by Gene Riehl
TWENTY-THREE
Monk’s mood was seriously rotten. His failure at Franklin’s mansion continued to eat at him, and he couldn’t wait to get to the loft and start the process of putting it behind him. When he drove through Dupont Circle and continued on P Street to the front of his building, he was surprised to see Lisa sitting in a strange car with a man he’d never seen. The car was a two-door red Infiniti G35, with Texas plates. A year old, maybe two, but not a bureau car, not one that would be assigned to the field office at any rate. The bureau bought only American cars for routine use.
Monk looked at the man behind the wheel. Young, younger than he was, black hair combed straight back. White shirt and tie, tan jacket. His face was pretty much inexpressive, but Lisa’s sure as hell wasn’t. She was shouting, Monk saw, although he couldn’t make out anything she was saying over the noise from the air-conditioner in the Saab. He reached to turn the fan off, but his hand stopped as he focused on Lisa’s face. Her features were twisted with rage, and Monk had the feeling she was about to strike the man.
He pulled to the edge of the row of parked cars, about to jump out of the Saab and make sure she was okay, when Lisa saw him. Her eyes widened for an instant before she threw the door open, jumped out of the car, and turned back to the driver. Now she was smiling at him, her face just as friendly as a moment before it had been furious. Monk heard her thanking the man for the ride home before she closed the door and lifted her hand in a brief wave as he pulled away from the curb.
Lisa glanced at Monk before she turned and headed for the front door. Monk took the parking place the man had vacated, jumped out of the car, and tried to catch up with her before she took the elevator upstairs. He didn’t make it, but when he got upstairs and went through the front door of their loft she was waiting for him. They stood awkwardly, just inside the door, facing each other
“What was that all about?” he asked her. “Who was that?”
“Just a ride home, Puller.” She stepped closer to him, and he could see the vacant look in her eyes. “Christ, I’m so tired I can’t even see straight.”
He stared at her. “You haven’t been home yet? You’re still going from last night?” She’d been gone when he got up this morning, but he’d just assumed she’d gone to work.
She nodded. “You know how the Hoover Building can be. They want the C4 traced right now, right this minute. We’ve been on it ever since I left you at the restaurant. Things got pretty hectic, and somewhere along the line my bureau car got left behind. The guy offered to give me a ride home.”
“I saw you shouting at him. I thought you were going to slug him.”
“He made a move on me is all.” She tried to smile. “I am a single woman, you know. But he took it a little too far.”
Monk nodded, but he didn’t believe her. Her tell was nothing as obvious as touching her nose or tugging an ear, but it was there nonetheless. When Lisa was playing with the edges of the truth, her voice dropped a barely perceptible tone in pitch, and right now that’s exactly what she was doing.
“Who was he? Do I have to go beat him up?”
She shook her head. “I think he got the message.”
But she hadn’t answered his question, Monk realized, not both parts of it at any rate, so he tried again. “Is he on your squad? Is he working terrorism?”
Lisa frowned. “This is starting to sound like an interrogation. I told you it was nothing. The guy hit on me, I overreacted. End of story.”
“The car had Texas plates.” Monk stared at her. “Seems to me he came a hell of a long ways to make a pass.”
She took a step toward him, and her voice developed a hard edge. “Drop it, Puller. I don’t need this. Especially when I’m exhausted … and most especially after Saturday night.” She paused. “Seems to me you’re the one keeping the secrets around here.”
“Damn it,” he said, then closed his mouth as he realized he didn’t want to fight about this. He couldn’t fight about this without showing his cards, and he wasn’t ready to do that, especially when he didn’t even know himself what those cards were.
“God, Lisa,” he said. “Listen to us. Listen to me, I should say.” He shook his head. “How often do we get the chance to get home for dinner together? … And we spend the time fighting?” He grinned. “How about we say you win and go to bed early.”
Lisa stepped back. She scowled and made a sound in the back of her throat. “Now? You want to make love now?” She shook her head. “You walk in here and treat me like a bank robbery suspect, then expect me to fall into bed with you?”
Monk said nothing, just held out his arms and kept grinning, but Lisa’s scowl turned into a steady glare.
“Damn it,” she said. “I’m serious about this.” She turned away from him, started toward the kitchen, then turned back to face him again. “You haven’t shared anything with me for six months, and I’m not letting it go this time.” She took another short step toward him. “I’m not …”
Her voice died as he reached for his crotch. “You want me to share,” he said. “Well, I’ve got something right here we can both use.”
Lisa shook her head, then put up her hands.
“You just stay where you are,” she said. “You’re not going to … I won’t let you …” But in the next moment—as Monk pulled his golf shirt out of his suddenly bulging pants—a smile began to tug at the edges of her mouth. “Oh shit, Puller,” she said with a shrug. “Why the hell not.”
She stepped into his arms. Monk enjoyed the warmth of her body as he breathed in the herbal scent of her hair and felt his demons drifting away. After a long moment he pulled out of her arms, holding her hands as they stood looking at each other. The gaze from her deep brown eyes seemed to go all the way through him. For the first time in months he felt a surge of power, and an irresistible impulse to use it. Lisa’s eyes widened as he put one arm around her shoulders, and bent to put the other one around the back of her knees.
