Taylor Made

by Alex Westmore

  Taylor Made

  The Delta Stevens Crime Logs, Book 4

  Alex Westmore

  Contents

  A Free Book for You

  Taylor Made

  More from Alex Westmore

  About the Author

  Bonus Offer

  © 2016, Broad Winged Books

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  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

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  So you’ve just scored your very own copy of Taylor Made. Awesome! Hey, you know what’s even more awesome? I want to give you a present as my way of saying thanks for checking me out. Yes, indeed, I’ve written a free short story just for my newsletter subscribers. You can grab your free copy at www.AlexWestmore.net/Newsletter. Happy travels!

  Alex

  Taylor Made

  Her leather jumpsuit creaked like a horse’s saddle as she hoisted herself up through the second-story window. Leather in motion made a distinct sound that Taylor had loved ever since she was a little girl. She especially enjoyed it when she was wearing this particular outfit. The pitch, the perfect groan the suit made as she squatted on the window sill was exhilarating.

  Jumping through the open window and landing nimbly on the balls of her feet, Taylor slowly straightened and waited for her eyes to adjust to the room’s darkness.

  “Perfect,” she murmured, checking her black digital watch with the backlight button. “Right on time.”

  Swiftly moving through the darkened house, Taylor’s mind took in and absorbed all the information that would aid her escape in the unfortunate event the owners arrived home earlier than anticipated. She located three bedrooms upstairs; the last of which was the master bedroom—her ultimate destination. The staircase wound down to the entry hall, and through the dark, Taylor could only imagine the staircase kissing a beautiful marble floor leading to the two huge oak front doors.

  Stepping lightly down the hall, Taylor stopped abruptly when she saw movement. She sighed with relief when she realized it was simply her reflection in a floor-to-ceiling mirror. Fully facing the mirror, Taylor smiled. Even in the darkness, she was impressed with the way her leather jumpsuit glistened like a black cat in the moonlight. She called the suit Emma, after the first real feminist on television; Mrs. Emma Peele of The Avengers. Oh, how she, and other young lesbians, had fallen in love with the venerable Mrs. Peele. How courageous Emma Peele had always been. She was exactly what a young Taylor had aspired to be; tough, smart, physically able to protect herself. Emma Peele had been Taylor’s first crush, and had remained the epitome of a heroine until another woman leapt from the pages of the media and stole Taylor’s heart. And though she knew she’d never have the chance to meet Mrs. Peele, she was sure she’d meet the woman great enough to unseat her fifteen-year crush; but then, it was easy to be sure when she had planned it that way.

  Turning from the mirror, Taylor closed the rest of the distance and opened the door to the master bedroom. She’d seen enough dark rooms to be able to distinguish quality decor from the obviously mundane, and judging by the shadows and murky images, she could tell this particular bedroom was spectacular. Ten years in the business had dramatically sharpened her night vision. If the moon was out, and she tried really hard, she could even distinguish colors. Some nights, when she was bored or just wanting to kill some time, she’d guess colors or patterns before pressing the backlight button on her watch to see if she had been right. Tonight, however, served a more important purpose.

  Tonight, she had a score unlike any she’d ever attempted. Tonight, she was under a very strict timeline. She had to get in, get the target prize and get out so she could move on to the next phase of her plan. Since she’d orchestrated this for quite some time, Taylor couldn’t allow any distractions to prevent her from reaching her goal.

  Crossing the bedroom’s threshold, Taylor quietly moved over to the large chest of drawers protruding from the far wall. Pulling her black gloves taut, Taylor carefully opened the jewelry box perched on the corner of the chest. It was one of those three-tiered monstrosities that her grandmother used to hold her gaudy costume jewelry. After clamping her penlight between her teeth, Taylor lifted the earring holder out and stared down at the collection of rings and pendants sparkling up at her.

  Jackpot. She grinned. Inside, perched in neat little rows, sat a pear-shaped emerald, an opal, a three-pearled ring, a sapphire with two diamonds, and a large, square ruby, (to her trained eye, the latter obviously a replica). At another time, Taylor would have cleaned out the contents of the entire jewelry box.

  Tonight, she had to race against the falling grains of sand in order to further a plan she’d developed long ago.. Tonight, she needed that diamond ring. Only it didn’t seem to be occupying a space in the box.

  Damn it.

  Stepping across the room, careful to avoid the windows, she made her way to the night stand. It was free of any jewels.

  “Where’d she put it?” Taylor mumbled under her breath as she pushed the silver button on her watch. She was thirty seconds behind schedule. If she lost much more time, she’d have to scratch this house and start all over again.

  Moving around the bed, Taylor stepped into the ensuite and felt around for a towel. When her hand landed on one, she tucked it in the curtain rod before turning on her tiny penlight. During her childhood, she’d grown up with plenty of guys who got caught because they couldn’t understand that a flashlight in a dark house was like a lighthouse on a cliff; both warned people there was something dangerous ahead. Taylor swore to herself, when her best friend was captured and incarcerated for five years, that she would never be caught because of stupidity. If she were ever to be arrested, it would have to be by someone with detecting abilities better than her thieving talents. Besides, her claustrophobia guaranteed that she would die in prison, so she had vowed long ago that she’d rather die attempting to escape than to spend even a minute behind bars.

