by Linda Welch
I woke folded to Royal’s side, my leg over his flat belly, my cheek on his chest. “Mm.”
His lips touched my hair. “Morning, sweetheart.”
“Oh, god. I don’t want it to be morning. I hate this morning already.”
His voice turned husky. “We can make it better.”
I smiled against his skin.
“Unless you wore yourself out last night.”
I opened my eyes. “Last night?” I frowned at the ceiling, trying to recall the evening before. We got inside our motel room; I stripped and fell in bed. I went out like a light.
“Last night,” he echoed. His hand cupped the side of my head. He kissed my brow. “You were magnificent.”
I was?
I tried to move away, but his hand held my cheek against him. “Royal, what are you talking about?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know. I will not believe you.” He released my head and ran one finger over my collarbone. “I thought the agents would burst in with weapons drawn, the noise you made.”
I drew my brows together. “Noise? What are you. . . ?”
The light dawned. Another of Royal’s sneak tease attacks, one doomed to failure, because I would never forget our making love.
“A nasal symphony of epic proportions.”
My mouth dropped open. He meant I snored? I knew I didn’t snore; Jack and Mel would delight in telling me if I did. They would get a lot of mileage out of that.
“I do not snore!”
I went up on one elbow and ripped the pillow from beneath his head. His skull hit the headboard with a satisfying thunk.
“Ow!”
“That’s what you get for - ”
A pillow hit me in the face. Grinning, I wrestled it down, grasped two corners and swung.
With a minor burst of demon speed, Royal eeled out of bed. I hit the bedside lamp instead. It crashed to the floor. The bulb exploded, a crack like a pistol shot.
I sat back on my haunches. Royal stood beside the bed in all his naked glory. Vanderkamp and Gunn had separate rooms either side of ours. I strained my ears for sounds from either room.
“Did they hear us,” I whispered. If they came to our room, they’d ask how we broke the lamp. If Gunn sneered at me one more time I would slap him.
“Our agents are still asleep.”
“You’re sure they didn’t bug our room?”
“Positive.”
I am suspicious where the FBI is concerned. I would not put it past them to book our rooms in advance and plant audio and/or visual devices. They could tell the clerk to pretend he gave us which room happened to be available when in fact it was prearranged.
Royal didn’t laugh at me; he knows how devious the Bureau can be.
Though, it would mean the FBI mistrusted us. That idea made me even twitchier, but it’s the way I am. I’m suspicious by nature. I don’t take much at face value.
Royal bent over, dropped a kiss on my brow and sauntered to the bathroom.
I saw a small coffeemaker on a tray atop the dresser and went over there to investigate. Barely enough grounds for two cups, two sachets of sweetener and a tiny pot of dry creamer. It was better than nothing, so I went in the bathroom to fill the carafe as Royal came out.
We sat in the queen-size bed sipping coffee, until Royal made a face and put his cup aside. Poor Royal, he likes his coffee gritty with sugar, but we didn’t have enough.
I tapped my mug with my fingernail. “This doesn’t add up. FBI headquarters track us down on our vacation and send agents to shanghai us, because they want a medium’s help?” I shook my head, making my braid bounce on my spine. “Set aside they want a psychic - why me? They must have mediums in DC.”
His forehead pinched. “They said they kept tabs on you, perhaps not you alone, but you are the best of them. But I cannot get past that they are using a psychic.”
I put my cup on the bedside table. “Me neither.” I drew my knees up and yawned as I pushed my arms above my head. “Go with the flow, I guess. I’m for a shower.”
He gave me a purely wicked grin. “Want company?”
***
The heat and humidity smacked me like a gigantic damp hand as we left the motel. I felt the weight of moisture in the unmoving air. I didn’t waste time climbing in the waiting SUV as Royal put our cases in the back. I took a long drink of water from my bottle before putting it in the cup holder.
How many black SUVs with tinted windows does the FBI own? They must have fleets all over the nation.
Twenty minutes later we drove along rural roads. I didn’t know Arkansas was beautiful. Green, hilly, lush terrain. Grass banks climbed to forests so dense with trees and wild shrubbery, I bet you’d need a machete to hack a trail through them. We passed scattered houses and hamlets on the way to Bella Vinca.
The road narrowed as we drove through a small valley shaped like a bowl set in rolling hills. The hill to the east had been cut into, leaving a shelf backed by bare rock where the skeletons of two large homes waited for walls and roofs. We wound up the side of the bowl, condominiums clustered below us. The valley floor spread beyond them, a dark-green swath dotted with too many copse, ponds and homes for me to count. Carts trundled over a golf course and stood in neat rows outside the club house.
