Foxy Roxy Part 4

Roxy fended him off with a stiff-armed block to the shoulder that sent him glancing off the doorjamb. "Down, boy. Save the mushy stuff."

"Sorry. I forgot." Grinning, he closed the door and dropped his cell phone on a pedestal by the door. "It's always your rules. Great s.e.x and no declarations of undying love."

"Just the way you like it, too." She put out one hand, palm up. "Before we get to the main event, I want the hundred bucks you stole from me."

"There was less than twenty in the pocket of your jeans!"

She wiggled her fingertips. "You owe me for pain and suffering. I'll settle for an even C-note."

He dug out a gold money clip in the shape of a shark, peeled off a hundred-dollar bill, and slapped it into her hand. He added a few more bills with a flourish. "There. Forgive?"

"Sucking c.r.a.p off the bottom of the ocean must be more profitable than it used to be." She gave back the tip and kept the hundred.

"It could always be better." Trey leaned back against the door to look at her. His face was pale and sweaty-excited. "You're looking good, Roxy."

She knew he went for cla.s.sy, girly girls most of the time, so Roxy's combination of wild black hair, no makeup, and less fashion sense wasn't what drew him back to her. She looked great naked, that was the main thing. Sometimes she gunked her lashes with mascara and made her mouth juicier with plum-colored lipstick, but not tonight.

"You're going to make me feel even better, right?"

"I'll do my best."

Trey Hyde was several inches taller than his much older brother, and he'd have been a few degrees more attractive if he'd laid off the costumes. People magazine had once photographed him in a skipper's cap and full yachting regalia-the photogenic front man for the treasure-hunting venture-and he'd taken to dressing that way all the time. Tonight he wore sand-blasted jeans, deck shoes, and a collarless blue sweater with a sailboat logo. All he needed was a white cap and a long cigarette holder to look like Thurston Howell III on his way to a desert island with Gilligan.

Roxy folded his money into her pocket and walked past Trey into the apartment. Polished concrete floors, no walls. The foyer was a cool, empty s.p.a.ce except for a pedestal with a large openmouthed pottery jar-Aztec, to hear Trey tell it. One of his expeditions brought it up from the bottom of the Caribbean, he said, but it could have come from Pier 1.

The foyer expanded into a living-dining area furnished by a decorator who obviously thought a Moby-d.i.c.k theme would be dandy. A harpoon on one wall, a stainless-steel table with a sailing-ship model on top-sails tilted as if catching a stiff breeze. A shallow gla.s.s case filled with gold coins lay displayed on a side table. A diver's helmet had been converted into a lamp. The rest of the loft was dark except for the undulating underwater colors of a muted television. Gave Roxy the feeling she was inside a fish tank.

Through a doorway lay a king-sized bed, silver sheets pulled tight, gray pillows neatly stacked. Ready.

Trey hung back behind her, probably admiring her a.s.s, but Roxy could almost feel the vibration of his nervous energy.

Across from the bed, a huge television hung on the wall, tuned to the eleven o'clock news with the sound turned off. Beside it, a window framed a spectacular view of the city-all sparkling lights and the shining blackness of the river with a glitter of rain glistening around it all. A tugboat was pa.s.sing by the building, pushing three barges laden with coal upriver against the deluge.

Roxy turned back to Trey and unzipped her top sweatshirt and pulled it off. She noticed a new affectation flashing in his earlobe. "Nice earring, Captain Blood. But isn't it supposed to be a gold hoop?"

He fingered the diamond, smiling a little nervously now that they'd reached the bed. "Do you like it?"

She flicked his earring with her finger, ignoring his question. Which was what he wanted, really. The tougher she treated him, the shinier his face got. Make him wait, she thought. Make some conversation while his imagination stimulated the rest of him. She hooked one finger behind the snap of his jeans and unzipped him. "Did you come home to help your big brother dynamite what's left of the mansion tomorrow?"

"I guess you haven't heard."

"About?"

"My brother died tonight."

Roxy pulled away, foreplay forgotten. If he'd punched her in the gut, she wouldn't have been more shocked. "Died?"

Motionless, Trey said, "You look surprised."

