Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 1 - Combust the Sun (10 page)

"What's
wrong?"

"Quick
karma, that's all."

"Well,
I can't think of any deeds I've done in this lifetime that would warrant my
being stalked and murdered."

We
drove directly to the Albuquerque police station and reported the incident. An
officer filled out a vehicle damage report, interviewed us, asked for a
description of our pursuers, and said they'd be in touch.
Not,
I
thought.

I
left the LAPD number and asked the New Mexico police officer on duty to let
Detective Curtis know about the incident. Since we were headed back to L.A.,
Curtis was once again my cop du jour.

We
checked into a room at the Holiday Inn, after quickly walking Elmo together.
Callie disappeared into the bathroom for half an hour. Her small jeans were
tossed across the bed. I could just make out the tag: size 2.

Size
2! At birth, I had nothing that was a 2.
I stared at the label.
How can I, the person who finds comfort in
women well over 5' 9", ever be insatiably attracted to a 5' 4" size 2!

Callie
returned wearing a long white cotton T-shirt with a plunging neckline and a RL
logo on it. I thought it was the sexiest outfit I'd ever seen anyone wear. In
fact, I loved it so much I wanted to take it right off her. She crawled into
the double bed across from mine.

"Where
are you going?" I asked. "I thought you wanted me to work on your
arm."

"You
don't need to," she said, "I know you're in pain."

"I
want to, but it requires that you come over here because I am totally
busted." I grimaced as I tried to raise up on one elbow. "Besides, you're
in Elmo's bed. He likes pillows." On cue, Elmo left his water bowl,
bounded up on the bed, and flopped his loose, damp jowls down on Callie's
pillow.

She
bailed out seconds later as I gave Elmo an appreciative wink and made a mental
note to buy that dog more cookies. She clambered into bed beside me and slid
her hurt arm across my chest. I gently massaged it and her shoulder as she
winced in pain. "So you are in pain, but you deny it."

"If
you talk about it, you give it more negative energy. I just see it completely
healed," she said.

I
continued to rub her arm and shoulder and down her back, so soft and cool to
the touch.
She must take cool showers,
I thought,
or she would be
warmer.
I lifted the sheet slightly to see the light blond hairs that were
barely perceptible on her body. I tried not to think about what else I'd like
to massage. She took a small, short breath, sighing like a baby. Callie Rivers
was fast asleep across my chest.

I
lay awake all night, the electrical circuitry of our bodies closing in a tight
loop that pulsed through me, an erotic charge keeping every nerve ending in my
body erect. I cupped my hand over her small buttock. It was breathtakingly
soft. I closed my eyes, envisioning my mouth caressing those very cheeks. When
I opened my eyes, Elmo was staring at me. He licked his lips as if to say,
"Do it and your lips will never touch mine." I chuckled softly.

At
dawn, I groaned in agony as I tried to roll over. Lying still all night had
caused all my battered and bruised joints to gel and stiffen. I winced before
opening my eyes. Callie's beautiful face was smiling down at me. I smiled
broadly in return.

"Good
morning," she said sweetly and kissed me on the forehead as one would an
irritable child and then handed me a hot cup of coffee.

"We
were protected yesterday and we will be again," Callie said with eternal
optimism.

"I
don't call rolling off a highway down a thirty-foot ravine 'being protected'
even if I did live to bitch about it. I call that «o«-protected. Protected
would be if their guns had misfired and blown up in their hands, killing them
instantly. Now that's being protected."

"That's
revenge."

"I
like revenge," I said mildly.

"You
know that's not true," she scolded.

"It's
true for me. My truth may be different than your truth, but thank you so much
for the coffee. And that's the truth."

Callie
placed her hand on my forehead, breathed deeply, and then pulled some invisible
something out of my head and threw it into the air, as if removing a restless
spirit from me. In the blink of an eye, I felt better, even optimistic.

"What
did you just do?" I asked.

"Just
cleansing your third eye."

"Had
I known I had a spare, I would have rested one of my other ones."

"Ah-ah,
don't make fun," she warned, determined not to let me denigrate her belief
system and clearly bent on enlightening me.

We
merged onto I-40 looking over our shoulders, afraid someone would shoot us, run
us off the road, or even talk to us, for that matter, but no one bothered.
Elmo's shoulder was better. He hung his head in between the split front seats
and rested his large jowls on the storage console separating Callie's seat from
mine, so he could press his nose up against her arm. She continually massaged
the big white milk-bone design on the top of his caramel-colored head. Victims
of a near disaster, they had apparently bonded with one another.

"I
brought your birth chart. Pisces, Virgo rising. So that's why you're so
grounded, but yet creative."

"I
know all about Pisces, Virgo rising." And off her shocked look, I said,
"There's a song about Pisces, Virgo rising, being a good sign, and if the
song's accurate, then I am, in addition, strong and kind."

"Do
you know that you have Mercury in Aries?"

"Hum
a few bars and I'll tell you," I replied.

"It
means you're verbally quick, sometimes maybe too quick, perhaps even
cutting," she said without judgment.

"Never
heard that," I lied.

We
drove into the San Fernando Valley about eight p.m., down the 5 and onto the
134 exiting in Studio City. Down a pretty side street, I punched the automatic
gate opener above the visor and the iron gates in my driveway swung open,
allowing us to drive safely in before clanging shut behind us. I was happy to
come home to a fortress.

When
I put my key in the lock, I stood stock still, every nerve ending on edge.

"What's
the matter?" Callie leaned in near me.

"Dead
bolt's off." I signaled her to back away from the house and get into the
car. I followed her and retrieved the gun that I now kept lodged between my
front seat and the storage compartment. Once I had it in my hand, I felt more
secure and a great surge of anger welled up inside me.

