"Two are better than one; because they have a good
reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift
up his fellow. But woe to him that is alone; for he has not
another to help him up." Ecclesiastes 4:9&10
Robby went in the bar to see if the manager had a pick-up for him, to return the barstool he had repaired, and to pick up the money owed him.
The manager looked the stool over, nodded in appreciation and paid Robby. Then he told him where the trash was, and Robby turned to leave.
Just then the man walked into the bar, a big black hole sucking in the energy from all those around him. A great big evil. Robby's flesh crawled, and then he was filled with righteous anger. He saw the man beating women, making them do things they didn't want to do with him and with other men. He saw him hooking them on smack so that he could keep them in line. Robby all but ran out of the bar. He picked up the load and then he waited in the shadows. The guy had to come out sooner or later, and when he did Robby would be waiting.
The "crime" scene was like all the others. This time it was Houston Jenkins, a big time pimp with a history of assault charges. None of his "girls" seemed to be too terribly upset. Their only concern seemed to be that they weren't sure who was going to get them their horse now. The man was sitting in the big middle of his own bed with his eyes cooked and bulging out and slime running out his ears.
Spider covered the corpse back up then looked at Tommy and smiled. "It's shake and bake, and I he'ped."
Tommy sighed and shook his head. Having a weekend off had done nothing for Spider's attitude. Neither had a one-hour meeting with IAD, which while it hadn't caused her any real trouble, was a drag under the best of circumstances.
Tommy pulled her to one side. "Could you maybe try to at least act repulsed?" Tommy hissed.
Spider shrugged. "There's a reason I ain't an actress. This bastard was a hell of a lot more repulsive alive than he is with his cooked eyeballs bulging."
"What's up with you?" Tommy asked, momentarily losing his cool.
Spider shrugged. How could she explain to him what she really didn't understand herself? "I'm not getting much sleep. For some reason I keep looking at my life. Since it mostly sucks, always has sucked, and is always going to suck, I'm kindah in a blue funk."
She was talking in her best idiot voice and making faces, and that could mean only one thing—that she wasn't comfortable with the subject matter and was making a joke about something that really wasn't a joke at all.
Tommy's brow creased in thought. "You really think your life sucks?"
"Yep. Shit just keeps raining on my head," Spider said with a smile. She walked away and started checking out the crime scene. Houston had been a big man, and unlike all the other victims he had apparently had a chance to thrash around a bit. Before he died he fell back onto the bed, and the impact had broken two legs off of it. She pointed it out to the photographer who took pictures of the broken things in the room and the bed.
Tommy joined her.
"The weapon must take longer when there is more mass," Tommy said. Spider shrugged noncommittally.
"OK, Spider . . . What do you think it is?"
She smiled at him. "If I told you my theory, you'd be calling the men in the white coats to come and take me away to the Ha Ha Hilton."
They had spent the better part of the day pretending to follow up leads in the case. It wasn't very hard to make sure that everything they found lead to yet another dead end. This guy didn't leave many tracks, and no fingerprints or DNA. Whoever he was, he knew what he was doing.
Now they were heading towards the courthouse to testify against Justin Kent, and Spider was acting weird. Weird even for Spider. Tommy was glad he was driving. Spider's color looked bad, almost pasty-white, and she was jerking at the collar of her shirt and mumbling something under her breath that was inaudible.
"You OK, Spider?" Tommy asked.
"Trying to remember all the details, except the ones I want to leave out, of course. Trying to sort those from the others. Trying to think of every screwy question those fuck lawyers are going to throw at us so I don't trip up." She looked at him and sighed. "The usual shit. I'm a little more spent than usual because, like I said, I haven't really slept in days. I don't want to trip up."
Tommy nodded, and said nothing. Now he was nervous. If she fucked up, heads would roll—theirs. "You can do this. We did the right thing even if we did it the wrong way . . . "
"I'm not having an episode of guilty conscience here, Tommy. I have no problem with anything I've done. I just know that the fucking attorney would rather burn me at the stake than see his client convicted."
