by Dale Mayer
A phone buzzed somewhere next to them. Geir made to move, and she moaned in protest. “I have to check it,” he whispered gently, easing out of her arms.
She watched as he picked up his pants and snatched his phone from the pocket.
As soon as he read the message, he bolted to his feet, jumped into his boxers and jeans and pulled his T-shirt over his head. He raced to the door, turned to look back at her, held a finger to his lips and whispered, “Stay here.” And he ran out into the hall.
She sat up, realizing the call must have come from Jager. Desperate to not end up nude in the middle of a gunfight, or whatever kind of fight this would be, she quickly dressed in yoga pants and a sports bra and sat cross-legged on the bed, waiting for one of them to let her know everything was all right. She kept the light off, sitting in the silent dark.
Jager’s message had been clear. One word: Trouble.
Geir slid along the hall toward the studio. The door was open. He peered in. Jager stood beside the French doors.
In a low whisper he said, “Someone came through the backyard and into the house through the French doors of her father’s rooms.”
Geir’s jaw hardened. “Good. Now let’s get the bastard.” Geir went down the back stairway while Jager made his way to the front stairway. Creeping as quietly as he could by putting most his weight on the banisters, off the creaky stairs of an old house, Geir made his way to the bottom and stopped. Somewhere this guy was hiding, and it appeared he’d been in the house enough times that he knew the nooks and crannies, the best places to be. Mentally Geir shifted through the various rooms, wondering where the intruder was going and what he was after.
Just then he heard the sound of papers shuffling in the office. Not understanding what could possibly be of interest there, but knowing Jager was coming down that hallway, Geir slid into her father’s bedroom to see if it was just one intruder or two. Nobody hid in the bedroom. Geir slid back out again, down the hallway toward the office. Still he heard sounds of papers being moved, and he knew Jager would hear it too.
As he came up to the corner and peered around to the office door, he saw Jager holding up a single finger to say one man inside. Perfect. As one they stepped into the room, and Jager said, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
The intruder froze.
Geir flicked on the light, and his eyebrows shot up. “What the hell?”
Ken glared back at him. “What are you two doing down here? Did you break curfew?”
Jager shook his head. “Hardly. I watched you come across the backyard and break into the downstairs room.”
Ken shook his head. “Like hell,” he scoffed.
Geir motioned at the paperwork. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “I was looking for something.”
“Oh, yeah?” Morning said from behind them.
Geir turned and stared at her. “I told you to stay upstairs,” he snapped.
She nodded. She held the mouse in her hand. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
Geir watched as Ken’s gaze locked on it. He frowned, gripped the reservations book and a credit card slip, then said, “I’ll take that too.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t care why it is,” Ken said. “I’m being paid to pick it up, so I don’t give a shit about the reasons behind it.”
“And is the man who hired you driving your getaway vehicle?”
Ken stared at him. “What do you know about a getaway vehicle?”
“Poppy put you up to this?”
Ken froze. “Poppy?”
Jager smiled. “Does that name get to you? Are you one of his little boys?”
The man sneered. “Like hell. No way somebody would do that to me.”
“So why are you here?” Morning snapped. “Why didn’t he show up himself?”
And that’s when a new voice entered the discussion. “He did.” The voice was gravelly behind them.
Suddenly Morning was thrust into the room, and the second man entered, only this one held a handgun.
He stared at Ken and sneered. “You couldn’t even retrieve the damn stuffed mouse. You’re the one who placed it here, and you couldn’t even find it again. That’s what I get for picking a wannabe. But you were the only local I could get on short notice.”
Ken stared back at him. “What the hell? You sent me in here to do the job. You should have just left me to do it.” He waved at the gun. “That’ll only make things worse.”
The stranger stood beside them. Geir took a quick look, noticing his features. He was a man in his mid- to late sixties, big, but almost Santa-friendly looking until he smiled. A nasty little smile. He wondered if Ken had any idea just how dangerous Poppy was.
“Poppy, I presume?” Geir asked. He heard Morning’s gasp of shock.
She turned to look at him. “It is you.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Do you know me?”
She nodded. “I used to live in the house across the street from your house.”
“So, you were one of those kids who used to come over all the time?”
She shook her head. “No, I avoided you like the plague.” Her voice was hard. “You were always after little boys. I knew because I was a girl that I was safe, but I didn’t want anything to do with you.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’d better watch your mouth, young lady.”
She snorted. “Why should I? You sent this asshole into my home to torment me … to torment my guests … and for what? What the hell were you expecting?” she scoffed. “You can’t use the same tricks you use on little boys with big ones. So you had to be sending a message to them.”
“You don’t know nothing,” Poppy roared. “It was a message. But you don’t know what kind. And obviously they are too stupid too.”
Geir wished she would choose this time to put the brakes on instead of deciding to be independent and stand up to a gunman. “What message?” Geir asked, trying to calm Poppy down. “That you can get at us anywhere? Anytime? Considering that we caught your messenger, then I guess the joke’s on you.”
