Sneak Thief (A Dog Park Mystery) (25 page)

A jazzy tune played from Brent's pocket. He pulled out his phone. “Talk to me. . . .You don't say. So soon? . . . Good work. I'll be right there.” He ended the call. “Change of plans. Your van has just been discovered up the road by that little church on Kirby. Turns out, it's stolen. I'm going to meet the crime scene investigators there. Looks like poor Hinkle is stuck on scene here until they've got another crew available to search this location.”

S
uddenly tired
, Lia leaned against Peter and let him fold her into his arms. She sank into him, felt his body heat, shut her eyes and wished everything would just go away.

“You okay, Babe?”

“Babe is a pig,” she muttered into his shirt.

“Yep, you'll live. Let's get you home.” He helped her into his Explorer. Was she really only a block from home?

Peter would mother her. He would insist on staying the night and watching over her. She was too hurt to care about the ramifications. Right now she needed him and she was glad he was there.

While the dogs huddled around Lia, Peter dug out her ancient brick of epsom salts and ran a bath, scenting it with her lavender oil. He led her to the candlelit bathroom like a small child, then left, insisting that she soak at least fifteen minutes.

She slid down in the tub so the hot water covered her shoulders, leeching the panic out of her bones. She lay there and cried, silent, hot tears streaming down her face, dripping into the water, mingling with her bath while she shook.

A warmth enveloped Lia's head, Peter's hand stroking her hair as he sat on the edge of the tub. She scooted up so she could lean her head against his thigh.

“I'd like to put you straight to bed, but we've got to get as much of the pepper oil off you as we can. You've got overspray in your hair.”

Obediently, she unclipped her hair and dunked it in the bath. Peter lathered it up with Dawn dish detergent and massaged her scalp. She dunked her head again in the bathwater, then Peter had her stand up while the tub drained. He lathered her all over, his touch soothing and gentle, while she stood, helpless and limp as a rag doll.

He turned on the shower so she could rinse, and she stood with her face turned to the pelting water, the sting driving everything else out of her mind. Despite his innocent intent, the touch of Peter's hands roused a tiny flame deep inside her as he sluiced soap off her body. She concentrated on this bit of life, on the trail of sensation his warm hands left as he ran them over her limbs. She fanned it until it was a hot, insistent glow, like a propane torch.

Peter turned off the shower and guided her out of the tub. She stood on the bathmat while he toweled her hair and wrapped her in a second towel. Then he sat on the toilet and drew her into his arms.

Lia curled up in his lap, seeking his warmth. She slipped a button on his shirt open so she could rub her cheek against his chest. The heat of his skin against hers wasn't enough. With animal instinct, she continued unbuttoning his shirt as she let the towel drop, and pressed her flesh against him.

Peter took her shoulders and pushed her a few, necessary inches away. He lifted her chin and looked into her aching eyes.

“I'm trying to do the decent thing here, Babe, and you're making it impossible.”

Lia held his gaze as he searched her face.

“I don't want you to be decent. I want to feel alive. I want to forget. Make me forget, Peter.” She took his hand and drew it to her breast. His hand responded, unconsciously stroking the drying skin with the scattered drops of remaining water, absently thumbing her nipple, sending hot frissons through Lia's body that exploded in little thrills at her core. Lia pressed her other breast into his chest, rubbing, and sinking her fingers into his hair.

“Won't you hate me in the morning?” he asked.

“Forget tomorrow.” She kissed his chest. “Forget the rest of it.” She nuzzled the notch at the base of his neck. “I don't want to think right now.” She pressed her mouth against his neck, kissing wetly, then gently sucking the skin. She worked her way up to his ear lobe and nipped. “I've never wanted you so much, Peter,” she breathed into his ear.

Weeks without her persuaded Peter's body to join forces with Lia and gang up on his brain. He surrendered to the onslaught of sensation draining the blood from his head. Peter stood up with difficultly, Lia in his arms, and carried her into the bedroom, kicking the door shut in the muzzles of four affronted dogs.

He placed her on the bed and lay down beside her. She reached for the button on his jeans.

“Uh uh.” He ran a hand down her cheek, turning her face to him. “We're doing this my way.” He ripped off his shirt, gathered her in his arms and rolled on top of her naked body, his head buried in the crook of her neck, seeping himself in her. Finally he snapped. His body quaked as he shook in anguish at the night's events.

“Oh, God, Babe, I thought I'd lost you,” his voice was raw as he choked the words out.

His vulnerability and need pulled Lia out of herself, the first blush of a new awareness dawning in her. “Shhh,” she soothed. “I'm right here.”

T
he beep
of an incoming text woke Peter after three hours sleep. He sat up in Lia's bed and looked at the message.

