Burgundy and Bodies

by Sandra Woffington

  Steele’s face made a quick, “ah,” of relief, since it clarified that Monty was not a small child, but then his brows frowned with new assumptions—A brother? A visiting guest? A boyfriend? An old, old dog?

  “Great, I’ll catch you later, then. Welcome to the force, Joy.” Steele walked away scratching his head.

  Joy gazed at Max. “Hey, pardner.”

  “You should ask him to the Wolf’s dinner party on Friday.”

  “First, the Monty test. Second, my test. And, if he passes, maybe the dinner party.”

  Max contemplated the kind of psychological test Joy could put a date through. On the other hand, he had a habit of leaving the detective work at the station—a bigger mistake. In social settings, he let down his guard. But that had often cost him both a relationship and hurt feelings. When he met Susan, the last girl he had dated, he stepped into the relationship with a let’s-just-have-some-fun-and-see-how-it-goes mentality.

  Susan, a pretty blond personal trainer, never came out and said, “I want to get married and have your babies,” but it became evident through her choices of social engagements. He booked movies, concerts, movie nights at his apartment, wine tastings, and hot air balloon rides—and she booked backyard barbecues at the homes of married friends with children, during which time she’d drop hints: “What adorable children. I can’t wait to have my own.”

  Max never picked up on hints, since he somehow didn’t really think they related to him. He took it as her expression of a future desire, which he thought pretty cool, but no, it was her expression of her desire with him. Three months in, she had asked for his key. As in the key to his apartment, so she could make him dinner before he got home. That terrified him! When he freaked, she freaked more, saying, “It’s not like I’m asking to live together.” Then he realized she missed clues too. A key—everyone knows—is synonymous with “my space is your space” and a hop-skip-and-jump from “let’s live together.” It’s a total departure from “but aren’t we just hanging out and having fun?”

  To Max’s relief, Susan stormed out of his life in a huff after calling him “immature.” But Joy—the dark and beautiful daughter of a profiler—must have psychological, physical, mental, and emotional tests never encountered by man before. He realized Joy still stared at him, waiting for him to say something. “Does this mean you’re quitting your night job?”

  “When the day comes that training law enforcement personnel to recognize the symptomology and traits of demented killers is no longer needed, I’ll pack up my podium. So, no, Max. No dodging your homework. I expect you in your seat Monday night.”

  “I’m beginning to think that if I figure you out, Joy, I’ll be a damn good detective.”

  “That’s a great place to start.” Joy pulled her laptop out of its case and set it on the desk. “Oh, by the way, besides getting me as your new partner, you’ll also be getting a commendation.”

  Max could not pinpoint the mysterious feeling that pinged his gut like sonar on search and destroy mode when he looked at Joy. He desperately needed to turn that switch off, to stop searching. But it pinged again, pricked at him, and finally stabbed him so hard, he had to face it.

  Signal suddenly received and deciphered.

  At the funeral, he had chased Joy, and afterward, he wanted to confront her—to dig into her and extract secrets—but that had all changed. And yet, here she was, facing him. Their eyes locked, and he knew he could not escape her, nor could he escape the beastly shadow that lurked behind her—the shadow of the past.

  How would this work? Was this her plan? To infiltrate? To face him until he could not turn away anymore? Was this his psychological test?

  Max eyed the room, leaned forward and whispered, “What did you do? Blackmail him?”

  Joy leaned in and whispered back. “Let’s just say that the chief and I had a meeting of the minds. You have to know your enemies, Max. You have to get inside their head. I gave the chief what he wanted—not landing in jail or losing his job—and he gave me what I wanted: you.”

  “Remind me not to go head-to-head with you.”

  “I need you to go head-to-head with me, Max. I’m counting on it.”

  “Why?”

  “To keep me sane.”

  Steele arrived at Joy’s house just before sunset.

  Joy opened the door wearing a low-cut simple black tank dress and no shoes.

  Steele had gone casual—jeans and a clean cotton shirt, but now he wished he’d have stuck to the T-shirt, because he worried she’d think he was trying too hard, which he was.