Geir just needed the right moment to lunge forward. But, as long as that gun was pointed at Morning, he had no chance to grab it. It might go off accidentally, and no way in hell would he get her hurt.
Jager was on the other side of him. They exchanged a hard glance, and suddenly Poppy fired the gun.
Morning cried out in shock.
Ken collapsed over her desk, spreading blood all over her paperwork as it gushed from the bullet hole in his forehead.
But for Jager it was perfect. With that deadly left of his, he coldcocked Poppy right in the throat. With a weird gurgling sound, Poppy fell forward, flat-faced into the carpet.
Geir jumped on him, grabbing the gun from his hand, tossing it to Jager, pulling the old man’s hands together to secure them behind his back. He need not worry because Poppy was out cold. And, unfortunately, his face looked to be red, as he struggled to breathe.
Shit,” Geir roared. He ripped open the old man’s shirt and checked his breathing. “Call for an ambulance,” he ordered Jager. “The last thing I want is to have this asshole die before we get answers.”
Geir watched his chest rise and fall steadily while they waited for the cops to show up. Poppy was breathing but still unconscious. Geir didn’t know if Jager’s chop to the throat had done this or if all the excitement had caused a heart attack. By the time the cops got here and the ambulance arrived, Geir was afraid it would be too late. He had mixed emotions about performing CPR on this sick pedophile, but he decided he would, if it came to that.
The sirens could now be heard blocks away.
And suddenly paramedics pushed Geir out of the way.
He stepped off to the side, pulled Morning into his arms and walked her onto the front porch. A car pulled up to the front of the house. Jager had contacted the same detective, who was ready to go into action when they called. He got out of his car and raced tow
ard them.
“It’s Poppy,” Geir said. “He shot the man he sent here after us. We wrestled the gun away and him to the ground, but he’s having a medical emergency of some kind—possibly a heart attack. I don’t know if he’ll make it. I’ll be freaking pissed if he doesn’t. We need answers from him.”
The detective went inside but was brushed out of the way as the paramedics wheeled Poppy to the ambulance.
Jager came out with the detective. The four watched as the ambulance pulled away. The detective looked at Geir and Jager. “So does bad shit naturally happen around you guys, or are you really talented in that area?”
It was Morning who burst out laughing. “You know? That might be the best question asked tonight.” She stood in the circle of Geir’s arms. “These guys saved my life, and I won’t forget that.”
The detective looked down at her and smiled. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a couple guardian angels.”
She nodded. “And, for that, I’m very grateful.”
The detective sighed. “It’ll be a long night. Let’s get started with your statements.”
Chapter 15
Many hours later, Morning bustled around the kitchen, putting on coffee and trying to show some spirit. She wasn’t exactly sure what was happening. She was afraid the men were leaving, and her heart was already aching. She thought about everything that had happened and how her house, her safety net, had been ripped away by Poppy’s activities. She stopped and stared out in the backyard, thinking about the man who had run across it.
It had probably been Ken, and he’d been in the house as one of her guests. He was the one who had tossed the rooms. He was the one who had placed the stuffed mouse on her father’s bed. Its sole purpose was a psychological dig into the minds of Geir and Jager as they sought information regarding their teammate Mouse. She was grateful she knew now, but, at the same time, it was horrifying to think somebody could just come into her place and do something like that.
A hand, gentle and warm and huge, landed on her shoulder. She turned to see Geir looking down at her, a worried look on his face. She bolstered a smile. “I’m fine, just lots to think about.”
He nodded and tugged her into his arms for a quick hug. “Hopefully the worst of it’s over now.”
She nodded, her eyes downcast. She chewed on her bottom lip until he reached out his finger, nudging her chin up.
“What’s the matter?”
She took a huge breath. “Are you leaving now?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment, just stared into her eyes. “Soon, yes.”
She nodded and stepped back, trying to detach herself from the pain she knew was already coming.
“Are you staying here?”
She turned to look at him. “Do you mean, in the house?”
“In the house, in San Diego?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Everything has happened so fast. Do I want to stay here any longer? No, not now.” She brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Am I open to options? Yes. Absolutely, yes.”
Just then Jager walked into the kitchen. “That was the detective. Poppy is awake at the hospital and wants to know if we want to meet with him there.”
Geir snapped to action. “We so do.” He turned to look at her. “Will you be okay if we disappear for a little bit?”
She smiled and nodded. “I’ll be fine.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s eight o’clock. I have to be at the gallery at ten anyway.”
He smiled, leaned closer, kissed her hard and said, “I’m sorry I can’t accompany you like I had originally planned. But don’t worry. You’ll be great.”
And just like that they were gone. She scrubbed her face, tears already in the corners of her eyes. She’d be great, huh? Maybe not so much anymore. But she didn’t have time to wallow.
