Rapture

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The sea was crusted with whitecaps, the sand was still hard-packed from winter, and the sky was uniformly gray. A sharp breeze licked in off the water, swept along the shore, and then died, only to reappear a few minutes later. It was Sunday afternoon, and the weather had turned. It wasn't really cold, but brisk and invigorating or chilly and raw, according to taste.

"When I was back in Connecticut just about a year ago," Jeff said, "there was a tremendous heat wave the whole time."

"That was the exception," Bonnie told him. "This is normal for the beginning of May."

"I guess."

He took a slug of malt Scotch. There was about a third of the bottle left, and he passed it to Bonnie. She hoisted it like a veteran drinker, but pursed her lips tightly and took only a small amount of the whiskey.

"This stuff numbs my lips," she said. "You know that?"

He smiled. "It's actually very smooth."

"But it does give you a nice warm feeling inside," she added, completing her thought.

There wasn't a boat to be seen on Cape Cod Bay, weather threats apparently having prevailed. The shore was equally deserted in both directions. Jeff and Bonnie had come to this place more or less by accident. Boston had looked dreary and uninviting from the ninth floor of the Hyatt that morning, but neither of them had wanted to hang around the hotel room all day.

"We could do this every year," Bonnie said.

"What?"

"What we've been doing. Three days and nights of sinful sex and fun. We could get together once a year, every May, just for a long delicious weekend, and then not see or talk to each other at all until the next year."

" ?" VVFhy

"I don't know. Wouldn't it be kind of adventurous and romantic?"

"A reunion," Jeff said, and the word reverberated through his mind.

"Right. I bet it would be fun."

"I'm not sure reunions are such a great idea."

"I think there was a movie about two people who did that," Bonnie continued. "They'd meet once a year, and they kept the affair going for about twenty years."

"There's a movie about everything, but that doesn't mean it would work."

"Oh, Jeff." She poked him playfully. "You're getting tired of me already."

"No, it isn't that. I wouldn't mind taking you back to L.A. with me tomorrow. But a year is a very long time in some ways, and you'll be a different person next May.*

"Yeah, but I might still like the idea of spending a dirty weekend with you."

'Bonnie ..."

But she knelt forward and put a finger to his lips while she tried to keep herself from giggling.

"Never mind, Jeff. I was only kidding. Honest to God, you take things so seriously, sometimes it's impossible not to put you on."

Jeff made a face at her and then busied himself taking another gulp of whiskey and lighting a cigarette. The trouble was, she had a point, even if she didn't fully realize it. The weekend was disappearing fast, and he'd hardly begun to come to terms with this girl. He knew much more about her, he knew her intimately-but that didn't seem to matter. He hadn't found a way to use that knowledge and, if anything, he felt less sure of himself than he had before he'd come to Boston. Bonnie always seemed to be a step ahead of him, or she'd say something that would stop him in his tracks and make him wonder. He was the older, the one with the experience and the money, but in some way Bonnie had taken control of the situation, and never relinquished it.

The previous night had been a nonevent as far as Jeff was concerned. He'd wanted to begin talking about Georgianne, but with that one simple stabbing question in the middle of their love-making, she'd made it impossible for him to speak seriously. For someone essentially so innocent, she seemed to know him, and understand him, all too well. That was starting to frighten him.

They'd gone to a steakhouse for dinner and talked about sex-Jeff reluctantly, Bonnie enthusiastically. She informed him that she wasn't wearing panties under the dress she'd bought at Filene's. It was something she'd wanted to try doing once, since she'd read The Story of 0. Jeff didn't know the book.

"So how does it feel?"

"Put your hand up in there, and I'll tell you."

"Here? No thanks."

Then she told him about an associate professor who'd called her into his office one day to discuss a course. He mumbled vaguely for five or ten minutes and then casually asked her if she'd sit on his face. According to Bonnie, she had done it, but by then Jeff didn't believe a word she said. She was trying too hard, he thought, to make fact out of fantasysomething he had enough experience of to recognize.

"Does your mother know how you ... live at college?"

"What do you mean-how I live?"

"Well, you know. Does she know you sleep with men?"

"As opposed to women?"

"You don't sleep with women."

"And how do you know that?"

"Does your mother know?"

"What do parents ever know about their kids? Mom and I haven't really discussed it since she sent me off last year with all the usual warnings and advice. I love my mother, but she lives in her world and I live in mine. If I need to talk to her about something, she's always there. But she respects me, and my privacy."

"She trusts you."

"Right. Besides, you make it sound like I sleep around all the time. Actually, I'm very choosy."

"Uh-huh, like the associate professor."

"He was an exception, and so are you, for that matter. But then, I'm an exception for you too, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I could tell right away, Jeff. You don't sleep around much at all, do you? We're really very alike in that regard. You sleep alone nearly all the time. . . ."

