I would never forget.
We drove down to Lake Tahoe, to a quaint marina on the California side. He had rented a platform boat, an old puttering wooden barge. We bought sandwiches and a bottle of chardonnay, and went out to the middle of the lake. The water calm and turquoise, the sky cloudless and bright. All around, the rocky tips of snow-capped mountains ringed the lake like a crown.
We moored, and for a while it was our own private world. Chris and I stripped down to our suits. I figured we’d kick back, enjoy the wine in the sun, look at the view, but Chris had sort of an expectant, dare-you look in his eye. He ran his hands through the frigid water.
“No way,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s got to be fifty degrees.”
“Yeah, but it’s a dry cold,” he teased.
“Right,” I chortled. “You go, then. Catch me a coho if you see one swim by.”
He came toward me with playful menace in his eyes. “You can catch one yourself.”
“Not a chance.” I shook my head in defiance. But I was laughing, too. As he stepped forward, I backed to the rear of the craft until I ran out of room.
He put his arms around me. I felt the tingle of his skin on mine. “It’s sort of an initiation,” he said.
“An initiation for what?”
“Exclusive club. Anyone who wants to be in it has to jump in.”
“Then leave me out.” I laughed, squirming in his strong arms. With only weak resistance, he yanked me up on the cushion seat in the stern of the boat.
“Shit, Chris,” I cried as he took hold of my hand.
“Geronimo works better,” he said, pulling at me. I screamed, “You bastard!” and we toppled in.
The water was freezing, a total, invigorating rush. We hit the surface together, and I screamed in his face, “Goddamn you!” Then he kissed me in the water and all at once I felt no chill. I held on to him, at first for warmth, but also because I never wanted to let him go. I felt a trust for him that was so complete it was almost scary. Fifty degrees, but I was burning up.
“Check this out,” I dared him, kicking free of his grasp. There was an orange boat marker bobbing fifty yards away. “Race you to that buoy.” Then I cut out, surprising him with my speed.
Chris tried to keep