Killmore

by Martha Sweeney

  “No one.”

  I smile because I know who. “You should double team them,” I laugh.

  “You’re disgusting,” she accuses.

  “What woman wouldn’t want to do two hot brothers?” I giggle.

  “Me,” she replies.

  “Bullshit,” I goad.

  “They wouldn’t go for it, even if I considered it,” she remarks.

  “Ha. So you have thought about it,” I tease. “Derek might go for it, but I think Codie’s too much of a pussy to do it.”

  “You’re nasty,” Trudy says trying to act disgusted by my words.

  “You love my dirty mind,” I tease.

  Trudy doesn’t reply.

  “I’m done, so I’m heading home. Call if you need anything,” I say.

  “Will do, boss,” she confirms, turning toward the main part of the kitchen as I exit.

  The dogs and I make our way through the cafe and nod through my sunglasses to few patrons who smile at me. As I approach the door, a handsome, blue-eyed man with dark hair takes a step back, gesturing for me to continue walking as he holds the door open. My lady parts tingle instantly and the brief whiff of his manly, musky aroma paired with one day old scruff heightens my desires. Hot damn is this man sexy!

  “Good morning,” his sultry voice greets.

  I smile and nod, grateful for the fact that I have my shades on because I know my eyes are gawking and have the look of fuck me senseless, please.

  “Good morning,” adds the older gentleman standing next to him.

  I glance at the man briefly: smile, nod, and return my gaze to Mr. Hotstuff before heading toward the truck.

  I love tourist season. There are so many men ripe for the picking during this time of year aside from the fact that it’s one of the ways to get Codie off my back about a relationship. As long as I don’t see a tourist with a wedding ring, the neon sign above their heads says open for fucking in my book. Anytime tourists come in, I watch them from a distance for a few days just to make sure they aren’t married. Even if they’re married and flirt, I’ll flirt back, but I’m not willing to be the reason a marriage ends — happy or not. I’ve got a great feeling that this tourist season is going to be a good, hot, sexy one.

  With food in hand, the dogs and I drop a bag off in the truck and then lock up, heading to visit Mr. Lenard at his office to deliver his lunch. Since Esther hasn’t been able to cook much lately, I’ve been treating either one or both of them to meals to help with the burden. Today, Trudy made Mr. Lenard’s favorite; grilled chicken on spelt bread, mustard, mayo, lettuce, tomato, cheese and avocado with sweet potato fries and a mini fruit tart.

  “Hey, Mr. Lenard,” I greet, walking into his office.

  His secretary always lets me in, unless he’s in an important meeting.

  “Hi, darling,” he replies.

  “How’s business today?” I inquire.

  “Good,” he answers. “Slow, but good. I know it’ll pick up here within the next week.”

  Mr. Gerald Lenard has had his own law practice since just five years after he graduated college. He and Esther moved to town when they found out that the previous lawyer decided to retire. Retirement, in Mr. Lenard’s terms is for when he’s dead and buried. Mike, Trudy’s husband, worked for Mr. Lenard as a secondary lawyer for the town. Mr. Lenard has yet to be able to fill Mike’s shoes.

  “Have you met your new neighbor yet?” he inquires.

  I raise my brows.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Since when have you known me to go up and meet my neighbors?” I search.

  “Well, it is easy for pigs to fly with the use of airplanes and all,” Mr. Lenard chuckles, taking a bite of his sandwich.

  “Right,” I say. “Just like me developing a sunny disposition for strangers and walk the half mile over to my neighbor and say, Hi, I’m Laurie. Golly gee, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Good point,” Mr. Lenard chuckles. “But, there’s always time to try something new.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” I answer.

  “Suit yourself,” he returns.

  After chatting a little longer with Mr. Lenard as he eats, the dogs and I head home, eager to get away from the extra bodies that are in the streets. I'm motivated by the idea of releasing some tension when I get home. I can’t get Mr. Hotstuff out of my head.

