Chapter 03: Moderate Turbulence
The beat of water played across her skin. Her nipples had hardened at the first touch of spray, but now they ached. Stephanie tingled as she directed the pulsing steam between her legs. She shivered before her hands fumbled the showerhead back into its cradle.
Damn, that Steven
, she thought. It had been more than a week since the meeting with FBI Agent Al Scott, and Stephanie was on edge.
The razor slid over her lathered mons. In a couple of minutes the last stubble spiraled down the drain, leaving her smooth and bare. She removed the showerhead from its holder and rinsed herself. Then the rinsing turned into playing, and the playing turned into pleasuring. The probing needles of hot water found her labia and the folds around her clit.
She missed Steven's touch, and could not understand his lack of interest. She longed to lose herself in their lovemaking but was left to this. Masturbation cooled her physical desire even as it left her empty. She pressed on the soft skin above her slit and the tip of her clitoris jutted from her cleft. Her fingertips circled several times as she fantasized about his tongue.
Stephanie leaned back against the cool tile, closed her eyes and used her free hand on her full breasts. She pulled on her nipples. "Oh, Steven . . . ." Stephanie braced one foot on the edge of the tub. The showerhead sent tingling sensations through her pelvis. "I . . . need . . . you!" The water enveloped her pussy and lights flickered behind her eyelids. The orgasm left her gasping.
She stepped out of the shower with the bathroom door still wide. Steve walked past and she called to him. Stephanie stood, hair dripping wet, her thick nipples hard and her pussy absolutely nude. Steve's eyes lingered on her. His stare felt hot on her skin. His mouth worked a couple of times. Then he retreated.
Stephanie threw on a t-shirt and jeans then found him leaning against the kitchen counter. Before she could say anything, he told her, "I have to go. I've got a lesson. Call you later, okay?"
"Sure, Steve. Whatever."
In the months they had been together this was the first time he could remember her calling him Steve, not Steven. He gave her an unreadable look, pecked her on the cheek and left in a rush. Stephanie half expected any loose papers to trail in the vacuum of his wake.
She needed him right now, needed him to be strong for her, to desire her, to help her forget the world in a cocoon of lovemaking. Instead he bolted. Even more confusing was that he got hard when he saw her naked. She noticed. She was certain. One phrase kept repeating in her mind.
What the fuck?
* * * * * * *
Despite his need for sleep, Al parked and strolled into the midst of the family barbeque. Kids chased each other, imperiling those balancing full plates and drinks. An occasional shout or scolding could be heard, but they appeared ineffective.
He found Patsy, saw her glance at him and they waded through the milling bodies towards one another.
"Hey, cous," she called.
"Hey, Pats." They hugged. As they parted she peered into his face.
"Jeez, Al, you look like shit! When was the last time you slept?"
"I grabbed a nap a couple o' hours ago—"
"No, I mean really slept?"
"Um," he stalled, thinking. "Dunno, last week, maybe?"
"Damn, then we better feed ya. Beer?"
"Better not. Coffee?"
"Nah, but the sweet tea's real good." They drifted to the tables heaped with food. "You gotta try the pulled pork. And the potato salad—Stella out-did herself this time."
As they piled their plates, Al lowered his voice. "I got some news."
Patsy turned to face him. "About—you know?" she breathed.
He nodded once.
"Do tell," she encouraged.
Al shot furtive glances over both shoulders then jerked his head towards an empty picnic table. On the way he scooped up a sweating plastic tumbler of tea. Patsy dug into a cooler and came up with a can of beer.
They had always been close, as close as siblings. Al and Patsy confided in one another and, for Al especially, it provided an anchor. They had an unspoken pact to withhold judgment, keep each other's secrets, and provide support. Al also appreciated the fact that Patsy never shied from telling him when he was wrong or out-of-line. He counted on her for that.
They sat across from one another and Al started talking. "We went to the landing strip—Oh, an' keep this to yourself, okay?"
"Tom?" she asked.
Al nodded. "He's okay, but not too many details. Just give 'im the 'quick version.' I'll tell Steve and Steph myself when it's time, okay? Shouldn't be talking too loosely. But to you . . . ." He shrugged.
"Okay," she answered, cracking open her beer. She slurped at the can and stared into Al's lined face.
"So, yeah, we found the landing strip, no problem." He shoveled a forkful of pulled pork into his mouth, closed his eyes and sighed, "Mmm, mmm, mmm." He focused on his cousin and spoke around his food, "You're right, this's great! God, I needed food. Okay, so we get there and find bodies." He attacked his potato salad next.
"Bodies? More than one?"
He held his cup and wiggled two fingers against the side facing Patsy. "One had a single GSW to the back of the head." He tapped once behind his ear. "We think he was the shooter, the one shooting at the plane, I mean." He talked as he enjoyed the potato salad and his tongue showed white. "But the second's messin' with my mind."
Patsy tried to keep patient as he ate. She failed. "Whadda ya mean?"
"Well, it was a kid, maybe fourteen or fifteen. And he, well, he was hidden in the bushes. The other guy was left in the open as though they—"
"They didn't care?" Patsy interrupted.
Al shook his head. "Were making a point, more'n likely. But the kid was hidden, and there weren't any drag marks that we could see. So I think he hid himself. And he looked bad. Puke on his shirt and pain in his face."
"That is a little weird—"
"No, the
weird
part was from the autopsy. There were a couple of tubes in his gut."
"Tubes? Like condoms? A 'mule'?"
"Like sheep intestines," Al hissed. "But, yeah, drugs. Serious."
"What ki—"
"Let's just say 'a controlled substance' and leave it at that. But one came open and he OD'ed. And the weirdest part, whoever it was that gave him the stuff left it all in the kid." Al chomped at a yellow cob of corn.
"What? I don't—"
"Yeah, well, if his supplier, or receiver, or whoever knew what he was carrying and was anywhere close to him when he died, or if they even knew where he was after, they woulda carved him up like a Christmas turkey to get the stuff. But they left him. I mean, somebody shoulda been expecting him, right?"
The blonde sipped her beer. "Y'all get there too soon?"
"I thought of that. But we didn't arrive on site until two days after the shooting, right? Plenty o' time if you're a motivated bad guy."
"Huh," Patsy replied. She was as puzzled as Al.
Then Patsy felt a swell of worry for Stephanie and Steve.
"Hey guys! What's up?"
She jumped. "Oh,
shit
, Tom—"
"Sorry," he grinned.
"Scairt the crap outta me, ya stinker." She slapped him on the arm as he sat next to her. He pecked her cheek and looked at Al.
"Hey, G-man. Oh, man, you look like crap. Are ya sleeping?"
"Yeah, I mean, no. She already told me I look like 'shit'," he repeated, eying Patsy. "But I'm not sleepin' enough."
"All that crap at the—you-know-where, huh?"
Al nodded as he filled his fork.