We gained the brow of the hill and angled in to a forest. Leaves cast dappled shadows over the road as the sun climbed higher. I heard yapping over the hiss of the car’s air-conditioning. A man on the roadside tossed a stick for his excited, bouncing border collie and the dog bounded off among the trees.
The road divided, giving us the choice of a sharp turn right, or left through iron gates joined to tall stone pillars. A big wrought-iron sign on one pillar said Bella Vinca in big, curling letters. We bumped over a cattle grid which spanned the road, and were through.
Nestled in the forest, Bella Vinca is a community for wealthy residents and well-to-do vacationers who love golf and boating. I have never seen so many manmade lakes and golf courses in such a small area, but the dense terrain which separates them makes you think you’re in the middle of nowhere, your personal paradise.
Parked in a cul-de-sac, a deputy leaned on his car. He straightened as we pulled up. Gunn got out the SUV to talk to him, leaving the engine idling.
Yellow police tape made a barrier at the top of a steep paved driveway which split narrow manicured lawns and box-pruned privet hedges. Behind the hedges, trees either side the driveway gave the Fensham home some privacy from other properties. Although it opened out wider down below, the property was narrow with other homes close on both sides. Developers packed a lot on the banks this side of the lake.
“Is it still an active crime scene?” Royal asked Vanderkamp.
“No, but the clean-up crew hasn’t been in yet and there’s the usual problem with sightseers. Some local teens tried to sneak inside the house yesterday.”
Tragedy attracts people and keeping them off what constituted a small estate would be difficult. I wondered how long the sheriff’s department would have to keep a man in place. “When did you say it happened?” I asked.
“Three weeks ago,” Vanderkamp said.
The customary small army of forensics experts and detectives did their job and left long ago, but the cleaners had not been in. I could think of only one reason for that. As I suspected, the Bureau investigated serial killings and another incident occurred recently, so they kept this scene available longer than normal.
The deputy slumped on his car again. Gunn walked back to the SUV
A pale wood sign with black lettering at the top of the driveway gave the Fensham home a name: Treselik. I looked down the dramatically sloping driveway to where it circled a large fountain shaped like a giant stone ewer in a basin, but no water played in the air. The house was medium sized, one-level, cream and honey stone and octagonal windows. I saw an expanse of grass behind the house, a small stand of tall trees, and the morning sun spreading a glittering path over the lake beyond.
We drove down the driveway. How much snow does Arkansas get in winter? Navigating a driveway this steep if snow- and ice-packed would be hell.
We pulled up outside the entrance, the double doors beneath a small porch supported by slim round columns. I admired the subtly tinted flights of hummingbirds etched into glass panes either side of the doors. The branches of a tall tree dipped over the roof of an attached triple garage which ran to the right. The land behind the house fell to the green turf and graceful trees I’d seen from the top of the driveway. Some kind of statuary stood in front of the trees. Beyond that, the lake stretched for miles, the banks rising to become lost in trees and impenetrable undergrowth. I saw homes half-hidden in foliage and the chimneys of others poking out the trees higher up.
We got out the car. I felt stiff, and groaned a little as I pushed my arms skyward. Royal put one hand on my right shoulder and kneaded. I leaned into his hand gratefully. The humidity made the still, heavy air feel like the inside of a sauna, popping sweat out on my face. I tried a sauna once; didn’t like it.
Solomon Gunn looked cool in his dark suit. I silently cursed him as my skin flushed. I wanted air-conditioning and an enormous diet cola, and to take my shoes off.
Vanderkamp walked toward the left corner of the house. “We found the son down here.”
Royal gave my shoulder one last press before following Vanderkamp. I came behind him with Gunn trailing me. Vanderkamp went down concrete steps which twisted to the rear.
We went down, and down, and down. I knew I misjudged the house when we walked out on the lawn. Built into the hillside, it was not a modest size. I gazed up at a three-floor mansion, square until it came to the northeast corner, which was octagonal, like a tower attached to the house. A wood deck sat low to the ground and another girdled the first floor, with railings and steps leading down to the lawn. As the men moved toward the huddled trees, I walked east and saw that a fine mesh screened the deck beyond the octagon.
A narrow inlet from the lake ended at a small boathouse, the roof poking above the bank. Steps beyond the octagonal tower led down to a round gravel area with a fire pit and wooden benches. A small motor boat cut through the lake a quarter mile out, its wake spreading to make water lap against the grassy bank.
“Miss Banks!” Vanderkamp called.
I glanced back over my shoulder. The agents and Royal stood about twenty feet out from the house, near the trees. Giant figures loomed behind them; the statues I’d seen from the road were not statues but tall metal cutouts, an Indian chief with his horse. They had that oil-on-water effect, iridescent metallic hues. They must have cost a bundle.