Sometime early Sunday morning Jeffs sleep had been disturbed by a strange voice. "One and two and three and four ... One and two and three and four ..." He rolled over in bed and opened his eyes. Bonnie was doing something on the floor. The television set was turned on, the volume low but clear. "One and two and . . ." Jeff blinked a couple of times and sat up. Now Bonnie was wearing only a pair of panties. She was doing exercises, along with the two girls in brightly colored, geometrically patterned leotards on the TV screen. A few minutes later, the television clicked off, and Bonnie slipped back into bed with him. She had worked up a light sweat, and her body was warm and arousing.

"Rise and shine," she whispered.

At that moment the thought had come to him that it might be the last of their love-making, but now, as they relaxed and passed the Scotch back and forth in the shelter of the dunes, he realized he'd been mistaken. They still had tonight, and tomorrow morning, unless he botched it. But he had to talk about Georgians and run that risk, because Georgianne was far more important than screwing Bonnie one more time.

"What do you think your mother is doing this afternoon?" he asked idly. "Right now."

"I don't know." Bonnie shrugged, and then said, "But what if she tried to call you? Your phone could be ringing in California right now, and you'd never know you missed her."

"I doubt it," he replied, turning his face away. Did she know what she was doing to him when she said things like that, or was she completely, innocently oblivious? He wasn't sure which was worse. All he knew was that when she got too close, little flares of pain or anguish went off inside him and he couldn't do anything about it.

"Are you a very lonely person?" Bonnie asked quietly. "I think you must be."

"Oh boy." Jeff tried to force a laugh, but it sounded weak. Triffids came to mind, the few times he had gone there in search of someone or something, the driven people he had met, the whole depressing scene. But Bonnie had kicked away the last block that held him back, and Jeff found that the words finally began to come easily to him. "Yes, I guess I am, or I have been. For a long time I never thought about whether I was lonely or not. After the divorce, I just worked and worked, and worked some more. Loneli ness is something you have to sit down and think about-you have to notice it one way or another. If you stay busy enough, you can get by for quite a while. But that doesn't mean it goes away. It does catch up with you sooner or later, like an illness that doesn't have any symptoms until it develops to a certain point...."

"Critical mass," Bonnie said.

"Yes. Exactly."

And what's beyond critical mass, Bonnie wondered. She had seen enough of Jeff over the past forty-eight hours, in bed and out, to get a clear impression of the man. He was more than lonely; he seemed to be possessed of strange demons. She had seen it in the stiffness of his manner, in his hunger for physical contact, in the way his eyes moved and his skin tightened across his face when he didn't know what to say. She had seen it immediately in the mirrored sunglasses and what he'd done to his hair, and in his willingness to go along with whatever she wanted to do (which was probably because he couldn't think of anything to do himself; he had very little spontaneity). And she had seen it again this morning. He'd gone out by himself for a few minutes and then returned to announce that he'd rented a car and they were going for a drive. That was fine, but as soon as they were on the highway heading south, it became clear he didn't know what to do next. Get off at Quincy? Braintree? Weymouth? Assinippi? He wanted to be the man, the one in charge, but he just didn't do a very good job of it-a fact that seemed to haunt him all the time.

Finally they had stopped in Plymouth for lunch at a fish shack and then a look at the Rock. They had proceeded on as far as Sagamore, where Jeff had decided abruptly that he didn't want to drive to the end of the Cape after all. So they meandered back north along the old coast road until they'd come across this neglected, unprepossessing patch of sea front. It wasn't much of a beach and it wasn't pretty, but they were near Manomet Point, and there would be people around if the weather were better.

"I think I reached that point when I met your mother again last year," Jeff said nervously. "Critical mass, or whatever you want to call it."

"Really?" Bonnie sat up, brushed some sand off her sweater, and dug her boot heels into the hard ground. "What did Mom say or do to ... ?"

"Nothing, really. But seeing her old family house for sale, and then meeting her after so many years, well, it made me sit back and think. I'd been rushing through my life, but like a zombie, blind to everything but the work in front of me. When I got back to California, I was still thinking about it, and I realized what I had been missing. All those years, I hadn't really been enjoying life at all. I decided that it wasn't too late and that I could change my life; it didn't even matter if I made mistakes or it didn't work outbecause the important thing was that I try, that I make the effort."

"That's good," Bonnie told him. "That's healthy."

He gave a short, bitter laugh. "And the funny part is, as soon as I started changing my habits I discov ered that I had a lot more freedom than I would have guessed. It came as a shock to me, but at the same time I liked what I was doing. I knew immediately I was right.*

"You were Rip Van Winkle," Bonnie said.

"In a way, yes. That's right."