  Twelve - Laurie

  It’s a few days later and I have yet to meet my new next door neighbor. I pray that it stays that way. Quite a few more tourists have come into town, but nothing big or noticeable has happened. Cain and Mable are close by, playing a little while I check on the plants inside the greenhouse. Today is a little warmer than usual, so I crank open a few of the upper windows to allow more fresh air to enter. With a tank top, cut-off jean shorts and my puddle boots on, my body perspires as I work on the plants. The bees and I have a symbiotic relationship, so coveralls are not needed. The hive is designed where I don’t have to open and scrap the honey out of it. They dance around in the air and even land on me as I repot a few plants and fertilize others with effective microorganisms while the automatic irrigation system starts up.

  After collecting some food from the garden, the dogs and I head inside to get away from the heat and have lunch. As I finish cleaning the dishes, Cain and Mable stand at attention and whine.

  “What is it?” I ask them.

  Cain stands in front of me while Mable takes the rear, staying close to my legs as I move away from the counter and grab my iPad to check the cameras now that the house alarm is going off. With the computer in hand, I watch. I can barely see the bodies of two men exiting a truck on the side of the road.

  Both dogs stay calm, waiting for my command, though Cain is a little anxious due to my nerves. I grab the closest gun that I have hidden in the foyer, ready and waiting as they approach my front door. The bell rings and the dogs and I stay silent. There’s no way someone would be able to really hear us, not with the way my house is designed.

  I wait for them to ring again.

  One of the men’s hands reaches forward again and the bell goes off.

  I’m kicking myself for not having a camera at face level, only placing it above their heads. The porch is too dark to see anything clearly through the peep hole. I’ve never had anyone unknown or unwelcome come to the house before, so it looks like I need to make some improvements. Neither of them look up, restricting any indication of who they are.

  I place the iPad on the table to my right and steady my hand with the gun behind the door as I crack it open two inches. “What do you want?” I greet calmly.

  The two men who had taken several steps back from the door smile, causing my breathe to seize for a second. My heart pounds in my chest at the sight of Mr. Hotstuff.

  “Hello,” they greet at the same time.

  “Hi,” I return flatly, watching every move of their bodies as I study their faces.

  “You’ve got a beautiful home,” the older gentleman states.

  I don’t say anything.

  “This is Aiden,” he continues. “My son. And, my name is Paul.”

  I remain silent.

  “We’re new in town, just moved in the day we bumped into you at the cafe,” he adds.

  “What do you want?” I question speculatively. “Did you follow me home or something?”

  “No,” the one named Paul chuckles, with a reassuring expression. “We were just getting more familiar with the town. Driving around and getting better acclimated with everything. We saw the few homes on this side of the lake after boating the other day and just wanted to admire their beauty a little closer.”

  “That sounds creepy,” I state.

  They both laugh under their breath and I study them. There’s something else they want.

  “I’m a retired architect,” Paul shares. “When I noticed you’re home, I just had to see it up close.”

  “How the hell did you see my home from the lake?” I bite. “The only way you coul
d have seen it is with binoculars, since it’s away from the water’s edge a bit and the trees block anyone’s line of direct sight. Trust me, I know.”

  “He did use binoculars,” Aiden states calmly followed by a sexy grin. “You got him on that. Dad and I were fishing on the lake and he takes his binoculars with him everywhere he goes. He likes to watch birds too.”

  “I would say people watching is more like it,” I remark snidely.

  “I just wanted to know if it would be okay to walk around the house for a second, take in its craftsmanship, and then we’ll leave,” Paul reveals.

  “What part of town did you move to?” I check, wanting to collect more information about these strangers. There's no way they're telling the truth.

  “We just moved to one of the places on Lawson Avenue,” Aiden shares.

  “Which one?” I press. “The Standford’s or Ross’ old place?”

  “The white one,” Paul announces.