  Steele felt her eyes on him as he stepped through the door. It felt like he had walked through an airport security scanner, and he suddenly felt self-conscious. The girls he knew tried to look away or to be less obvious. Instead, Joy tilted her head and gazed at every rolling muscle of his shoulders and back, and when he turned, he caught her raising her eyes off of his butt and giving him a little half smile of approval. Man, he thought to himself, now I know how girls feel.

  “Do I call you Reed or Steele? Cops are picky that way. You get used to hearing your last name more than your first.”

  “That is so true. It’s like we have two identities. Steele on the job and some guy named Reed that I barely know off the job.”

  “At least you know yourself half of the time. That would be nice. Let’s start with Steele, and we’ll go from there.” Joy led the way through the house.

  The décor was yellow and white throughout the house with splashes of navy blue in the kitchen, yellow floral with red accents in the living room, and green in the dining room. “Colorful,” said Steele. “I like it.”

  “My father decorated this house. He passed away six months ago, so I inherited it.”

  “I’m sorry. About your dad, I mean.” Steele couldn’t see any underwear lines. He hated himself for checking on that, but mostly it piqued his curiosity that she walked so fluidly, as if at ease in her own skin or simply in control, he couldn’t tell which. “Toasty.”

  “I hope it’s not too warm for you. Monty and I like it warm. Sometimes, I just peel off my clothes and walk around here naked. Have you ever tried that? Strip down until there’s nothing between you and the world?”

  “No, can’t say I have.” Steele back-pedaled. He didn’t know what to say to that. The best his brain could do was, “L.A. peaked at 117 last summer, during a heat wave. I can handle heat.” He kicked himself. It sounded so cliché.

  Joy stepped outside the French doors and onto a slate patio. A ceiling fan in the patio cover rotated, sending whooshing waves of air over them. Steele settled into a gray wicker love seat with black cushions that faced a stone hearth where a fire blazed. The gold dusk didn’t need a fire yet, but it would be nice when the sun went down.

  “Wine or whiskey?”

  Steele brushed his jeans, which didn’t need brushing. He did it to straighten his nerves. “Whiskey straight up would be great.” He meant it. Why did she unnerve him so?

  Joy ducked inside.

  Steele admired the view of the distant hills—golden but fragile, tinder capable of igniting into a firestorm.

  Joy set a whiskey in Steele’s hand and set a glass down for herself. “Be right back.”

  “I’ll be here.” Lame! he scolded himself.

  Joy returned with a platter of appetizers.

  “Wow! I thought maybe I’d take you to dinner.” Steele recognized the prosciutto and cheese and that was all. “This looks pretty fancy.”

  “Actually, it’s as basic as a person can get.” Joy settled next to Steele, pulled her legs up to the side, and slid her arm over the backrest of the love seat as if she needed it for extra support while she leaned forward to point out the samplings.

  Steele caught himself checking out the top of her tank dress as it pulled away from the gentle rounds of her cleavage. He chastised himself for enjoying the view, until Joy turned her head, obviously pleased that he had noticed. His mind spontaneously raced to the famo
us “hot versus crazy” scale he’d seen on a television show, which allowed for some “crazy” in a girl if she were really, really “hot,” but the scale tipped when the hot girl was too crazy. Where was Joy on the scale? Hot yes—that much he knew. He pushed away the thought, despite a tingle in his gut. Maybe, he corrected himself, she’s just in charge, and you don’t like it, so you’re being an insecure jerk. He swigged his whiskey and mentally buckled up. Where ever she took him, he was on board.

  “I hope you like sashimi. We have salmon, tuna, and scallop. Have you ever tried Basashi?”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Raw horse meat. I tried it once when I attended a conference in Japan.” She held up a hand and tilted it to show she thought it was so-so.

  “I tried guinea pig once in Peru. Cooked. Pretty gamey.” Even the mention of Peru put him in a place he didn’t want to be. It was his “running away” trip after getting out of the hospital. Luckily, Joy kept talking, and the sound of her voice lulled him back to the present.

  “This is venison carpaccio, basically thinly sliced, pounded raw meat, sprinkled with olive oil, lemon, and topped with shaved white truffle.”

