Merit Badge Murder (15 page)

The old man who'd lived here before had taken a lot of care of his tools before he died. He'd had no family, so they stayed with the house. There was a workbench along the back wall with all kinds of shelves. I started there.

The first thing I found was a giant wrench. It was extremely heavy and the length of my arm. Perfect for bashing a man's skull in. I set it aside as a
yes
. Hanging on the wall were two hammers—a large sledge and a small claw hammer. I took both of those too. I sorted through boxes of nails, screws, and washers till I found a case filled with screw drivers. I took the medium sized flat-tip and put it with the hammers and wrench. On a good piece of luck, I found a whetstone and put it with the screwdriver. So far so good, but I needed something I could use from a distance.

I'd gone through almost everything before I found it…a nail gun. I'd never used one before, but how hard could it be? I pulled it from the box, and after finding the right sized nails, I plugged it in. There was an old block of wood in the corner on the floor. I picked that up and aiming the nail gun at it, fired.

I'd need to be fairly close. The nail went in but it didn't shoot a projectile like a bullet from a gun. And it had to be plugged in. That might be a problem. But I felt a little bit better having something with the word
gun
in the name, so I decided to add it.

Carrying everything into the house and kitchen, I dumped the stuff on the counter. I'd have to stash each of these in just the right place. The points of entry were the garage door to the house, the kitchen door, and the front door. No matter what I did, those could all be kicked in fairly easily. There was no time to buy ironwork for them—and that kind of thing, while at home in a bad neighborhood in L.A., looked weirdly out of place here.

I also had to consider the windows in each bedroom, the living room, and kitchen. I was pretty sure even I couldn't get through the basement windows, so I'd leave those for now. I got some paper and a pencil and drew a sketch of the house.

It was nice getting to do this again. Well, nice and scary, because some big nasty bad guys were going to attack and try to kill us. But nice nonetheless. It was also nice to be busy with something to do. This past year had been pretty dull.

I put the nail gun in the living room. The outlet was on the wall near the front door, but it could also cover the kitchen entrance into the hallway and the garage entrance through the kitchen. Since I could fire multiple nails, that was the best location for staving off attacks from the three entrances.

I put the steak knife…the one steak knife…on the counter in the kitchen, under a dishtowel. It would look more natural there, and I'd have quick access. The large sledge would be a problem. It would have to go someplace where I could swing it. My house was small. The living room and kitchen were the only places large enough. I thought about taking it back out to the garage but then realized if they came in through the back door there, they could use it to break down the door to the kitchen.

I set it in the hallway, within reach of both rooms. It still worried me, because I didn't want it used against us. But in a bad situation I'd need it, so I left it. That left me with the big wrench, claw hammer, and the flat-tipped screwdriver. I wetted the whetstone and started sharpening the screwdriver while I thought about this.

I needed to put something in each bedroom. The windows had been locked down, backed up by the bobby pins. But the bad guys could just smash through the glass. It would make noise and possibly alert Rex across the street, but they were probably desperate. If they'd be thoughtful enough to provide us with a schedule, I'd know exactly when they'd attack, and I could stash Lana in the bathroom. There were no windows there, and she could lie in the tub with some protection against bullets.

But sadly, FSB couldn't be counted on to call me and make an appointment, so I'd have to figure this out on my own. I looked down at my hands, and butterflies flew around my stomach. A screwdriver, wrench, and two hammers. That was all I had for the bedrooms. What was I thinking? I set the tools on the floor in the hall between the two bedrooms.

I still needed to clean up Lana's room. The solution might come to me while cleaning, and Riley would probably show up before I had to decide. I got some rags and solvent and went into her room.

The police had shut and locked the window, but the curtain was open and the mud was still there. My rattled nerves were replaced by guilt. I'd been so tired when I crashed that I didn't hear the struggle in the next room. But then, there was a closet, hallway, and two walls between us, and they'd muffled the sound. The glass hadn't broken, so I didn't hear that. And there was no window on the side where they hung Lana. The logic that I wouldn't have heard anything was sound, but it didn't help.

