Blade Dance (2 page)

She thought it ludicrous that her tenant, an educator, wasn’t aware that his supposed ancestral namesake, Lewis Carroll, was actually the pen name of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, who’d been childless. So, Theodore would have to be a Dodgson, not a Carroll. So, right off the bat, he was a bullshitter, which bore watching. As a tutor, he should know this stuff. Or, possibly, he thought she was a total Philistine who wouldn’t know the difference. Either way, not a good sign. She hoped he’d be gone at the end of the summer.

In front of the cottage, Theo continued to sit in his vehicle, considering how kind fate was.
Could this be any more perfect
?
She’s alone, on crutches, in the middle of nowhere, no close neighbors. And she’s very beautiful—Sandra Bullock beautiful, with strawberry blonde hair. It would be perfect if she had blue eyes, not green. Oh yes, quite pretty, but her language is offensive. And she shouldn’t wear such tight shorts. Anyone might see her and become aroused. I’ll deal with those things, later. Once I’m in charge, she’ll shape up and fly right
.

He rolled and dragged his luggage up the front steps of the cottage, and used the key he’d gotten from the real estate agent after the rental agreement had been signed.
Dear Mrs. Finnegan, that old cow with her fake blonde hair. She made it perfectly clear that she had better things to do than deal with my needs, couldn’t meet me here in person to open up the house. I’d show her what a mistake it is to ignore me, but she’s too old, and not my type. I can’t spend the effort on her, plus it would ruin my timing
.

The two-bedroom dwelling was relatively spacious, as such things went, and well-kept. He’d lucked out—the little country home was actually perfect. He hated disorganization, and everything appeared to be neat and orderly. Soft colors of mostly pale gray and ivory made the rooms feel light and airy. The furniture was comfortable but sparse, upholstered in pale floral fabrics, with light-colored wood trims. Crowded rooms with bright colors or busy patterns were disruptive to his psyche, made him edgy, uncomfortable. He avoided hotels and motels whenever possible, but sometimes he had little choice.

He lifted the luggage to the bed he’d chosen as his. Counted to five. Unzipped the bag. Laid out his shirts, in alphabetical order. Pale tints of blue, gray, green, lilac, melon, olive, pink, tan, yellow. Even though it wasn’t technically pastel, he’d been forced to add white to make the numbers work out correctly. Pastel socks to match pastel shirts. Two of each color. Five pair of tan Dockers, to change out every other day. Ten Hanes tagless white V-necked undershirts, ten pair of Hanes tagless white jockey shorts. Two pair of white-striped pale blue pajamas, because five was too many. One extra pair of brown tassel loafers. He never wore sneakers, which he considered too plebeian.

Theo placed his folded clothing neatly in the dresser, then placed the extra shoes on the floor next to it, perpendicular to the wall. Counted to five. Brought his zippered bag of personal items into the bathroom.

Pump bottle of hand sanitizer. Soap. Shampoo. Toothpaste. Toothbrush. Electric shaver. Aftershave. Deodorant. He lined up the items in order of size, from large to small. He counted to five. Used one squirt of hand sanitizer, no more, no less, then rubbed his hands together for thirty seconds.

Precision was essential to civilization; otherwise, humans were no better than apes. A pile of five fresh, folded towels—light grey, to match the walls and subway tiles—sat on the other side of the vanity. Luckily, the number worked, as well as the color. He sniffed, approved. No heavy perfume odor.

Next, he brought in the grocery bags, arranged everything on the kitchen counter before he put them away. Ten boxes of macaroni and cheese. Ten boxes of frozen peas. Ten cans of Beefaroni ravioli. Ten seedless navel oranges. Two boxes of Cap’n Crunch. Two gallons of whole milk. Two packages of Double-Stuf Oreo cookies, thirty cookies in each. One jar of real mayonnaise.

He counted to five. Then, boxes in the cupboard, arranged in rows, like sizes with like sizes, large to small. Cans lined up, labels forward. Peas in the freezer, identifying labels facing the same way. Mayo in the door of the refrigerator. Milk containers, on the fridge shelf, side by side. Oranges in the produce bin.

