by Lakes, Lynde
“Did you like it?” Gary asked.
“What?” Paula felt a hot flush creep up from her neck into her cheeks.
“The video. Cool, huh?” His voice was charged with youthful excitement.
“Great. I’m glad it was the one you wanted.”
Gary’s dad came into the den with a glass of iced tea. The aroma of Old Spice trailed him into the room. His dark, usually military-cut hair needed a trim, but he was clean-shaven and dressed for company in tailored slacks and shirt. He leaned against the fireplace mantle. “Hope you had a smooth move.”
Before Paula could respond, Nancy entered the room and said, “We certainly hated to see you go.”
Nancy still wore her lacy apron over her red jumpsuit. Her hair was a honeyed-halo of casual fluff. She dried her hands on a towel then perched on the arm of the couch next to her son. Gary’s Scandinavian blond looks were so like his mother’s. Paula sighed. Did she look like her mother? She’d never know.
“You were the backbone of our group, Paula,” Ray said, wrinkling his forehead. “Who’s going to lead us now?”
“I moved, Ray; I didn’t jump ship. Let us use your yard for the meetings and we’ll go on just as before.”
“That’s our girl!” Ray said. “My yard is yours.”
“Good. The danger is escalating.” Paula explained about the shooting in San Diego and the latest breakin at her old house. Then she said, “I have a list of all of our relocated neighbors, new addresses, phone numbers. We need them all at the next meeting. There’s power in numbers.”
“What if they don’t come?” Nancy asked, frowning.
“They will. They won’t leave us in the lurch. Everyone knows that the more boarded houses in the neighborhood, the greater the danger for those left behind. If necessary, the whole bunch of us will march into The Corps office and demand security.”
“What about Bard?” Ray asked. “Does he know you’re continuing the fight with us?”
“Bard was never the problem on the safety issue. It was his boss.” She felt a surge of pride and love.
“We figured it was something like that. We like the guy.”
Paula glanced at her watch. It was already a quarter of ten. “I better get going. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Paula couldn’t resist driving by her old house before starting back. Two huge trucks and a car were parked in her driveway. She wrinkled her brow then smiled. The car behind the trucks was Bard’s. The house was dark with only a flicker of light. Candlelight? A lantern? Strange. The electric company clerk insisted they couldn’t turn the utilities off until Monday. If it was corps or county people in there, why hadn’t they turned on the lights? Why hadn’t the house been boarded up? Bard had always made sure that Les Cardel secured the houses no later than the day after the people moved to discourage looters. Something wasn’t right.
What if Bard had walked in on the house-stripping gang? Should she call the police? Paula wished she had a cell phone. She could use the Whitney’s telephone or the pay phone down the street. But what if Bard needed help now? She couldn’t leave until she knew he was safe.
Paula concealed her Volkswagen about a hundred and fifty foot away behind an overgrown bougainvillea. If she were right about the trouble, she didn’t want to lose the advantage of surprise.
She slung her unzipped purse with the gun over her shoulder. At her house, she removed the .38 and held the cold steel in front of her, ready, alert. She crossed the wide front yard, staying in the shadow of the old elm. The grass, already drying from lack of water, crunched under her feet. She prayed it wasn’t as loud as it sounded to her.
Paula pushed the bushes aside, crouched beneath the living room picture window, and peered inside. A Coleman lantern cast an eerie glow around the room. She located the bullet hole the gunman had blown in the lower section of the window and put her ear close. Bard was talking to a wiry Mexican biker with a bandanna around his forehead. Oh, my God, it was the guy with the slurry Spanish accent who’d tried to kill her!
Bard’s black shirt and slacks blended into the shadows. Tousled strands of dark hair curled just above his brow. Light flickered on his face. His chiseled profile was serious. He showed no fear. Paula clenched her hands. Should she run get help or stay? The man she loved was in danger.
