Free Sleep No More by Greg Iles

valet and got behind the wheel, his inner ear still cold from the saliva Eve Sumner had left on his skin.

chapter 4
    “What do I think ? I think you’re losing your mind.”
    Cole Smith leaned back in his sumptuous office chair, kicked a pair of gleaming Guccis up on his desk, and lit a Macanudo. His eyes shone with incredulity.
    “So how do you explain it?” asked Waters.
    “Explain what? Evie wants to do the wild thing. Where’s the mystery?”
    “I’m talking about what she said.”
    “What she said? ” Cole shrugged. “Okay, let’s recap. At the soccer field she said zip. Right? She blew you a kiss.”
    “It looked like she said, ‘Soon.’ I told you that.”
    “It looked like she might have said that. But Eve Sumner has no way of knowing what secret things you and Mallory said to each other twenty years ago. And since she didn’t actually say anything, I think we can assume she blew you a freaking kiss.”
    “And last night?”
    “‘You’re not imagining anything’? ‘Call me tomorrow’?”
    “Right.”
    Cole chuckled and blew a blue cloud of smoke across his desk. “She’s just recognized what your partner already knows: that since your marriage, you’re a little slow on the uptake where sex is concerned. You haven’t hooked up in, what, twelve years? John Waters, Old Faithful. Last of a breed. Evie’s telling you you’re not wrong, that you’re not imagining that she’s coming on to you. You should call her.”
    “What about ‘It’s me’?”
    “Maybe she’s already tried to get your attention and you missed it. Sent you something, maybe. ‘It’s me.’ Get it? ‘I’m the one trying to get your attention.’”
    “Nobody’s sent me anything.”
    Cole sighed wearily but said nothing more.
    Waters looked around the room. Cole’s office felt more like a den than a working room. The walls were festooned with Ole Miss Rebels pennants and other memorabilia: a football helmet signed by coach Johnny Vaught, a framed Number 18 Rebels jersey autographed by Archie Manning, a Tennessee Vols jersey autographed by Archie’s son Peyton, snapshots of Cole with pro athletes, a nine-pound bass he’d caught when he was seventeen, samurai swords he’d collected in his early thirties, and countless other souvenirs. Waters always felt a little embarrassed here, but the investors loved it. Even if they supported rival LSU, the Ole Miss relics made for lively conversation.
    “What are you telling me, John?” Cole asked. “You think Eve Sumner is really Mallory Candler? Back from the grave?”
    “No. I don’t know what I’m saying. All I know is, she knew that word, ‘Soon,’ and she knew the context.”
    “So what? I knew about it too.”
    “You did?”
    “Sure. I saw you and Mallory do that a dozen times in Oxford.”
    Waters studied his partner’s face, trying to remember how it had looked twenty years ago.
    “You did it at frat parties, in the library, all kinds of places. And if I saw it, Mallory’s friends saw it too.”
    “But Eve Sumner wasn’t a friend of Mallory’s. She’s ten years younger than Mallory.”
    “Maybe Eve has an older sister who was at Ole Miss.”
    “Does she?”
    “How the hell do I know? I doubt it, though. Evie’s not even from Natchez. She’s from across the river somewhere. I think she graduated from a junior college. Yeah, she told me that. Mallory was a whole different class than Evie, John. Though I hate to admit it.”
    “Why do you hate to admit it?”
    “ Why? Mallory couldn’t stand having me around. Anyone or anything that took you away from her for five seconds, she hated with a passion. Do you remember how bad it got when she lost it? I don’t even want to get into that. She almost fucked up your whole life. That bitch—excuse me, that woman —is dead. And any appearance of evidence to the contrary tells me my best buddy is losing his fucking grip.”
    Waters pressed down the disturbing images Cole’s words had conjured.