  I nod, but refrain from commenting. There’s a white house on that street, but that doesn't prove anything. Finally, I ask, “How long are you staying?”

  “We’re not one of the tourists, if that’s what you’re implying?” Paul answers. “We’re townies now.”

  There’s something suspicious about these men. I know it in my gut. I watch them carefully, noticing that they aren’t carrying a weapon, unless it’s tucked in the back of their shorts. They don’t look or act like henchmen.

  “Give me a second,” I direct and then close the door immediately.

  What the fuck is this? What the fuck?

  I slip an extra knife in my right boot since I already had one in my left, stick the glock in its holster and wedge it behind my back, draping my shirt over it. After taking a deep breath, I open the door. I signal for Cain to go first while Mable follows me. I lock the door behind us and make my way off the front porch where the men wait for me by the garage. I gesture for them to begin walking, wanting to stay behind them at all times. As they peer up at the house and make comments, I offer a fake smile and nod all while studying their bodies; neither have a weapon and Mr. Hotstuff has a great ass.

  “When was she built?” Paul asks when we get to the first side of the house.

  “Six years ago,” I lie, studying their expressions.

  Mr. Hotstuff keeps checking out my legs and chest. I’m not sure if he knows he’s that obvious, but he doesn’t know I see him since I have my shades on.

  “She’s gorgeous,” Paul comments. “Who designed it?”

  “Me,” I share.

  I did have a lot of say when the Feds rebuilt it.

  “Interesting windows,” Aiden mentions.

  “Indeed,” Paul agrees.

  I don’t comment.

  They continue to remark on the house and the layout of the pathways, plants, and patios as we round the back to the other side where the opening to the greenhouse resides. I watch them carefully, wanting to pick up on any little movement or behavior that would reveal their true intentions. They’re definitely not someone’s goons. They would have given something away by this point. There are only two options of who they are and what they want.

  “You grow your own food too?” Paul says in amazement. “May I see?”

  I unlock the door and usher them inside first.

  “You’re dogs are well trained,” Aiden mentions.

  I nod.

  “How long does the food last?” inspects Paul.

  “All year,” I inform.

  “You’ve got a wonderful variety,” he adds. “How does it hold up in the winter?”

  “Good,” I reply, not sharing anything else.

  “Interesting choice in material for the windows,” Paul says. “ They’re bullet proof, aren’t they?”

  I remain silent for a second, carefully choosing my next words. “Who are you?” My hand reaches around my back, ready to retrieve my gun at a moment’s notice.

  “What do you mean?” Paul inspects.

  “Most people wouldn’t know that the windows are bullet proof, let alone think to mention or ask such a question,” I state. “So, who the fuck are you two? Choose your words wisely.”

  “I’m just an old man,” replies Paul. “Who studies all types of materials in my line of work.”

  “Most architects wouldn’t be able to pick up on that,” I mention. “So, you have one more chance. Who the fuck are you?”

  “Laurie,” Paul greets.

  My hand snatches my gun and aims it at his head. “I never shared my name with either of you.”

  Cain and Mable growl, taking a more pronounced protective stance, placing themselves between me and the men.

  “Easy there,” Paul suggests, looking between the dogs and me as his hands slowly move up to his chest, palms facing me.

  “Paul,” Aiden says. “Tell her.”

  “We’re federal agents,” Paul announces.

  I eye him, not trusting his words. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “We were hoping you would assist us with something,” Aiden shares.

  “The only assisting I’ll be doing is escorting you off of my property,” I remark.

  “Laurie,” Aiden calls.

  “Don’t,” I snap. “You and I both know that you’re supposed to present who you are immediately.”

  “Laurie,” Paul calls.

  “Unless you want a fucking bullet in your God damn leg for lying and trespassing, I suggest you both turn around and vacate my property. If you even dare to come back, I will shoot you. Got it?”