'Were you in love with my mother?" Bonnie thought she knew the answer to the question already, but it was time to make Jeff talk about it. They had skirted around it all weekend, but he could hardly bring himself to get it out in the open and face it with her.

"Was I ..." Jeff echoed. He didn't seem to understand what she was asking.

"When you were in high school together."

"Oh, well. Maybe I was," he replied vaguely, shaking his head and smiling oddly. He should have expected a blunt question like that from Bonnie sooner or later. In fact, he had seen it coming after yesterday's question. But he still felt an enormous dread, even with the moment at hand, and he wasn't sure what to say. "That was a long time ago. I was a teenager, and who knows what teenagers think and feel? I've spent a weekend with you, but I can't pretend I really know or understand you."

Bonnie absently nudged a piece of broken shell, but she was not to be diverted. "Are you now?" she asked. "Are you still in love with her now?"

Jeff lit a cigarette, turning his face away from her. He stared at the bay, at his feet; he brushed his hair back with his hand. Finally he faced the girl again.

"Yes," he said simply, quietly.

Bonnie nodded slightly to herself. The look on her face seemed so neutral it was almost scientific. Jeff had the unpleasant sensation that she was looking right through him at something else. But then she glanced at the sky.

It must be getting late," she said. "Don't you think we should start back to Boston?"

"Hey, wait a minute," he said anxiously, sitting up. "I want to talk about it."

"Yeah, but I'm getting cold here, Jeff, even with the Scotch. Can't we talk while we're driving?"

"Sure, we'll talk in the car, but"-Jeff put his hand on her arm-"I want to get something clear first. Are you mad at me?"

"No. Why should I be?"

"Because I've been to bed with you several times this weekend and now I've told you I love your mother."

"Well, that's the way it goes."

"That's the way it goes?" Jeff was astounded. "That's all you have to say about it?"

"I told you I'm not mad at you. I don't know what else to say."

"Say what you think."

"Give me a few minutes to get used to it," Bonnie said. "In the car I'll tell you what I think. Okay?"

"Hang on a sec. Was it very obvious to you?"

"I had an idea," she admitted. "I wondered about it."

"Since when?"

"Last year. The first time I met you."

"You're kidding." Jeff felt his face reddening.

"No. You hardly ever took your eyes off Mom. It kind of reminded me of the way a kid in my class used to look at me, and I thought: Hmm, I wonder."

"Was it that obvious to your mother and father?"

"They didn't talk to me about it," Bonnie answered with a deliberate shrug. "Maybe Dad was a little uncomfortable, but then you went back to California and that was the end of it, so ..."

"Yeah, right."

"Shall we go now?" Bonnie suggested brightly.

.No, wait a minute."

His hand was on her arm again. He's not going to let me go, Bonnie thought. He wants to have it all out right here. She was aware of being a little frightened, but she still had a lot of confidence as well. She should have waited until they were in the car and back out on the road before asking Jeff if he loved her mother, but even then, at that last moment, she hadn't really believed it was true, or that he would admit it. Everything added up exactly as it had each time she'd looked at the situation-and yet she'd still been reluctant to accept it. It was a fact the mind naturally wanted to resist. And could she be sure ... ? Or was she simply overreacting?

Bonnie had given a great deal of thought to Jeff Lisker the previous autumn, when she'd drawn up her list of names. He became more interesting when she learned that he'd been back to visit her mother again, and that he was calling her on the phone twice a week. But that was all there was to it. The move from Jeff's interest in Georgianne to Sean's murder was simply too big a leap. Bonnie had thought then that if Jeff ever turned up in Cambridge looking for her, she'd know. That would be it, that would tell her everything. But she'd thrown away the list and tried to forget about it all.

Until Friday. Jeffs sudden appearance had shocked and frightened her, but she hadn't been entirely unprepared, and she thought she'd handled it well. What he'd done to his hair was interesting. The fact that she hadn't seen any computer components or business papers in his hotel room was also noteworthy. But the real questions were whether he'd come to Boston because he wanted Georgianne or because he wanted her daughter, and whether he really was capable of killing. She had taken him to bed to find out what kind of man he was.

Bonnie soon had no doubt that he was in love with her mother, but she was also surprised that he let himself be seduced so easily. And the more time she spent with him, the less she thought it likely he could hurt anyone. He acted like he'd learned to live by following instructions in a manual. Killing Sean for the love of Georgianne would be insane, but it would also require courage and romantic heroism, however twisted, and Bonnie had seen nothing of those qualities in Jeff. He might love her mother, but he had too much of the spinster aunt in him to do anything drastic about it.

Bonnie didn't actually feel threatened just now Jeff looked puzzled more than anything else-but she did want to get away from that empty beach. He wasn't ready to go. But she had persuaded him to do whatever she wanted all weekend, and there was no reason for that to stop now. She simply had to talk to him and reassure him until they were in the car and moving.