"You
stay in the car with Elmo," I whispered.

"No,
we both need to drive away and call the police." Her voice was urgent.

"In
L.A. we'd be on a walker before they show up. Just stay here."

I
went back to the rear door of the house, leaned up against the wall to get my
breath, then kicked the door open and flicked the lights on to my right,
sweeping the gun from left to right.

"Hands
above your head!" I shouted at no one. I glanced at the floor strewn with
dishes and silverware, a wall with pictures askew, and a closet erupting its
contents onto the floor. I moved into the living room, where DVDs and books
were randomly scattered, and then into the office, where every file I owned was
on the floor.

"They're
looking for something," the voice said behind me.

I
whirled and pointed the gun at Callie, then quickly pointed it away.

"That's
a damned good way to get yourself killed! I told you to stay outside."

"Stop
giving orders. Let's see what they were after," Callie said practically.

I
dialed Detective Curtis's direct line. "Did the New Mexico police call
you?" I asked. He said they hadn't, so I told him about the men who ran us
off the highway.

"I
think it's all the same guys harassing you," Curtis said. "We've got
a break in the case. An informant in a gang here in L.A. who seems to know your
guy with the spider tattoo. The gang mostly deals in drugs. Don't know why they
targeted you or your friend, but we intend to make an arrest. When we do, I'll
want you down at the station to ID him."

I
told him I would be delighted, but in the meantime, I'd been burglarized, and I
described the condition of my home. Curtis had the attention span of a gnat
when it came to burglaries in which household items were rearranged but not
stolen. He asked me to get some digital shots, take an inventory, and call the
LAPD's main number. They'd send an officer who'd make a report for my insurance
company.
All of which will be put in my file and presumably read by an
interested human only in the event of my death,
I thought.

"LAPD,"
I snorted. "If this were the TPD they'd be here already!"

A
short ring and then a fax glided off the machine. Its anonymous and cryptic
message said, "Welcome Home."

Callie
stared at it. "This was sent by whomever the Latins work for."

"And
who's that?"

"A
white man, not a very powerful man, really, but a man who wants to be powerful.
He disguises himself."

"Literally
disguises himself?"

"No.
You would never know the power connections he has by looking at him. That kind
of disguise."

"Be
more specific."

"Sorry,
I can't, but right now I'm feeling you should call Barrett."

I
dialed Barrett's home number, hoping she'd been released from the hospital.
When Barrett answered, I admit I was happy to hear her voice and to know that
she was up and around. I told her I'd just returned from Oklahoma and had been
thinking about her ever since our lunch at Orca's. In fact, I'd called the
hospital long distance to ask how she was. Barrett interrupted me to say she
was fine and very busy. I tried to book a lunch with her.

"Unavailable,
Teague. In fact, I'm booked all week. Got several screenings to attend,"
Barrett said. When I suggested the following week, she added, "Sorry,
still maxed. I'll be in New York."

By
the time I hung up, it was clear to me that someone had gotten to Barrett and
given her the choice of getting back on the team or getting buried. She'd
obviously chosen the former.

"She's
involved in the Anthony murder," Callie said flatly.

"That
would be a big coincidence," I remarked.

"Coincidence
is a word people use to keep themselves from being frightened by the truth."
Callie stared at me with those ethereal blue eyes, and I knew she was a woman
who knew the truth.

Late
that night, I checked myself out in the mirror and then plopped down in a
chair. I'd lost ten pounds, and I had circles under my eyes that made me look
like a raccoon. I was still nervous about the ransacking of my house. Elmo
inexplicably paced and moaned and fretted as I pulled all the blinds shut, put
the alarm on, and called the LAPD to ask for the occasional drive-by patrol
car, just to keep an eye on things. But that wasn't all that was worrying me.
Being with Callie, and not being able to have Callie, was taking its toll.
I
don't want her getting the idea that we're just roommates. The mere thought
is making me gaunt and thin! By the time she gives in, if she gives in, I'll
undoubtedly be too weak to take advantage of my good fortune,
I thought,
only half in jest. Callie must have read my mind.

"What's
the matter?" She came up behind me and put her delightfully small hand on
the back of my neck. "You feel hot."

"Aside
from the usual things—mayhem and murder—I'm attracted to someone who isn't
showing any interest in me at all," I said.

Callie
spun my swivel chair around to face her and straddled me with her legs spread
wide across mine, her face inches from my own. "This is a very sad
story," she said feigning sympathy.

"Don't
tease me," I said, "I'm not kidding."

"Okay."
She looked at me closely to make sure I was serious.

"So
the truth is..." I began, but she silenced me with her fingers over my
lips. I immediately took her fingers into my mouth. They smelled of her
perfume.

"The
truth is, I want you as much as you want me." And with that Callie Rivers
gave me the most deliciously erotic kiss and allowed me to slip my hand inside
the leg of her loose shorts, where to my delight, she was wearing nothing but
the moist heat created by our kissing. She rocked slowly forward on me only
once, and I moaned at how good she felt. She pushed against me, snuggling into
my neck, when suddenly our chair moved side to side at a ninety degree angle.
Moments later, the chair took three forward bounces, and both of us were thrust
back into reality. I looked up and the furniture was moving. I pulled Callie under
the Parsons table that rested against the wall as the interior doors slammed
open and shut and dishes broke and alarms went off.

"It's
an earthquake," I whispered, panting from a mix of too many adrenaline-rush
activities. "Elmo! Stay!" I could see him hunkered down next to the
couch. He wasn't moving, protected by the large rolled arms above him.