Brian didn’t injure his brain, someone else did. Anger rose. To douse it, Reese concentrated on the “after” picture. The guy was still in bed, but now he was sitting up and smiling. The smile looked crooked, and his eyes were still vacant, but there was obvious improvement.
“Is it worth it?” she asked. “I mean, he’ll still never have a normal life, right? Won’t increasing his awareness just make him more affected by the horror of it?”
“This was the fifth surgery Dr. Studtgart did,” Langstrom said, holding up a finger. “Take a look at the twentieth.”
By the time Reese left, the doctor had shown her enough data to convince her it was worth investigating. Even with the costs she’d have to pay herself, even with the risks involved, they had to try.
Even though the nature of the implanted electrical stimulator meant Reese might never again be able to go near her husband.
There were tests to be done, evaluations and planning, so there was time before she knew if the surgery was even possible, never mind what would come after. But it still set a ticking clock on her activities. If Brian woke up, if he remembered her and what had happened, she didn’t want to have to tell him there’d been no justice for them.
She used the drive home to refocus on the job. Griff’s lack of progress frustrated her, even though she hadn’t really given him much time yet. She wanted to break into the Alpine Nirvana house immediately, certain, despite logic, that as soon as she did, she’d know her enemy’s name. But she tamped down her eagerness. Taking advantage of opportunity was one thing; going off half-cocked would put her in jail.
Since starting this quest, she’d set certain rules. Never break into homes more frequently than once a week, usually a lot further apart. Never ignore Griff’s advice…unless it was “don’t do it.” “Do your homework,” however, was as basic as it got. She needed to scope out the area, the house, decide on a plan of action.
Jogging on her injured knee was a bad idea, and Andrew had probably increased patrols in The Charms because of the Snakewell break-in. So she’d have to wait, she decided, pulling into her driveway. In a few days, she could start her own patrols.
In the meantime, she’d mow her damn lawn.
…
The biggest obstacle she saw in getting into the Alpine house was the Rottweiler. Three nights later, after her knee had recovered, she started jogging up there again, her route keeping her away from the Snakewells and taking her past the new house twice. The place seemed unoccupied, since, on her first run-by, she saw the front gate was still secured by the shoelace she’d tied it with after blowing through.
On the way back, she stopped to tie her shoe and scope out the front yard she’d barely seen when she blew through it the other night.
Just inside the gate was an old-fashioned guardhouse. Judging by its coating of grime, the door hanging crookedly ajar, and missing shingles on the roof, it hadn’t been used in a long time. She couldn’t tell if the door was locked, but there was no evidence of electricity to the tiny building and the windows were empty, no glass in them. Property records showed this house was one of the first ones built in the neighborhood, so she guessed either they hadn’t employed a guard full time, or hadn’t cared if he was cold or wet.
The house was set back fifty yards or so, and there was no sign of the dog on the wide lawn dotted with tall trees. Someone had been caring for the property, but not frequently. The grass was on the short side, but branches had fallen to the ground and not been removed. She wondered who fed the dog.
There was no mailbox, not even a locked one. Like many of the residents of The Charms, the owner must get mail at the post office, assuming they got any at all. She’d asked a couple of innocuous questions at the bakery, but no one had ever seen anyone here. She hadn’t expected anything different, given the reclusive purpose of the area.
The next night she ran later, well after most people would be home on a weeknight but not so late as to arouse further suspicion if anyone saw her. She slowed near the Alpine property, but spotted no cars or pedestrians. Easing up to the gate, she looked for the dog. The street light had been repaired. The glow behind her made it harder to see into the dark yard. She strained her ears, but heard no rustle of grass or panting breath.
She ripped the shoelace off the gate and, bracing herself, opened it just enough to slip through. Almost immediately the Rottweiler bounded toward her, barking. Ready for this, she ran the few feet to the guardhouse and jumped onto the open window ledge, grabbing the roof to keep from falling. The shingles that remained held under her grip, and she swung her legs up out of the dog’s way, onto the roof.
“Wear a jacket next time,” she muttered to herself, rubbing at the scrapes on her inner arms. She looked down. The dog was frantic now, leaping and snapping out its barks as it tried to get to her. She sat and wrapped her arms around her knees. Test number one: how long would it take for the dog to wear itself out and give up? Assuming no one was home and came out to investigate.
It turned out the dog would win the tenacity award without a fight. He barked and leaped and paced and circled and barked some more for half an hour. She was grateful the homes were far enough apart and well-enough insulated that no neighbors came to shut the damned dog up, or called the police. She got bored, then irritated, as the dog showed no signs of relenting. Luckily, she was equipped for her second test. She took a tennis ball out of her pocket and held it up for the dog to see. “Wanna play ball?”
Instantly the dog’s demeanor changed. His butt dropped into a crouch, tail wagging, front paws dancing, tongue hanging out in the classic canine “oh-boy-oh-boy” pose. She threw the ball as hard as she could in the direction of the house, and the dog tore off after it.
She jumped to the ground and dashed for the gate, and test two-B came into play. The dog heard her and abandoned the ball, his ferocity back. She had time to get through the gate and close it again, but this time her long presence had stirred the dog enough to come all the way to the gate.
