Behind me, I heard him run the faucet and squeeze some dish soap in his hand, begin scrubbing.
It had been a while since I'd seen a man that undressed. It had been even longer since I'd seen one that looked that damn good undressed. I needed to collect myself. Stooped over, my head in the fridge, I took a deep cleansing breath, waiting a moment till I felt a little more in control.
“You okay?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice as he dried his hands off on a dish towel.
I grabbed the half-and-half and stood up, closed the fridge. “Sure,” I said, my voice more confident than I felt, as I nodded. “Why wouldn't I be?” I asked as I looked at him, into his deep gray eyes, his tussled brown hair mussed on top of his head.
He nodded, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Anything you need me to do around the house? While you're getting ready?”
Shaking my head, I went back over to the kitchen counter, poured a little of the milky mixture into my cup. “No,” I replied before taking a sip. “Pretty self-sufficient. Anything you need?”
“A shower,” he replied, “if that's fine by you. If not, I can get Peter to take over on watch when we get to the gallery, and head home to take one. Doesn't make a difference to me.”
“As long as you don't care about froo-froo shampoos and conditioners, be my guest.”
“You got the little soaps that look like decorative flowers and stuff?”
“Just body wash,” I said.
“Won't be like home, then,” he said with a frown full of mock disappointment. “But, yeah, sounds great.”
As I sipped my coffee and headed back to my bedroom, Eli and Wallach began to scratch at the backdoor. Richard let them in before I could even mention anything or ask him to do it for me.
With the sound of my bodyguard playing with my two fuzzy children, I set my coffee down on top of my dresser and began pulling out my clothes for the day. It was so strange to realize how easy this had been, how he just seemed to fit, better than any man that had ever stayed here.
Maybe it was because we hadn't slept together the night before. Maybe it was because this was just a professional relationship. Whatever it was, I kind of liked it.
I almost wished someone would have threatened my life ages ago. Then, I would have met Richard even sooner.
Almost.
But, what was I thinking? A guy like him, with a body and a smile like that, would have his pick of the women in town. He wouldn't want anything to do with me.
Would he?
Chapter Eleven
Richard
The Rock awoke around us, with most of the shops on Main Street beginning to open. From the little mailbox place across the street, where you could send packages and keep your own post office box, to the little coffee house down on the corner, signs slowly flipped from closed to open, as summer song birds fluttered from small tree to nearby small tree, their singing mingling with the all-weather tires rolling down the road.
Jessica and I both parked on Main, about a block apart, and walked up to the front door of the gallery together. Resting on the sidewalk in front of the entrance was a medium-sized cardboard box, plain brown, with just the address for the Curious Turtle printed on one side.
Jessica immediately bent to pick it up as we approached, but I stopped her from grabbing it.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“No return address. No postage paid mark. Someone must have dropped this overnight.”
She bit her lips and took a step back. “Do you think it's like a bomb, or something?”
I sniffed the air, careful so she wouldn't notice, but only smelled a deep hint of coffee and some kind of strange spiciness, like black pepper or cayenne. It didn't smell like any bomb I'd ever heard smell of, so I just shook my head.
“What is it, then?”
“Dunno,” I said, reaching down to pick it up. I straightened up and hefted it in one hand, felt the contents shift in a decidedly non-mechanical way. “I really have no idea.”
Just then, we heard a car door open across the street, and we both turned our attention that way.
A young woman in hecr late teens came bustling out of a little blue Subaru parked in front of the mailbox storefront, military surplus backpack slung over her shoulder, her bright red hair in full crazy mode, sticking out all over, bangs down across one eye. She was taller than average, especially with her old Doc Martens on. Silver rings pierced her left eyebrow and lower lip, and she wore jeans with one black and one white pant leg.
“Hey,” she said in a little-girl pixie voice as she crossed the street and came up to us, her voice slurred with sleep. She dragged a hand back through her wild ginger hair as she came to a stop in front of us. “I'm here, Richard. Where's that fax machine you wanted me to look at?”
