Dark Vengeance

by R. T. Wolfe

  * * *

  Duncan leaned against a tree in front of Oakland Court Apartments, checking the investment ticker on his smart phone. Lucky for Brusco, it was one of the warmer late-March mornings. If he had to wait in the cold, he would have been in an even worse mood.

  Was Brusco an obsessed, washed up ex-fireman guilty of extremely misplaced attraction? Or was he the tool Melbourne used to do her dirty work over two decades ago? Or now? Or both? Or had she moved on to another? Was she using her mother? He wanted her to pay.

  He noticed as a pickup drove to the back and decided to meander around and check it out. By the time he made his way around, it had been backed up to the concrete step in front of a glass entrance door. The hard top covering the full eight-foot bed made it difficult to see the contents.

  He took the liberty to investigate. Cupping his hands around his eyes, he looked in the dirty window and saw boxes, all unlabeled, one with a computer tower sticking out, causing one of the boxes to steeple. He wondered if the truck belonged to Brusco, if he'd gotten his items back from the police or if he'd bought new. That could be checked out at a later time.

  Movement caught his eye. As he turned, he felt a sort of elation at the sight of Brusco walking down the steps with none other than MollyAnne Melbourne.

  Leaning against the cool metal, he waited until they noticed him, then enjoyed their expressions. Brusco of shock, Melbourne of good old fashioned pissed off.

  "This is awkward," he spoke to the two of them.

  Pushing from the truck, he overtly looked through the tailgate at what he'd already checked out. He resisted the urge to jab Brusco about the porn. That would give away Duncan's connection to classified information.

  "What are you doing here? Are you following me? This is stalking. I can—"

  "Call the police? Be my guest. Go for that order of protection. I'm not breaking any laws. That would be more your style."

  He waved a hand back and forth between the two of them. "You sure do look good together. Don't you think, MollyAnne?"

  She bore holes into his eyes, well aware of where he was going with this.

  "Did you decide against the new guy, then? Eric... what is it? White?" He watched as Brusco's eyes darted frantically between the two of them. "Or did you need him as a backup when you're not setting up Rob, here? Or is this a mutual thing? Open relationship?"

  Brusco's eyes landed on Melbourne with the most pitiful expression of pain he had ever seen.

  Wisely, Melbourne opted for silence as Duncan left the two of them to sort it out.

  * * *

  "He wants me to meet his horse." Nickie dried as Gloria washed the dinner dishes. No answer. Nickie supposed she hadn't asked a question, but... "He wants me to meet his horse the day before his mother is scheduled for surgery."

  The clean smell of lemon cleansed more than the dishes. So many smells in this house. Nickie remembered them as the smells of love, the smells of a family. She remembered her first day in this house. Torn, rebellious, guarded, and ready to take on anyone who tried to make her anything different. Gloria had been quiet then, too. No shock at Nickie's vulgar language, no lists of rules or threats of punishments.

  She set the silverware to dry in the rack and stacked the last of the plates in the cabinet. Purple violets sat in small cups on the short windowsill over the kitchen sink. Nickie took an easy cleansing breath, wondering where Gloria had found violets in April.

  The microwave rang and Gloria pulled out two mugs of steaming water. She sat at the table and opened some tea bags. Nickie followed.

  "I get casual. I can do casual. He's good company. Interesting."

  Gloria pushed a plate of cookies toward her before wrapping the tea bag around a spoon and squeezing the last of the tinted juices into the water.

  Taking a bite of an old-fashioned chocolate chip cookie that shouldn't taste so good, Nickie sighed and felt the heart rate she hadn't realized was racing slow. "Meeting his horse the day before his mother's surgery doesn't feel casual. I won't know what to say or if I should say anything at all. Am I looking too deeply into this?"

  Folding her hands beneath her chin, Gloria finally spoke. "You never look into anything that doesn't need looking. And you'll know what's right to say, or not. You have a gift, my Nickie." She took Nickie's chin between her thumb and forefinger, turned it looking at one side of her face than the other. "Look at you. Beautiful, smart and tough as nails." She placed the palm of her hand on Nickie's cheek. It was warm from the hot mug of tea.