She quickly pulled a couple of zip ties out of her pocket and re-lashed the sides of the gate together. These would hold better than the shoelace. When she backed away, the still-barking dog pounced against the gate. After that he just paced, yelping at her long after she’d walked away.
Crap. She had a lot more work to do.
Chapter Three
Over the next few nights, Reese took a variety of snacks to Tenacious D, as she’d dubbed the dog, calling him “D” for short. He didn’t like Milk Bones or jerky treats, though he did sniff at the marrow-filled snacks she tossed through the fence the second night. Friday night she brought a flavored rawhide bone, and he actually took it from her hand and settled down on the grass to gnaw on it. But when she cut off the zip ties and moved to come in, he jumped up and started barking.
She retreated and shook her head at him. She only had one idea left. “You’re gonna make me break the bank, aren’t you?” She watched him give one last bark as if in agreement, then trot back to the bone. “Well, you’ll have to wait until Monday. I’ve got personal plans this weekend.”
The dog didn’t look up when she jogged off. Progress.
The next morning, she drove across town to Artsfest, Crestview’s main spring community event. Artists and crafters from all over set up booths, and there were rides and activities for families and kids. According to the chatter in the bakery, everyone went. She hadn’t planned to, because going alone initially held no appeal for her. But she’d been so focused on the Alpine house and Brian’s surgery that the idea of strolling in fresh air with no agenda but looking at pretty things and eating crappy fair food actually sounded great.
The event was held on a wide, paved footpath around the town’s lake. White-tented booths lined both sides, with vendors interspersed with food carts. She bought a sausage sandwich and fries and wandered as she ate, amazed at the variety of art and crafts displayed. She paused in front of one booth, cocking her head to squint at the “sculptu
res” within. “What the heck are they supposed to be?” she muttered. They looked like pieces of toilet paper glued together.
“I think the cat shredded them,” a man whispered in her ear.
Reese jumped and spun, then let out a laugh when she saw Andrew grinning at her.
“Thanks for that.”
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He twisted the volume button on his police radio when it crackled. “You here alone?”
She nodded, which seemed less pathetic than admitting it out loud. “Just absorbing the atmosphere. You’re working, I assume.” She indicated his uniform.
“Always.” He held up a finger at her as a painter from a nearby booth ran up to complain about a group of teenagers blocking her entrance. Reese looked around, spotting two deputies ranged out through the crowd.
When Andrew’s attention returned to her, she asked, “Expecting a lot of high crime today?”
He shrugged. “Just basic crowd control. Lots of out-of-towners, some drinking. Our presence does a lot, and if someone gets out of hand, we’re here.” He tilted his head down the aisle. “Can I walk with you for a minute?”
She narrowed her eyes, but his smile was light and easy. “I’m not making a move. Just being companionable.”
“Okay, then, sure.”
They wandered past pony rides and a performance artist and paused at a booth full of traditional paintings. The style didn’t interest her, but then one large canvas caught her eye. Against a field of stars, a tiny blue planet sank into one corner. Though it had no human features, it appeared to look longingly at a cluster of other, more dynamic planets in the upper corner. She imagined they were having a party or a family picnic, talking and joking about shared events or opinions or lives.
She drew closer and studied the blue planet. It had swirls of white that looked perfect, except for an almost-invisible black streak that stood out more and more as she looked at it. The tag next to the painting said “Isolation.”
“That’s how I feel,” Andrew said behind her.
She’d forgotten all about him for a moment. “You do? How? You’re such a part of the community.”
“So’s he.” He pointed to the planet, then the black streak. “That’s like my badge. It holds me apart from the others. They never lose the awareness of what I would do to them if they broke the law. Even though most people never would, it makes me different. They can’t share with me.” Though he spoke with measured tones, a shade of longing lay under the matter-of-fact analysis.
She folded her arms to keep herself from reaching out to comfort him, or worse, admitting she understood how he felt. More than most would, because she had broken the law. And would again, and maybe, ultimately, she’d break the biggest law. Any tiny hopes she might have harbored about someday having a normal life, especially here, popped out of existence.
Andrew and everyone else in Crestview only saw her façade, the homey baker, a nurturing soul. She could never be that person, even if she weren’t a criminal.
“Where are you?” he asked, nodding toward the painting. “You’ve been readily accepted into Crestview and are part of the group. But you also seem to hold yourself apart.”
She loved her bakery, loved that it was the place to go for morning coffee, for breakfast on the fly, for after-games ice cream, and during evening concerts on the grass. She felt a part of something wholesome and happy when people greeted her and shared something about their lives with her. He was right. It wasn’t the community shunning her, or holding back from her. She held back from them, because she knew things they didn’t.
One of them was a killer…and maybe so was she.
But of course she couldn’t say that. “Sometimes, the black streak isn’t as obvious as a badge,” was all she said.
Before he could question her further, her phone rang. She checked the display. Griff.
Andrew backed away. “I’ll let you take that and go finish my rounds. Thanks for the company.”