He knew that wasn't all of it. There was something else. Something she wasn't going to tell him. But if not him, then who? Who did Spider talk to? Because Laura was right, Spider didn't talk to him. At least not about anything that mattered. There was just too much he didn't know about her, and to say that about someone you'd known for fifteen years was to admit defeat as a friend.
What he did know, was certain of, was that if you didn't talk to someone, eventually you exploded. Maybe that was what was happening to Spider right now. Problem was he'd never been very good at getting people to open up. Truth was that he wasn't sure he wanted to hear Spider's problems, even if he could get her to talk.
They couldn't go in the courtroom of course, so they had to sit in the hallway waiting to be called. It reminded Tommy of school. He'd spent a lot of time in the hall. Being smaller than the other kids, and the only Asian in a small Southern town, he'd caught a lot of hell. Since he came from a long line of martial artists who'd been eager to pass on the tradition to the next generation, he'd given their hell right back to them.
Being his father's only son, and in fact the only son born to the first American generation of Chans, he'd been showered with attention from all sides. He was the pride and joy of his family, and they never scolded him for getting in fights at school. At the time he had wondered why, but now he realized that they wanted him to be tough. He started competition at six, and by twenty he had won Grand Nationals. He successfully defended his title two years running. Then one day he'd been shopping with his first wife when two gunmen tried to rob the store they were in. The gunmen made them all lie on the floor. When the old man behind the counter reached for something, one guy spooked and shot him. About that time the cops showed up with sirens blaring. The guys were squirreling out, and Tommy didn't hesitate. He jumped off the floor in a single fluid movement, ran and landed a kick to the nearest gunman's head. As his gun rattled to the floor Tommy swung, kicked, and the second one went down.
Tommy was in all the papers; he was a hero. It was on that day that he decided to become a cop, thereby disappointing his family for the first time.
Now, years later, he was still spending time in the hall for breaking the rules.
Spider looked cool now. Almost aloof. Seeing this, Tommy relaxed. He handed her his coke, she took a drink and handed it back.
A stiff in a coat walked out of the courtroom. "Detective Spider Webb!" he called.
Spider stood up, looked down at Tommy and smiled. "Won't be long now, Tommy boy."
He watched her walk in, thinking how he hated this part of the job worse than anything. Worse than going to the victim's house and telling his family. Worse than having to look at—and smell—half-decayed bodies, or dealing with the IAD. It was the worst of everything all rolled together. You had the perp, and the victim's family, and all the suits, and pictures of the crime scene. Then to make it even better you had to get up on stage and answer a bunch of stupid questions that had purposely been rigged to trip you up. All the time you knew that chances were when it was all said and done the fucker would walk right out, scott-free, to kill or maim or abuse another day. It made him understand why Spider had just killed that guy in the park. No chance that guy was going to walk. The real bonus was—no day in court, 'cause court days sucked.
When Tommy walked in the courtroom he saw Laura hovering around the DA's desk, and he smiled. Spider sat behind the DA's desk looking shaken but not stirred, and he relaxed.
Most of the questions were routine, but then out of the clear blue the defendant's attorney said, "Detective Chan, did you hear the scream your partner Detective Webb claims to have heard?"
He played back the video and audio taken at the time of the bust. Comlink videos were always grainy, half pictures, random, and—more times than not—of your shirt. But computer technology he didn't understand allowed them to clean them up and have a more or less complete picture of a bust or crime scene. It was amazing technology, and Tommy for one hated it.
Tommy didn't flinch. "I heard the second scream, but not the first. My partner has very good hearing." The attorney played the tape again.
"It may be just me, but this looks like a part Detective Webb is playing out—and not very well I might add."
Tommy couldn't agree more, and he made a mental note to scream at Spider the next chance he got.