  Nickie closed her eyes and placed her hand on top of Gloria's. "Thank you."

  * * *

  Nickie drove to Andy and Rose's home thinking of what she should say to Duncan about his mother or if she should say anything at all.

  She was sleeping with him. People do that. If they ever caught more than a few, short hours together, he would talk her into playing her cello while he worked in his studio. His enormous master bedroom was bigger than her entire apartment.

  He'd had Andy lay slabs of hardwood stained light. Knotty pine he called it. It felt good on her bare feet... and her back. Dipping her head as she drove, she thought of his lips on her forehead. That hadn't felt casual either but she would keep perspective.

  Using her thumb and forefinger, she pushed her chin to one side until her neck cracked, then did the same the other way. Her perspective was to appreciate the beauty of plucking her beloved instrument as her lover worked on his paintings.

  She completely adored the way his brows tightened in concentration when he painted. The way he absentmindedly pulled a band from his supplies to tie his hair in a short tail when he was into it. His work area was surprisingly non-male and annoyingly tidy and organized.

  The loose gravel became packed under her tires as she neared. A gate with the words, "Reed Farm" burned in the wood hung as an entrance to the property. That made her smile.

  He must have heard her tires, because he came out of the barn wearing worn boots, dark blue jeans, his brown leather jacket, and looking like he just stepped off a damned catwalk. She started to pull down her visor mirror and made herself stop.

  Parking out of the way, she locked the door—habit—as he made his way to the car. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into a short kiss. It felt strangely intimate.

  "I'm glad you could make it." He looked down at her cell as it sat in the small holster on her hip. "I guess you left your gun, anyway."

  She shrugged. What could she say?

  He took her hand and guided her along the sidewalk that led to the barn. The last time she had been there, he and Andy had been dressed in thick jumpsuits. That day she was as cold as the temperature and all business. Today, it was warmer and so was she. She hoped that was a good thing.

  She wore the lowest heeled boots she had with her favorite snug jeans and blue scarf. "Do you have more than Abigail?"

  He squeezed her hand. "I have just the one horse. Andy and Rose have several. They also board my cousin's horse for her. Come." He pulled her along. The area was an organized maze of packed gravel sidewalks and neatly placed fences. The barn looked comfortable. It wasn't an ostentatious red. In fact, it wasn't painted at all. It looked like it was stained a natural brown and was so long the end of it ducked into the woods.

  He was excited, slight as it may be, but more so than she could remember and definitely a different kind of excited she'd ever seen in him.

  "Have you ridden before?" he asked as he dropped her hand when they entered the wide entrance.

  She had, of course. A Maryland Monticello would be required to know how to ride in acceptable English form. She just nodded.

  The floor changed to concrete and was littered with yellow straw. Spacious stalls lined both sides with bridles and leads hanging between each. She missed this. Her father would have been furious if he'd known the hours she spent in the stalls after her riding lessons. A Monticello didn't go into the stalls. They waited by the raised platform for the hired ha
nds to bring them their horses.

  "I'd wondered." He reached out, taking her hand once again. "Nickie Savage, meet Abigail."

  Wow, she thought. Just wow. She was bigger than she'd imagined and much more beautiful. Her hair was only a few shades darker than Nickie's. One of her legs was white, as was her tail. The spots Duncan had mentioned looked like dust on a fairy and were scattered between her eyes and over her forehead. She was tall and lanky like her owner. Although the girl wouldn't look her straight on, her brown eyes were full of curiosity. She was pretending to be busy shuffling her hooves and twitching her head. Nickie knew the feeling.

  Duncan pulled a blanket from a hook near the entrance, shook it hard, then folded and placed it square on her back. Next to the spot for the blanket was her saddle. He slung it over Abigail's back as he spoke. "She's gentle and will be the horse you ride today since she's still pretending to be angry with me."