She was left wondering what that had been all about. Friendship, as he’d said? He didn’t strike her as the kind of guy to pursue someone who wasn’t available, so the alternative explanation was that he was keeping an eye on her. His inquiries about the painting and her role in the community could have been inspired by friendliness or suspicion.
The phone rang its last, insistent chime before it sent the call to voicemail. She hurriedly answered just in time.
“Hey, where are you?” Griff asked.
She frowned. “I’m at Artsfest. Where are you that you want to know where I am?”
“At your house. I went to the bakery first but Sarah said you took today off.”
Reese’s heart rate increased. “Another surprise drop-in because you were in the neighborhood of New England?”
“I have to be in Boston tomorrow for a short undercover gig, thought I’d come up early and hang out. So, you almost done over there or should I meet you?”
She was only halfway through the displays, and it was a gorgeous day. She wasn’t ready to stop being halfway normal. “Come on over. Text me when you get here and I’ll tell you where I am.”
“You got it. See you in ten.”
Griff caught up to her at a booth full of handmade jewelry. His fingertips at the small of her back would have alerted her to his presence, except some sixth sense lit up her body with something like happiness a second before his touch.
She turned her head and smiled. “Hi.”
He smiled back, his sparkling eyes more blue than gray, and something inside her fluttered. She cleared her throat and turned away to replace the necklace she’d been admiring.
“What’s that?” Griff reached around her to stroke his strong hand under the long silver chain and lift the charms dangling from a loop at its end.
The artist eased closer, sensing their interest. “The butterfly is filigree,” she said in a lilting accent, “and the branch it rests upon is ironwood. It illustrates the strength and beauty of a woman.” She smiled knowingly at them and leaned subtly back, a saleswoman who knew when to press and when to offer space.
“It suits you,” Griff said, as Reese had known he would.
“Thanks.” She smiled at the artist. “It’s beautiful.” But she turned away and when Griff didn’t move, grabbed his hand to drag him out of the booth.
“You didn’t want it?” He kept his hand wrapped around hers as they made their way through the crowds. It would have been too obvious and hurtful to pull away—or so she told herself.
She wanted the necklace, but she didn’t want him to buy it for her. It wasn’t a “good friends” purchase. So she just shrugged and pointed out wooden pop guns and red-white-and-blue-painted rifles, knowing any guy could be distracted by toy weaponry.
The sun had begun its descent as they neared the end of the path around the lake, and Griff excused himself to go to the restroom. She wandered among the last few booths, vaguely listening to the conversations around her, afraid to analyze Griff’s presence and intent.
“Caitlin just refuses to eat anything green…”
“I knew from the moment that asshole came into my office…”
“Well, sure, the school board would vote that way…”
“…Moving Alpine Nirvana to the marina in Chelsea next week.”
Reese jerked to a stop and spun, searching wildly for the person who’d spoken. The place was packed, and she couldn’t pinpoint the voice. Was it the dark-haired guy in the white T-shirt? The punk losing his shorts? She spotted a man in a suit, but there was no one around him he could be talking to.
The crowd shifted and swirled around her. The suit turned, and she saw the Bluetooth hooked over his ear. She zeroed in and followed as he strolled away, trying to get close enough to hear his voice. People kept crossing in front of her, and she sidestepped and skipped and stutter-stepped up the aisle. She growled at a young child who jumped in front of her. This is ridiculous. She darted between two tents and ran along the back of the row.
Now she was unhindered, but she couldn’t see the guy anymore. She ran a little harder to get to the end of the row and jerked to a stop at the edge of the crowd. She was taller than half the people around her, but still had to crane to see. Where had he gone? She cursed. He could have turned down a cross aisle or gone into any booth. She looked right, but the field at the end of the path was nearly empty. He was nowhere in sight.
She started walking left, looking into booths she passed, and nearly crashed into him when he dodged a group of teenagers. He slipped by her, going too fast for her to catch what he was saying, but she heard enough of his voice to be sure he was the guy.
Her breath caught up to her as she followed him. He was just under average height and dark, possibly of Middle Eastern descent, and very slender. His suit, she could tell now, was probably not off the rack. Could this be her guy? Brian’s partner? Anxiety burned under the excitement that leaped into her chest. How would she know if he was?
She probably couldn’t, but he might know her. Thank God for the crowd that allowed her to keep a couple of people between them but stay within earshot.
“Yes, I’m here. It’s still on display. Thank you, Skav.” He stopped at the last booth on the corner and tapped his headset, disconnecting the call. Reese started browsing the black and white photos on display, keeping out of his direct line of sight, as he motioned sharply to the woman sitting inside.
“How many of these do you have?” His refined tone announced training at some prep school. Around fifteen years ago, if she guessed his age correctly.
“I’m sorry sir,” the woman told him, “that’s the only one.”
Reese risked a glance. The photo he was staring at looked like the roof of a house, but streaked, as if the photographer had used time-lapse photography and spun the camera overhead. Part of the shot was clear and looked familiar. Her eyes widened and she turned back to the bin of prints in front of her. If she hadn’t been thinking of Alpine Nirvana, she never would have recognized the guardhouse, and the little spot beside it as D-the-Rottweiler.
A Kiss of Revenge (Entangled Ignite) Page 5