I scrubbed the mud off the wall under the window. That made me feel a little better. It was like washing away what had happened. I got the muddy footprints out of the carpet next and then made Lana's bed. As I did I noticed a little stuffed bear no larger than my hand. It had fallen on the floor. I picked it up. The label was in Russian. The dark brown fur was worn, and it was missing an ear. She'd had this a long time. Maybe since the orphanage.

Where had it come from? She showed up in a skin tight dress and a pair of shoes. Maybe she'd had a purse. No, I'd remember that. Hell, she probably hid it between those huge boobs of hers. I could imagine she didn't want anyone to see it.

I was just about to set it down when my spy sensor went off in my brain. Why wasn't I more suspicious here? I was getting too lazy. The bear could've come from anywhere. I'd never seen it before. Did the FSB drop it to spy on us? It would be just like them to do that.

I turned it over in my hands but couldn't find a zipper. I found a little seam at the bear's neck. Aha! They thought they were really getting one over on me. I slipped out of my room and took the bear to the kitchen for a pair of scissors. At the kitchen counter, I carefully snipped the dark brown threads until I could pull the head completely off. Sawdust spilled out onto the counter as I shook the now limp stuffed animal to see what fell out. Nothing. Wait! I saw a little something stuck in one of the arms. I reached in with my fingers and pulled it out.

A yellowed piece of paper, folded several times, lay in the palm of my hand. I looked around to make sure Lana hadn't snuck up on me. Very carefully, I unfolded it. In Russian, in a crude, child's hand, it said,
Mr. Booboo belongs to Svetlana.
Uh-oh.

I heard a sound and tiptoed down the hall to my room. Very quietly, I opened the door. Lana laid there, sound asleep.

"Mr. Booboo?" she asked as she blindly pawed the sheets as if looking for him in her dreams. She finally stopped moving—which was good because it was killing me to see her like that. I closed the door and made my way back to the kitchen.

The bear was Lana's. And it meant a lot to her. And I'd decapitated and gutted it. I'd have to fix it. I re-folded the note and shoved it back inside, but now I had a problem.

The neck of the bear was only about two inches wide. How could I get all that sawdust back in there? At first, I tried picking up small amounts with my fingers, but that only made more of a mess. An idea popped into my head, and I dug through the drawers to find my funnel.

I don't know why I had a funnel. But it wasn't worth questioning now. Sticking the narrow end into the bear's neck, I held the top part level with the counter by wrapping my fingers around the necks of the bear and funnel. Using my other hand, I carefully scraped the sawdust off the counter and into the bear.

Okay, the bear was now full again. Which brought me to the next problem—how to get the head back on? The funnel was lucky, but I couldn't find the needle and thread I'd used on the yearbook. I looked everywhere, but it was gone. Apparently my mind wasn't the only thing I was losing. So what could I use? The head had to be sewed back on so it looked like it hadn't been eviscerated by a paranoid idiotic former CIA agent.

It was getting late. Lana could wake up at any time. I was starting to panic. Maybe I could convince her that the FSB took it? But then she'd be upset, and I'd get the pouty lips and tear-filled eyes. That seemed far more horrifying.

Kelly! She might have stuff like that. I called her and gave a silent thanks when she answered.

"You need what?" she asked on the other end, as if I'd asked for something weird like a cup of sugar.

"I need a needle and dark brown thread," I whispered. "Do you have any?"

"I'll be right there." Kelly sighed. She arrived in minutes with both.

I told her what I'd done. You can't keep stuff like that from your best friend. They always know when you're lying. Kelly frowned and said something to the effect that I was a moron, and I agreed. And then she sewed the bear's head back onto its body without being asked.

"I have no idea what kind of stitch originally held it together," she said when she was through. "She'll probably figure it out if she's had it since she was little."

"I'll think of something," I said as I shoved her out the front door, locking it behind her.

Okay, so now I had to think of something. Well, the main thing was to hide the stitching, right? A ribbon! I could say I found the bear on the floor when cleaning her room and tied a ribbon onto it—like I was sentimental and compassionate or something.