Behind Bard, a man removed light fixtures. Another loosened the screws that secured the wall heater to the wall. Paula recognized them, more bikers from the apartments on Dell Avenue. Another man with a flashlight entered the room and spoke to Bard. After a moment, the guy headed down the hall toward the bedrooms. She had no idea how many men were in the house, but she’d seen at least four not counting Bard. She shivered. Her .38 wouldn’t be enough against all those men if they decided to rush her.
She had to distract Bard’s captors so he could escape. Her timing would have to be perfect. Barely breathing, Paula pressed her ear close to the hole in the window again and strained to hear.
“Nichols, you’re a pro at this, no?” said the biker who’d tried to kill her. He was talking to Bard, but his words didn’t make sense. “With you here, stripping the house is neat, quick, like taking candy from a baby.”
Were they forcing Bard to help them? Sweat tickled between Paula’s breasts. Her knees quivered.
Bard shifted his weight. “I’m not doing this for my health,” he growled. “Hand over my cut.”
Oh, no, not Bard! Paula moaned to herself. This had to be a nightmare. But she was awake; and Bard’s voice was as clear as if she’d been standing next to him. There had to be some explanation, some way she could believe in him, yet he was asking for money. Rising sorrow pushed up from her chest and lodged in her throat. Her hands turned to ice as she watched, horrified, yet mesmerized.
The Mexican biker grinned and counted out some bills. “You earned this. You’ll get the rest when the loot is sold in five or six days.”
“I thought Janus was bringing my divvy,” Bard said, as he tucked the money into his shirt.
Paula fought waves of nausea and trembling. Her whole being revolted so strongly to the scene unfolding that the name Janus barely registered.
“Janus is busy tonight. It was my call. Give you an advance or a coffin.”
Bard didn’t blink. “Smart decision.” He stooped and picked up a tool chest. “Been a pleasure, Lopez.”
An invisible knife twisted deeper into Paula’s heart. In spite of her anguish, she filed the name Lopez into her memory.
“One more thing,” Lopez said, leaning against the wall. “You make your move-out inspection of the Wootson house late tomorrow afternoon. Right?” Lopez stuck a cigarette into his mouth.
Bard paused. “So?”
“Delay boarding the place, like you did on this one.” Lopez struck a match. He squinted his dark eyes as he brought the flame close to his face. “We’ll wait till dark. Meet us there about nine thirty.”
“Will Janus be there?”
Lopez took a long drag on his cigarette. “The boss wouldn’t miss it. He wants to see you in action.”
Paula’s thoughts whirled. She could call the police and get these guys arrested tonight, but then she wouldn’t catch Janus. He had to be included to be sure she got Charlie’s murderer.
Tears trickled down her face. The effort of holding back sobs tore at her throat. How could she have been so wrong about Bard? He’d pretended to be a friend, enticed her to depend upon him, dug deep into her life, made her fall for him, and now her eyes and ears were telling her that he was part of this gang. Maybe he was even Charlie’s murderer?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Paula’s grandfather clock struck eleven as she entered the house. Damn. Damn. Damn she muttered under her breath. And damn love! It had blinded her completely. She shrugged out of her white cardigan and threw it down on the nearest chair.
Jeff looked up from his outstretched position on the couch and set aside his book. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“Everyth
ing is just peachy,” she said, trying to control the anger in her voice. She turned off the rap music blaring from her stereo. “How did you and Ivanhoe get along?”
“Pretty good,” Jeff said. “But I don’t think he quite trusts me, yet. He wouldn’t take apple slices from my hand. I had to push them inside the cage and wait for him to pick them up when he was ready.”
Paula closed her eyes briefly; her life was falling apart and here they were calmly talking about her parrot. Wonderful as Iv was, at the moment, he wasn’t her prime worry.
Paula glanced at Ivanhoe serenely preening himself while hanging from the roof of his cage by one toe. “It takes him a while to warm up to people. He rarely loses his natural mistrust completely.”
