Third Rail Read Free Page A

candlelight and a night of drinking transform her from waitress-artist into something much more primitive. As Harkness watches, his head turns heavy. The room narrows and tilts like a funhouse, dropping him to his knees.
    â€œWhoa.” He shakes his head to clear it, but it doesn’t help.
    â€œToo much whiskey?”
    â€œMaybe.” He takes a deep breath and stands, shakily, sure that more than whiskey is messing with him.
    â€œThis should perk you right up.” Thalia pulls off her tall boots and jeans and kicks them across the dim loft. Glass shatters. She rips off her blouse and buttons click across the floor.
    Thalia lowers her thong and flings it across the room with a deft kick. She kneels on the battered red couch, her breasts pressed against the velvet curve of the couch. “M’ere, Eddy.”
    Harkness sways toward the couch. He reaches out to trace the skein of freckles across her shoulder blades, then runs his finger down her spine. Deep at its base, hidden where no one except her lovers would see it, waits a tiny tattoo of a red hummingbird with a crude black
X
slashed through it.
    She pulls back. “Don’t touch that.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œBad luck. Ancient history.”
    Harkness tries to remember where he’s seen that red bird before.
    â€œHurry,” she whispers.
    Harkness moves his fingers lower to part her from behind. Thalia’s breathing turns faster. He inches inside.
    Thalia gives a low growl.
“Yes.”
    Harkness closes his eyes and the room spins. He opens them to see Thalia’s pale back moving in the murky light. “You’re so beautiful.”
    â€œDon’t talk shit.” She shakes her head and presses her eyes closed. “No more talking. Need to concentrate . . .”
    Harkness reaches out and cups a swaying breast to still it.
    Thalia grits her teeth and bucks hard against him. “More. Now, Eddy.”
    Harkness wraps his arms around her and pulls her to him, then harder. He’s about to come inside her but wants her satisfied shout to be the last sound he hears before he passes out. To distract and delay, he goes through a litany of Back Bay cross streets—Arlington, Berkeley, Clarendon, Dartmouth . . .
    When Harkness gets to Gloucester Street, his strangled call echoes through the dark loft as Thalia turns her head and screams into the red velvet.

3
    H ARKNESS WAKES with his arms wrapped around Thalia from behind—one hand on her hipbone, the other tucked under her breasts. Sprawled on the futon, where they finally collapsed, their bodies dovetail, legs tangle, and skin adheres. The planty scent of sex wafts from the wrinkled sheets. Thin October light slants off the splintered floorboards to limn the dusty footprints and the smudged giveaway pint glasses on the windowsill. Morning is about flaws.
    He picks up his phone and squints at the screen—a few minutes after six. He uncurls from Thalia. He can’t shower, might wake her. He’s not even sure where the shower is. He gathers his uniform from the floor. It’s wrinkled but should pass. Then he looks for the thick black leather belt that holds his gun and radio. He remembers dropping it on the floor when they came in from the loft party. He nudges the clothes on the floor with his foot.
    Thalia stirs and sits up. “Eddy? Come back to bed.”
    â€œCan’t. Got an early shift.” His brain hurts when he talks.
    â€œCall in sick.”
    â€œDoesn’t work that way.”
    Thalia reaches out and touches his leg. “Call in well, then. Tell the other cops you can’t get out of my bed before noon.”
    â€œI wish.”
    â€œIt’s rude to fuck and run. Especially the first night you stay over.”
    â€œGot to be at work by seven.”
    â€œMinding the meters.” Thalia lowers her head back down on the pillow, her hair a red-tinged tangle. “Least you still have a