Guilty Photographs Page 11

  “What? Is that even safe?” Her voice was worried as she stared at the device. She stepped closer and reached for it.

  “I wouldn’t use it if it weren’t,” he said. Nixon placed the device on Barbara’s palm, holding her gaze as he handed it to her.

  Barbara took the device and inspected it as if she knew what she was looking for. His eyes sparked again and she broke their connection. Their attention needed to remain focused on the task. She knew she was being practical but she liked the simplicity of the things in her life she could control.

  Something about being around Nixon was trying to crumple the wall she build around her emotions.

  Sensing her reaction, Nixon spoke breaking the silence and the longing stare his eyes draped over her body. “Let’s test it here before you use it out there,” he said.

  “I thought it was safe,” she said quickly, still trying to decipher how to operate the device. Making herself busy, she brought the device closer and turned it on all its different angles.

  “It is. I just haven’t tested it yet.”

  “So I’m the guinea pig?”

  “Pretty much, unless you want to involve someone else in our scheme,” he teased.

  Barbara shook her head, her eyes finally reaching his. “No way, we’re doing this alone.”

  He approached Barbara. Her hands dropped to her sides. “Then, my darling, you’re the only guinea pig in here,” he said as he stroked her hair. His eyes sparkled and he smiled. He took the device from Barbara as she stared at him.

  His slow rhythmic breathing breezed through her ear, sending shivers through her spine as he placed the device in her ear. He moved toward his computer and the clicking of the keys and the clicking of the mouse ricocheted throughout the room.

  “Let’s test how well it works at a short distance and between walls. I’m going to the next room. Wait here,” he said. He quickly tapped the volume keys on his watch.

  “Can you hear me?” he said from the next room.

  Barbara nodded.

  “Barbara, can you hear me?” he repeated.

  “Yes, I can hear you. It works,” she shouted.

  “There’s no need to shout. I can hear you just fine. Whisper so we can test the volume level as well,” he said.

  “I can hear you,” she whispered.

  His footsteps were approaching her from behind as she stood facing the window. She felt his presence and smelled his scent. He was closer now. She sensed his body heat behind her.

  “Good, the volume adjusts to you. There’s a noise-canceling system embedded in the device so the only voice I will hear is yours unless someone else comes in close proximity to you,” he explained. I control your transmission so I can mute your voice or raise it to listen to you.” He spoke in a low tone, almost in a sultry voice.

  “Can I do that too?” She wanted to break the tension and stepped closer to the window.

  “I didn’t think it was necessary, since it would be more things for you to try to maneuver.”

  She turned to face him. “Right. So how do I take it out?”

  He stepped closer to her, not leaving her with any other room but to stand there in front of him. He took her hands. “Like this, just hold the green button on the watch for two seconds and it will release the droid. But leave it in. We need to test it at a long distance. Wear it for a few hours a day for a couple of days. You can talk to me whenever you want and I can listen to your voice.” He leaned closer, taking in her scent.

  “Nixon, what are you doing?” Her breathing slowed but her heart beat faster.

  “I’m only going as far as you want me to go,” he whispered.

  He cupped her face as his lips hovered on hers. He waited for a few seconds, probably savoring the moment.

  She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his waist as he brought her closer to him. She laid her head on his chest and listened to the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat.

  “Barbara. I want more,” he said.

  “Huh? What do you mean?” she whispered.

  He hugged her tight while caressing her body, his hands exploring her skin. “I mean, I want more from you. I want you with me all the time. I want to lie next to you when I sleep and kiss you when I wake up. I don’t want you for a moment, I want you for a lifetime.” He pressed his body closer to hers.

  She couldn’t respond to his request. It felt good to be with him, but she didn’t know where they could take this. She knew that they worked well together but she didn’t want to mess things up with a relationship. She wasn’t sure what her feelings were for him, but she knew she didn’t want to have feelings to get disappointed or disappoint him at the end.

  “Wire.”

  He stopped and stared at her. He reluctantly stepped back, creating a small distance between them. She walked toward his desk.

  “I’m not sure what I want. I know this isn’t the answer you were expecting, but we should forget this happened. I want to treasure what we have. I’m sorry, Nixon.”

  She saw his disappointed stare as she walked toward the door. She went to the living room, grabbed her backpack, and left.

  She had nothing to give him. Her sorrows and grief were not good enough.

  Chapter 10

  What the hell just happened? Nixon asked himself, lying on his king-size platform bed staring at the ceiling in his dimly lit bedroom.

  One minute they’d been wrapped in each other’s arms and the next minute she invoked the safe word —wire—they used when they were in trouble.

  Her voice saying “Wire” echoed in his mind.

  She’d left him without giving him a proper reason.

  He was certain she felt the connection they had. He’d thought that today would be a good time to stop hiding his feelings from her. He felt as if she wanted what he could offer. She’d proved it today.

  He knew he hadn’t said anything to hurt her. The minute he’d thought he knew what she wanted from him, his eyes latched onto hers, never leaving her sight.

  For years he’d wanted her. For years he’d admired her. For years he’d worked with her, taking care of her. Dropping hints of his affection for her, and seeing her reactions to his subtle touches and to his lingering stares had proved to him that she wanted him too.