Jessica glanced up at me, then back to our IT person. “Excuse me? Can I help you?”
“This is our resident computer geek,” I explained with a little smile. “Lacy, meet Jessica Long, our client. Jessica, Lacy Richter. You met her grandmother, Gen, yesterday.”
“I'm here for that fax machine of yours,” Lacy said with a tired grin, followed by a deep yawn and a smack of her lips. “And anything else we need to do.”
“Uh, sure,” Jessica said with a bewildered shake of her head, pushing open the door and letting us both in behind her. I followed after, package in hand, and Lacy brought up the rear.
It wasn't that Lacy was completely out of place in a town like Enchanted Rock, it was that she looked so out of character outside ski season. Plenty of kids like her hit the slopes every year, but they tended to be the ones who were working the different resorts in the area. This time of year, it was mostly camping, hunting, rafting, and hiking that made up the tourist season, and those were usually a different crowd.
“Sorry, I didn't realize you worked with Richard,” Jessica said to Lacy as we crossed the gallery and headed for the rear office. “Guess I just haven't had enough coffee, yet.”
“S'alright,” Lacy said with an easy smile and another yawn, “I'm used to it, especially in this business.”
“We keep trying to tell her she needs to follow some sort of dress code,” I added. “But she won't listen since she's mostly in the office and clients generally never meet her.”
“I really just don't want to wear slacks to work,” she whispered to Jessica with a sly grin. “Or heels.”
Jessica grinned as she let us into the office. “Don't worry, I know the feeling.”
I just rolled my eyes, my nose twitching at the package still held in my hands.
“This it?” Lacy asked as she went over to the fax machine.
Jessica nodded. “Yeah.”
“Mind if I take a look at the print out?”
My client picked up the faxed over forms from the desk, with its scrawl of printed GET OUTs, and handed them over. “Here you go.”
Lacy looked over the paper, frowning. “Friggin' nutjob, huh?”
I shrugged as I set the package down on Jessica's desk. “Looks that way, I'd say.”
Lacy set the pages aside and pulled out her laptop, took a seat in one of the chairs, and began booting up the computer as Jessica went around and took her seat at the desk. “Well,” she said, stifling another yawn, “I went over the call records, like you and Peter requested. Turns out the calls did start right after Blake Axelrod died. The day after, to be exact.”
I nodded as I sat down in the seat next to her. “Anything else you found out?”
“Started putting together some info on his nephew, Ms. Long's new partner.”
“And?” Jessica asked before I had a chance to.
“Gonna be honest, Ms. Long-”
“Jessica, please. Ms. Long makes me sound way older than you.”
Lacy grinned, glancing back and forth between us. “Fair enough. Well, this new Axelrod is not the same as the old Axelrod. Super sleazy. Got an arrest record longer than the Enchanted Rock phone book. Trouble throughout Colorado,
down into Texas, and even New Mexico.”
“We still have a phone book?” Jessica asked.
“I know, right? Well, this guy's got one that's almost a page long. Fights, aggravated assault, even a stalking charge.”
“How's he not doing time, then?” I asked.
“I said arrest record,” Lacy replied as she began to type. “Not convictions. He doesn't have a single one.”
I shifted in my chair, crossed my legs. “And no warrants or anything?”
“Not that I could find, but I've only gone through five or six state databases. He might have ones out there, but so far there's nothing in Colorado.”
I nodded, glanced over to Jessica, who had gotten up to find a box-cutter for the package that was still sitting on her desk.
“So, Wyatt Axelrod isn't exactly someone I want to be in business with?”
“I sure as fuck wouldn't,” Lacy said with a shake of her head as she picked up her laptop and went over to the printer, began attaching a USB plug to connect the two. “But, that's just me. Maybe you like your business partners on the wild side.”
“Thanks,” Jessica said as she brought the box-cutter up and began to slice through the packing tape on top, “but no thanks. I prefer mine silent and ordinary, like Wyatt's uncle.” She sliced through the package, pulled open the lid.