"Of course I'm surprised. Jesus Christ." Blown away, more like it. And sick. Her last glance at Julius-walking away from his pool, looking forlorn-suddenly surged up in Roxy's mind.

And now he was dead?

Trey said, "I thought you might have known already. Considering you were at the house tonight."

The air in the loft was suddenly too cold for Roxy to breathe, but it snapped her back to reality. "How do you know that?"

"I was there, too."

"You-? What do you mean?" Roxy frowned. "What happened to Julius? Did he have a heart attack or something?"

"He was shot. Somebody shot him."

"Somebody who?"

One-handed, from underneath his sweater at the small of his back, Trey drew a handgun. A Colt 1911.

The hair on the back of Roxy's neck p.r.i.c.kled as he dropped the weapon onto the bed. "Jesus, Trey. Did you kill him?"

"Did you?"

She held her ground as he stepped closer. Trey wasn't the kind of guy to be afraid of. Not usually. He was a little bent s.e.xwise, but nothing Roxy couldn't handle. She held still while he pulled her second sweatshirt over her head and dropped it on the bed. Then he put his face against her bare shoulder, and a moment later his fingers were under her camisole, on her skin. He nuzzled her neck. But she could feel his hands shaking.

Then his act collapsed. He said, "Oh, my G.o.d, Roxy. Julius is dead. My own brother." He shuddered, and then he clutched her.

Roxy stiffened. It was easier dealing with the crazy Trey. Trey with a hard-on and too much c.o.ke in his bloodstream. Not blubbering Trey. "Hey, cool it."

In the biblical sense, men were pretty much the same. Except some liked it standing up or outdoors, on the bottom, or on top. Maybe mirrors. Sometimes batteries. It didn't matter. The only ones she said no to were the camera buffs. Even the men who despised women, they could be fun. The trick was figuring out how to provoke them all into doing what she liked, no strings, no personal s.h.i.t.

Trey was crossing a line with the wimp routine.

She pushed him to sit on the bed. "Don't weird me out like this, Trey. Tell me what happened."

He sat, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face or to zip his pants. The blue light from the television played across his features. "Somebody shot him, I guess."

"Who? You? Did you pull the trigger?"

His breathing got rapid again, like he couldn't get enough air. "Not me. I don't know who."

"Tell me what happened. What did you do?"

"I've got a new deal cooking, and I pitched it to him. All I need's a little capital, but the rest of my trust doesn't kick in until I'm forty. So I asked Julius to help me get the financing from Dodo. But he blew me off. Said I should run it past Quentin. Like Quentin's the boss now? So I walked away tonight, I swear. I was in my car when I heard shots. I ran back, and-look, he was already dead."

"Jesus."

"I didn't know what to do. I got the h.e.l.l out of there. I knew how it was going to look."

It still looked that way to Roxy. Trey had a gun. And probably enough frustration with his brother to pull the trigger.

Roxy tried backtracking through her own timetable at the Hyde mansion. The habit of self-preservation. "When did you first get to the house?"

He frowned, struggling to focus. "I don't know exactly. By the time I got there, lots of people were already-I mean, there were some cars in the driveway and your truck out back, too. I didn't talk to anyone but Julius, though."

"But you argued with him. Did you threaten him? With the gun?"

"No, no, nothing like that." The denial came too fast, and he made an effort to look convincing. "We just yelled a little, and then I left, that's it."

Roxy figured he was lying. But she said, "You took off when you heard the shots?"

Trey avoided her gaze. "No, I went back. And there he was-sprawled out on the gra.s.s like he was making snow angels or something." Trey glanced up at her, perhaps trying to gauge if she was swallowing his story. "That's when I heard your truck leave."

Roxy knew she couldn't have heard the shots over the noise of the Monster Truck's engine.

Trey's composure loosened at the edges again. "Somebody else must have seen what happened and called 911, because in a couple of minutes I heard the police sirens coming. I didn't want them to see me-not with the gun." He dashed tears from his face. "So I got into my car and left."

"And then you called me. What for?"

