Connect the Dots

by Denise Robbins

  She dumped the brush in the bucket and got to her feet. Opening the antiquated refrigerator with its pull-down handle, she took out a bottle of water, cracked the lid and drank deeply. As she did, she had a fleeting image of Jake and the feel of his warm hands on her waist as he lifted her onto the counter, ordering her not to move. Then she saw him step between her legs, tug her to his jean-clad hips where she found out he was hard everywhere. He slid his hands up under her dress along her thighs, skimmed the elastic of her panties, and slid a finger inside her as—

  The phone rang and her heart startled.

  “Oh, wow.”

  She ran into the other room to find her cell phone. The music of Three Blind Mice played again as she reached into her purse and opened the phone. She would have groaned if she wasn’t already holding the phone to her ear.

  “I have an interview for you. Langley.”

  “Grayson, I’m on vacation.”

  He didn’t listen, nor, she knew, did he care. He repeated himself. “Langley.”

  Charley gave a weary sigh. “Fine. Which building?”

  He told her. “I’ll send a car,” his deep voice rumbled on the other end of the line.

  “I need an hour.”

  “Charley.” It was just her name but in his tone, she heard the scolding Grayson wanted to dish out.

  “I’m filthy and need to get cleaned up.”

  “Our interviewee is not going to give a damn what you look like.”

  “Grayson, you know very well that isn’t true. If you want honesty out of him, I assume it’s a him.” He only grunted a response. “We have to do it my way.”

  “One hour.”

  Charley was listening to dead air. “Goodbye,” she mumbled.

  Well, her Saturday was blown. She finished her water, tossed her cell phone aside, and hurried up the creaky wood stairs to her bedroom. Except for the elbow work she would have to put into the place, Charley was grateful to Waldo for recommending it. Old Mr. Green’s house was perfect.

  * * * *

  Exactly one hour later, Charley walked out of her new but very old house dressed in a long, slender but not form-fitting black skirt and a pale blue long-sleeved top. She wore no jewelry, no perfume, and very little makeup. Carrying a box of homemade cookies tucked under one arm and her purse over the other, she walked to the end of her drive and met the black limo Grayson had sent for her.

  “Right on time.”

  On the seat next to her sat her homework, a dossier on her intended interviewee as well as the information desired to be collected. She scribbled down notes and planned her questioning strategy on a separate pad she would use to write the detainees responses and later transcribe them into a report for her boss, Grayson Capps.

  She was thrilled to learn that she would be meeting Master Sergeant US Air Force Reserve, Scott Hayes who just returned from Tbilisi, Republic of Georgia. FORMICA or Foreign Military Intelligence Collection Activities was more pleasant than some of her other HUMINT collection activities because it involved gathering information from US military personnel and civilian personnel. Most military personnel were open and ready to give as much information as possible, as quickly as possible. All they really wanted was to get home to their families. Even though she had brought along the cookies as an incentive lever toward a foreign dissident, she figured the Master Sergeant would enjoy them just as much.

  * * * *

  Eleven hours after leaving her home, Charley returned, exhausted and bedraggled. The interview had gone well, but long. The more honest and helpful a detainee is, the longer the sessions last. MSgt. Hayes had been grateful for the cookies and so was she. If not for that little bit of sugar she would have dropped hours ago. Instead, she managed to collect the intelligence from MSgt. Hayes on the Georgia attack against Tskhinvali, and Russia’s subsequent military response.

  It was dark and she struggled to find her keys in her handbag. When she finally managed to get the door open, she stumbled and fell over the threshold, landing on her knees.

  “Ow!” She reached up on the wall and hit the switch. When her eyes adjusted to the bright light, Charley realized she hadn’t tripped over her own two feet. She tripped over a box. A box? How did a box get inside her house? Had it been inside the house? Or had it been wedged between the screen door and the inside door? Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she peered at the mailing label. It was addressed to her. Who sent her a package? She looked for a return address and found none. There wasn’t even a meter stamp on the box.