"What are you going to do?" she asked softly, squeezing his hand affectionately.

"About what?" He sounded confused but wary.

"Well, you haven't talked about this with Mom, have you? Are you going to?"

"I don't know. I guess so, but that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Are you sure you're not upset?"

"Because we've slept together? No, I told you. Why should I be upset? I wanted it as much as you did, maybe more. It doesn't have anything to do with my mother. Besides, you're better in bed than you think, and if you and Mom get together, well, that's nice to know."

Jeff liked what she said, but something was wrong. It didn't quite ring true. Bonnie was clever, but she'd also been open and frank all the time he'd been with her. Now she was just saying whatever she thought would sound right to him.

"You wouldn't tell her," he said.

"Christ, no. Why would I do that? Imagine how it would hurt her. And even if I didn't care what she thought about you, I do care what she thinks about me."

That made sense. "The thing is," he said, "I did try to let Georgianne know how I felt about her, but it didn't seem to get through to her. Uh ... this was some time after your father's death, of course."

"Sure, well ..."

"And it's depressing, very depressing. Back in February, she more or less told me not to come for a visit. And I thought that if I didn't call for a while, it might ... she might ... well, nothing came of it. Nothing happened at all."

"I see."

"I guess I probably didn't do a very good job of making myself clear to her," he went on.

"Maybe you did," she told him.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Her remark threw him off stride for a moment, but then he understood. "You mean I did get through to her but she isn't interested in me?"

"No. I mean maybe she isn't interested in any man right now. Maybe it's still too soon for her. It hasn't even been a year since my father's murder, and my mother is not the kind of woman to start looking around for a replacement in a hurry."

Her tone was still maddeningly detached. Jeff felt he was losing ground, a foot a minute.

"Yeah, okay, that could certainly be true," he said. "But why did she cut me off? That wasn't necessary." He could barely conceal the bitterness he felt.

"Well, I know what you're saying," Bonnie replied calmly. "But you've got to remember that you stopped calling her, you broke the routine. More important, maybe she was afraid to let things go too far. The thought of your coming to visit at that time, maybe it scared her. Maybe she knew she wasn't ready to commit herself to anyone, and she didn't want you to get your hopes up and then be hurt. Telling you not to come last February might have been her way of protecting you, as much as herself."

"So what do you think I should do? Just leave her alone? Am I supposed to wait another month? Six months? A year? What do you think I should do? You know your mother, and now you know the situation."

"I don't know what to tell you, Jeff. I can't lie to you; I don't think she's ready for a serious relationship at this time. She's got a lot on her mind, with the sale of the house, the move to Boston, and all that. But it sure wouldn't hurt if you called her up again, just to say, Hi, how are you, what's new. That kind of thing."

Bonnie had to remind herself that she was talking like this to a man more than twice her age.

"Hi, how are you, what's new," Jeff echoed sullenly.

"How come you never made a play for her back when you were in school together?"

"I don't know, I don't know," he said, rubbing his forehead. "That was then and that's the way it happened. All I'm concerned about now is-now."

He was getting into a mood, and Bonnie knew she had to pull him out of it.

"Look, you know I'll do what I can for you, Jeff. On top of everything else, though, there is the problem of distance. You've got to admit it's not going to be easy to develop a relationship when you're in L.A. and she's in Boston. But let's try to-"

"You mean you don't think it's a bad idea?" he asked, looking up sharply.

"What?"

"Your mother and me. I mean, when she's ready for an involvement with another man. Would you think she'd be making a mistake if it was me?"

"No. Of course not." Bonnie tried to think of something more to say, but couldn't. "No."

"I think you should tell me the truth," Jeff said.

"About what? I have been-"

"There's something you're not telling me."

"What?"

"I want to know what Georgianne has said to you about me. What does she feel about me? You have to have a better idea than what you've told me so far, and I think it's only fair that you let me know. I'm sick of ... hanging like this."

Bonnie frowned. Clasping her arms around her knees, she rocked her body slightly while she began forming the words in her mind.

"Well, I guess she knew how you felt about her."

It was a vindication of sorts. Jeff hadn't completely failed; he had gotten through to Georgianne. But that only seemed to make matters worse. Georgianne had known, but she deliberately hadn't responded.

"But I don't think she knew how to handle it," Bonnie went on. "As I said, it's too soon, or-"

"What else? Come on, there's more to it."

Bonnie glanced sideways at Jeff. His face was a wreck; he was all torn up emotionally. She had never seen an adult like this. It was a little frightening, but also fascinating. She discovered that she felt he deserved it, somehow, and that she really didn't want to make it any easier for him.

"The worst that can happen is that the two of you don't click, right?" Bonnie said. "Maybe you will, but maybe you won't. My mother hasn't said anything about it to me, one way or the other, but you have to consider the possibilities. She married my father, and he was a different kind of guy from you. Maybe you're not my mother's type."