There, all settled
. He had food for ten days, breakfast, lunch, dinner. Snacks. Three cookies, with eight ounces of milk, between breakfast and lunch. One orange between lunch and dinner. Three cookies, eight ounces of milk, after dinner.

Theo had checked the odometer on the way out, so he knew it was exactly seventeen-point-two miles from town.
I can treat myself to a meal in town, if it pleases me
. He kept a stash of cash in small, used bills. He always relieved his victims of whatever money they had, but never credit cards or ID.
After all, they won’t be needing the cash, and I don’t need to be caught with the cards
.

His comfortable trust fund and thrifty nature cushioned him from needing the money, but it amused him to take it. It also confused the stupid cops when he took the cash, left everything else, then threw the handbags where the investigators were sure to find them. Was it a snatch n’ grab gone wrong or a homicide? Robber or killer?
So easy to bamboozle them, the detectives, the investigators, with all their fancy training, all their fancy, specialized equipment
.

He returned to the bedroom, unzipped the bulging front pocket of his luggage. Without disturbing the lacy curtains more than necessary, he aimed the binoculars toward his neighbor’s house. He’d spent a goodly amount on the high-tech Zeiss opticals, so he expected clarity. The farmhouse was large, with many rooms, but drapes covered each tall window. That was disappointing.

What does she need that huge house for, anyway, just for her
?
But dark will come, soon enough. At least she doesn’t have a dog
.

***

I should have a dog
.

Wallis finally got situated on a kitchen chair, leaned her crutches against the table. Using her thumbnails, she began to peel an orange, cussed as the juice sprayed everywhere. She’d forgotten a paper napkin, so she stretched far enough to grab a kitchen towel.

If I had a dog, at least I’d have company. And a better alert system than yelling, “Who the hell’s out there
?
I have a gun, and I’ll use it
!”

She had a gut feeling that the new tenant, temporary though he might be, was going to be a supreme pain-in-the-ass. He obviously hadn’t thought far enough ahead to get his cover story straight. It had been her experience that people who lied for the sake of lying, without checking the lies for accuracy, usually spelled trouble with a capital T.

Heaving a huge sigh, she continued to feel sorry for herself and her nonexistent dog.
My leg is fucked up, I’m stuck here alone, and I miss my guys
.

Thinking of her men produced a sigh of a different kind. Also a blush to her cheeks, as well as an equally warm flush to her girl parts.

Knowing Wallis would be chomping at the bit, Austin had sent a text message. A strong lead on the missing woman had been phoned in to the crime hotline, so the captain had turned the boys around even as they were heading back home. They’d reversed course, then that freakin’ lead sent the searchers miles deeper into the mountains, farther from her.

Austin and Michael should be here, with me. Waiting on me. Feeding me. Loving me, as they do so well
. As unreasonable and selfish as those thoughts were, she indulged in a rare pity party.

The searchers still held out hope, but Wallis knew such hope was futile. The woman was dead. Wallis could feel it in her gut—and her gut was never wrong. She’d learned not to share her feelings with others, not even her own teammates. They’d only become depressed and dejected, which didn’t help them do their jobs.

Especially Michael. Her doom-and-death observations, no matter now unintentional the effect, could easily trigger the depression, the flashbacks, the restlessness, the insomnia, that had finally driven him from the slopes of Aspen, where he’d been a Search and Rescue first-responder. She’d lost count of how many nights she’d held him, her big, strong man, rocked him in her arms as if he was a child, while tears of silent rage soaked them both. He hadn’t suffered an episode in over a year, for which she was eternally grateful. Regardless of how accurate her instincts proved, she’d learned to keep thoughts of death to herself.

Austin wasn’t as stoic. He usually vacated the bedroom, left Michael in Wallis’s embrace, then camped upstairs in one of the guest rooms for the night. A former firefighter, he had his own demons to vanquish. Wallis had progressed from being a fledgling SWAT to joining the State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation, but she hadn’t the years in the field that her men did.

We’re a motley crew, aren’t we
? She sighed.
Yeah, maybe so, but we’re also a good, solid, ass-kickin’ team
.