"Spider has very good instincts—uncanny really. When she gets the feeling that something's going on, she becomes very nearly inanimate. She's watching, listening, and her speech patterns often become almost mechanical."
The attorney laughed. "So, what you're saying is that Detective Webb has not set our client up at all, but is just incredibly intuitive."
"Yes, Sir," Tommy answered unblinkingly.
"So you claim that you and your partner were not trying to get around the fact that you were not issued a search warrant for the properties in which you arrested my client and ten other men."
"Correct, Sir."
"You weren't trying to bend the law, even a little bit?"
"No, and I resent your implication." I said that rather eloquently, he thought.
"What if I told you that Ms. Tourlliony told us that you and your partner paid her to be there and to scream?"
"Objection! He's leading the witness." The new assistant DA had a nice voice, and she was as Laura had described her—stunning.
"I'd call her a liar," Tommy said, just as the judge yelled sustained.
"No further questions."
The assistant DA stood up. "I'd like to ask this witness a couple of questions in re-direct."
The judge nodded, and the assistant DA approached him. Tommy smiled in spite of himself. He'd seen her around before, but he'd never really looked at her, which he figured proved his incredible fidelity. She had a sexy walk, and nice legs, too. She was just slightly shorter then he was, with auburn shoulder length hair and dark green eyes, incredibly sensual lips, and the delicate features and build of a model. Tommy was thinking that she just didn't look like a dyke, so he missed her question.
"Excuse me?"
She smiled indulgently, no doubt used to men stammering like idiots around her. "Did you see Detective Webb in contact with the witness, Ms. Tourlliony?"
"Not until after the bust."
"How many years have you served with Detective Webb?"
"Fifteen," he said, wondering where this questioning was going. He didn't have to wait long.
The assistant DA turned to the jurors. "In fact, Detective Webb's service record is un-marred. Twice decorated for bravery, once as a police officer, and once in service to this country as a paratrooper in Desert Storm III. I agree with Detective Chan. For Mr. Levits to accuse either she or her partner of misconduct is an insult. No further questions. The evidence in this case, however obtained, speaks for itself."
The judge dismissed him, and he went to sit beside Spider.
"Wow! He was really after your ass!" he whispered in her ear.
She nodded and whispered in his, "He asked me the same questions about you. He was trying to get one of us to implicate the other."
"What a dick!" Tommy said too loud. Everyone at the DA's table turned and gave him a dirty look. He shrugged and muttered an apology.
Spider chuckled and he elbowed her.
A few minutes later the judge recessed the case till the next day. They were half way out of the building when Laura ran to catch up with them. She slung an arm around each of their shoulders.
"Where you booger heads off to?" she asked.
"You're sure that's a term of endearment?" Spider asked, giving Tommy a skeptical look.
Tommy laughed, shrugged, and then answered his wife's question. "Gonna go clock out for the day, and then we were going to go by Kelly's and have a couple of beers. Why?"
"I've got a couple of things to finish up, and then I'll meet you there."
"Great! Then maybe we can go to dinner." Tommy looked from his wife to his partner.
"Spider?" Laura asked.
"Can't go to dinner. I've . . . I've got plans."
Laura let go of them and moved into Spider's path she looked up at her. "What sort of plans?"
Spider looked at the floor. "Ah . . . I've got laundry and . . . stuff . . . you know . . . Stuff."
"Yeah, I know," Laura laughed. "I know that 'laundry and stuff' can wait. Come on."
Spider looked at Tommy, who just smiled and said, "Don't look at me. I know you don't have a fucking life. Come on, we'll eat at . . . " He looked at his wife.
"Bartelo's," she answered, knowing it was Spider's favorite Italian restaurant.
Laura looked at Spider expectantly, and Spider nodded, feeling as if she were trapped. She really didn't feel like going out, but if she didn't she was just going to go by the hospital and talk to Henry. Then she'd go home, stare at the ceiling, and think about the suckiness of her life till she finally fell into a fitful sleep and had the fucking dream again.
