Sprayed Stiff (22 page)

“D
AMN IT,
S
CYTHE,
what the hell are you doing?” the man shouted. “Get your brain out of your pants and drop the piece.”

Scythe shook his head like a dog shaking water off his coat. He slid his Glock back into its holster. He rebuckled his belt.

What the hell was going on?

My blood supply was focused in other places, too, which somehow made it impossible for my mouth to work right. Of course, it had worked just fine for the kissing and nipping that had been going on, I noticed as I reviewed the ghost of a hickey above Scythe’s collarbone. No telling what war wounds I had. I felt flushed and hot and damp….

I glanced down, and my hands flew to cover myself. I was in bra, panties, and boots. Our interloper was sneaking peeks, but trying not to show it. I pointed at him. “Hey, keep your eyes to yourself.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” He cleared his throat and turned toward the doorway.

Scythe grunted, reached into his closet, and threw me a set of worn-out warm-ups. My gallant hero. I shrugged into them.

When I saw the guy’s profile, I recognized him. “Wait a minute. You’re Scythe’s bodyguard. I thought you didn’t need him anymore since the threat was bogus? And why would you need him in your bedroom anyway?”

“I didn’t need Byron to begin with, did I, Reyn? You could’ve clued me in on that a long time ago.” Those laser blues, not so long ago hot with lust, were now razor sharp in anger. “Since you were the one to start the damned rumor.”

“It was just a joke. Trudy came to get me at the courthouse and said something off the cuff, and then that started the whole thing and—”

He waved off the story. “Why Zena Zolliope? How did you know about me and her?”

So there
was
something going on. I knew it. My stomach clenched. Good thing Byron had stopped us before we went too far. I guessed her toothbrush was by the sink after all. I felt nauseated. “I know her work. I could tell.”

“How do you know her work? You work down there on Broadway, too?”

“Broadway? Her salon is on Leland.”

The two men looked at each other, baffled. Scythe turned to me. “What does this have to do with her salon?”

“What else would it have to do with? She cuts your hair, you date her. You think I care?”

Scythe and Byron started laughing. “I don’t date her, Reyn.” Scythe tried to sober up. “I let her cut my hair so I will have an excuse to be seen with her.”

“See!”

“She’s an informant. We picked her up doing some extracurricular activities with tourists and turned her in exchange for immunity. We’re working a case that has a john beating prostitutes to death. She was getting close until we heard about the death threat against me and we thought she’d been turned by the perp. It really complicated things.”

Oops.

“Sorry.” I swallowed. “But how was I to know?”

Scythe shook his head. “You couldn’t. It’s just your uncanny ability to step in the dog-pile no matter what you do.”

What an image. Glad he was so enamored that I had him seeing me through these rose-colored glasses.

He reached into his closet and shrugged into a clean, starched shirt. He threw Byron a set of keys he’d taken out of his pocket. “Keep your eye on her at all times. I’ll be in touch.” On his way out the door, he leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “Be good.”

“Hold on a minute! What’s going on?” Whatever it was, I didn’t like it.

“I tried to put you under house arrest at your own house, but you had midnight tea with how many suspects?” Scythe ran his hand through his bad haircut. I wondered how long this informant hairstyling gig was going to last. “So, I decided the only way to keep you safe, keep you from accidentally starting rumors that bollix up investigations, is to keep you under house arrest at my house, with my bodyguard. When we have it all wrapped up and tied with a bow, I’ll be back.” He looked me up and down. “And Byron will be excused so we can finish what we started.”

“In your dreams.”

“We can do all that, too.”

With a wink and that promise, Scythe was gone.

I didn’t know how those people who were witnesses against the big crime bosses did it. They were kept for months in gross little motel rooms eating pizza and Twinkies, watched by some smelly, scratching cop who pulled the short straw and favored the Sci-Fi Channel. I had a big log cabin with an awesome view for miles, a larder stocked with gourmet fare, and a guard who wasn’t half-bad-looking, smelled like Irish Spring, and liked HBO.

And I was still going crazy.

It was only twelve hours into my exile. Scythe had called Byron earlier, asked to talk to me, and said he’d explained to Bettina that I was under the weather and wouldn’t be at work for a couple of days. Guess what they were all thinking back at Transformations? Accused of fun I wasn’t having. That wasn’t fair.

Byron refused to let me watch or listen to any news. I was allowed to answer my cell phone so my absence wouldn’t send up a general panic, but only under strict supervision.

“You see her legs?” Byron motioned to the television, where Angelina Jolie was rising from a swimming pool. She did have super legs. “Long but shapely, that’s how I like them. None of this stick-leg stuff for me.”

I wondered what he thought about my legs, since he’d seen more of them than most of my dates did. Not long, maybe shapely. I didn’t think I ought to ask.

I smiled absently as he waxed poetic about his favorite woman’s legs. I wished I could show him the best pair of legs I’d ever seen. They belonged to my best friend.

Wait just a minute.

I had an idea.

Trudy and I might be on the outs, but she’d be there for me in a pinch. I was seriously pinched. I dialed, praying that she hadn’t lost the ability to read my mind and catch a hint. Byron sat up and turned down the volume on the movie. I felt a little guilty until I realized the legs didn’t talk, so he wasn’t missing much.

“Reyn.” Trudy’s voice sank to a conspiratorial level. “I heard you had a big night last night.”

What? Was it in the newspaper? It was only ten o’clock in the morning.

“Right.”

“So, did you culminate your deal?”

“Not quite. Unless it included a threesome.” One day we were going to have to get this cleared up. The whole deal thing was still a little nebulous for me. Scythe knew. Trudy knew. I didn’t know.

“There was not supposed to be any threesome! What do you mean, not quite?”

“We got interrupted. He had to leave.”

