Power to the Max (35 page)

Wasn’t that a lovely epitaph to their association?

Max drove in silence after that. She didn’t think Cameron had gone, but they had nothing left to say to each other. Though the sun had risen over the horizon, the light was murky in the falling rain. She pulled into Traynor’s drive feeling the day’s chill in her bones.

The houses were big, his was a Colonial, with wide green lawns. It was garbage day, rows of green, blue, and gray cans perched at the end of every driveway. Leaves had fallen from the trees overhanging the road, carpeting the sidewalk and street with layers of wet vegetation. It reminded her a bit of the East, though the colors never got so brilliant nor abundant in
California
.

The last time she’d been to the neighborhood, she’d parked two houses down, out of line of sight and beyond a pool of lamplight. It had been night. She’d been there to steal in and out. Nothing had gone as planned.

This morning, however, she’d been invited. She parked behind his Cadillac, blocking him in as if afraid he’d run away. Bud Traynor run? She was sure he’d never done it in his life, despite what Cameron theorized about the man’s abusive childhood.

She slammed the car door. It was Friday, a work and school day. As it was getting close to seven, she didn’t fear waking up anyone. In fact, she hoped it ensured that Bud was out of bed and dressed. She ran, rain pelting her head and the shoulders of her blazer.

He answered in his bathrobe, a trick Cameron had predicted, but his hair was combed, his teeth polished to a gleaming white, and he smelled of shaving cream. He’d have been in the robe at ten as well. The lapels lay open, exposing a multi-shaded mat of gray chest hair complementing the hair on his head. He was a handsome man. Max doubted most women, or men for that matter, would see beyond the face, the grooming, and the cultured facade.

“Ah, Max. You’re wet.” He held out a hand, touched her elbow—she removed it from his grip—to bring her into the tiled hall. She wiped her feet on the front mat without thinking, then stopped herself. Polite rituals you’d perform in a friend’s house had no business here. Instead she brushed the droplets from her jacket to the floor, then ran careless fingers through her hair to smooth it.

“I was about to have breakfast, Max. You can join me.” A statement, not a question.

She could see straight down the hall and out through the backyard window. On the left, at the back of the house, there would be his elegant dining room, on the right, his state of the art kitchen. She’d stolen in that way the night she’d done a little B&E on his property.

“No,” she answered. No to breakfast and no to any shared intimacy assumed on his part.

“I’m only having toast and coffee. But I do have a delightful bran cereal, if you’d prefer, Max.” He tapped his stomach. “Keeps you fit and regular.”

“I only came to see the video.” Lance had been telling her something in that dream. She would find out no matter how many obstacles Bud threw in her way.

Still pleasant, he pushed her forward with a hand at the small of her back. “I must insist on breakfast, Max. Since you’re early.”

She looked over her shoulder to meet his gaze without allowing her eyes to drop to his body. “I told you not to touch me.”

“I know, Max. That’s why I do it.”

Of course. Barely beyond his touch, she moved ahead of him down that hall. She knew the lay of the downstairs, kitchen and dining room in the rear, living room, study and den in the front. Only four rooms, but huge. Upstairs was a mystery. It would remain that way no matter how much Bud pushed.

She’d never seen his home in daylight. The yard was green and lush, a pool steaming against the cool of the rain. Keeping tight to the house walls and in the dark on her last sojourn, she hadn’t paid attention to the manicured, immaculate surroundings.

“I have a hot tub, too. I’m sure you love a hot tub, don’t you, Max?”

She had. Until he mentioned his, and she imagined the things that went through the devil’s mind. “I like a bath. Alone. With a book.”

“How lonely for you, my lovely, darling Max.”

He pulled out a chair and gestured with his hand. She sat, pulled it in herself as he attempted to seat her. The kitchen was cold and damp, despite the subtle whir of forced air from overhead.

His robe flapped as he sat. Beneath the table, she was sure the garment had fallen open, a fact he neglected to correct. Bastard. He wouldn’t get to her, no matter what he did.

He pushed a plate of toast at her. “Eat, eat.” He waved a hand, then reached for the coffee pot between them to fill a second cup.

“You knew I’d come early.”

He smiled. “I prepared, Max, for whatever might happen between us.” The smile turned lascivious. “I showered and shaved, plucked the little annoying hairs out of my nose and ears, and changed the sheets on my bed.” He paused for impact. “And I shaved my balls. I wanted everything to be clean and smooth and perfect for you, Max.”

. Yet, feeling anything but amused, she chuckled so he wouldn’t know his effect, and shook her head. “Your games don’t get to me, Bud. I know that’s all they are.” Taking the coffee mug he offered, she was proud that her fingers didn’t tremble. He scared her big time.

“I don’t play games, Max. Everything I do is with relentless intent.” He stared at her with those severe black eyes, and she knew it was the truest statement he’d ever made to her.

“And you’re going to make me wait to see that video because that’s part of your plan to keep me on the edge.” She butter-n-jammed a piece of toast. Why not? She was hungry, and it wasn’t as if she was eating out of his hand, physically or figuratively.

He bit into his piece, chewed, then sipped coffee. Max waited patiently, enjoying the taste of jam and toast. The bastard could make her wait as long as he wanted. In the end, he’d show her. He was simply dying to. All she had to do was wait. And try to remain calm.