  “Where did you get the venison?”

  Joy locked her coal-brown eyes on Steele’s hazel ones and used her Wednesday voice. “They live in the woods.”

  “I know, I mean—”

  Joy laughed. “Just kidding, Steele. My father started teaching me how to hunt when I was about seven.”

  Steele’s face lit up. “I make awesome jerky.”

  Joy smiled. “I’ll give you some venison before you leave, if you promise to share some jerky with me. Do you hunt?”

  “Just bad guys and gals.”

  Joy’s mouth turned up in a half smile. “That’s enough. This is steak tartare. Ground raw steak with capers, onions and a raw egg yolk.”

  “Ever tried kitfo? In L.A., I had an Ethiopian informant. His mama liked that I was trying to turn Abel around and get him out of the gang. She made me this fabulous spicy raw hamburger dish.”

  “I’ll have to look that up.” Joy grabbed her glass and held it up to his. Clink. “Do you know the reason that people clink their glasses?”

  “Actually, I do. People used to worry about poison in their drinks, so they clinked their very full glasses to slosh the liquid into one another’s drinks as a sign of friendship.”

  “Cheers.” She sipped and so did Steele.

  Joy reached for a piece of carpaccio and playfully dangled it in front of Reed’s mouth. He playfully gobbled it up, licking her fingers in the process. “Not to worry, Steele. I’m health conscious. I installed a subzero medical freezer in the garage. I don’t eat anything raw that hasn’t been deep frozen to thirty below below first.”

  “The rawer the better, Joy.” He fed her a piece of salmon. She leaned in to him as she sucked it into her mouth. She’d barely swallowed when she wrapped her mouth over his.

  Steele had never had a first kiss as unintimidated, explorative, and well…almost carnal. Joy set her drink down without opening her eyes, but he had to peek or risk the glass crashing to the slate floor. He enfolded her slender body in his arms.

  “Am I moving too fast?” Joy reached up and caressed his pumped arms. She pulled off the band that kept his hair in a tidy ponytail, and she ran her fingers through it, pulling it forward so that it cascaded over his shoulders. “It’s tradition to make small talk, isn’t it? For you to make the first move?”

  “Let’s make our own traditions.”

  “It’s just that I’ve wanted to let your hair down all day.” Joy gripped the buttons of Steele’s shirt, unfastened them, and opened his shirt like parting curtains. She stopped and pulled back when she saw his scar. She ran her finger down his abdomen, over the angry line. “This is a Steele story, not a Reed story.”

  Steele grabbed his drink and swigged the whiskey. “That’s a lot more than small talk.”

  Joy grabbed her whiskey and took a large swig. “I know. I’ve got a few scars myself.”

  “My captain sent me to a shrink to talk about it.”

  “And did you?”

  “Nope. I hopped a plane to Peru and walked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. When I came back, I gave the shrink just enough bullshit to get cleared.” Was Joy trying to examine him, fix him? He didn’t think so. Her eyes shone like two black mirrors that kicked back his reflection, turning his eyes inward and back in time. “The Ethiopian kid I told you about? I stopped a bullet meant for him. The doctors had to rip me open fast to stop the leaking.”

  “You saved his life.”

  “Not for long. While the doctors fixed the carnage, the gang found Abel. He’d have been better off taking the bullet. His mother came to see me in the hospital. She didn’t blame me, but I did. She said she never should have given him the name of Adam and Eve’s ill-fated son.”

  “Who died at the hands of his brother.” Joy leaned down and kissed Steele’s chest. “You can’t see my scars, except for this one on my wrist.”

  Steele ran his hand through Joy’s hair and caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Oh, yeah, I can. The ones nobody can see are the ones that bleed us to death.” He sipped his whiskey, locked his mouth onto hers, and they swilled the liquor and shared a long kiss. Steele knew he may never get any closer to Joy than this, but then, he’d kept others from getting close to him too. That much they understood about each other.

  Joy fed Reed a scallop. He fed her carpaccio.

  As they ate, they kept to safe subjects like Steele’s entry into the police force and Joy’s pursuit of forensic psychology. They remained within the confines of the approved topics of conversation, like keeping their feet on a grassy knoll in the midst of a graveyard.