  Nickie nodded in agreement. Abigail turned her head from him as he secured the saddle. After maneuvering the bit into her mouth, he went into the next stall to do the same to the horse he would be riding.

  As soon as he left, Abigail placed her nose on Nickie's shoulder. Ah, what a fake. She'd been well taken care of. Clean and healthy. Her coat shined and if Nickie remembered correctly, this is the time of year horses looked mangy. Running her hands along the silky feel of her side, Nickie looked around. Andy and Rose must be as organized as Duncan. Each tool and supply had its own, neat place. The end of a brush stuck out of a small built-in box, a pitchfork hung near a short ladder leading to an opening with strands of loose hay sticking out.

  "She'll let you lead her out," Duncan called from a stall nearby.

  "Why is she mad at you?" Nickie asked. Abigail followed close behind as she led her down the long hallway.

  "I've been gone too long. She doesn't like it."

  "I expect she's not the only one who doesn't like it." That was not the right thing to say.

  Together, they exited into the chilly air.

  She knew how much he loved his aunt and what he was about to go through. She knew it all too well. Except, she was the one who felt vulnerable and confused as he pulled her into him. Abigail snorted as he pressed his lips to Nickie's, wrapping his arms around her, warming her in the cold.

  She didn't remember backing up, but soon felt the side of the stall and the feel of his body pressed against her. Instinctually, she twined her fingers through his hair and rode the moment. His tongue was hypnotizing, his hands warm and safe.

  "Mmm," he said. "There you are."

  After a few rapid blinks, she was back to the present. "I am here. What are we doing here?"

  "We're going to ride horses."

  That was not what she meant, but okay. She took the bridle and placed her foot in the stirrup, swung her leg around. Like riding a bike, she thought, although a little nervous at riding Western style.

  Abigail was gentle, he was right. But Nickie didn't know what he was talking about regarding her angry with him. Playfully, she brushed heads with him as he led her to the field.

  From this view, she could get a glimpse of the back of the Reed Farm. But farm? Not a single cow, goat or chicken was anywhere in sight. Instead, she noted a bird aviary with... a bald eagle? Was that legal? There was a dog run, and she swore she saw something gray the size of a large cat lying partially in a wooden box inside of a larger area caged with chicken wire.

  "The trail is through there." Beyond an open field, he pointed in the direction of a clear path.

  They rode through thick trees, the path worn but not rutted. Resisting the urge to sit up straight and lift from the saddle. She found Western style easier than she'd expected. She found Abigail easier than she'd expected to.

  She was glad she remembered her thermal gloves as the air was cooler in the woods. They talked of things she hadn't planned. What they did in their spare time. Her swim regimen, plans for promotion. His work over the next few weeks and months, which took him to the other side of the country.

  She'd expected to discuss Brie's surgery. Melbourne or Brusco possibly. But she accepted her role as distraction and let herself enjoy the moment. He stopped at a small clearing and they tied the horses. Logs circled a fire pit with stacks of wood in different sizes near the pit.

  "Do you know how to make a fire?" he asked as he dug under some leaves.

  "Definitely no to making a fire." She sat and watched. Never once had she sat on logs around a fire pit. The only fire she knew how to make was with a gas switch and a long armed lighter. He took some of the leaves he'd pulled from the bottom of a pile, set them in the center of the circle of stones, made what looked like a teepee using smaller sticks, then meticulously added a few thicker ones to the outside. He took out a box of matches from the inside of his jacket and lit the inside. Dipping his face to his creation, he blew, making the bright orange on the leaves spread, smoke and then light. She would never in her life admit how amazing it was to her.

  She enjoyed watching him as he squatted down, working agilely, adding thicker and thicker pieces of wood until the entire teepee collapsed and he added logs. Soon enough, she realized she wasn't cold anymore.

  He sat on the ground in front of her and stuck out his long legs. Certainly, she wasn't afraid of a little dirt and slipped down next to him. The ground was soft and so was her heart.