  Holy moly! Charley shot to her feet. Whipping her 9-millimeter out from behind her back, she hiked up her skirt, stepped over the parcel and into the room. Someone had been there.

  “Not again.”

  With her weapon extended in front of her, she moved through each and every room, checking for intruders, checking the door and window locks. All seemed normal. She had unlocked the front door. Maybe whoever left it had not been in the house, she thought as she returned to the living room. Picking up the package and her bags, she secured the door and walked into the kitchen. She set the box on the table and stepped away from it. Leaning against the counter, she clasped her hands together and held them up to her mouth. She eyed the parcel wrapped in brown paper.

  Should she open it? Call a sweeper team? A bomb squad? Charley moved up to the table, bent at the waist and pressed an ear to the box. No ticking. She straightened and walked over to the counter, reached for the butcher-block holder, and slid a knife out of its slot.

  Gingerly, she slipped the blade between the paper and the tape and sliced. She did the same thing on the other end of the package as well as the backside. Using the knife, she shoved brown paper aside, revealing a plain white box with a lid. Again, she leveraged the knife. With the tip of the blade, she lifted the top and pushed it up. She waited a beat. When nothing jumped out at her, she forced the lid back until she could see inside the box.

  Bile rose in her throat when she peered into the box and saw photos. Of her. One by one, she lifted the Polaroid shots out of the package. There was one of her driver holding the door of the black car for her outside her old place. Another picture showed her letting herself into her condominium. The third photograph was an image of her shaking the hand of her new neighbor, Jake. In her back yard.

  She gasped. “Oh, my gosh!” They knew where she was.

  There was one more picture. The last photo showed her leaving the steps of the farmer’s porch dressed in the same outfit she still wore. Dropping the last Polaroid to the table, she pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed.

  “Why?” She dug the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. What had she done? None of it made sense. All she did know was that whoever had left those pictures was the person who left the photo of Kyle in her freezer. What did they think she knew?

  Charley blew out a breath, tucked the Polaroids and the brown paper into the box and replaced the lid. Picking it up, she slung her purse and her laptop case over her shoulder and made her way upstairs. She was not going to figure out the answers tonight and she needed some rest.

  In her bedroom, she dropped her bags to the floor, and slid the box underneath the bed. Without getting undressed, she flopped onto the mattress, face down. They would not scare her off. Not until she identified Kyle’s killer. In the meantime, she would work on securing her place and be more aware of her surroundings.

  EIGHT

  Bright headlights washed through his bedroom window. Checking his bedside clock, he noted the time. It was after one in the morning. He shoved the covers back and got to his feet. At the window, he watched a black limousine pull away and his new neighbor practically stumble into her house. Jake gave a long whistle.

  “Looks like Charley likes to party. Fancy car for a fancy lady.” He turned from the window after watching her get in the house and crawled back under the covers, pulling them over his head.

  “Probably some fancy dude in that car too,” he mumbled.

  When Ja
ke woke a few hours later, daylight streamed in through the windows. He got up, cleaned up, and went downstairs for coffee. Just as he was about to walk outside the phone rang. Noting the caller ID, he answered it quickly.

  “Howdy, Sweetcheeks.”

  A grumble came over the line. “Hi, Hot Lips.”

  “Very funny, Mickey. What are you doing on Ruby’s phone?”

  “Being sweet talked by a country bumpkin.”

  “Oh, you ain’t heard nothin’ yet boss.” Jake grinned, knowing that his boss, Michael Augustson, was probably rolling his eyes on the other end of the phone. “Is this a social call or business?”

  “Social. Ruby and I were just sitting here thinking about you.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Ruby wants you to come to dinner. She’s apparently missing her bodyguard.”

  “Yeah, right. I don’t think she’s given me a fleeting thought since you’ve been back.”

  “Damn well better not.”