Still, she hated being the fifth wheel, and no matter how good your friends were, when you went out with a man and his wife, you were really on your own.
"Good! Then it's settled. I'll meet you at Kelly's." Laura ran off before Spider could talk herself—and them—out of going.
Spider and Tommy slid into the corner booth.
"It was close there for a minute, but they're gonna cage him."
"No thanks to your stellar performance," Tommy whispered. The waiter walked over and set the beers in front of them. They were regulars, and he rarely bothered to ask them what they wanted anymore. He just brought them a couple of cheap drafts.
"Anything else?"
"When Laura gets here bring her a raspberry wine cooler, and bring us each another beer."
"Put it on my tab," Spider said.
Tommy looked at her with raised eyebrows; they usually went Dutch.
"My way of saying I'm sorry, and no I'm not picking up the tab for dinner."
"You're getting off awful cheap." Tommy laughed and took a drink of his beer. "All right, but don't do it again. You put our asses on the line for a laugh."
Spider nodded, and then she did something Spider rarely did, she was silent. He kept waiting for her to talk, but she didn't. This put Tommy on the spot, because usually Spider started the conversation and then they were . . . well . . . talking.
"Ah, you catch the game last night?" he asked.
"Ah . . . what game? You know I don't watch sports. What planet are you from?"
That was it. She still wasn't talking. Just staring at her beer, looking like someone crushed her puppy. God! She was pathetic!
"Your life doesn't suck, Spider," he tried.
Spider laughed loudly and ran a hand down her face. She looked at him and shook her head. "My life sucks, Tommy. Take my word for it. You can count the number of times I've been laid since I got out of the army on the fingers of . . . " She thought about it for a minute. "Well, you'd have fingers left over. Last time was about two years ago. I'm living from hand to mouth; I barely have enough money left over to exist."
"Spider, you make decent money! Where the hell does it go? Left over from what?"
She just glared at him. He'd asked this question many times, and she never answered it. No reason she should now.
"You know, Spider, you could tell me anything."
Spider laughed, even as tears came to her eyes. "No, I couldn't, Tommy. I love you, but face it. The minute I start talking about personal stuff you're uncomfortable."
Was he? He didn't think so, but maybe he was. She wasn't the first one to accuse him of that. "I'm trying now . . . "
"Let's just talk about something else. I can wallow in my self-pity on my own time. What about that Fry Guy?"
"Gonna tell me your theory?" He hated to admit it, but she was right about him. The minute they changed the subject he felt relieved. He guessed he really wasn't a very good friend. Growing up all he'd had was his family, no real friends, and his family hadn't been big on discussing personal matters. Now he didn't have his family, so he needed his friends, loved them, but didn't really know how to listen to them. At least not to their problems. Spider's problems.
"No," Spider said with a smile. "You do realize of course that our man is not a serial killer."
"You're the one who reads all the books. Probably why you're so depressed. Who wouldn't be with the crap you read? Serial killer profiles, books on the occult and cults and mass murderers. No small wonder you have nightmares, either."
She ignored him. "This guy kills his victims quickly. He doesn't even get close to them. Maybe—no probably—they don't even see him. Then he doesn't mutilate the bodies; he just kills them and then he goes on his way. That is not a serial killer's MO. The serial killer likes to torture his victims, to mutilate them, sometimes before death—sometimes after. To exact, if you will, ultimate control for as long as possible. This guy's not into that. He's into getting these guys off the street . . . "
Tommy thought he knew where she was going with this. "So, according to your theory, the killer is sane."
"Well, at least as sane as I am. After all, I killed a guy just to save myself a day in court."
"Shsh! Jesus, Spider!" Tommy said in disbelief.
"Well I did," she said matter-of-factly. "You have to ask yourself what sort of person wants to get this kind of scum off the street? Most of the victims are child molesters, drug dealers, murderers, pimps who prostitute minors, rapists, and wife beaters. Who wants to see these people dead?"
