Chapter 17: I Put a Spell on You

Chloe Price had almost always been the tallest girl in any gathering she had been in. Never had that come more in handy than now.

Chloe's long-jump off the cliff at Koch's Folly easily cleared the cropping of jagged rocks below, and she landed feet first in the icy waters of the Pacific Ocean twenty feet below.

The coldness of the water robbed her of her breath as she entered. The only thing that kept her from passing out and floating to the top like a dead goldfish was the salt in the ocean water getting into the cut beneath her eye, given to her by The First Guy when he punched her in the face. All verbal exclamations on Chloe's part on the matter of how much that fucking hurt came out as bubbles, which rose quickly to the surface.

She popped her head above the water and looked to the lighthouse, before taking a deep breath and submerging herself once more. No doubt The Bull and his goons would be creeping their heads over the cliff's edge once they'd regrouped, and even though the coast was illuminated only by the moon, it wouldn't do to be caught with her head sticking out.

Only now realizing she'd dropped The Bull's gun beneath the gentle waves, Chloe swam for the beach.


November was beginning to act like it was November.

No matter how cold the water was, it was nothing compared to the frigid air hitting her as soon as she got to her feet on the sand near the docks.

I'm gonna catch something, Chloe thought. Just when I was running out of ways to make my week better.

Her first instinct was to call Max and tell her that The Bull was coming for her. She reached into her soggy jacket pocket and found that the Pacific Ocean had destroyed her phone. She felt around in her other pocket and found that she had change. She'd hoof it to a payphone… Were there still payphones in Arcadia Bay?

She'd gotten two blocks before common sense reasserted itself. Max had told her that morning at breakfast that both the ABPD and the hotel's own security staff had beefed up since the car-bomb explosion the night before. The Bull, in all likelihood, wouldn't be able to get to her, crooked cops or no. Yes, she'd still warn Max, but she'd do it in person. And Chloe didn't think Max would begrudge her the chance to shower the sandy salt-water shittiness off of her body.

The walk back to the Blue Cove took an hour. During that time, there was an undercurrent to her thoughts, and that undercurrent was all about the dam around her consciousness. The one holding back all of the thoughts and memories from the Alternate Chloes from five years ago. In the back of her mind, she heard a low rumble. The kind that presaged a great collapse. Chloe felt like a kid ignoring the pops and pings under the hood of their parents' car, thinking they'll get blamed if the damned thing dies.

Thankfully, her twenty foot drop into the Pacific Ocean did not rob her of her keys. The cold-as-fuck Oregon air had dried her off, save for the squelching sounds her boots made with every footfall. She pried them off as soon as she got to her apartment. She remembered that she still had a load in the washer downstairs, but then remembered that she'd barely made a dent in the monstrous check Denise had written her earlier in the week.

Fuck it, I'll buy new clothes.

She made for the bathroom, picking up a pair of sweatpants and a tank-top from her room along the way. She paused to spy the mirror. The Second Guy's punch to the temple didn't leave a mark, but The First Guy's punch that broke her glasses left a checkmark-shaped cut under her left eye socket. Deep enough to smart, but not deep enough to need stitches.

She removed her clothes and examined herself for other marks. The kick to her kidneys left a red mark that was already going away, but the kick to her gut left a wicked bruise about the size of a forty watt light-bulb next to her navel.

She got into the shower and set the water just two shades under "hot-as-hell." The suds from the shampoo got into the cut under her eye, and that hurt like a motherfucker, too.

She got out, dried herself off and rummaged through the medicine cabinet for the store brand disinfecting ointment she'd bought two summers ago when she'd skinned her knee tripping on the sidewalk (which had been the last time in her life she wore shorts outside). She applied it to the cut under her eye. She looked for Band-Aids and didn't find any.

Chloe reached into the cabinet under the bathroom sink, elbowing aside rolls of toilet paper and a box of tampons, and came up with a box of disposable contact lenses and a bottle of lens solution. She applied them and looked at herself in the mirror. It was like she was looking at herself in high definition. She'd expected herself to look older, but in spite of the regrets, the sadness, the danger, the weed, and the cigarettes, she still looked young. Far younger than she felt. Like she still had something to offer the world. Chloe knew how looks were deceiving… and hoped to God they weren't. She still had two missing women and two dead men to find the truth around.

Chloe put on her sweatpants and her tank-top. Her bare feet hadn't even touched the carpet of her bedroom when she heard footsteps coming from the living room.

She quietly tiptoed into her bedroom closet and, without making a sound, she grabbed a shoebox from the shelf above where her jackets were hanging. She brought it to the ground and opened the lid.

Inside was the gun she'd stolen from David five years earlier. It was a damn shame she didn't have any bullets.

Oh well. Push comes to shove, I'll just hit people with it.

Chloe crept to her bedroom door, opened it a crack, looked into the living room and saw…

Someone.

A female someone.

Her back was turned. Judging by the locks of dark red hair cascading down the back of the black coat she wore, Chloe knew precisely who this female someone was.