  Neither of them say anything as they exchange some kind of nonverbal conversation between themselves. They slowly back away, shifting in the direction from where they came. The dogs and I follow them as I keep my gun trained on them and eventually their truck as they get in it and drive away.

  Thirteen - Aiden

  “Huh?” I mumble.

  “Hey, Adien,” Paul calls faintly. “Earth to Aiden.”

  “What?”

  “I said we should stop at the cafe…see if Laurie might be there,” Paul repeats.

  “Yeah, sure,” I agree.

  We just finished our morning jog and I get lost in thought about those lips, her lips, as we stretch in the living room. We’re here for a particular mission and I can’t get hung up on a woman. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head since we ran into her at the cafe the first day we got to town. Seeing her two days ago at her place just increased my desire to have her naked and in every position imaginable.

  As I rinse off in the shower, she enters my mind again, and I’m unable to brush away the thoughts of kissing her as I rub one off. Hell, I can’t get rid of the desire to do more than just kiss her. I’ve been with women, but I’ve never had one captivate me in the way that she does, whether I’ve slept with them or not. There’s a need that must be suppressed in order for me to do my job — hopefully just fantasizing about her body while I masturbate each time will be enough.

  By eleven, Paul and I are sitting in Willow River Cafe, waiting for Laurie to show up. It’s the main restaurant people tend to gather around for breakfast, lunch, and dinner on the main road. We take our time ordering, chatting from time to time as we take in our environment, waiting and hoping to see her come in for a meal and allow us to explain. When it hits one in the afternoon, Paul and I leave, deciding to scope out the rest of the area and watch the people in their daily habits all while trying to find Laurie.

  At some point, we make our way into the small public library and begin searching all of the public records, wanting to see if there’s anything useful. Apparently, the town has an increase of people from the months of April through August thanks to the warm weather; boating, fishing and other activities that draw out-of-towners to indulge in their spring and summer. It’s not your typical vacation spot. It seems the town is appealing to those who want to relax without the craziness of people and paparazzi. It’s the perfect place for someone to hide.

  Getting antsy, Paul and
I make our way over to the nearest gun range to crank out a few rounds to let off some steam and pent up energy. Once we get our passes, Paul and I rent one of the private target areas, hoping to be able to focus without any distractions. Paul likes to switch between a few of his hand guns while I also bring my sniper riffle. My uncanny skill with a weapon is one of the reasons why the Feds approached me.

  Paul and I have been working together for a few years since his last partner died in the line of duty. I got sucked into the world of defending my country after excelling as a Marine. The Feds solicited me for my abilities early on and I’ve been with them ever since, hoping to fix the system from the inside out. I know that there are many of us who aren’t always level-headed, getting involved with some shady deals just to keep ourselves alive when we’re undercover. I’ve even had to make a few hard choices. In this line of work, sometimes you have to do things you’re not proud of just to stay alive. We’re all human, and I’m certainly not perfect. Sometimes, you have to do a little dirty work in order to clean up the bigger debris of what plagues a messed up system.

  We drop the guns off at the house and make our way back into town, headed for the cafe for dinner. As we’re finishing up our main meal, a slender, friendly woman with two teenage boys sit down at the table next to us.

  “You boys were in here earlier for lunch,” she greets with a smile.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I return.

  “Please, don’t call me ma’am,” she returns. “We’re probably close in age.”

  “My apologies, miss,” I answer.

  “How do you like the food?” she asks. “You must like it to be back again. I’ve seen you both in here the past few days.”

  “We like it,” Paul answers. “I think it’s the best in town.”

  “It better be,” she laughs. “My friend Laurie owns the place and I’m the head chef.”

  Laurie; as in, the Laurie we’re looking to speak to? I hope so!

  “Laurie, you say,” Paul continues the conversation. “Is she in here? I’d love to tell her directly how much we love the food.”

  “She’s in and out, but never stays to any set schedule,” the woman replies. “What are your names? I’m Trudy and these are my boys, Marcus and Jacob.”