Immediately, a foul smell filled the office. So foul, I was astounded I hadn't been able to smell it when it was just sitting on the front steps of the gallery. “Jesus!” Lacy groaned. “What the hell is that?” The box-cutter tumbled from Jessica's fingers, clattered on the tiled floor beneath her desk, as she brought a hand to her mouth.
I jumped to my feet, pushing the chair back with my sudden movement as I leaned in to see what was in the box. I looked down, my stomach roiling as I caught a glimpse.
A low, pained sob escaped Jessica's lips as she took a step back, went running from the room, her face green tinted like she was about to lose her coffee and cream.
Inside the box was a turtle, flipped over on its back, a butcher knife stabbed through its softly scaled belly.
“Oh my God,” Lacy said. “Who the fuck would do this?”
They must have vacuum sealed the thing in to keep the smell of rot from escaping somehow, and now it filled the room. It was kind of stink that almost had a tactile sensation, even to a human.
“I don't know,” I replied as I grabbed the box and looked down into it, breathing through my mouth to try and keep the scent from overpowering all my other senses. “But, whoever it is, Peter was right. This is definitely escalating.”
Out in the hallway, I heard Jessica heaving in the restroom, filling the toilet bowl as she sobbed, gagging.
I glanced to Lacy. “Go check on her? Please?”
Hand covering her mouth, a look of foul disgust on her face, she nodded. “What are you going to do with that poor thing?”
“I don't know,” I said with a sigh. “Take it out back for now? Maybe later Peter or I can get a scent off it.” Immediately, though, I realized they'd covered the whole thing in peppers, spices intended to defeat a dog's tracking ability. It would probably do the same to me.
Lacy just nodded and headed out into the hallway, knocked on the bathroom and asked Jessica if she was okay.
Alone in the office, I stared down into the box.
Did they somehow know I was a shifter? No, that was crazy! Who would have that kind of information and not confront us with it? The stalker had probably just been trying to prevent Sheriff Peak from using his K9 unit from tracking the source. I wrinkled my nose at the corpse inside, the smell of rancidity, black pepper, and capsaicin filling my nose.
Whoever had done this, they'd certainly just thickened the plot. To kill a turtle for their own sick games? What kind of piece of shit psycho would do that? Well, probably the same kind who would go through this much trouble to scare a small business owner who was just trying to get by with their art gallery.
One thing I knew, though, I was going to find this bastard. And I was going to teach them a lesson about stalking and threatening innocent people.
Chapter Twelve
Jessica
My eyes were red and puffy from the tears I'd cried while I, in a very unladylike manner, puked up my morning coffee. Thank God I'd skipped breakfast.
All I could think about, though, was that poor tortoise in the box. They hadn't even bothered to look up what kind of animal they'd killed to make their point. I leaned down, cupped my hand and drank some more water from the running faucet and rinsed my mouth out.
“Sure you're going to be fine?” Lacy asked again through the door.
I smiled. At least the people at Frost Security were kind and caring. I don't know if I'd been able to deal with all this without Richard by my side, or this new girl I'd just met. She seemed sweet with that kind of innocence you just can't fake.
“Yes,” I said, wiping my mouth daintily with some folded up toilet paper, “I'll be fine. Promise.”
“Okay,” Lacy said, pausing. “Richard and the guys,” she continued, “they're really good at this. Like, I know computers and stuff, but the rest of the guys, they're really good at everything else. The best. I promise. If you knew them the way I do, you wouldn't be worried for a second.”
I smiled despite my stomach dry heaving again, churning as a picture of the poor tortoise reentered my mind. It hadn't been the smell that had gotten me. I was used to that from my time in school, from dealing with dissections of lab samples, of having to inspect beached whales during my brief internship in California. No, what really bugged me the most was the simple idea that someone somehow felt strongly enough about me that they'd be willing to kill a poor, defenseless animal just to make a point, to frighten me.