  Jake chuckled. His boss and friend was whipped, utterly pussy-whipped. Not that he could blame the guy. Ruby was the best. She was fun, outgoing, intelligent, sexy as hell, and tough as nails. Just what every man wanted in a woman, soul mate. He would be jealous if he didn’t know how much Ruby loved Mickey in return.

  “Anyway, when does your woman want me there?”

  “Saturday. We can grill out.”

  “Beef. I’m there. Give her a kiss for me.”

  “Oh, I intend to.”

  Jake laughed, shaking his head as he stuffed his cell in his pocket, and headed out the back door. He had a fence to build.

  It took him until midday to get twenty sections of the white fence placed in the ground and secured. He was standing there admiring his work, wiping sweat off his head, when the sound of a large truck rumbling down the road caught his ear. Air brakes squealed to a stop and he saw a moving truck pull into his neighbor’s drive.

  Charley flew out of the house, her blonde hair sailing behind her in waves of golden flames. She looked out of place. Instead of being dressed in jeans and a T-shirt or flannel shirt, like a normal country girl, Charley bounded down the few steps in what appeared to be some fancy, wide-leg Capri pants, and what he thought was a silk blouse. When he peered down at her feet, he grinned. At least she wore sensible tennis shoes. What a contrast.

  Curious, he leaned against his new fence, tugged his hat low over his forehead, and watched. There were a lot of damn boxes. So far, he counted over thirty boxes stacked on her lawn, and the movers hadn’t even unloaded any furniture yet. Pushing himself off the fence, he shook his head in disbelief. There was no way she had room for all that in the tiny house. Oh, well. Shrugging, he went back to work.

  The hammer hit his thumb full force when a high-pitched shrill came from next door. “Damn!” He stuck the offending digit in his mouth and sucked on it as he watched Charley yell, stomp her feet, and basically throw a hissy fit at the truck driving away.

  “What the hell?”

  Tossing the hammer next to the bucket of nails, he walked over to see what all the fuss was about. It wasn’t until he passed the apple tree that he grasped the problem. The idiot movers had taken the furniture inside and left the boxes.

  He whistled. “Looks like they got while the gettin’ was good.”

  Charley spun on him. The look she shot him was blue fire, hot and deadly. She was spitting mad.

  “Whoa.” He held up his hands, palms out in surrender.

  In a flash, she went from hellfire to homespun, smiling sweetly at him. “Oh, hi.” Sighing, she lowered her head and Jake realized Charley’s hair was no longer a flowing mass of yellow, but a tight, constricting bun on the top of her head. Her appearance took him off guard. She looked serious and tough, not as delicate. Amazing how a slight change could affect one’s perception.

  Sitting on her porch in her fancy pants, and yes, a silk top, Jake felt sorry for her. Late night. Now this. If he didn’t help she would be at it ‘til the wee hours of the morning. And more than likely some of those boxes would be too heavy for her.

  “Come on.” Taking her two hands in his, he tugged Charley to her feet. “No sense crying over spilt milk. If we haul butt we can have these inside before you know it.”

  “Haul butt,” she repeated and gave him a faint smile. “I can’t ask you…”

  “You didn’t ask. I’m offering and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  For the most part, they carried the boxes and dropped them in the room marked on the outside in silence. Charley surprised him by not complaining once. He figured she would at least whimper once in a while at having to lug the boxes up and down stairs. But she never did.

  They were down to the last few when she stood in the doorway holding up a bottle of water in one hand and a bottle of beer in another. “Which one?”

  Jake removed his hat, and swiped at his face with the hem of his shirt. He grinned. “Which one do you think?”

  She ran back inside and two seconds later Charley stood in front of him offering an opened bottle of Corona Light. She took the second one for herself. He lifted a brow in surprise. He imagined her to be more of a wine drinker than beer. He drank.

  “Thanks for the sissy beer.”