"Why shouldn't I be?" Jeff asked petulantly. "We were always friends, we always got along together really well."

"Yeah, maybe. But that's not the same thing-is it?"

"Is that what she told you about me? That I'm not her type. Did she say that?"

"Well, no, not in those words, but ..."

But what? What did she say?"

"She has a very high opinion of you, Jeff," Bonnie replied, trying not to sound exasperated. "She said you're a good person. But it's not what she said; it's what she didn't say. I just didn't get the impression that there was any real romantic ... well, you know ... that she didn't think of you in those terms. At least not yet," she added quickly. "That doesn't mean something couldn't build up, in time, when she's in the right frame of mind for it."

Bonnie had the uneasy feeling that she was letting it get away from her. Jeff didn't seem to be listening. What would he do if she stood up and started to walk toward the road? She decided that would be too abrupt a move and that there wasn't any need for it at the moment.

"Going nowhere," Jeff muttered, "going nowhere."

"What?" Bonnie snuggled down beside him, resting her head on his chest. "What is it?"

"Just the feeling that I'm getting nowhere ... and going nowhere."

"Ah, Jeff, Jeff ..." She stroked his face gently. "It really means a lot to you, doesn't it."

"Everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes."

"Then it'll work out. Somehow. Don't worry."

What does she have on me, Jeff wondered. The fact that Bonnie had once put his name on a list bothered him, although he knew it shouldn't. Everyone she knew even slightly was on that list; he hadn't been singled out for special consideration. But then he'd begun to pursue Georgianne. Yesterday Bonnie had asked him about her father's death. Was she putting it all together? She didn't appear to be particularly suspicious of him, but she was so clever and precocious it was impossible to know what was going on in her mind. And if she did think about it seriously, if she did come to believe that he might have been involved in her father's death, then surely she would get around to discussing it with Georgianne. Legally, Jeff was convinced he had no worries. There was no weapon, and nearly a year had passed. No one could put him in the Gorge on that morning. But life would be terribly complicated if they decided to investigate further and started to ask questions.

"I'd like to make love right now," Bonnie whispered, caressing his thigh. "But someone might come along and spoil it for us...."

How could he have any doubts about a girl who would lie in his arms and behave with him the way she did? It didn't make sense, but at the same time he knew that the only person he could trust absolutely was himself. There were things that could be checked out and verified or disproved. Union Carbide, for instance. Georgianne would never do that herself, but if Bonnie ever admitted that Jeff had been to Boston to see her, it might come to mind. His visit to Boston just didn't look right, he knew, and it would be the easiest thing for 'a cop to determine that neither he nor anyone else at Lisker-Benedictus had ever had any business dealings with Union Carbide, Wang, or Prime. So why did you lie about these things, Mr. Lisker? What were you doing there?

"Come on, Jeff," Bonnie suggested. "Let's get back to the hotel and jump into bed." In spite of her roving hand, he showed no signs of interest or arousal. "It's getting cold, honey. Please."

Jeff ignored her. The real problem was Georgianne, who was sooner or later going to move to Boston. He was just beginning to understand what that would mean to him. She would be farther away, she would have many new distractions, and she would come into contact with countless new men, one of whom, surely, would take an active interest in her. Boston would change everything about Georgianne's life. It was only a matter of time, but the result was inevitable. He, on the other side of the country, wouldn't have a chance.

Bonnie got up, brushed sand off her jeans, looked around, and shivered. Jeff was still lying on his back, staring at her. His face was expressionless.

"Well, you can stay there a while longer if you want," Bonnie said nonchalantly. But I think I'll wait in the car. I'm getting a chill out here and I don't want to come down with a cold just when I'm about to take my finals." She picked up her handbag and rummaged through it, looking for something.

"Bonnie."

"Hm?"

"I want to ask you something."

"What?"

He raised himself on one elbow. "When you drew up that list of names last year, did you really think I could have had anything to do with your father's death?"

Bonnie froze, her hand still in the leather bag. "No, of course not."

"Why not?"

"Jeff." A protest. "I told you. Listen, I wrote my uncles' names down too. It didn't mean anything. It was just something I did to ease my mind at the time."

"But then you didn't know that I loved your mother."

"So what?"

"People do kill for love."

"Yeah, but in the heat of the moment, on impulse, a sudden explosion, that kind of thing."

"So you don't think someone would travel clear across the country and calmly kill another person out of love?"

"No." Bonnie found what she wanted in the handbag. "No, that doesn't make any more sense than my father being a drug dealer."

"Really?" He could see she was nervous and lying. "But you wouldn't think someone would try to im press Jodie Foster by shooting the President either, would you?"

"That was insanity."