As it hit a certain spot on its ascent, the sun streaked across the kitchen table between them, devouring Bud in light prisms and obscuring his face.

“Did you really come for the video, Max?” he asked through the haze, merely a voice emphasizing the word
come
.

“The only thing.” She squinted against the bright light, but couldn’t see him beyond a dense shadow within it.

“I can answer every question you’ve ever had, Max,” he went on with a seductive voice of the night.

Her body reacted as if he’d offered to tell her sexual things. She didn’t have to fight it. It was only a bodily reaction. Dr. Shale, the psychiatrist she’d worked with on last week’s case, told her the molester uses the physiological reaction to elicit the psychological one he wants. Max had the key. She knew what Traynor was trying to do. Now, she separated herself from her body. It could manifest any physical reaction it chose. She was beyond succumbing.

“I can find the answers without you,” she answered mildly.

“True, Max. But it will take so much longer. Let me show you now. Come upstairs with me. I’ll make you come with knowledge. I’ll fuck you with power. I’ll fill your mouth with everything you’ve ever wanted. Think of hours where all I do is exercise my lips, my mouth and my tongue for you. One long, continuous information orgy, Max.”

Beneath her shirt, her nipples puckered. He knew her desires as if reading them on her face. He was a master. He listened, learned, and then used what a person wanted most against them. He’d done it with his daughter, who’d only wanted to be loved. He’d told her
do
this, little girl, and I will love you
. Wendy had done exactly what he wanted, but Bud Traynor was incapable of love, and his daughter’s fantasies never materialized.

“Is that how you got someone to kill Lance for you?” she asked, inordinately proud of her steady voice. “By offering them their heart’s desire?”

He laughed, a soft sound that vibrated deep inside. “Now why would I want Lance dead, Max? Another of your many questions. Upstairs lay all the answers you require.”

“In your bed?”

“When you’re on your knees before me, Max, then you shall receive everything.”

The image made her want to puke, but her mouth salivated. She fought the shame of it, fought the power of her heart’s desire: answers, solutions, knowledge, information.

“I’ll tell you all, Max. Anything you want to know. Ask your questions, take my cock in your mouth, and truth will pour forth.” He sat in the shaft of sunlight and whispered to her as if he saw himself as God.

She knew he was worse than the devil. He was a man. The devil couldn’t do shit to anyone without a man to act for him. Bud was evil unto himself.

“What you know won’t do me any good if I’m dead,” she mused.

“I have no intention of killing you, Max.”

She smiled mirthlessly. “You wouldn’t need to. I’d have to slit my wrists after touching you.”

A chuckle. “You’re so dramatic, Max. Just like Wendy was.”

As suddenly as it had come, the shaft of light shifted and fell away, revealing him. A powerful voice, but no match for her.

“You have crumbs on your lips, Max. Shall I lick them off?”

Meeting his gaze, she lifted a napkin to her lips. “Are you done with the games, yet?”

After a deep breath, he rose, not bothering to hold his robe together, a sliver of white flesh stark before the apparel fell into place. She suddenly saw her uncle as if he stood before her. Open robe, his penis dangling unnoticed from the leg of his blue boxer shorts, her uncle uncaring of his immodesty.

“Max.”

She snapped back. The smile was gone from Bud’s lips, as if he knew he’d lost her and didn’t like it. “The video.” She reminded herself as well as him.

Bud nodded. “Do you want me to dress first?”

Of course, he’d wanted her to say yes, so that he could revel in pointing out her telling discomfort with his nakedness.

“I don’t give a shit what you wear.”

He smiled as if he knew she lied, then held out a hand. “Shall we watch then? You know the way to my den.”

She stepped in front of him, aware that he drew in the scent of her hair as she passed.

“I smell the sex on you, Max. I smell the desire.”

He surely smelled the fear on her, too. She kept moving, forcing him to follow. “Your repetitiveness is getting boring.”

The louvered shutters were closed, and along with the overcast skies outside, left the room in darkness. Entering behind her, Bud did not flip on any lights. She crossed the thick carpet, her feet sinking into it like quicksand, pushed the ottoman—Bud’s heel prints in its softened leather seeming a permanent stamp—out of the way, and sat on the end of the brown leather sofa. Bud’s spot, she knew, right in front of the big screen TV. She chose it for the best view. He took the middle, sitting close to her, rather than the opposite end. She’d known he’d take that position. To fight him on it would once again tip the power balance in his direction.

Soap, shampoo, and cologne rose to her nostrils. She refused to let his nearness overwhelm her.

“The disk is in, Max. Why don’t you do the honors since you know where everything is?”

For just a moment, she was terrified that Witt’s dimple would suddenly pop up on the screen. She pushed the irrational fear aside, reminding herself that the dream ended with Lance crushing the undone tape, and refused to rise to Bud’s bait. Yes, she had broken into his house that night a few weeks ago, touched his machines, stolen another disk, and attempted to use it against him. And he’d discovered her. He hadn’t, however, called the cops. Now, there wasn’t a thing he could do to her, at least not through the police. She grabbed the universal remote from the side table, then stopped when she saw the silver-framed picture. The crack Cameron had put in the glass that night glinted in the dim light. Though Max still didn’t understand how he’d managed it in his ghostly form, Cameron had knocked over the photograph, fracturing the glass.

Bud reached around her and turned the lamp on, his chest against her back. She scooted forward slowly, in control. He chuckled at her nape.