  They refilled their drinks once more.

  The sun sank below the horizon, and the sky dimmed from gold to pink to dark blue to black. The fire of the hearth roared to life with warmth and light, cascading over them in flickering light and familiar shadows.

  Joy led Reed inside and headed down the hallway. “It’s time to meet Monty.”

  Joy stepped into the master bedroom—only it wasn’t like any bedroom he’d ever seen before. He stepped into Africa: cane furniture, red walls, white ceiling, black bedspread, and a black couch at the end of the bed with a white fur throw. On the walls, silver frames contained black and white prints of predator animals in the heat of the hunt.

  “Dad’s décor?” asked Steele.

  “No. Dad liked sunny yellow. I can’t sleep in yellow. This is the only room I’ve redone.”

  Joy stepped toward a custom-built black reptile cabinet, half a dozen feet tall. It ran the length of an entire wall and came out several feet. Joy opened one of the cabinet doors and stepped inside the enclosure, which had terraced rock walls, logs and branches, green leafy plants, hideaways, and a shallow pool. She reached high to where a large snake basked on a branch. A lamp shone down on its thick coils of scaly mahogany-brown skin with light brown splotches rimmed in cream. It moved at a slow pace, reaching its head down toward Joy, as if to climb into her reaching arms.

  Joy orchestrated the lift to avoid injury. “Sleepy baby?” Joy stepped out of the enclosure, and Steele followed her to the bed

  Joy sat in the middle of the black bedspread. “This is Monty.”

  “Boa?”

  “Ball python. Female.”

  “Monty Python—cute. Can I hold her?”

  “Take off your clothes.” She paused just long enough to make Steele squirm. “Monty doesn’t like cloth.”

  Steele paused for a complete nanosecond before shedding his clothing. He didn’t stop when down to his boxers. He stripped bare-bones naked, wondering if she’d protest. She didn’t. There was something about Joy’s casual get buck naked, it’s perfectly normal tone that left him at complete ease. He didn’t expect sex—since she’d mentioned nakedness as a normal state of being for her.

  As Steele walked toward Joy and scaled the bed, he pe
ered deeply into Joy’s eyes. He didn’t know who she was yet, but he understood her to some degree: children either grew up in sunny yellow worlds or black shadowy ones. Children nurtured in the sunny gum-drop world basked in the light, spread their arms, and peered skyward to gaze upon fluffy clouds and blue skies and the brilliant golden sun.

  But he and Joy had grown up in the dark shadowy world: their eyes had been pulled down into the pit, forced to see what no child should see, and it forever changed them; it excluded them from the games played by the children of the sun, who lacked the ability to see black; black frightened them. But it was all he knew. Instinct told him that it was all Joy knew too.

  The temperature in the room felt like a second skin. No wonder she liked the house on the warm side. He’d never felt so comfortably naked with anyone before.

  Joy got on her knees, straddled Steele legs, which stuck straight out, and gently wrapped Monty around Steele’s thick neck. Monty draped over Steele’s bulging arms and snaked down his rippling stomach. The sensation blew his mind.

  Monty turned her head and crept up Steele’s chest. Having a five-foot python around his neck seemed as natural as having Joy straddle him. Joy stroked Monty’s head. Monty flicked her tongue. Steele reached his strong hands around Joy’s small hips and squeezed, feeling her muscles tense. She let out a sigh. “I’ll put Monty back.”

  “Can’t Monty stay?”

  Joy paused before answering, as if he’d caught her off guard. “That depends.” She bent over and brushed her lips against his. They exchanged warm whiskey breath. She whispered, “You can’t move. Not a muscle. Because right now, I like Monty more than I like you. Hurt her, and I will hurt you.” She kissed him slowly; he kissed her deeply.

  Steele slipped Joy’s tank dress off over her shoulders and tossed it aside. Her skin shone like alabaster next to his tawny arms.

  Monty moved her head over to Joy’s shoulder and crept across her back, entwining the pair. Steele whispered, “Maybe you’ll like me more than Monty.”

  “She has twenty-one years on you, Steele.”