“Puller,” she said. “What are you …”
But she couldn’t finish her question before he straightened up with her in his arms and held her for a moment before turning toward the big bed at the rear of the loft. Halfway there, she looked up into his eyes again, but this time she smiled. “I hope you don’t think this is the end of the argument. I hope you don’t think …”
Her words died as he pulled her up and kissed her mouth, then lowered her again, grinning now as they approached the bed.
“Quit thinking, Lisa,” he told her. “We spend way too much time thinking.”
When they reached the bed, he lowered her onto it before stepping back. Christ, she was beautiful, Monk thought, as he looked at her black hair fanned out across the pillow, at her now half-lidded eyes as she reached for her shoes and flipped them off over the end of the bed before starting on the top button of her blouse.
Monk pulled his shirt over his head, tossed it on the floor, then kicked off his shoes. He lifted his leg and removed his ankle holster with the big Glock. He walked over to the wardrobe and put the pistol on the top shelf, then unbuckled his belt, dropped his pants, and booted them away. Next came his Jockey briefs, which took a little maneuvering to get down to his knees and all the way off, and finally his socks.
He returned to Lisa naked.
She had stopped unbuttoning her blouse to watch him undress. He sat on the bed next to her and went to work on her clothes. Her blouse first, finishing the last four buttons, sliding it off and throwing it on the floor with his clothes. Before he could get to her black bra, Lisa was releasing the clasp in the front. The bra fell away and she slipped out of it.
Monk stared at her breasts. She claimed they were too small, but he knew better. He bent over and took one of her nipples in his mouth. She gasped as he swirled his tongue across its hardening surface. Lisa arched her back, thrusting herself toward him, before he pulled away. She was working on her skirt now, tugging at the clasp to unfasten it before using her arms to hoist herself
so Monk could pull the skirt off, along with her pantyhose and her black bikini panties. He tossed them on the floor before stepping back once more to look at her.
His eyes ran up and down the length of her naked body, at the tan that covered most of it, at the lighter spots around her breasts and her dark pubic hair. He felt a sudden welling of joy that rose through his body as he lowered himself onto her and kissed her again. She kissed him back, tugging at him to get him into position over her. He lowered his head to kiss her breast, to flick his tongue over her nipple. He heard a gasp, but she pulled his head up.
“I love what you’re doing,” she said, “but we’re wasting time.”
She reached between his legs, tugged him toward herself. Monk was more than ready as she opened her legs and smiled. He lowered himself toward her, his own breath much faster now. He bent to kiss her mouth again, but he didn’t get that far before the phone rang. He turned to look at it, then at Lisa as it rang again. She shook her head.
“That’s what answering machines are for,” she said, then reached to pull him inside her. Their bodies were moving in unison when the machine picked up and Bethany Randall’s voice rang through the room. Monk’s eyes shot to the machine.
“Puller?” Bethany was asking. “Pick up the phone, Puller … You’ve got to be there.”
Monk turned back to Lisa. Her face was tight with anger. She rolled out from beneath him, turned her back and pulled the bedspread over her naked body.
Monk reached for the phone. “Bethany?”
“Can you talk?” Bethany asked. “Is it all right that I called?”
“Of course. What’s going on?” Behind him he heard Lisa turn back toward him. He could feel her eyes boring holes into him.
“I’ve got a problem,” Bethany said. “There’s a car sitting outside my house.”
“A car?” He frowned. “I don’t understand what you’re telling me.”
“A white Lexus with New York plates.”
Monk glanced at Lisa, and she turned away again.
“I went to the movies this afternoon,” Bethany said. “I noticed a guy looking at me in the line for popcorn … I saw him again in the lobby after the movie, on the way out. He didn’t do anything but stare at me again, but I didn’t like the way he …” She paused. “I saw him get into his Lexus and drive away.” Again she hesitated. “When I went out half an hour ago to turn off my front sprinklers, the Lexus was parked down the street. I’ve been sitting here ever since, trying not to overreact, when I thought about you. And I realized you’d given me your phone number.”
“Maybe he lives in the neighborhood. Maybe that’s why he was looking at you at the movies.”
“I’ve never seen him around here before.” She paused. “But I have seen him … That’s what’s got me worried, Puller. I saw him at school last week, too. In the parking lot when I was about to go home.”
Monk chewed the inside of his cheek. “Is he still there?”
“I’ll go check.”
She came back after ten seconds or so.
“I can’t see him anymore … but I’m afraid.”
Monk glanced at Lisa.
“Puller?” Lisa said when their eyes met. Just the one word, but her jaw was set in that way she got when all hell was about to break loose. He lifted the phone back to his mouth.
“Call the police, Bethany. They’ll be there before I even get my car out of the garage.”
There was a long silence on the other end.
“Bethany?” Monk asked. “Are you still there?”
“I feel foolish calling the police. Now that he’s not there anymore, I feel kind of …” She paused. “I really wish you could come. I need to talk about this with someone I can trust.”
Monk glanced toward Lisa. Her dark eyes were getting darker by the second.