“OMW 2 Lia's. R U There?”

He tapped out a reply. “Yes. Don't ring bell. Text when U arrive.”

He laid the phone back on the table and turned to look at Lia's face, softly lit by the overcast morning slipping through the curtains. Her chest rose and fell evenly and her face was relaxed, absent the distress of the night before. He resisted the urge to stroke her face, kiss her awake.

Last night had been tender as an open wound, an aching, animal kaleidoscope of need and sensation, speaking body to body what they would not say out loud, exorcising their fear with an exquisite blend of howling need and blind animal response. A marriage of fear-driven hormones with love, heightened by their recent sexual desert. They'd drunk deeply at this oasis, which would, like a mirage, like a dream, disappear as soon as Lia woke up. He sat in the gray light and watched her breathe, wishing. . . .

Brent arrived with bagels and cream cheese. “Doughnuts,” he explained, helping himself to a cup of freshly brewed coffee “seem frivolous under the circumstances.”

L
ia smelled
coffee before she opened her eyes. Gradually, she registered the murmuring of the men in her kitchen. She drew back the covers and rolled onto her side, nearly colliding with the row of dog muzzles lined up on the edge of the bed. Eight eyes stared at her. Julia whimpered for attention and Chewy danced around on his hind legs.

“I know, I abandoned you. Sorry, pups. Ow!” The pain in her back was unexpected. She looked down at her arms, saw the bruises purpling there, the scrape of asphalt scabbing her belly, and ached all over. Four dogs sniffed at her. She took a moment to pet them.

And remembered.

Someone kidnapped her when she got out of her car, someone who knew she carried pepper-spray. She didn't know who or why.

The memory of her abduction was overtaken by other memories, tender memories of Peter taking care of her, soothing her, and when she did not want to be soothed, scalding memories of Peter taking her out of herself in a sea of surrender and sensation that was as terrifying as it was glorious.

She picked Peter's torn shirt up off the floor and rubbed it against her face, inhaling the scent of him. She thought about putting it on, then discarded the idea in favor of her oldest, rattiest, most comforting robe. Moving cautiously, she went to join Peter and Brent with her furry honor guard trailing after her.

“There's our girl,” Brent said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. “Let me get you a cup of coffee. I brought bagels with lox and cream cheese because you need to keep up your strength. Are you ready for one, or would you like to wait a bit?”

Lia accepted a steaming souvenir mug gratefully and wrapped her hands around it, pressing it against her chest with her eyes closed, concentrating on the heat seeping into her skin. Honey pressed to her side. She responded by reaching a hand down and running it through the silky fur.

Though her eyes were closed, she knew Peter's eyes were on her. They would be thoughtful and maybe a little sad. She couldn't think about that right now. She wondered, instead, where he'd dug up the tee shirt he was wearing.

Finally, she raised her head, took a sip. She did not look at Peter. “What did you find out?” she asked Brent.

“Nothing so far. We got fingerprints, but we need to get exemplars from the family who owns the van. If the perps wore gloves, it's a waste of time. Are you ready to talk about it?”

“Any news on Officer Brainard?”

“He's busy charming nurses and reporters at Good Samaritan. He'll be on medical leave while he heals. They're giving him a public commendation for foiling an abduction. Of course, that will come with a private ass-whipping. What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall for that.”

Peter slid a toasted blueberry bagel smeared with cream cheese in front of her. She smiled at him, picked it up and took a nibble, decided that she could handle food, took another bite. “Okay, I'm ready.”

Brent set up his recorder, noted the date time and participants while Lia tore bits off her bagel and handed them out under the table. She distracted herself by guessing which muzzle nosed each treat out of her hand. Lia recounted her story between bites of bagel and sips of coffee.

“What I don't understand,” Brent said, “is why they dumped you. They had you, and before they could accomplish their purpose, whatever it was, they had to pull over to secure you and neutralize the fumes from the helmet. Then Brainard interferes. But they take care of Brainard, and considering they had to expect pursuit, wouldn't a hostage be handy?”

“Could one of those men have been Eric?” Peter asked Lia.

“I don't think so. I was thinking maybe he had friends, but if that's it, he set them on me while he was still washing pepper-spray out of his eyes. It would take longer than that to steal a car.”

“Truth,” Brent said.

Lia put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God,” she moaned.

“What is it, Lia?” Peter asked.

“What if Eric didn't kill Desiree? What if he's guilty of nothing more than leaving her little dolls? I pepper-sprayed an innocent man. No wonder he acted like I was nuts.”

“He was spying on you and posted that video on YouTube,” Peter pointed out. “That's worth at least one squirt of pepper-juice.”

“Maybe several,” Brent said. “It's not the act of a sane man. And if it wasn't him, who was it? It's too coincidental that he and some other dude would fixate on Desiree and then you at the same time.”