***

When dusk faded and full dark encroached, Theo crept toward the farmhouse. He panicked and scuttled back into the shadows when a security lamp on the big barn behind the house flickered to life, going from pale bluish-white to bright yellow as the lamp heated up. He was forced to increase his periphery to avoid the well-lit areas to the side and rear of the house. The absence of street lights allowed him to walk along the shoulder of the road until he passed the troublesome mailbox and turned onto the front walk. He’d nearly reached the front steps when the porch light came on. He scrambled madly to reach the dark side of the house.

Already annoyed, he became more so when he realized that the design of the structure prevented easy peeking. Greenery was planted along the foundation all the way around the house. Such landscaping had proved helpful in the past for hiding, but this was American holly, the spiny leaves of which could shred skin as well as catch and rip fabric. He couldn’t imagine anyone using holly for landscaping around the foundation of a home, for Christ’s sake.

There she is
. A quick glimpse of Wallis, crutching her way down a hallway toward the kitchen at the back of the house, was the best Theo could manage. She’d bypassed a nightgown or pajamas in favor of a long, black T-shirt that reached to mid-thigh. He couldn’t see any intimate parts, but preferred to imagine she was naked underneath.

There was a faint stir in his groin as he snuck back to the cottage. It would be a long, frustrating process before he could manage a release—
if
he could manage at all.

Bitch. You want me. You know it. Why are you making things so difficult
?

***

The raucous blast of air horns shot Theodore from dead sleep to full panic, and he crashed from bed to floor. He counted to five. Twice. When nothing attacked, he uncurled himself, scrambled to the window in time to see a long, dark red truck slide to a dusty halt in Wallis’s driveway, behind the coppery-colored Dodge Journey, which he’d assumed was her vehicle.

Two large, powerfully built men—one blond, one dark—jumped from either side of the truck cab.

The blond one called out, “
Yo
, Wallis, baby. Where are you, sexy creature? Sweetheart, are you naked?”

With adrenaline still pumping, Theo’s fury grew, directed at the intruders.
Who are they
?
What right did they have to speak to her like that
?

He straightened his twisted pajamas, grabbed the binoculars. Wallis came out to the front landing, hair all mussed, still clad in the T-shirt, legs naked, as she balanced precariously on her crutches. The muscled blond man took the two front steps in one stride, grabbed her, lifted her off the ground, and left the crutches to crash to the stone steps. She wrapped her arms around the man’s neck, kissed him wildly. Theo had been correct—as her shirt rode up, it was obvious that she wasn’t wearing panties.

The dark Goliath tapped the blond’s shoulder then took Wallis into his own bear-hug embrace. After kissing him soundly, she threw her head back and laughed.

The sound carried to Theo’s open window, chilled his blood. His heart hammered in his chest, his breath came in ragged gasps. He unzipped another pouch on the front of his luggage, struggled with an inhaler he’d sworn not to use, took two deep hits. Taking the inhaler with him, he returned to the window.

The blond man grabbed Wallis’s crutches and handed them over, which allowed her to vanish into the interior of the house after he delivered an open-handed swat to her butt. The men retrieved rolling luggage from the crew cab of the giant four-wheel-drive truck, each of their suitcases twice the size of Theo’s. They also disappeared into the house.

As Theo’s breathing came easier, his sense of outrage continued to develop. He didn’t think there was any chance the men were relatives.

She’s just like the others. A cock-tease. A ho. She can’t drop me like this, before I even got a chance to show her what a great catch I am. She’ll pay for this. Oh, yes, she’ll pay dearly
.

Chapter Two

They’re back. My boys are back. They…are…baaack
! If it wasn’t for the cast, Wallis would be doing an energetic Snoopy Dance of happiness.

The last assignment had been the first time their team had been dispatched, short one member. She was honest enough with herself to admit she missed her specialty, which was pouring through evidence. Missed the adrenaline kick when her theories panned out. Missed working within the tight, cohesive unit formed by the three partners as they worked major crime scenes. She’d been stuck at the house, feeling useless, awkward—and oh, so lonely.

Wallis leaned on the kitchen counter, elbows on the cool tile, mug of fresh, hot coffee cradled in her hands. She gazed through the multi-paned windows over the sink, enjoyed the color-drenched patch of relentless wildflowers that struggled for survival at the back edge of the lawn. Engrossed in her reverie, she yipped when a pair of strong arms grabbed her around the waist.