"Isn't love a form of insanity?" He wanted to say, And something, maybe your mother, has made me crazy, has made me do things I wouldn't have believed possible...

"No, I don't think that," Bonnie said. "And you don't believe it either, Jeff, I know you don't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"What are you trying to tell me, Jeff? Are you trying to say that you did kill my father?" She tried to sound hard and skeptical, but there was a tremor in her voice.

"Haven't you been thinking about that all weekend?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me. You started thinking about it the minute I sat down in the cafe in Harvard Square, and it's been on your mind ever since. You're too intelligent not to consider the possibility, now that you know how I feel about your mother."

"If this is some sort of mind game you're playing, it's in very poor taste."

"Sick?"

Bonnie knew she couldn't answer that, because to do so would play right into his hands. She didn't like the situation, but she still felt she could take care of herself. If only her options weren't so limited. Perhaps she could outrun him back to the car, lock herself inside, and then sit on the horn until someone came. It wasn't pretty, but it might be the best alternative.

"Why are you acting like this, Jeff? It's just nasty and pointless. I didn't want the weekend to end like this. We've had such a good time together...."

"I wanted to know what you think about it," he replied simply, with a thin smile.

"Well, I don't like it, and I haven't thought about it."

But you are now, Jeff thought.

"Bonnie, Bonnie. What am I going to do?"

"You're going to drive us back to the hotel, and we're going to get in bed and see if we can't put all this nonsense behind us and finish the weekend on a real high."

But Bonnie knew she didn't sound convincing. She knew Jeff figured, correctly, that once they got back to Boston she'd ditch him in a hurry. There was nothing left to say or do but to get out of this place. Now. Bonnie started to walk away, but Jeff grabbed her hand and pulled her down.

"I'm sorry," he said. Then he took the front of her sweater and maneuvered her on top of him. "Kiss me."

She obeyed mechanically, closing her eyes because he kept his open. It was a cool, asexual kiss, and while their lips were together, Jeff started to do something peculiar with his fingers on her neck. She tried to pull back slightly, but he wouldn't let her. Bonnie's body was stiffening with fear, and she knew she had to act immediately, before he had her completely paralyzed. She let herself lie on him, one hand stroking his hair while she continued to kiss him. Her other hand came out of the leather handbag with the knife, and she held the point of the blade against his throat. It was a small hunting and camping knife, with a three-inch blade, but it was quite sharp. She had bought it shortly after her father's murder and she carried it with her at all times. Jeffs eyes widened a little when he felt the cold metal on his vulnerable flesh.

"Listen carefully," Bonnie said, her voice shaky but very serious. "I'm sorry I have to do this, Jeff, but you give me no choice. Please don't move, not even a fraction of an inch. Put your hands down and slide them slowly under your back, but don't do anything else. If you try to get up, you'll just stab yourself on this knife, and it's very, very sharp. Believe me."

Jeff let go of her and moved his hands slightly under his body. Bonnie tightened her grip on his hair, holding his head to the ground. She had surprised him, and she had him in a pretty good position-he couldn't move without hurting himself, perhaps fatally. But to his amazement, Jeff felt utterly serene. It was beautiful. He had to admire the girl. What courage and presence of mind she had, for an eighteen year old child. She was truly worthy of him, and he loved her for it. He wasn't afraid of death. In a way, it would make sense to die here at Bonnie's hands. He had no desire to escape this sudden new situation. He felt light and airy, as if freedom were finally at hand. None of the many scenarios he had dreamed up for his own triumph could equal the abrupt possibility of his tragic demise. A man who had taken life and then given his own-for love. All for love. It was as close as he had ever come to mak ing a hero and a myth out of himself. He smiled at Bonnie, with love and real gratitude. The two of them were growing enormously with each passing second.

But she looked terrified now that she had gained a positional advantage. Her face was pale, and her body trembled on his. She slid off carefully, kneeling beside him, not for an instant loosening her grip on his hair or the knife. Jeff could imagine what an extraordinary effort of nerve and will it took for her to do this. It was like finding out she was his daughter.

"Sex isn't like this, is it?" he asked. "Sex isn't nearly this good. I'll bet you've never felt more alive than you do right now."

"Please," Bonnie said. "Just listen to me and answer me and do what I say. I'm sorry about this. I didn't want it, but I have to protect myself."

"Of course." It was difficult to speak with the knife point jabbing his throat, but he ignored the discomfort.

"I want an honest answer from you," Bonnie said. "And I'll know if you're lying. I'll know."

"What if I did?"

"What, lie?"

"No. What if I did kill your father?"

"My God," she gasped.

"That's what you wanted to ask, isn't it?"

"You did. I can't believe it. You really did."

"I didn't say that," Jeff replied pedantically.