She could take a lesson from her parrot. For a while, she’d pushed aside her mistrust and believed in Bard without reservation. How could she have been so wrong about him?
Paula automatically handed Jeff three ten dollar bills and walked him to the door.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Jeff said. “Bard Nichols called. He’s on his way here.”
Paula’s heart pounded in hard thuds. “Thanks for taking the message,” she said, somehow remaining outwardly calm.
After she closed the door behind Jeff, she wrapped her arms about her waist, holding herself together, and paced. A dizzying sense of unreality made her want to deny what she’d seen and heard, but with her own eyes she’d witnessed Bard dealing with those horrible men. And he was on his way here. Dear God, how could she face him without revealing her discovery? If she confronted him, it would blow her chance to get Janus. For Charlie, she had to pretend everything was all right and be as good an actress as Bard was an actor. Better. Even if it hurt to the core, she’d give an Academy Award performance.
Paula heard Bard’s car pull into the driveway. She took a deep breath. Just remember his lies. Before Bard had a chance to knock, she swung open the door and flung herself into his arms.
He grinned. “Hey, a guy could get used to a welcome like this.”
Paula smiled up at Bard as his muscular arms closed around her. She tried to ignore how right it felt to be in his arms.
He smelled faintly of the looter’s cigarette smoke and his own rugged male scent. A traitorous surge of desire shot through her. Remember the lies. Remember the lies. “Finish your important business early?”
“With you waiting for me—as quickly as I could,” he said, bending toward her.
To avoid his lips, she feigned playfulness and twisted out of his hold. Tucking her arm through his, she drew him into the living room.
A sugary, pastry aroma rose from the white paper bag he carried. “Doughnuts,” he said, handing the bag to her. “Raspberry jelly centers.”
After birthday cake, more sweets were about as welcome as Bard’s deception. “I’ll make coffee.” Paula let go of his arm and headed for the kitchen with the doughnuts. “Did your meeting go well?”
“Too soon to be sure,” he said, following her.
“If it impacts the people in the clear zone, I’d like to hear about it,” she said without facing him.
“It doesn’t. Just a boring hash-session with coworkers.”
Her stomach knotted. You lying scum, she thought as she scooped coffee into a filter and filled the glass decanter with water. Her movements were quick, distancing. She flipped the coffeemaker switch on and whirled to face him. That brought her directly into his arms. Her heart went all fluttery like a butterfly caught in a net. She struggled.
Bard wouldn’t let go. Blazing sexuality radiated from him, snaring her with his heat, his power. He searched her face with a smoldering look that aroused her as deeply as a tangible caress. “What happened to the welcome you gave me at the door?”
She flushed, heart pounding. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You raced into my arms. Now you’re fighting to get away.”
Offering a fervent prayer to her blessed deity, Paula went slightly limp against the warmth and firmness of his body. “It’s the move,” she murmured. “It’s finally hit me. I’m bushed.”
“That’s it?” His shoulders relaxed. He was looking at her the same way he had just before they’d made love, with eyes so filled with devotion that there was no doubt about his feelings. “I’m sorry, Paula. I should have realized. You haven’t had much sleep in the last few days, and it is late. I’ll take a rain check on the coffee.” He winked. “And the other hot things I imagined on the way over here.”
His throaty words conjured up a vision; the two of them on red silk sheets, sweaty bodies entwined.
He kissed her gently on the temple and abruptly left.
A stunned sense of loss washed over her. He’d given up so easily. It was what she wanted, but…. She stared at the empty doorway. The image of Bard’s sea green eyes wouldn’t fade. There was so much love there.
Of course! She’d had it all wrong. The devotion in his eyes and voice when he’d made love to her were genuine. His words echoed in her ears: No matter what happens, always remember that I love you.
Oh, God. It was so clear now. The way he’d been with her and others, the caring, the kindness; that wasn’t faked.