I shook my head again as I looked in the mirror. “Don't worry,” I told Lacy. “I'll be okay. It was just a shock, that's all.”
Through the bathroom door, I heard the rear entrance of the gallery open and close.
“Richard just took the turtle out back.”
“Tortoise,” I corrected. “It's a tortoise, not a turtle.”
“Oh. Right. Um, he just took the tortoise out back.”
“He's not throwing the poor guy away, is he?”
“No, I don't think so. Why?”
I brushed my hair back, tucked my long locks back away from my face, behind my ears. “I just don't want him to end up in a dumpster somewhere, that's all,” I said as I unlocked the door to find Lacy standing there in the hallway, arms crossed, hip cocked out to the side. “I'd like to bury him. I have a spot out near my cabin.”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I'll make sure he knows. Believe me, he'll respect that.”
“Think so?”
“He's um . . . kind of a tree hugger, I guess.”
I laughed. “Really? Doesn't seem the type.”
“He'll surprise you,” she said, smiling a little bit.
For sure, she was right about that. He already had in a couple of instances, even in the short time I'd known him. I tilted my head to the side, considering her words. Before I could say something, plumb her for a little more information on her co-worker, Richard came back in through the back door, empty handed.
“I closed the box back up and put it in the shade. Maybe Peter can get something off of it later.”
“Lab tests or something?” I asked, worried about extra charges. The cost of protection was less than I'd expected, that was certain, but still more than I could comfortably afford on what I was bringing in from this place. Especially not with my partner being dead. “Because I don't know, I don't want to sound like a penny-pincher-”
He began to shake his head, but stopped and just shrugged. “Kind of. But, don't worry, it'll be rolled into the fee we've already quoted. Promise.”
I nodded, gave him a quick, tight smile, before heading back into my office. The smell was still potent, hanging in the air like a bad memory from childhood trauma. Something you'd forgotten
about, but was still with you for the rest of your days. I shivered again as I stopped in the doorway.
“Airing it out might help,” Richard suggested from behind me.
“Yeah. Probably.” I went around behind my desk and pulled up the blinds, began to open the windows.
Richard came into the office behind me, his presence filling the room even though I couldn't see him. “Reconsidered our suggestion about the safe house?”
I sighed as I pulled up the second double hung window. No. I hadn't, not until he mentioned it. All this was happening so fast. I just shook my head and stuck my head out the window, not saying a word, as I took a giant whiff of fresh mountain air.
“You should. This is the kind of escalation Peter and I were worried about. This Wyatt guy, if he wasn't serious before, I think he's definitely making it clear that he is.”
“Think it'll get worse?” I asked.
“I don't know. But I can guarantee it's not going to get better.”
That definitely wasn't what I wanted to hear. I closed my eyes, took another deep breath.
“Not till you either give them what they want, or we catch them.”
“Do you really think it's him?”
“I don't know. But, he's our main suspect right now.”
I pulled my head back inside and turned around to face him, leaned back against the window. “Are we any closer to finding out for sure, though?”
He frowned and shook his head. “Well, it's been less than a day, but, I think the fax is honestly our biggest lead. If it came from a physical place, we can go in and check it out. Faxes aren't exactly common anymore, so it's more difficult to cover up.”
I nodded as he spoke. “Till then, we just sit and wait?”
“Preferably, at the safe house.”
I sighed, threw my head back. “Dead horse, Richard.”
“Only because I'm still trying to convince you.”
Coming off the window sill and spinning my chair back around, I took a seat back at my desk. My body sagged, the weight of the world crashing down on my shoulders. Things like this didn't happen to me. They never had before. Sure, I'd struggled through parts of my life, been knocked down and kicked around. But, like Grandpa said, what defined you wasn't whether you got shoved to the ground. It was whether you got back up again. This, though, just seemed like I wasn't going to get back up.
FROST SECURITY: Richard Page 7