"Denise?" Chloe asked. She absent-mindedly threw the gun onto her bed.

"Good evening, Chloe," Denise Leonard said, her back still turned. Chloe thought that the woman knew her clothes. She was wearing heels, and her coat came down to a few inches above her knees, leading Chloe to believe she was wearing a very short skirt underneath.

Or nothing.

"How did you get in here?" Chloe asked.

"Those who ask that question should learn to lock their doors. I find the hallway of this building filthy and unsettling, so I took it upon myself to enter your home of my own accord."

As Chloe stepped into the living room, Denise finally turned around.

"Chloe, what happened to you?"

"The Bull caught up with me," Chloe said. "He's not…"

She was about to expound on The Bull's state of mind, but was cut off by Denise walking toward her. She put her hands on Chloe's shoulders and planted a long, slow kiss on the flesh beneath the cut under her eye. Denise's lips were warm and soft, and for a moment, Chloe forgot to breathe.

Chloe thought that only Denise Leonard could take something that aunts and grandmothers did as a matter of routine and make it really fucking filthy.

Denise pulled away to look at her and Chloe almost got lost in the dark pools of her eyes. One of Denise's hands paced a finger up and down the tattoos on Chloe's right arm, while her other hand was flat against the base of Chloe's spine and heading south to the waistband of her sweatpants. Chloe was only now self-conscious about the fact that she had forgotten to get a pair of underwear.

"Feel better?" Denise asked.

"There's no good way to answer that question."

Denise smirked. "Pick a bad way, then. They're more fun."

She leaned in again, and Chloe felt the warmth of breath on her neck. She smelled perfume that most likely cost more than a year of rent on her apartment. Denise's thumb had found the waistband of Chloe's sweatpants, and had begun to pull down.

"No."

The moment the word was out of Chloe's mouth, she wished her knees were double-jointed, so she could kick her own ass for saying it.

"'No?'" Denise asked. Like it was the name of an entrée at an authentic Chinese restaurant that she was doing her best to pronounce.

"I don't sleep with clients," Chloe said. Which was true. For the three whole seconds she'd had this rule, Chloe Price had not once slept with a client.

"Professionalism?" Denise asked.

"Honor," Chloe said. "Once this is done, then whatever happens between you and me… happens between you and me. But until that time, I'll act like the employee I am, and you act like the employer you are."

Denise stepped away from Chloe.

"Fine," Denise said. "Be that way."

Denise pooched her lower lip out in a faux pout. It was adorable, which was a card Chloe didn't know Denise could play. So adorable, in fact, that Chloe forgot Denise was almost ten years older than she.

"So The Bull caught up with you," Denise said, going back to her original position.

"Yeah," Chloe said. "I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm dead, so he won't be looking for me right away."

"And why would he think you're dead?"

"Because I jumped off of a cliff to get away from him."

Denise turned around to look at Chloe. She appeared to be genuinely impressed.

"Well done," Denise said.

"Thank you," Chloe said. "You have someone inside Leonard International dealing drugs."

"Do I?" Denise asked in a way that said she already knew.

"For the past couple of weeks, the shipments that have been getting jacked by The Bull, have been getting jacked again, and the only person who could have done it would be someone who had info on the shipments in the first place…. But something tells me you knew that already."

"I did," Denise said.

"And you didn't see fit to tell me?" Chloe asked.

"Chloe, I hired you to clean the parts of my house that I couldn't clean myself. Not to mention the fact that any information about the inner workings of Leonard International that I divulge to outsiders such as yourself would be irresponsible at best and legally actionable at worst. I will handle this man inside my company once I find out who he is. And if you find out who he is, do let me know."

"After you didn't tell me about him in the first place?"

"Now Chloe," Denise said. "Just because the check I'm planning on writing you for getting to the bottom of this is more than ample doesn't mean I can't find room for a cherry on top."

Just like that, Chloe thought. She'll throw money at any problem that drops at her feet.

But in Chloe's case it worked, so she didn't complain to herself too loudly.

"Well," Denise said. "I was planning on going to bed soon. And if it's not in yours, then I guess it's to be in mine… Walk me to your door?"

"The whole four feet?" Chloe asked. "Sure."

The two of them walked to the apartment door. As soon as they got there, Denise turned around.

"You know how they say women find scars sexy?" Denise asked.

"Yeah?"

Denise ran a finger along Chloe's jaw line. "You know how it's true? Solve the case soon."

And out the door she went.

Chloe locked the door after her. She walked into the apartment and silently berated herself for the nine kinds of jackass she was for turning down Denise's offer, and the fifteen kinds of jackass she was for wanting to entertain it in the first place. In fact…

Chloe stopped.

A headache started small, and bloomed in the center of her head. All she could hear was a deafening rumble and her own breathing, which had become panicked. She could feel her heart jackhammering in her chest, moving her upper body almost imperceptibly back and forth.

It was coming back.

All of it.

For the second time in three hours, Chloe Price passed out.