Byron shot me a warning look. I smiled and tried to look subservient. It was an effort.

“Jackson’s gone?” Trudy was aghast.

“Yes.”

“Where did he go?”

“No telling.”

“If he’s gone, then why aren’t you at work?”

“Some days you just gotta take a break, enjoy some peanuts.”

Byron looked around at our array of chips and dip, puzzled. I got up to go to the kitchen. Floresville was the peanut capital of Texas. I held my breath.

“Reyn, are you in Floresville?”

“Yes, I am.” I let my breath out slowly.

“What are you doing there?”

“Yep, some days you’ve just got to enjoy the view, and the water this time of year seems to run so fast.”

“You’re on a hill and next to a creek.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re at Scythe’s. He’s got you handcuffed to a chair, doesn’t he? Bastard. I’m going to find you.”

“You know, I was just thinking a little while ago, I’d love to have a pair of those short shorts you just bought—you know, the red leather ones?”

“What does that have to do with—” Trudy paused. “Never mind. I’ll wear them.”

A leg, tanned and long, bearing bloodred toenails and five-inch gold spike heels appeared in the window next to the television set an hour and a half later. Byron did a double take as it flexed like a stripper’s back and forth, forth and back. I thought I saw spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. He licked his lips. The leg disappeared.

“Did you see that?” Byron asked me.

“What?” I looked up from the
Cosmo
I’d found on the table. I wanted to know if Scythe subscribed to
Cosmo,
a girlfriend had left it, or he was considerate enough to have stocked reading material specifically for me.

“Nothing,” Byron mumbled. He rubbed his eyes, took a swig of his coffee, and looked back at the television.

The other leg appeared, in the window on the other side of the television. Same drill. I definitely saw some slobber on Byron’s mouth this time. “There!” He pointed.

“Oh, yes.” I nodded toward the flexing leg. “Looks like we have company. Should I go answer the door?”

He jumped up. “No! I’ll go. Why don’t you lie low?”

“Good idea. It’s probably one of Scythe’s girlfriends. You know, one of the Flavors of the Week, or whatever y’all call them at the cop shop. I’d hate it if she got the wrong idea and ruined his date for the weekend. I’ll just hide around the corner here.”

His eyebrows drew together like he felt sorry for me. “Okay.”

I ducked out and peeked around the corner as Byron opened the door and nearly fell to his knees. Trudy had almost overdone it, in a nearly see-through white halter top and those hip-hugging, butt-cupping red leather shorts. “I’m looking for Jackson,” she whined.

“Uh, I’m sorry, ma’am, but he’s not here right now….”

Giving Trudy the thumbs-up, I pointed toward the right side of the house. She sent me a half wink as she pointed to her knee and complained of an owee. Byron was in another world. I tiptoed fast to the bathroom, closed the door silently, turned the lock, and climbed into the tub. I yanked at the window and nearly lost hope until I heard a small crack, and it gave way. Hoisting myself up, I shimmied my torso through and then, with an extra shimmy or two, my heinie, and let myself drop headfirst onto the ground, which was a lot harder than it looked.

“Oof.”

I wasn’t sure where all my body parts were when Trudy came prancing up. All I saw were spike heels and toenails.

“Mangy minxes and conscientious con men, Reyn, get a move on. We’ve got to split this sundae. He’s onto us.”

That’s when I heard banging at the bathroom door. By the time I got up and started to run, I heard the splitting of wood. Oops. Scythe was not going to be happy about this.

Trudy was flying down the hill. Don’t ask me how she did it in spikes, but she did. I, on the other hand, was barefoot and catching every sticker between here and there. Limping, I caught up with her as we reached the oaks next to the creek. “Where are we going? Where’s your car?”

“Mario took it. We’re taking this.” She dragged a six-foot skiff out of the bushes and shoved it into the water. She put one high heel in and let the other sink into the muck on the bank. I bet those were Manolos I was going to have to buy. Trudy was a shoe freak, and no set of heels was too expensive. She probably went out shopping just for this.

I hopped in the boat and nearly tipped it over. With much not-too-graceful throwing around of weight, we got it rebalanced. Trudy shoved off, and we were water-borne.

Now, I know Huck Finn had a bunch of excitement while he was floating on a raft down the river, but let me tell you something. Water moves slowly. I swear he experienced all his adventures along a two-mile stretch of the Mississippi, because what seemed like hours later, even with a paddle, I don’t think we were three hundred yards farther than when we started.

“What’s your plan, exactly?” I tried to be diplomatic. After all, she had busted me loose successfully.

“We’re going to float until we reach someplace recognizable, then I’m going to call Mario, and he’ll pick us up.” Trudy was very proud of her plan.

We looked around us. Oaks and cypress and more oaks.

“Well, you’re free, aren’t you? And I don’t think they’ll think to look for us escaping by the Cibolo.”

“True.” Scythe just thought he knew me. Wait till he found out about this.

“I say the next house we see, we park this getaway skiff and call Mario.”

“But what if Scythe and that leg guy check the neighbors?”

“What are they going to say? ‘Hey, I took this girl on a date and decided to hold her hostage. Her friend came over in red leather hot pants and they got away. Seen them lately?’ No, I think he might put out an APB for me, put some SAPD uniform at my house, but he won’t shake any trees in Floresville. He’s in enough trouble with enough police departments as it is.”

“Really? Why?”

I grinned like the Cheshire cat. Trudy shook her head. “This is no way to get a man, Reyn.”

“I’ve decided men are overrated anyway. Look what the chump did to me last night. What a tease.”

“He did it because he cares about you, Reyn.”

“ ‘He’s not good, he just has good intentions…’ ” I sang.

“You sound like Lyle Lovett,” Trudy groused. She was more of a pop fan, but knew my boy because I played all his CDs until she couldn’t help but memorize them.