"Everyone," Tommy said with a shrug.
"A family man," Spider said, shaking her head adamantly. "Someone with kids, or who feels responsible for kids. A parent, a teacher, or a social worker. Someone like that."
"How would any of those people get their hands on this kind of weapon or that kind of information?" Tommy asked. "It's got to be someone who has at least had access to police files."
"Why?"
"Because how else would they know that these people are criminals?" Tommy asked.
"What is your chi?"
"Something inside me, a place I go . . . "
"Explain it to me."
"I . . . I can't. It has to be experienced."
"Yet you have no doubt that it exists?"
"I know it does." That was it. She wasn't going to tell him anything else. She was just going to sit there and drink her beer. "You are a maddening piece of shit, Spider Webb. Just tell me your damned theory. Doesn't matter how screwy it is. I already think you're nuts, so what do you have to lose?
She shrugged. "I think this guy exists in the chi or its equivalent. I think he sees people in a way that most people don't, and I think that because of this he has power. Power he pulls from his chi just like you do, except I think his power comes straight out of that place. I think this guy is pyrokinetic."
Tommy didn't laugh. His father had taught him not to laugh at crazy people. "You left out the part about the little green men."
"I thought it was best that way . . . OK. All right. I'll admit it's a little farfetched. But it's no worse than the 'stolen from the army' theory the Feds keep popping on us. By the way, I don't see them making any breaks in this case, either, and supposedly they're at least trying."
"So, what we're looking for is a teacher with a wife, two kids and a really big chi." Tommy did laugh then, but mostly at his own pun.
Spider frowned. "Gee! I can't imagine why I wouldn't feel comfortable coming to you with my problems."
This only made him laugh louder.
She sipped at her beer and wished she hadn't told him anything, ever. Just when she thought that things couldn't get worse, she looked up and saw Laura walk in with the way-too-sexy assistant DA in tow. She looked at Tommy and scowled.
"So, I guess the fact that your wife has brought me a date means that you have finally admitted that you know that I'm gay."
Tommy looked up. "If it was supposed to be a secret, it wasn't a very good one, but I never knew for sure until right now." Tommy wanted to crawl under the table.
Spider drew a deep breath. She always figured Tommy knew. After all, she never really tried to hide it. She just didn't broadcast the fact, something the military had taught her.
"If you'd asked me, I would have told you. You didn't have to do this. What if I wasn't? That would be even more awkward than this is."
"That's what I told Laura. It wasn't my idea; I told her not to do it. And between you and me, I don't see how it could be any more awkward," Tommy said.
"That woman is . . . well she's way out of my league. I only ever date really homely women; there's less heart ache and rejection that way," Spider mumbled.
"Rejection's good for the soul."
"Then I must have a huge fucking soul."
"Let's just try to make the best of it, all right? Laura said she wanted to meet you."
"Why?" Spider asked in disbelief.
"I don't know. Maybe she only dates ugly chicks because there is less fear of rejection."
Tommy waved. Laura and Carrie saw them, and they started over. He looked at his partner, who had turned a cool shade of green. He felt for her. He'd been set up before, and—at least in his experience—it was never a good thing.
"How do I look?" Spider asked.
"Green," Tommy said truthfully.
"It's a good color for me," Spider said nervously.
"She's just turned green," Laura said in answer to Carrie's question.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Laura," Carrie said nervously.
"If you really want to go out with her, this is about the only way it's going to happen," Laura said. "She's just nervous. I don't think she gets out much; mostly she just works."
"Maybe if I got out a little more I wouldn't be trying to pick up girls I meet at work. She's going to think I'm desperate or just plain weird. I think this was a big mistake."
"We'll pretend like it was all my idea. What have you got to lose?"
"My dignity," Carrie mumbled.
