River’s End

He’d finish his meal, turn on the tube for noise and write it out. Since the story had a core of possessive love and sexual obsession, he’d write in Sam’s memory of the night he and Julie had become lovers. Maybe it was idealized, he thought, and maybe there were times, moments, connections that produced the kinds of feelings Sam had spoken of. For Noah, sex had always been a delightful part of life, a kind of sport that required some basic skills, a certain amount of protection and a healthy sense of team spirit. But he was willing to believe that for some it could contain gilded emotions. He’d give Sam that night, and all the romantic swells that went with it. It was after all how the man remembered it—or wanted to. And the shimmering romance of it would only add impact to the murder itself.
    He booted up his laptop, poured coffee from the room-service carafe that had kept it acceptably hot. But when he rose to turn on the television, he stopped by the phone, frowned at it.
    What the hell, he thought, and going with impulse dug out the number for River’s End. Within ten minutes, he’d made reservations for the beginning of the following week.
    Sam Tanner had still not spoken of his daughter. Noah wanted to see if she would speak of him.
    He worked until two, when he surfaced briefly to stare with no comprehension whatsoever at the television where a giant lizard was kicking the stuffing out of New York.
    He watched a uniformed cop, who obviously had more balls than brains, take a few plugs at the lizard with his handgun, then get eaten alive.
    It took Noah a moment to process that he was watching an old movie and not a news bulletin. That’s when he decided his brain was fried for the night. There was one more chore on his agenda, and though he knew it was just a little nasty to have waited until the middle of the night to deal with it, he picked up the phone and called Mike in L.A.
    It took five rings, and the slur of sleep and bafflement in his friend’s voice gave Noah considerable satisfaction.
    “Hey. Did I wake you up?”
    “What? Noah? Where are you?”
    “San Francisco. Remember?”
    “Huh? No . . . sort of. Jesus, Noah, it’s two in the morning.”
    “No kidding?” His brows drew together as he heard another voice, slightly muffled, definitely female. “You got a woman there, Mike?”
    “Maybe. Why?”
    “Congratulations. The blonde from the club?”
    “Ah . . . hmmmm.”
    “Okay, okay, probably not the time to go into it. I’m going to be gone at least another week. I didn’t want to call my parents and wake them up, and I’m going to be pretty busy in the morning.”
    “Oh, but it’s okay to call and wake me up?”
    “Sure—besides, now that you’re both awake, you might get another round going. Remember to thank me later.”
    “Kiss my ass.”
    “That’s gratitude for you. Since you’re so fond of calling my mother, give her a buzz tomorrow and let her know I’m on the road.”
    There were some rustling sounds, making Noah imagine Mike was finally getting around to sitting up in bed. “Listen, I just thought you needed a little . . .”
    “Interference in my life. Stop pulling on your lip, Mike,” he said mildly, knowing his friend’s nervous habits well. “I’m not pissed off, particularly, but I figure you owe me. So give my mom a call and take care of my flowers while I’m gone.”
    “I can do that. Look, give me a number where I can—whoa.”
    The low smoke of female laughter had Noah raising an eyebrow. “Later. I don’t really want to have phone sex with you and the blonde. You let my flowers die, I’ll kick your ass.”
    The response was a sharp intake of breath, a great deal of rustling and whispering. Rolling his eyes, Noah hung up on a wild burst of laughter.
    Terrific, he thought and rubbed his hands over his face. Now he had two sexual adventures in his head. He decided to take a cold shower and go to bed.

The Forest
    Enter these enchanted woods, You who dare.
    — George Meredith
     
    Seventeen
    He was surprised he remembered it so well, in such detail, with such clarity. As he drove, Noah caught himself bracing for the sensory rush as he came around a switchback, heartbeats before his field of vision changed from thick wood and sheer rock to stunning blue sky painted with the dazzling white peaks of mountains. It was true that he’d driven this way once before, but he’d been only eighteen, it had been only one time. It shouldn’t