But Bonnie looked at him as if she no longer had any doubt. She had considered the possibility many times before, but it still came as a shock to her. It was real now, and she had to adjust to it.

"I knew it," she murmured. "I knew it."

`Knew what?"

"Last year, when you first stopped in Danbury," she said. You called my number the night before you met my mother. You asked for Harry or somebody, a wrong number-right? When I met you a day or two later, I recognized your voice. You did a lousy job of disguising it on the phone, Jeff."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. I didn't call you; I didn't even know you had your own phone."

"And you never had any business with Union Carbide, or Wang, or Prime, right? It was all just an act, an excuse to be where you wanted to be."

"Call them and ask."

"Why did you come to Boston?" she asked. "To get me, to fuck me because you couldn't have Mom? Or to kill me?"

Both, maybe, Jeff thought. To fuck you, yes, sure. To kill you, maybe that too. Because he had been slowly drifting to the point where he realized that he had to isolate Georgianne completely, to strip her life of any ties and trappings that kept her from him. Yes, even to keep her from moving to Boston.

"Tell me," Bonnie went on. "Tell me the truth."

"What truth?"

"I'm asking you if you killed my father. I'm asking you if you can deny it to my face."

Jeff looked at her calmly and smiled.

"What are you going to do, Bonnie? You've got me where you want me now, but what are you going to do? Kill me? Go ahead. I won't resist. You can do it, you know. You're really a lot like me."

"Don't say that," she responded angrily. "I'm not like you, not at all."

"Oh yes, oh yes."

"When my father was murdered, I bought this knife for my own protection. I thought that whoever did it might come after me next and I wanted to be prepared. But even when you came along the other day, I was surprised and I found it hard to believe. I have to believe it now, though. I have no choice. I'm sorry for you, Jeff, I really am. Obviously my mother reaches deep, deep inside you, and you can't help it. I guess that's not your fault, but it's not hers either. I hope to God I never have that kind of effect on any man. But you didn't have any right to kill my father, and you did. I know you did. Tell me."

Jeff didn't flinch or show any reaction.

"You have your mind made up," he told her. "I just wish you'd do whatever you're going to do. Go on, do it. Now."

"I wonder," Bonnie said. "Would you be so eager to die if you hadn't killed my father? Somehow I doubt it. You're not brave enough to come right out and admit it, but the way you're acting is as much as a confession."

"Think what you want. You will anyway."

"But I'm not going to kill you," Bonnie said. "Because I'm not like you, Jeff."

That's not right, he thought. One of us has to die here.

He was ready for it to be him. His death would be an exclamation mark at the end of a sentence practically no one had heard. It would transform Bonnie's and Georgianne's lives forever. The whole story would come out and make news all around the country. They would never escape the importance he would have achieved in their lives. In death, at least, he would have them both, and they would spend the rest of their days haunted by the memory of him. It was a sweet and profoundly satisfying thought, and Jeff smiled at Bonnie again.

"You are like me," he repeated, "and you'd better kill me while you have the chance."

"Listen to me," Bonnie ordered, painfully aware of the cramps developing in her hands. "With that hand, reach into your pocket and take out the car keys. Very slowly, and make no other moves. Then put the keys on your stomach and your hand back under you."

When he did that, Bonnie intended to release his hair, put the keys between her teeth, and then pour some sand in his open eyes so that he couldn't race right after her when she broke for the car. It wasn't a great plan, but it was the best she could devise. She didn't want to hurt him, she just wanted to get away. Filling his eyes with sand would slow him down enough ... but Jeff refused to cooperate.

"No," he was saying, "no. You listen to me for a second. I'm not going through that rigmarole with you, Bonnie. You can kill me if you want, but I'm going to stand up. And you should think what you'll say if you do kill me. Are you going to tell the police that I killed your father? What proof will you show them? You don't have a weapon, you don't have a confession, you don't have anything to tie me to your father's death. And what'll you say when the police come up with witnesses who'll testify that I was at home in California when your father actually died? Kill me if you think you have to, but you'll destroy your mother and ruin your own life in the process."

"Don't move," Bonnie demanded, but it came out more as a plea than a command. Her eyes were wide with terror. Her resolve had crumbled away in the few moments it had taken Jeff to speak, and she no longer knew what to do. As long as he had been willing, eager to die, she'd had no doubt that she was right about him. But now everything he'd just said rang true, and she realized how flimsy her case was. Regardless of what had transpired between them, she didn't have a single concrete piece of evidence against him.

"I am moving," Jeff said, and he started to take his hands out from beneath his body. "I'm getting up right now."