  He wanted her. He wanted to hear her call out his name, begging him for a release.

  Nixon knew she had secrets. Hell, they both did. He wanted more from her. She needed more from him. They needed each other.

  He took a deep breath, taking in her sweet scent which lingered in the air. He got up, frustrated, not sure what to do. He stood there in the middle of his room surrounded by his light blue-gray walls with a sense of defeat.

  Nixon walked across his room toward the shower to calm his desires for her. The dark wooden floors felt cold beneath his bare feet but his emotions were hot.

  Had he been too forward? Had he crossed some sort of line she’d placed between them?

  Fuck! The uncertainty was daunting.

  He took a warm shower, got dressed, and walked over to his home office.

  Thinking about Barbara and wondering about the what-ifs was driving him insane. He needed a distraction. He needed to occupy himself with something.

  Work would distract his mind. He wanted to place the finishing touches on the DRTI, the watch, and the earpiece device. He had a plan and wanted everything to work. With this plan Barbara would not walk away from him again.

  The power outage, even though it was out of his control, had almost cost Barbara her freedom. He didn’t intend for that to happen but maybe if Barbara would’ve been caught she would’ve wanted him. He wanted to be her savior, not her demise. So he worked on perfecting the devices.

  His office was adjacent to his bedroom on the opposite side of the hallway from where Lori and Reagan slept in the guest bedroom. It was the typical IT set-up. In the center of the room was a large rectangular glass desk where four monitors rested on a two-tier stand with three external h
ard drives. His work phone, printer, fax, and office supplies were also neatly placed on the table. He had made the large walk-in closet into his computer server room, housing over five servers for the company and his personal server for his use. The back wall had a large bookshelf where he kept the company’s files, books, and CD-ROM drives of various software and data. To the right of the room was a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city. He kept the blinds partially opened in the day to have sunlight shine through but at night he left them open so he could gaze at the city when he needed a break. To the left of the room he had his personal computer set up.

  He decided that it was a good time to catch up on the work piled on his desk and the countless emails he had to respond to. He spent the next several hours working, but his thoughts found their way to Barbara. The more he tried to concentrate, the deeper his thoughts drifted toward her.

  He walked to his window, staring at the city night life—the flashing lights, the vibrant colors, and the people having a good time, laughing, drinking, lovers holding hands and doing whatever tourists and locals did at this hour.

  Just staring at people having fun was not helping. “I need to get myself out there,” he said aloud. He gathered himself, got dressed, and went out to his favorite bar—the Hot Coyote—for a drink.

  He liked that bar because it was hidden away and the only people who knew about that place were locals and a few loners looking for a drink in a quaint atmosphere.

  Nixon walked inside. The bar took up the entire back wall. The walls were adorned with mounted bull horns, full shoulder mounts of a deer and a cow, and autographed portraits of a few celebrities who had stumbled upon the Hot Coyote just like he had, looking for solitude and a drink. The western theme seemed to suit this place and the two waitresses and bartender complemented the western look. The place had a faint lingering stench of cigarette smoke and the smoke clouded the dimly lit space.

  Considering the number of partygoers outside this place, the quietness never disappointed. He dragged himself toward the bar, not looking anywhere but focused on his mission to get several drinks and possibly get drunk. He sat next to a man who sat at the bar at an angle with a clear view of who came in or left the bar, like a bouncer guarding the entrance.

  “Hey, Nixon, if you’re here on a weekday it means that work got you stressed. You want the usual?” Tiffany the barkeeper said.

  “Something like that,” Nixon told her. “Nah, give me a whiskey double hold the ice. I want this drink to be strong.”

  “Rough night?” she asked, as she poured the amber liquid in a glass cup and then slid a small bucket of peanuts toward him.

  “Yep.” He nodded. He grabbed the cup and brought it to his lips. The strong whiskey aroma awakened his senses and watered his mouth. He felt the burn of the liquid as he gulped it in one swig. He needed that burn.

  “Tiffany, can you change the channel to something other than the nightly news?”

  “Yeah, they’ve been broadcasting the warehouse murders nonstop anyway,” Tiffany said. She grabbed the remote from underneath the bar and pointed it at the TV screen.

  “Yeah, the three dead guys. I heard about that. You think they caught her?” Nixon asked.

  Tiffany stopped flipping through channels and looked at him, surprised. “Her? How do you know the killer is a woman?”

  Nixon cleared his throat. “They have leads of both men and women, I’m sure I heard that the other day on one of those gossip channels. Besides, Trivaldi Junior is known to be around many women and I would put money on it that it’s a woman that killed him.”

  “You seem sure of that idea,” Tiffany said. Content with his answer, she slowly moved her gaze toward the screen as she pointed the remote at the TV again.

  Nixon nodded, sipping the last drop of his drink.

  “Well, whoever it is I hope they get caught fast,” Tiffany added, she glanced at him and then quickly diverted her attention to the screen once more.

  After a few moments of countless of infomercials, she turned to Nixon. “Sorry, but at this time there is nothing interesting on TV so I can turn it off or leave it on the same channel.”