A few seconds later they reached the table. "I hope you don't mind," Laura said. "I brought Carrie along. You kind of know each other from work, but Carrie Long this is my husband, Tommy Chan."
They shook hands.
"And this is his partner, Spider Webb."
Spider took the outstretched hand. Long, delicate, well-manicured fingers clasped Spider's huge, scared, chapped, sweaty palm in a firm, friendly grip. Spider looked up at the woman. Carrie smiled at her, and Spider's head spun. The assistant DA was breathtaking. It wasn't the first time she'd noticed that. It was, however, the first time she had allowed herself to take a really good look. She looked again at the woman's hand, her arms, her . . .
"Spider, let go," Tommy whispered in her ear.
"Ah, yeah. Sorry!" Spider felt like an idiot. She let go of the woman's hand. Carrie sat beside her.
Spider stiffened. I'm a fucking idiot. Pull your head out of your ass, your foot out of your mouth, and say something coherent that doesn't have anything to do with her tits or her ass.
The bartender came over, bringing Laura's drink, their beers, and apparently to save Spider's life.
"Would you like something to drink?" Spider asked.
Carrie looked at Spider and smiled, seeming to immediately relax. "So, you buying me a drink, sailor?"
Spider started breathing and smiled easily back. "Actually, I was never a sailor, ma'am."
Carrie looked at the waiter. "Bourbon and branch."
The waiter nodded and left to get the drink.
Carrie checked Spider out as inconspicuously as possible. She sure did like the package. She'd dated a cop before. She'd been a decent lay, but fucking brain-dead otherwise, and about as interesting as a turnip. She knew that wasn't the case with Spider Webb. This woman was vital and alive. She was also wired and impulsive, and those were never bad things in a lover.
"So, did you pay the girl to scream?" she asked Spider matter-of-factly. Across the table Tommy spit beer, and Laura quickly cleaned it up, avoiding their eyes.
Spider looked right into her eyes and without flinching asked, "What if I did?"
"I'd tell you to get some acting lessons before you do it again," Carrie said, taking her drink from the waiter.
"I'll take that under consideration." Spider took a sip of her beer.
Carrie smiled her very best I already have you smile and moved closer to Spider.
Tommy wanted to curl up and die. He didn't want to be here when they were doing whatever it was that they were doing, and he wasn't really sure what that was. Either they were flirting or Carrie was fixing to indict Spider. Either way he hated it, and he hated Laura for making him be there while they were doing it.
"This sucks," he whispered in Laura's ear.
"No, no! They're hitting it off," Laura whispered back.
"And you can tell, how?" Tommy asked.
Laura worked it masterfully so that Spider and Carrie were in a car alone. Well, not actually a car, Spider's Isuzu pickup truck.
At least it's clean, Spider thought.
"So, you lived here long?" Spider asked. Oh, God! What a lame ass question. What's next, asking her sign? Someone, please save me from myself! At this rate it will be another five years before I get laid again.
"I've lived here most of my life, but I just started working in the DA's office about two years ago, and I only took over as assistant DA six months ago. I was working and living in LA for a while before that. You know how it is, I was born here, grew up here, went to school here, so I just wanted to be anywhere that wasn't here. After five years in LA I was ready to come back home."
"I . . . I was born here in Shea City. I've lived here all my life except when I was in the service." Do I sound like a total fucking idiot or what?
"Nervous?" Carrie asked.
"A little . . . No, that's a lie. A lot."
"If you'd rather not do this . . . "
"No, no that's not it. I admit that at first I was a little weirded out, but . . . There's a reason I don't date. You see, any time I'm really attracted to a woman, my IQ drops about a hundred points. I'm afraid I'm going to say or do the wrong thing, and so of course I do. I'm so afraid that she's going to think I'm a dork that I act like, well . . . a total fucking dork."
Carrie laughed. "And so you just don't date?"
"Not on purpose," Spider said with a smile.
Carrie laughed again. "Will it help if I tell you that I don't think you're a dork?"