  She sputtered and some of her beer spit on his shirt. Smiling, he wiped at the liquid. “I know I need a shower.”

  She laughed an easy, happy laugh. It was sweet and her eyes lit up with humor. She tried wiping at his shirt. “I’m so sorry.” She wiped some more and his stomach muscles tightened in response.

  Jake stilled the rapid movement of her hand with his. That electric jolt caught him again and he immediately withdrew from the contact.

  “Sissy beer?” Charley asked with a smile, stepping back a pace.

  “Yeah, light beer.”

  “Ah. I must remember to stock up on man beer.”

  Jake shook his head. “I’ll suffer.” He offered her a quick grin. The last thing he wanted was for her to stock up on anything for him. He drank some more of his beer, tucked the bottle in the back of his pants, and bent to lift the next box. “Where to?”

  Charley peered down at the box lid where the word equipment was written in black marker on the top. “Oh.” Her eyes widened and she waved her hands for him to set the box on the ground. “I’ll take it.”

  “Nonsense. Where do you want it?”

  “I’ll take it.” Her short, crisp tone left no room for debate. Jake set the box back down. “I can handle these. Thanks.”

  After a brief flash of teeth, Charley set her beer down and hefted the box into the house. Okay, that was strange. She went ice cold the minute she realized he had his hands on a box marked equipment. Why? What kind of equipment was in the box?

  One thing was for certain, little Miss Charley was a hell of a lot stronger than she let on. The box had been thirty-five pounds easily, and although she strained under its weight, she managed it without her knees buckling. Tugging the beer back out of his pants and taking a swig, Jake wondered about his new neighbor. Wondered about the surprises she hid away. No doubt, the little lady had some very deep secrets.

  NINE

  Waldo continued to amaze her. He sent what he deemed was safe and bug-free while she ordered new office equipment for her barn. She ordered everything delivered express. Waldo’s deliverymen and the electronics equipment truck showed up simultaneously. It was quite the Charlie Foxtrot.

  Grateful for her new neighbor, again, she would have been sunk if Jake hadn’t come along. When he grabbed that equipment box, she thought her heart would jump out of her chest. She was extremely cautious with regards to her computers, printers, and biometric equipment. Generally, she would not even have had the movers deliver it but she felt safe at her home and wanted to leave it as little as possible. No more surprises for her.

  No one knew what she did for a living. They couldn’t. The less people were around her the easier it was to maintain her invisibility. But every time she turned around, Jak
e was on her doorstep offering a friendly hand. If she wasn’t careful he would get suspicious and start asking questions.

  A quick burst of laughter escaped her lips. How funny would that be to have the tables turned, the interrogator becoming the interrogated. A shiver ran down her spine. Um, no, not so funny.

  No matter. She had thanked Jake, offered him another beer for the road, which he declined, and now she was alone once more. With a screwdriver and a roll of cable, she worked on installing and wiring an alarm system. The barn had been one of the main reasons she liked the old farmhouse. Unlike the house, the barn was in fabulous shape. It also was not much of a barn.

  The previous owner had used it as a place to store and refurbish antique cars so the floor was cement, there were no horse stalls, and it was wired for electricity and a computer network. The loft still had the original twelve-inch pine board planks and was in terrific condition. Once she had the rest of the house put together and restored, she might consider setting the loft up as a library.

  She thought it odd that the red building was wired with CAT-5 cabling, but Mr. Green had explained he used to look up instructions and parts on the internet while he tinkered with his cars. Plus, he liked to watch football on cable television while he restored the cars to their better than new state.

  She needed to get her report typed up on Master Sergeant Hayes’ debriefing but getting her workspace secured was more critical. Especially after last night’s surprise package. Grayson didn’t expect it to be available on the secure FTP site until ten tomorrow morning. She did all the legwork and data mining before the movers showed up so that gave her plenty of time. All she had left to do was merge the information into the intelligence report and then send. She would do that as soon as she finished securing her barn and computers.