Ribbon…ribbon…where would I find a ribbon? I had garrotes, but as far as I knew, no ribbon. What to do…

The ropes we used for the Girl Scout knot-tying class! I could tell her I used that so she'd always have a reminder of that happy day. It was weak, but it just might work. I found the rope in the closet and cut a length and tied a clumsy bow around Mr. Booboo's neck. Perfect.

I placed the bear on top of the pillow on the air mattress, let out a huge sigh of relief, and moved on. I still had a lot to do. I hung up clothes and stacked what was left on the closet shelf. At least the room looked a lot better.

Crossing the hall, I quietly opened the door to my room and looked in. Lana was out cold. Good. At least she was sleeping.

The front door creaked. Someone was coming in. That was fast. Apparently the FSB wanted to finish Lana off and get it over with. I silently closed the door to Lana's room and spotted the nail gun on the floor in the hall. I ran for it, plugging it into the outlet and dropping to my stomach. I saw the flash of black shoes and fired.

There was a great roar, followed by, "Dammit Wrath!"

I looked around the corner and saw Riley standing there. He'd showered. The tips of his hair were still wet, and he was freshly shaved. A snug, black T-shirt showed off his lean muscles and topped off dark denim blue jeans that fit like they were sculpted onto his body. Riley was dressed for action, and he looked amazing.

Well, except for the nail sticking out of his shoe. That kind of ruined his look.

"Sorry," I mumbled as I got to my feet, "I thought you were the baddies."

Riley grimaced as he reached down and pulled the nail out of his shoe. There wasn't any blood on the nail. Huh. I must've missed. I'd need to work on my accuracy.

"What the hell is this?" Riley held the nail out to me.

I took it, slipping into my pocket. "It's a nail."

He stared at me. "I know it's a nail, Wrath. What's it doing in my foot?"

I rolled my eyes. "It didn't go into your foot—there's no blood on it, you big baby."

"I'm not a big baby!" Riley cursed. "I just don't like having hardware embedded in my body."

"But it wasn't embedded. I missed," I said as I turned to go into the kitchen.

"You haven't answered my question," Riley said behind me.

"Oh," I said, "that's my home defense system.

Riley followed me into the kitchen and sat at the breakfast bar.

His eyes ran over the suitcase on the counter. Damn. I should've put that away.

"A nail gun is your home defense system?" He looked amused now.

"It's all I have to work with," I said. "Lana's sleeping. I cleaned up her room and put some security measures in place."

Riley nodded as he rubbed his now perforated shoe. "I'm staying. It looks like you'll need my help." He pulled his gun from his belt. "And my gun."

It was then I noticed he had a duffle bag with him.

"I parked in the driveway," he added. "I'm hoping that will be a deterrent to anyone watching the house. It isn't much, but I made a slow demonstration of getting out of the car and walking up to the house. They'll know I'm here and staying."

The image of Riley casually stepping out of the car—of his slow, confident swagger as he walked to the door turned me on a little. And he was sleeping over.

"What's this?" Riley indicated the suitcase.

There wasn't any point in hiding this from him. If he confiscated the equipment when it was all over, there was nothing I could do about it. I was too tired to argue anyhow.

"Come on. I'll show you," I said. I led him through the house, showing him what I'd done and the weapons I'd selected. We ended in the living room.

Riley picked up the nail gun in the hallway, weighing it in his hands. "I should get you a gun," he said.

"Can you?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Well, you have mine and me. But I don't know how I'd get you your own. There's no one from the agency within driving distance who could loan you theirs."

"Come on. You're the CIA. Surely there's something…"

"I don't think so. Sorry," he said. I could tell he meant it. But that didn't help.

"Why are you the only agent here?" I asked.

Riley frowned. "What?"

I repeated the question. "Why is it just you here, handling this? If it's what you said—that this is a matter of national security, why not send you some help?"

Riley looked out the window. "That's classified."

I threw my hands up. "Classified? You can't be serious! How is having the entire encyclopedia of news networks on my front lawn something that's classified? How is having the FSB in my house, uninvited I might add, classified? The secret's out, Riley. The whole world knows what's happened here."