“There has to be a connection,” Peter said.

“Thanks for the bagels,” Lia said, leaning on her door.

Brent winked at her. “You'll be okay with the tall guy looking after you. Call me if you think of anything else, whether you think it's important or not.” He bent down to pet Honey and Viola, flicked a dog hair off his slacks and waved to Peter over Lia's shoulder.

She shut the door and turned around. “Are you looking after me?”

“If you'll let me.”

Lia's knee jerk response was to say she wanted to be alone. How could she process any of the previous night's events with Peter around?

Peter read her thoughts. “Let's put it away for a while. Just pretend I'm your body guard, nothing more.”

“You sure?”

“I want to keep you around long enough for us to figure things out, so, yeah.”

“
G
oddess
, what happened to you?” Bailey eyed Lia's ever-darkening collection of bruises as Lia and Peter accompanied their horde through the dog park corral. “I swear, we can't leave you alone for a minute! When did this happen?”

“I was getting out of my car. Peter was waiting on the porch for me, and they grabbed me right in front of him.”

“Who? Who did this?”

“We don't know,” Lia said.

Lia limped over to their usual table and climbed up. Bailey joined her, along with Kita, who circled on the table top next to Bailey.

“What's that smell?” Bailey asked.

Lia sniffed her own shoulder. “I used my mace twice last night. I guess it lingers, even if it doesn't hit you directly. Sorry about that. Looks like my bath didn't take care of it. I've been told it can stick around for a few days.”

Peter lured the dogs away with a pair of tennis balls and sent them racing to the other end of the park, allowing Lia some time with her friends. Terry and Jose strolled up, Jackson bounding around them, playing tag with Napa, while Sophie ambled behind, bearing her usual woeful expression.

“What's the word, what's the—Holy crap! What bus did you run into?” Terry asked.

Lia filled them in on the previous night's events.

“Let me get this straight,” Jose said. “Someone goes to all the trouble to kidnap you, then they let you go two blocks away and they didn't even steal your wallet?”

“That's troubling,” Terry said. “If they did not accomplish their purpose, they may be back.”

“And Foil Man was disabled. What if he didn't break into your house, either? What if the break-in had nothing to do with him?” Bailey said.

“I still vote for Willis,” Terry said. “He's obviously off his rocker.”

“And Foil Man isn't?” Bailey challenged.

“Have we got enough fruitcake, or should I go dig one out of the bottom of my freezer?” Jose asked.

“Just what we need,” Lia muttered. “Yeah, Jose, it will give me something to toss at the asshole next time my pepper spray doesn't work.”

“We need to write everything down in one place,” Terry said. “There's so much confusion, even my superior brain can't make sense of it. We need to establish a timeline.”

“I'm sure Brent is doing that, Terry,” Lia said.

“A little redundancy never hurt anything,” Terry said.

“You just want to play detective,” Bailey said.

“'Tis true, 'tis true. We shall see who solves the mystery first. I vote we reconvene at Lia's this afternoon.”

Lia mourned another day lost on her convalescent center project. She didn't think she could paint right now anyway, and putting all the events down might help eliminate the morass of confusion that was her brain.

“I'll call Alma. Again.”

“What about your job? You can't work the day after you get abducted.” Bailey pointed out.

“I don't know if I even have a job left, after I maced Eric.”

“Assume you do until you know for sure. Why don't you call in sick and see what they say.”

Honey chased Viola to Lia's table, both dogs jumped up and slathered her face with kisses. She put an arm around each. “Hello, baby,” she said to Honey. She turned to Viola, “Hello, Schizo-pup.”

“Insulting my dog, Anderson?” Peter said, dropping down on the bench. Julia snagged the tennis ball he was carrying and crawled under the table. Chewy head-butted Peter's now-vacant hand. He patted the Schnauzer distractedly.

“If the paw fits . . . ,” Lia said.

“Have you figured out whodunnit yet?”

“How would you know what we were talking about?”

“I suppose you were talking about ice fishing? Monster truck rallies? I know, the location of Miley Cyrus's latest piercing. No, wait, that's old news. How about a Kardashian sex change?”

Lia sighed. “Terry wants us to create a time line. I told him Brent was probably already doing that.”

Peter shrugged. “Not a bad idea. You might come up with something that Brent misses.”

L
ia arrived
home to a blinking message light. “Lia, It's Eric. I'm sorry I frightened you last night. I think there's been a misunderstanding. I didn't report our incident, and I'd like to meet you outside of work to clear things up. I saw on the news about your abduction. I took the liberty of telling the office that you were taking a day or two off to recover and you'd call in when you were ready to come back. Please call me.”