  Thus far, she had kept that promise.

  After double checking the towel on the window, Taylor quickly shined her penlight around the bathroom. When a flash sparkled in her field of vision, she flicked the light off. Squatting down so her eyes were level to the jewel, Taylor cupped her hand over the penlight and clicked it back on, aiming it directly at the ring.

  Yep.

  There it was, sitting next to the soap dispenser. Taylor nearly laughed out loud. People were so predictable, it was scary. Threading the towel back through the towel ring with one hand, Taylor reached over with the other and carefully plucked the ring from the sink.

  “Come to mama,” she whispered, feeling the adrenaline surge through her. After all these years, the thrill, the edge of excitement hadn’t dulled the taste of victory. This was her truest high, her vertical orgasm: better than anything tactile she had ever encountered. Taking what didn’t belong to her was the greatest joy. Nothing she’d ever done had matched the heart-pounding, nerve-wracking stimulation of sneaking around in someone else’s house and snatching precious ite
ms the owners didn’t care enough to adequately protect.

  Holding the ring in her left hand and the penlight in her right, Taylor checked her watch before opening the closet door, stepping in, and closing it behind her. Then, she reached into the leather pouch specially sewn into Emma and pulled out a jeweler’s loop. Carefully examining the 1.5 carat diamond, Taylor grinned. She knew an exquisite cut when she saw one, and this was a beaut. Assured now that she hadn’t stolen a cubic zirconia, Taylor dropped the ring into a different pouch and zipped it closed.

  Looking once again at her watch, she made her way out of the closet and back out of the room and across the upstairs landing to the window she’d entered. She was slightly behind schedule, but now that she had the item she came for, she saw no problem with that. She had the ring and a few minutes leeway to insure the success of her plan.

  As Taylor climbed back out the window, she grabbed a rope and quickly rappelled down the side of the house; another vital skill she’d learned from her brother and best friend over a lifetime ago. Given a suitable length of rope, Taylor could escape from anywhere, and that’s precisely how she wanted it. At five years old, she had been trapped in a well for nearly two days. Since then, Taylor preferred height to depth, and always made sure she had a rope.

  As her feet hit the ground, Taylor gave a sharp yank on the rope, and it fell like a bird shot from a tree. After she’d secured it in Emma’s belt, she stood with her hands on her hips and wondered what it was about colonial-style architecture that so fascinated Americans. Nothing she’d ever seen in America could outdo incredible Victorian architecture. Ah well, Americans were still trying to prove their independence, weren’t they?

  As she walked around to the front of the house, Taylor searched the ground for a large rock, and hefted it in her hands. Looking down at her find, she grinned slightly before tossing it through the large plate glass window overlooking the front yard. As the window smashed into thousands of shards of glass, an obnoxious alarm began clanging through the night air.

  Glancing at her watch one last time, Taylor’s grin widened. Maybe there would still be time to catch another rerun of The Avengers.

  Gina set a steaming cup of coffee in front of Delta before sitting down next to her. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

  Delta shrugged, not allowing her gaze to meet Gina’s penetrating blue eyes.

  “You don’t need to answer me, Delta Stevens, because I know you well enough to know that missing Megan isn’t getting any easier.”

  Wrapping her hands around the mug, Delta took in the warmth. Since Megan had traveled to Costa Rica for a semester, Delta had found it nearly impossible to stay warm. It wasn’t that this California winter was harsh; the chill came from within. It was the kind of cold that sprang from loneliness caused by distance. Like an ice-blanket, she wore her solitude every night and spent most of the morning trying to shake off the cold.

  On the night after Megan left, nearly two months ago, Delta put a second down comforter on her bed. Every night since then, she’d worn her flannel pajamas to bed. Night after night, she would lay in bed wondering what Megan was doing or thinking or feeling. The occasional phone calls were too short and not often enough, but Delta understood it was a tough task to make calls from the jungle. Delta questioned if Megan was experiencing the same hollowness she’d been living with since Megan’s plane took off. Did Megan wake up at night, like Delta did, and reach for her, only to grasp the emptiness?

  When she wasn’t wondering about Megan, Delta worked as many overtime hours as she could just so she would drop to sleep immediately when her head finally hit the pillow.

  Delta sighed and stared down into her distorted image reflecting off the dark coffee. “I thought it would get easier, Gene, but it hasn’t. I miss her more and more every day.”

  Gina reached over and laid her tiny hand on Delta’s. “I know. The most Connie and I have ever spent apart is the week she took those classes at the FBI. I can’t imagine what it must be like after two months.”

  Delta nodded, but didn’t look up. “I never thought I could miss someone so much that it hurt all over. Physically, mentally, emotionally, I ache. Help me if she leaves me after all this.”