"Ah! But you haven't really given me a chance yet."
Dinner went surprisingly well. To Tommy it seemed that Carrie and Spider were talking easily. The veins in Spider's temples even stopped throbbing. Seeing that Spider had calmed down allowed him to relax a little, but he didn't feel any less embarrassed. He felt he'd dealt better with his partner's sexuality when they just didn't talk about it. Tommy glared at Laura every time their eyes met, and she just smiled back at him, completely undaunted. Which made him want to scream.
They had finished their dinner and were now all just sitting around, talking over coffee.
"So, how did you get a name like Spider Webb?" Carrie asked.
"My mother was apparently a wild child. My father picked my brother Scott's name, and so he had this really normal Scott Webb thing going on. My mother named me Spider. I didn't really know her because she died in a car wreck when I was real young, two or three. I always thought that my name was the way my mother made sure she'd always be with me. Everything I know about my mother I know because of my name. My father never talked about her, and wouldn't allow us to, either. To this day I don't know why." Her voice changed took on a bitter edge. "Maybe just because he was a mean, bitter old son of a bitch." She looked around then, seeming to realize that she had been speaking aloud.
Tommy was shocked. Fifteen years he'd known this woman, and he hadn't known any of that. He'd never even thought to ask about her name; it was just her name.
"Carrie," Spider said, looking at Carrie and obviously wanting to change the subject. "That's Celtic isn't it?"
"Yes, it is. It means . . . "
"Dark one," Spider said.
"Yes," Carrie said with surprise and slightly raised eyebrows. "How did you . . . "
"She reads too much," Tommy answered.
Carrie looked across the truck at Spider. She was taking her back to the courthouse and Carrie's car.
"Dinner was good," Carrie said conversationally. "I like Italian food."
"Bartelo's is my favorite restaurant."
"So Laura said," Carrie said with a smile. With Spider's attention on the road she gave her a good looking over without fear of being caught. Externally she couldn't find one thing she didn't like. The woman's hands were freakishly large, but she didn't necessarily think that was a bad thing, not if she knew how to use them—and Carrie had a feeling she did. But there was no doubt that Spider Webb was trouble, a person carrying baggage filled with secrets. Carrie had a suspicion that there were things you'd never know about Spider Webb, no matter how intimate you became. Of course all these things that should have been ringing all her warning bells only made Carrie want Spider that much more.
Carrie had long ago accepted that she was a decidedly unhealthy girl.
She could tell Spider was attracted to her, too. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at her the way Spider Webb had tonight, with something more than just lust. Carrie was having those "this might actually be something" feelings which were usually nonexistent on a first date.
Involuntarily she started thinking about all the things she could do to Spider. All of the things she wanted her to do to her. I wish she wasn't hell-bent on taking me back to my car. I know it's too soon, but I really want to be with her. The last thing I want to do tonight is go back to my empty house and an empty bed. I wish she'd pull this car over, and . . .
Suddenly Spider flipped a big U-turn in the middle of the road and headed back the other way. Carrie expected her to pop a light on the roof and activate a siren, but she obviously wasn't in pursuit of anyone.
"What the hell?"
Spider swallowed. "Want to go to my place?" she asked nervously.
"Ah . . . what?" My god! I sound like a fucking idiot. "I'd love to."
Carrie looked at the clock. It was one in the morning. She had an early court date and no change of clothes, and she just didn't give a damn. She lay more on Spider than beside her, enjoying the feel of Spider's hands where they caressed her back.
"Can I stay?" she asked, surprised to find that she suddenly felt shy.
"Yes." They kissed again. This time gently, lovingly.
Spider turned out the light, and Carrie moved to wrap herself around her. She couldn't bear to let her go. How can I feel like this? I hardly know this woman, yet she knows me, what I want, what I need. Please God don't let me be reading her wrong, don't let this be a one way thing.
"You can stay as long as you like," Spider whispered.