"Well, you were there at the house. I thought you'd-I don't know. Help me." He unraveled completely and began to cry. "I-I got blood on my shirt when I touched him, Roxy. So I took it off. Changed into my sweater."

"Where is the shirt now?"

With a shaky thumb, he wiped snot from his upper lip. "I threw it out the car window on my way here."

Roxy squinted at Trey to figure out if he was lying or in shock. "You really didn't see who killed him?"

"I saw you, that's all."

"Who else saw me?"

"I don't know."

"The police?" Sharper.

"Really, I don't know. Can we talk later? I really need a f.u.c.k. It might clear my head. I-I'm scared, I guess. Should I take off my clothes? I'll do what you want, Roxy. Anything. Please. I don't want to think about it for a while."

The television screen changed, suddenly filling the room with the flashing lights of police cars. Light-headed, Roxy watched and saw the familiar hulk of the Hyde mansion. White noise hummed in her head as the news of Julius Hyde's death unspooled on the news. Trey sat forward and reached for her. When he slid his hand up under her camisole, the cops were roping off the crime scene. The camera zoomed in on the face of a bearded vagrant being dragged from the bushes.

Roxy had the psycho sensation of floating up on the ceiling at that moment, watching from a distance as Trey tried to coax her detached body into action. She thought of Julius sipping from his silver flask with the odd smile on his face flicking back and forth between bravado and fear. Had he guessed he might be dead within the hour?

Roxy pushed Trey's hands away, in no mood for s.e.x now. He pulled his halfhearted erection out of his pants and tried to peel down her jeans. Then someone knocked on the door of the loft.

Trey jumped to his feet, his face ludicrous with surprise.

Roxy yanked down her camisole and reached for her sweatshirt. "Somebody joining us?"

Trey gulped. "No, Roxy."

In the hallway, somebody knocked again, harder this time.

Police, Roxy thought. Her head cleared fast. She pulled her sweatshirt over her head. Then she grabbed a handful of Trey's sweater and pulled him around to face her as he tried to get his p.e.n.i.s put away. "Get a grip," she commanded.

"But-"

"Don't open the door yet. Just look. And ask."

Before she could stop him from picking up the gun, Trey s.n.a.t.c.hed the weapon from the bed. With his pants still open, he went out into the foyer, where he crept to the door. He swiped one hand through his hair as he peeked through the peephole. The gun hung in his other hand, his finger on the G.o.dd.a.m.n trigger.

"Hey," he said, surprised. "It's Kaylee."

"Who the h.e.l.l is-?"

At least Trey had the presence of mind to drop the gun into the open mouth of the Aztec pot before he opened the door.

Midknock, a young woman tottered into the foyer on a pair of high-heeled shoes tall enough to make her interfere with incoming airplanes. Her toes looked blue with cold. She was almost as tall as Roxy and skinny in a pair of stovepipe jeans. A pink sweater the color of bubblegum slid off one shoulder. Mascara smeared her face. A cloud of cigarette smoke engulfed her figure like exhaust from a tractor trailer.

"Trey!" She threw herself into his arms.

He barely dodged getting his ear burned on her cigarette, but he hugged her automatically. "Kaylee-"

She burst into sobs. "He's gone! Dead! What are we going to do? Everything's ruined!"

"It's okay." Trey patted her bare shoulder. "But we have to be smart now."

Tears poured out of her like water from a faucet. "Oh, G.o.d. I miss him already! What will I do?"

"Take it easy. Calm down."

"I had to get out of there. I ran away. I saw-I saw-"

"You did the right thing."

The girl had a baby-doll voice, ratched up high and strangled. "Oh my G.o.d, I'm so scared!"

"I know. Me, too."

"I ran away. I took a bus back to my place. I can't believe it! He's really-"

"It's okay, it's okay."

"No, it isn't!" She hit Trey on the chest with her fist. "How can you say that? Julie-my Julie!"

"Easy now." He tried to subdue her with a tighter hug.

But she fought him, punching harder, eyes squished shut. "No, no-it's awful! He's gone!"

Trey dodged blows. "Kaylee-"

She stopped fighting just as suddenly as she'd started. "Wait a minute. Who is she?"