  Suddenly, a short Latina woman walked into the kitchen rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Leave you? You got rocks in your head, Storm?” Wrapping her arms around Delta’s neck, she hugged her.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Gina said, rising to pour a third cup of coffee.

  “Hi, gorgeous. Was that a dream last night, or did you really wake me up at two in the morning and...” smiling, she pulled away from Delta and stepped close to Gina to kiss the back of her head. “I didn’t hear you come in, Del. Now what’s all this stupid talk about Megan leaving you? You having another bout with the insecurities?” Sitting across from Delta, Consuela Rivera laid her hands around Delta’s, which were still hugging the mug.

  Connie and Delta were working on their seventh year as inseparable friends. Connie knew Delta better than any lover Delta had ever had—often being able to reach right into Delta’s heart to pull out her true feelings. There was nothing Connie Rivera wouldn’t do for her. Nothing. And vice versa. If ever there had been two people truly devoted to one another, it was Connie and Delta..

  “Storm? You okay?”

  Delta shrugged. “It’s just one of those mornings when I wake up after dreaming about Megan, only to remember that she isn’t here.”

  “Must be awful.” Connie took her coffee from Gina and puckered so Gina would kiss her. Gina kissed her forehead instead and sat across the table from her.

  “When I realize I’m alone,” Delta continued, “the bed feels colder and I start feeling sorry for myself. And you know how much I hate pity parties.”

  Connie grinned slightly at one of her own phrases coming from Delta’s mouth. “I wouldn’t call missing your lover a ‘pity party,’ Del. You just have to remember that she loves you.”

  Delta looked up from her coffee and held Connie’s gaze. Not only was Connie the most intelligent woman Delta had ever met, she was also the most sensitive. If Delta needed a hug, Connie was there. When Delta needed someone to knock some sense into her, Connie obliged. She was the scale with which Delta balanced nearly everything in her life. Together, they kept each other slightly insane and in as much trouble as they could find. It was a symbiotic relationship where give and take were never measured and the score never kept. And though they had never shared sexual intimacy, Connie and Delta loved each other as much as they loved Megan and Gina. Sometimes, even more.

  “That’s what I spend my nights doing; remembering. Remembering how she feels, how she looks, how her mouth moves when she talks to me.”

  “In other words, you’re driving yourself crazy.”

  Delta nodded. “I’m sorry for being such a downer this morning. I didn’t sleep very well, that’s all.”

  “Don’t apologize for missing Megan, Del. Connie and I would be the same way if we had to spend months apart.” Reaching across the table, Gina held Connie’s hand. “I’d go out of my head if I had to do it.”

  Connie nodded. “Me, too. And I’d be needing you just like you need us. That’s what we’re about. So put your apologies back in your pocket.”

  Delta finished her coffee and stared blankly at the bottom of the cup. Need wasn’t an emotion she was familiar with. It felt awkward and unsettling. The only people she had learned to rely on in her life were other cops. Even though it tended to be more of a life-and-death variety, the need of others wearing a badge was an easier task than needing a lover. Maybe physical vulnerability was simpler than emotional uncertainty; at least, in Delta’s eyes. What she had discovered since Megan’s departure was that she did, in fact, need Megan.

  “When’s the last time you two talked?”

  “It’s been almost a week. She did call the day before yesterday and left a message, but I haven’t been able to connect with her. I suppose it’s just as well. I haven
’t figured out how to tell her what happened.”

  “About the shooting?” Connie’s voice was soft and gentle.

  Nodding, Delta let out a big sigh. “God, how do I tell her that I killed another suspect? It’s hard enough to come to terms with it myself, but I have no idea how it might affect her.”

  “You think it will change the way she feels for you?”

  “That’s just it.” Pushing her chair back, Delta trudged into the kitchen and poured herself another cup of coffee. “I don’t really know how she feels about me anymore. The distance is killing me.”

  “You can handle the distance, Del,” Connie said, eyeing how much nondairy creamer Delta heaped into her coffee. “And you’re only fooling yourself if you think it’s Megan’s reaction you’re afraid of.”

  “Meaning?” Delta sat back down, a loud sigh escaping her lips.

  Gina and Connie exchanged glances, and Delta felt as if there was a pre-rehearsed dialogue going on between them and she’d missed rehearsal.

  Leaning towards Delta, Gina brushed one of Delta’s wavy hairs away from her forehead. “Honey, I’m living with a woman who watched a man fall ten stories to a very bloody and brutal death. You know how Connie was afterward. She felt that her actions on the job had somehow changed her; changed us. She thought that I loved her less.”

  Delta suddenly felt very small. Try as she might, she could not release the memory of killing another human being. “And did it?”

  “It might have, if Connie didn’t trust me enough to talk to me about it.”

  “But you’re a shrink. That’s what you do. You’re trained to know how to listen objectively.”

  “And Megan can’t?”

  “I—”

  “Don’t underestimate her, Delta, just because she’s far away. Megan loves you. She knows how important your job is to you. If you’re afraid, try looking a little deeper to determine the cause, because Megan’s reaction isn’t it.”