  Nixon shrugged.

  “No need to turn it off,” the man sitting next to him said. “I can glance at it when I’m tired of staring at my empty glass.

  Nixon looked at the man, who was dressed rather smartly, for a bar scene, sitting next to him. Never Give Up among other designs was tattooed on his arm. But that phrase caught Nixon’s attention.

  The man also looked like he was down on his luck by the way he fidgeted with the peanut shells in front of him, and judging by the three empty glass tumblers in front of him, he was worse off than Nixon.

  “Nixon like the president,” the man said.

  Nixon diverted his attention from the TV screen and looked at the man when he mentioned his name. “Yeah, my mom thought it was clever to name me after him. For some odd reason she liked him. And with my last name being Wright she figured Nixon could never be wrong, she said.”

  The man chuckled. “Yeah, that’s a good way to put it.” He looked at Nixon with his glassy eyes, trying to study his features. “I’ll buy you the next one. I’ve been sitting here for almost two hours and you’re the only person other than the couple over there who entered this bar.”

  “Thanks, man, but I’m good.” He glanced up at the TV as the nightly news continued.

  “You sure? We can both use some company.”

  Nixon thought about his proposition. He’d gotten out of the house to mingle and he guessed that this was his opportunity to get distracted. He didn’t want to drown alone in his sorrows.

  He looked at the man and nodded. “All right. I’ll take your offer only if I can buy you the next one.”

  “Sure. Barkeep, bring us another round. I’ll have whatever Nixon Wright is drinking,” the man said as he rested his hand on Nixon’s shoulder as if they were old friends. “So what brings you to this bar?”

  “I live walking distance from here. I come here when I need a break from work, from life, from women, from everything. What about you?” Nixon swirled his drink and spun the whiskey in his cup until it swirled into an amber tornado. He thought about how his love life resembled the motion while listening to the man’s response.

  “This place was recommended by an acquaintance of mine at work. He said it was quiet, the drinks are good and cheap. So I decided to come here to clear my thoughts. Work can get to you sometimes,” the man said as he smoothed his hair back.

  “Yeah, I know. You need your sanity to function well in the world and a good whiskey can bring it back.”

  The man raised his half-full glass. “Cheers to that.”

  “Cheers,” Nixon replied and mimicked the man’s gesture.

  They both took a gulp of the drink and set the glasses down with a clink.

  “I take it you’re not from here,” Nixon said. He looked at the man from his black coiffed hair, crisp collared shirt, slacks, and down to his oxford shoes.

  “What gave it away?”

  “You’re dressed too formal to be a local in here. I’m wearing T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, which is how most people are dressed in here,” Nixon said.

  The man glanced at himself and then at Nixon. He nodded and laughed.

  “Yeah, I packed light. I’m only here for a week and didn’t think I’d have some downtime,” the man said.

  An image of deputies and several detectives on the TV screen caught Nixon’s attention. “So, this is a business trip?” Nixon asked. He looked back at the man.

  “Yeah, a business trip,” the man repeated with a nod as he sipped.

  “You look like one of the guys on TV.” Nixon pointed to the screen.

  The man glanced up at the screen as he sipped his drink. “I look like a movie star, so I’ve been told.”

  “No, I mean you look like one of the guys working the warehouse murder case.”

  The man chuckled. “You and I have
been drinking a lot and right now everyone looks like a celebrity at this point. Even the bartender looks like a famous Hollywood star, you know, that badass girl from the car racing movie.”

  “You mean Michelle Rodriguez.”

  “Yeah, her.”

  Nixon glanced at Tiffany and then looked at the man. “You’re right. Good point.”

  “Which reminds me that I have to get up in a few hours, I have to work in the morning.”

  Nixon looked at his watch and nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty late.”

  “That’s a peculiar watch. I never seen it before,” the man said, studying Nixon’s black silicone watch.

  “This is something I designed. I like gadgets,” Nixon said, looking at his watch and admiring his work.

  The man peered at the watch. “Can I take a closer look at it?”

  Nixon looked at him carefully and hesitated to comply but didn’t think that the man would run off with it so he removed the watch from his wrist and handed it to him. Had he been sober, his judgment wouldn’t have been so trustworthy but he figured this was a stranger and knew nothing about who he really was and what the watch was really for.

  “It’s a remarkable watch. Looks like a lot of detail went into making it,” the man said, examining it.

  “Yeah, it’s one of a kind, that’s for sure.”

  A nice, slow, soothing melody interrupted their conversation. Nixon scanned the room for the source.

  “Am I hearing things?” Nixon said more to himself. He looked around but the jukebox in the bar had been playing the same six country songs for the last few hours.

  “Hear what?” the man asked.

  But before Nixon could realize he had spoken his thought out loud. He noticed that the music was coming from his earpiece. It was Barbara singing. She still has the device embedded in her ear, he thought. Nixon tugged at his ear to muffle the sound.

  The man tinkering with the watch must have triggered it to turn on.

  Nixon sat still listening to the tune and he could make out the lyrics. It was the tune to Norah Jones’s “Don’t Know Why,” but it wasn’t the singer’s voice.