Bonnie twisted his head away sharply and shoved him. Then she jumped up and bolted for the car. Annoyed but smiling, Jeff caught up with her before she'd gone twenty yards. He knocked her to the ground, and when she started to roll over, he stepped on her hand and pulled the knife from her grip. Then he positioned himself so that Bonnie would have to pass him to get to the car and, beyond it, the road. He glanced around, but they were the only two people in sight. Bonnie got to her feet slowly, rubbing her wrist and looking confused. She looked at Jeff, and it all came back into focus. A fine mist, so light it was nearly invisible, floated on the air.

.You can understand, can't you?" she asked anxiously. "You can see why I might have thought-"

"Bonnie."

"If you had nothing to do with what happened to my father, what you'd do now is drive me back to Boston."

"And?" It was Jeffs turn to smirk.

"And we'd say good-bye, and that would be the end of it."

"Oh, really? You'd decide you had been wrong about me and that I was really all right, is that it? And you'd never say a word about me to your mother, you'd never tell her anything about-this?"

Bonnie couldn't answer. She kept thinking she should have stabbed him, cut him somehow, not fatally but enough to slow him down. But how could she do that to someone who hadn't raised a hand to her and who might not have had anything to do with her father's killing? Jeff had toyed with her, he had let her appear to get the upper hand, and then, when he was ready, he'd pulled the rug out from under her as if it was the easiest thing in the world. And the worst part of it-what had rendered her helpless-was that he was right: she had no proof, no evidence, not a single hard fact to justify her suspicions.

"You have to understand what it's been like for my mother and me," she said, because she knew she had to talk to him. "I'm sorry, very sorry, I acted like that, but ... I didn't want to think you were involved, but so many crazy things have been going through my mind since Dad died. It really fucked me up. You can understand that, Jeff, can't you? I'm sorry I put you through that whole scene. I was wrong, and I'm sorry. I was scared, and-"

"Yeah, well."

Jeff pursed his lips and looked up and down the chilly gray beach with its lumpy dunes and thickening mist. The whitecaps were like razor cuts in the slate sea. The air was quiet and damp but charged with risks and chances, impossible choices.

"You're very bright and very brave," he told Bonnie, "but you fall short in your knowledge of human nature."

"It's been such a great weekend, until now," she said, trying to find a positive note. "Think about how I made love to you, Jeff. I wasn't just going through the motions. You know I made love to you like I cared about you and wanted you, like it meant something to me. Because that's the truth-I did care about you, I did want you, and it did mean something to me. Do you really think I could have done that if I thought you were the one who shot my father?"

She was good, she was making an effort, but she was out of her depth, Jeff thought. She was a precocious child, nothing more.

"So you don't think I killed him?"

"Well, no. I think you would have said so before, when I had the ..." She couldn't bring herself to mention the knife. Then, a final inspiration. "You love my mother. You wouldn't ever hurt her like that."

Jeff put his arm around Bonnie's shoulders and walked her into the shelter of the dunes. They sat down together. He stuck the knife into the sand beside him and held her close, embraced and kissed her. He stroked her hair and face. Bonnie responded eagerly, like a person reaching for a life line. It took him a minute or two to find the carotid artery in her neck. The security chief at Lisker-Benedictus had taught him this maneuver a few years ago. He gently increased the pressure until she sagged against him and passed out. He held her for a few more moments, thinking how beautiful she looked. What a waste! But it seemed to be the only way.

He took the knife, tested the blade, and found it very sharp. She hadn't lied about that. He pulled his shirttail out and used it to wipe the knife clean of fingerprints and transfer it to Bonnie's right hand, carefully wrapping her fingers around the handle. Then he opened her left wrist and watched the warm blood jet out of her onto the cold sand. A thin vapor rose from the growing pool. The red was almost too bright, but it quickly dulled and blackened as it spread and soaked into the sand.

Bonnie stirred two or three times, but Jeff applied his fingers to her neck and put her under again. After a while she became too weak to resist. She didn't seem to know what was happening, which pleased him. Such a strong young heart, mightily pumping the life out of her. He was awed and fascinated by the sight of it, and a little sad. But then he reminded himself that Bonnie had never been more than a diversion. Close but not the real thing. She had nearly won his heart, he thought, but in the final analysis that was impossible.

When the flow of blood was no more than a bare trickle and Jeff couldn't detect a heartbeat, he left, taking the Scotch bottle with him. He didn't try to cover his tracks completely, but obscured them enough so that no particular shoe print remained. They would know someone had been with her-a friendly accomplice, he hoped they would think. After he pulled the car out onto the road, he ran back to blur the tire tracks in the sand. It was the best he could do in an unfortunate situation. Let them make of it what they could.

He was thinking of Georgianne. She didn't know it yet, but she was alone now. She was about to endure another terrible shock. Jeff thought of it as somehow purifying. She'd come out of it eventually, and in a way she'd be back to where she was twenty-one years ago, alone, on her own. That was what he had achieved for her, and for himself. This time he wouldn't falter. Georgianne would need him, more than ever. And he would be there.

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