  He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her back to him as they watched the oranges and yellows flicker and fight the gentle breeze.

  "Tell me why a boy goes to college, earns his BA in art and then enlists in the Army. That's backward."

  "Yes, I suppose it is. I was... finding myself. I felt I had something... something that could be a curse or it could be useful."

  "Your memory."

  "I had been living the life. College, casinos, getting more work than I knew how to juggle at that age, bigger jobs with wealthy and famous people. I felt out of touch, superficial. And so I enlisted."

  He used a finger to gather her hair and set it over her shoulder, exposing her neck. It would have felt cold in the air if not for his proximity. She felt unsettled, vulnerable and safe all at the same time. "Did it work?"

  She felt his head shake back and forth behind her. "It backfired."

  Chapter 20

  "Is that why no one talks about it?" Nickie asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "No one talks about your time in the service. Not your family, not Dave. I wouldn't have known if we hadn't done background checks on each other. Mine perfectly legal, I might add."

  She could feel his cheeks expand and wished she was facing him. His smiles were so rare and incredibly beautiful.

  "I guess they've been more aware than I've given them credit for," he said.

  "I'm sorry then."

  "Don't be. I didn't ask you not to."

  "Okay, then. Why did it backfire?"

  The silence was long enough to make her uneasy but she wanted to know.

  "I wasn't helpful," he finally said simply.

  She sensed there was more. "Every day I recognize how much your gift could be considered a curse, especially for what you've been through." She thought of a little boy whose parents died in a plane crash when he was four. A boy only a few years older who was used as bait in an attempted murder. He turned and looked at her with eyes of night.

  "My turn." He took her hands and traced his fingers along the knuckles of her gloves. "Tell me about your years in foster care."

  "I guess I asked for that."

  She crossed her legs in the dirt with the fire at her back. "When I... came back, my parents wanted nothing to do with me. That's not true. When I first came back, they were all about the lost daughter that had come home. I had expected them to take advantage of the media during my absence. Soon, I realized they didn't want the media to know. Monticellos didn't have runaway daughters. When they found out what had really happened to me, they wanted even less to do with me. Monticellos certainly didn't turn
tricks."

  "Turn tricks?"

  She let her shoulder lift and fall. "Same difference to them. They were disgusted. I rebelled. They gave me up. It was mutual."

  She appreciated that he didn't offer condolences or sympathy. Instead, he leaned in and warmed her in other ways.

  * * *

  Duncan opened one eye to the red numbers on his digital clock. Six a.m.

  She'd stayed the night. It was a first. Still, she slept with a mile of space between them. The slight waves of her hair drew lines along her back, camouflaging her scars. He allowed himself time to study them from the across-the-bed distance.

  One small piece of hay stuck to the top of her head. It was no wonder. She'd spent nearly as much time brushing Abigail and tossing her fresh hay as they had spent on the trail. Before he had a chance to laugh at that, he heard her.

  Whimpering softly, her shoulders twitched as she slept. He wasn't sure if he should wake her, but it was difficult wondering what she could be dreaming about. Gently, he placed his hand on the center of her back. "Nick—"

  Simultaneously, she twisted upright as her right arm flew around in a hook that was much too accurate for someone who was just waking up. As he was wide awake, he was able to dodge it with barely a brush across his temple. It was the returning uppercut that got him.

  Afraid to grab her arms, he worked to block the next handful of blows. They came like rapid fire.

  His heart tore when realization hit her face.

  Gasping at air, she let her arms drop listlessly at her sides.

  "Nickie."

  She swung her legs from the bed, gathered up her clothes from the floor and stomped to the bathroom.

  He knew he needed to move, to get up and get dressed, but he was stunned. Shaking his head, he forced himself to be a man and slid on his pants both literally and metaphorically. What. The. Hell had they done to her?

  He needed to decide if he wanted this woman and all that came with her. It took him under two seconds to decide.