Tail Spin

pulled her in close again, leaned his forehead against hers. “Not a single rule except common sense, and common sense isn’t all that great a thing in every single situation, now is it? Hey, you’re not a shrimp. That’s good.”
    She said against his neck, “I’m so not a shrimp. I’d be licking your eyebrows if I were wearing heels. No, wait, I didn’t say that, did I?”
    She felt the laughter deep in his chest. “Yeah, you did. Anytime you’d like to, lick away.”
    She ran her fingers over his cheek, and he felt it in his gut. Jack knew he should release her this very instant, knew it, and knew he wasn’t about to. He lowered his forehead to hers again. “I’m not a teenager with my hormones dive-bombing my brain. You’re right, it isn’t the smartest thing we could do at this point in time.” And he cursed low, ripe, pungent curses. Rather impressive, she thought, and smiled. Uncle Gillette could curse like that. She could see him cursing at the rabbits who’d gotten through his tomato cages, digging underneath, hear her mom yelling at him that certain little girls had big ears.
    Slowly, Rachael stepped back. She said, “I’m very glad you don’t gamble.”
    He threw back his head and laughed.
    He saw her to her bedroom, looked at her mouth a moment. “I’m glad you realize I’m nothing like that jerk ex-fiancé of yours. But, Rachael, I’m hurting right now all the way to my heels.”
    “No, you’re nothing like him. My heels are in pretty bad shape, too.”
    He reached out his hand, dropped it, stepped back. “See you in the morning, Rachael. Sleep well.” To her surprise, and disappointment, he closed the door.
    She felt so revved, so ready to rock and roll—with Jack—she doubted she’d sleep at all, but within minutes, she was out.
    Black water closed over her head, something was pulling her down, no way to stop until she hit bottom and silt swirled up around her, blinding her until it slowly settled again. She knew she was going to die. It wouldn’t matter if she held her breath for ten minutes, she would die. No, she didn’t want to die, she didn’t —
    She lurched up in bed, abruptly awake, breathing fast and hard, sucked in air. But she wasn’t at the bottom of Black Rock Lake. She wasn’t drowning. She was here, in Jimmy’s house, in her bed, but— What had awakened her? Whatever it was, she was grateful. But what was it? She must have heard something that shouldn’t be there, something not part of the fabric of the house. She didn’t move a muscle, listened.
    It was Jack, she thought, trying to be quiet so as not to wake her. He was probably checking the alarm, the locks, or maybe he did his best thinking when he walked around.
    Still, even as her muscles uncoiled and eased, she kept listening. She realized that ever since her thankfully brief trip to the bottom of Black Rock Lake, she had not completely let go, even with Jack close by. Her brain was always charged, always looking, weighing, assessing, wanting to know if anyone was trying to kill her.
    Breath whooshed out of her and she realized she’d been holding it, just like when she was at the bottom of lake. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, ready to go to Jack, to ... what? Have him protect her, chase away her fears, or make love to her until she couldn’t think at all? She stopped cold, simply held very still and listened.
    It was quiet outside in the corridor. The summer night air was sweet and still. The nightmare had conjured up the bogeyman, put him so close she’d popped awake, covered with sweat. She looked out the window. The quarter moon lit up the sky. She looked at that moon, kept listening, waited. A minute, another.
    Nothing. She lay back down again, forced her muscles to relax, and she waited. She breathed deeply, but the question nagged her mind— Who is trying to kill me? Her brain squirreled around that until finally her breathing slowed, and her head fell to the side.
    She heard a sound, a light footfall. Was Jack standing outside her door, his hand on the doorknob, wanting to come in and make love to her? Now, that was a fine lovely thought... .
    It wasn’t Jack. She knew it wasn’t Jack. She leaned over and quietly slid open the night table drawer. It made enough noise to awaken the dead. Easy, easy. She reached in, felt the cold shock of Jimmy’s gun against her palm, and curled her fingers around it.
    Was that another footstep? Stepping away? No, there was