She ran to the front bay window and resting one knee on the covered bench, she watched Bard’s car taillights leave the circle driveway and disappear.
Why hadn’t she seen it sooner? What she’d witnessed between Bard and the looters was an act to get Charlie’s killer. Her hand went to her throat. What if the gang figures that out? She’d already lost Dan, Emma, and Charlie; she couldn’t stand to lose Bard, too.
Caution told her to stay out of it. Bard knew what he was doing. Still, she’d thought the same thing about Charlie when he got in with dangerous people. No, she couldn’t let Bard risk his life alone.
She was positive she could help. Hadn’t she dodged users and takers like this Janus person all her life? She’d learned when to brazen it out, when to run. And she was a crack shot with her .38. But Bard needed more backup than her cunning and her .38. Probably he’d already planned for that. But what if he hadn’t?
Paula flipped through their options: the police. That might mean Cory, a man who wanted to railroad her into jail. Bard’s boss could be Janus himself. He wouldn’t be the first county official to get greedy. Attorney Lomas. He’d probably just call in the cops. Again, that could mean Cory.
An image of Reed popped into her mind, a strong, powerful man with direct gray eyes. He’d cared enough about the trouble in the clear zone to send in Charlie. Oh, my God. What if Reed had sent Bard in? A gnawing voice echoed in her head; the backup Reed provided Charlie hadn’t saved him. She ran her fingers through her hair. It was ridiculous, anyway. Reed wouldn’t send in a relocation agent to do undercover work. Bard had to be doing this on his own.
She’d nail him on this and find out exactly what he’d done to protect himself then she’d sell him on the idea of catching the gang together.
A surge of excitement whipped through her. Her obsession to get Charlie’s killer was close to becoming a reality. She couldn’t blow it now. For a glorious moment, she imagined herself facing Charlie’s killer with a loaded gun, watching his eyes as her finger trembled on the trigger. He would wish he’d never heard of Charlie Borden—or her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Bard took his morning coffee to his desk and watched the steam swirl upward. After a few moments of staring at the misty space, he took a bracing gulp. He frowned, not from the bite of the hot, bitter liquid, but from his inner turmoil. He’d taken his shaving kit to Paula’s place, intending to spend the night. Contact with the gang had left him feeling restless, charged up; and although he couldn’t share anything about his undercover work with Paula, he wanted to share his high with her so much he hurt.
Instead, he’d gone home and dreamed about her naked in his bed. Never had a dream more tangible: fiery kisses so vivid that even now he could taste her, salty and sweet like the glass rim of a strawberry marga
rita. They’d caressed each other until they were both feverish and slick with sweat. She’d slid on top of him with the grace of a gazelle, and he’d rolled with her, shifting her under him, naked flesh against naked flesh. His thighs pressed into hers, and when she opened to him, he sank into her. He’d awakened in a sweat with a fire blazing in his belly as he ached to experience the real thing.
Bard wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and forced his mind from sex to subterfuge. He had known Paula was tired the night before, but her hundred-and-eighty degree change of mood in a few short minutes made him suspect she’d held something back.
Deal with that later, he told himself. At the moment, devising a plan to outwit the looters required all of his energy and concentration. The gang had accepted him as one of them, and tonight, he would meet Janus.
Bard had already Fed-Expressed tapes to Reed of last night’s conversation with Lopez. He had briefed Reed earlier this morning on what was going down tonight. Reed promised back-up. It sure as hell better be more protection than he’d given to Charlie. Bard shook off the thought. Negativity would drain his energy and reduce his advantage.
He’d done all he could to cut the risk. He’d be wired again tonight with a state of the art microchip hidden on his privates beneath his Hanes.
Bard looked up at the sound of booted footsteps. Damn. It was Les Cardel. The house-moving contractor sauntered into Bard’s office and thrust himself with self-importance into the nearest straight-backed chair. Rather than his usual work clothes, he wore a crisp white shirt and gabardine slacks. His boots were dressy, new.