She had to wrap the paintings and get them into the car securely. And that would take some time. Plus, get herself presentable.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and walked up to the studio, happy the worst was over. She hoped Poppy lived, and she hoped he went to prison for the rest of his life. So many lives had been ruined. She couldn’t even imagine how Ken got involved in this. What kind of money do you pay to have somebody stay in a bed-and-breakfast and just cause general chaos? She realized Ken was toying with Geir and Jager and likely checking to see what they’d learned about Poppy and Mouse—if anything.
After getting dressed, she headed to her studio. There she opened the French doors, turned on the lights, smiled when she saw the painting she’d completed the night before. She unfolded a table she kept up there and brought out canvas wrapping. Gently she wrapped the four paintings, doing the black one last.
Carefully she carried them one at a time to her car, placing them in the back, the seat folded down so the canvases could lie on top of each other. When they were secured, she went back inside, checked herself in the mirror to make sure she looked okay, which today was white capri pants, a turquoise blouse with three-quarter-length sleeves that flowed and a matching scarf in her hair. She had applied a little bit of makeup, then decided she looked bohemian enough today to be an artist. Besides, after only a few hours’ sleep, she could do only so much to hide her lack of sleep. She grabbed her purse and her keys, locked up the house and walked out.
At her car she stopped and took another look at the place she’d called home for a long time. The thing was, it didn’t feel like home anymore. Maybe it never would again.
As she sat in her car, she put on her seat belt and slowly backed out of the driveway. She stopped when she saw Nancy crossing the street to go to Morning’s house to look after the place, holding up a big sign that read You’ll be great. Good luck.
Morning honked her horn and headed to the gallery.
This was such a momentous time for her, along with everything else that had gone on recently. It had helped her set her priorities straight. And she realized how much she wanted to paint, how much she wanted to explore this new part of herself, this new technique, this new bit of creation. She didn’t even know how to explain it.
Half an hour later, she pulled into the gallery parking lot and walked inside to see if Leon was there. He was waiting for her.
“Did you bring the paintings?” he asked, his tone brisk.
She took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll get them from the car.”
He nodded. “Place whatever you brought on that table.” He pointed to it.
With a quick nod again, she walked outside to her car and carefully unloaded the four canvases. When she had them on the table, she stood nervously beside them. They were still wrapped.
He waved at them impatiently. “Open them up.”
She unwrapped them, realizing he had set out four easels for her. The paintings could only be seen from one corner in the room. She took a deep breath and carefully placed each one on an easel until everything was presented properly. There was no sign of him.
She waited nervously.
Finally he came out of his office, the look on his face bland, as though he were only going through the motions, like he didn’t want to be here. Or rather, didn’t want her to be here. He walked around to stand at her side.
He took a look. She heard him catch his breath, noted the way he leaned in, his gaze narrowing as he silently moved from one painting to the next, then back to the first again. His shoulders relaxed, his demeanor changing, and finally he turned to her. “You’re very talented.”
She’d been holding herself so tensely, but now she wanted to throw her arms around him, hug him. But she didn’t dare. She did manage to force out a light breath, and, with an elegant nod, she said, “Thank you.”
Inside she couldn’t stop smiling.
“Any idea what she’ll do with the place?” Jager asked as they walked into the hospital.
“No clue,” Geir said. “Hate to see her stay in it all alone though. The nightmares alone could be pretty rough.”
Both men nodded. They knew exa
ctly what nightmares entailed and how debilitating they could be. “Do you think she’ll move?”
“I don’t know,” Geir said softly. “It’s hardly fair to ask her. This is her home.”
“Oh, I think that cocoon has been ripped open already. I think a butterfly is ready to emerge,” Jager said. “All butterflies have an instinctive homing ability. You just point her in the direction, and she’ll come quite happily.”
“Is it fair though?”
“Absolutely it is. She can paint anywhere in the world. And, after this show, if you’re right and if her paintings are as good as you say they are, she’ll make a hell of a name for herself. New Mexico is big in the arts too. She would no longer be limited to just San Diego.”
Geir nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. But I don’t want to rush her. I could come back in a week or two, maybe stay with her for a few days, see how we do.”
“You could. But I have a suspicion you won’t need to.”
They walked up to the room they were told Poppy was in to see a policeman standing guard outside. He took one look at them and barked, “Who are you?”
They identified themselves and said Detective Nelson was expecting them.
The cop nodded, opened the door, poked his head in and told the detective, who apparently was inside, that they were here. The policeman nodded, and the two men entered.
Another guard was inside. Poppy was no longer the big robust man he’d been with a gun. The bravado and stuffing was gone. The heart attack had taken much of that away from him. He glared at the men. Even the defiance in his eyes was only half-hearted. Finally he asked, “Why do you care about me after all this time? Isn’t it too late to give a damn?”
“We know you shot the young man in one of your houses and Ken in the B&B office. But the dead man found in your house, stabbed weeks or months ago? Plus the dead man in an alley, … are they both your victims?” Jager asked.
Poppy stared as if trying to remember a couple victims from a pool of possibilities. Then he gave a slight disinterested shrug. “I don’t know the victim in the alley, but the lifestyle of those who spend time there is dangerous.”