“Thirty minutes,” he told Bethany. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”
He hung up and turned back to Lisa.
“There’s a guy stalking her and she’s terrified. Bethany’s alone. She doesn’t have anyone else. I can’t just pretend she didn’t call.”
“That’s what the cops are for, Puller. She ought to be calling them.”
“The cops? They can’t do a damned thing until the guy rapes her … or worse. Their hands are tied, and you know the kind of animals out on the …”
His words died as she jerked the bedspread around her shoulders and spun away. He reached out and touched her, but her whole body went rigid.
“Lisa,” he said. “You’re just tired. And I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to.”
She grunted and he turned away. He headed for the wardrobe for his clothes, and his words seemed to hang in the air behind him. Regardless of what he might or might not have meant by them, the words themselves had been the absolute truth.
TWENTY-FOUR
There was no white Lexus.
There was no white sedan with New York plates anywhere on Bethany’s street in McLean, Virginia, no car of any kind with a man lurking behind the wheel anywhere in her neighborhood.
Monk drove up and down the streets for ten minutes to double-check, before parking the Saab in front of her house, the same house she’d lived in when William Smith had been in her life. The small one-story brick colonial was just as well kept as he remembered, the white framing around the front windows looked freshly painted, and the front yard was postcard pretty. Twin maples towered over brightly flowering shrubbery, all of which bordered a small patch of grass as green as a country club’s.
A brick walkway led up to the house, and by the time Monk slid out from behind the wheel and strode up to the front steps, Bethany had opened the door and stood waiting for him. He took one look at her—standing there in a thick white bathrobe—and took a step backward.
She’d come directly from the shower, he saw. The hand holding the top of her bathrobe together was still beaded with water. The ends of her long red hair were damp, and from this distance he could smell the flowers in the shampoo she’d used. An intimate aroma, intimate enough to move him another full step back.
“Tell you what,” he told her. “I’ll take you out for dinner. Get dressed. I’ll wait in the car.”
She frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous, Puller. What do you think I’m going to do, attack you?”
“I just think it’s better if we go somewhere.”
She stared at him, her green eyes not as lustrous as last night. “I suppose I should be flattered, but I’m not thinking very well right now.” She glanced down at her bathrobe. “The way I look I can’t imagine a man being interested.”
Now it was Monk’s turn to stare. Was she kidding? He’d walked into every man’s fantasy: to ring a doorbell and be greeted by a woman all wet and fresh and …
“Come inside,” she ordered. “I’m the schoolmarm, as you put it. Standing here in my bathrobe with a strange man. My neighbors are going to be scandalized.”
He followed her through the door and directly into the living room. Bethany closed the door and stood in front of him. Monk shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. Christ, he thought, it was the same every time he saw her, the same as every time he’d ever seen her. He couldn’t explain how or why, but somehow Bethany seemed to generate her own field of gravity. In her presence he felt like a small planet in the tug of a star.
He told her about checking the neighborhood. “I couldn’t find your Lexus anywhere.”
She shook her head. “It’s out there though, I can feel it. Maybe not right now, but that guy’s not finished with me.”
“I’ll stick around for a while and check again. I won’t leave until we’re sure. Or as sure as we can be, at any rate.”
“Have you eaten yet?” she asked, then shook her head. “Listen to me. Of course you haven’t, or you wouldn’t have asked me to go with you.” She reached out and grabbed his arm to lead him toward a hallway to their left. “I ate enough popcorn at the movie to fill me up till tomorr
ow afternoon, but I’ll fix you something. We can talk while I cook.”
He followed her to a modest kitchen. The countertop was black granite, laid in squares, and the cabinets were white, with glass doors. There wasn’t a lot of room between the cabinets and the refrigerator and range on the other side of the kitchen. Bethany turned back to Monk.
“You mind standing here and watching me work?”
He didn’t, he told her. Didn’t mind watching her at all.
“I’ve been a little lazy about shopping,” she said, “so the cupboard’s a mite bare.”
“Whatever you’ve got would be great.”
Her smile was a little embarrassed. “A Denver omelette? Does that sound too ridiculous for dinner?”
“My favorite, but I could really use a drink while I watch.”
She glanced at him. “Still drinking gin?”
He looked for a smile. Gin was what had happened to them the last time they drank it together, but her face showed nothing more than a civil question.
“A martini, if you’ve got any vermouth.”
“I think there’s a bottle somewhere in the cupboard.”
She went to a cupboard next to the refrigerator, pulled a couple of bottles down and mixed martinis for both of them. She looked over at him.
“Two onions, right?”
“You’ve got a good memory.”
“I do have.” She looked at him. “I remember everything.”
To avoid responding, Monk looked for some lint on his tennis shirt. Bethany added the onions and brought his drink over. She held hers up and smiled.
“To old friends,” she said. “And absent friends.”
Monk held his glass out and touched hers. “Friends,” he said, thinking about William as he said it. Talk about absent. Talk about no longer absent.
They stood together, chatting comfortably, until their glasses were empty. “Another?” Bethany asked. “I’m going to cook first.”
“I’ll wait for you.” The last thing he needed was to have another drink with this woman.