Vanderkamp pointed at the turf as I joined him. “The son was here.”
I didn’t see anyone. I would notice right off. The lawn had not been mowed for weeks and dying leaves drifted over the grass. No blood or crushed blades. Perhaps it rained recently, but I had a sneaky suspicion the agents were testing me.
I shook my head. “I don’t get anything. He didn’t die out here.”
Gunn treated me to his trademark smirk. I curled my lip at him.
I heard a strident yell from somewhere off to our left. My breath caught and I think I jumped just a little.
A woman’s voice broke the silence. “Alva! Come back you naughty girl!”
I jumped again, so did the agents, and Royal seemed startled. We turned as one as something rattled through the trees from the property to the west. The agents headed over there with their hands inside their jackets. Royal strode to me and stood close.
A massive black, white and tan Saint Bernard broke free of the tree-line and lollopped over the grass right at us, a long pink leash flapping from its pink collar. It didn’t look like it meant to stop. I saw determination in the dog’s eyes, and something else. It was not a happy pooch; it was mad as hell. Royal stepped in front of me.
With a deep snarl, Cujo leaped at Royal.
With his demon strength, surely he could swat the animal aside, but couldn’t do that with the agents looking on. My heart surged as the dog’s front feet hit Royal’s chest.
I skipped aside as the dog took him down. Letting Royal flatten me would not help anyone.
He fell like a log, the dog riding him to the ground. He lay flat on his back with the dog’s back legs straddling him, its front paws on his chest, holding it away with by its neck as it snarled and snapped at his face, doggy spittle flying everywhere.
Vanderkamp and Gunn had their guns out. “No!” Royal and I yelled at the same time.
Royal smiled into the dog’s eyes and spoke in calm, soothing tones as the agents closed in.
Can a demon put his will on an animal? He’d not tried it with MacKlutzy, who is a bite first and ask questions later kind of dog.
I relaxed when the dog’s snarls lowered in pitch and it made an anxious, inquiring, snuffling noise instead. Royal crooned to it. “Nice girl. Beautiful girl. You’re a lovely, sweet girl.”
The dog panted, dribbling drool on Royal’s shoulder. Its paws scrabbled at his chest for purchase. He carefully helped it off him, whereupon it flopped on the ground and rolled on its back, tail sweeping the long grass in a slow wag. Royal rolled on his side and rubbed his fingers through its belly fur.
A woman broke through the trees and jogged over the grass to us, bits of leaf and a twig falling from her long auburn hair. She skidded to a stop a few feet away and clasped her hands together at her waist, her expression anguished. “Are you all right? Is Alva all right? I am so sorry; she’s too strong for me. I couldn’t hold her, she pulled the leash out my hand.”
Royal sat up. “We’re fine, thank you.” He continued to stroke the dog’s belly. “She’s a wonderful girl. She was just confused.”
The woman pushed the heel of her hand across her forehead. “She’s unhappy and jumpy after what happened.”
“What happened?” I couldn’t resist squatting beside Royal so I could stroke the lovely animal. Um, I mean the dog, not Royal, although he’s every bit as lovely an animal.
“This is Mrs. Waterson,” Vanderkamp said as he stepped closer. “The dog belonged to the Fenshams. She agreed to take it, otherwise it would be in the local kennel.”
“I’ve always loved Alva,” Mrs. Waterson said. “She knows me. It’s just that she’s been acting . . . funny, since. . . .”
Her gaze came to rest on Royal’s face, and then slowly traveled down. I understood - checking out the bod. Been there, done that, and hoped to do so every opportunity given me. But I unintentionally gave her a stern look. I should be used to the effect he has on women, they don’t stand a chance. It’s not their fault he’s a babe magnet. But she was an attractive brunette with large green eyes, kiss-me lips and a lovely figure. Humph.
“This is a crime scene, Mrs. Waterson. Please return to your home,” Gunn said.
“Yes. I know. I’m sorry.” She didn’t take her eyes off Royal. “I hope she didn’t hurt you?” she asked him.
Royal stood and beat at his pants, as if trying to remove the grass stain decorating one thigh. “No harm done.”
She passed both hands over her hair, pushing it behind her ears. “I’ll take Alva back, but I’m next door if you need anything.”
I might not have existed for all the notice she took of me.
I bent, grabbed up the end of Alva’s leash and held it out to her. “Here you go.”
She gave me a thin smile and took the leash, nodded, about-turned and walked back to her house, towing an uncooperative Alva. Alva would rather stay with Royal. I bet Mrs. Cute Brunette was of the same mind.
“Shall we go inside?” Vanderkamp suggested from behind me.
I gazed at the big house. “I go in alone.”
“Ah. Not possible. It’s a crime scene,” he said as he came around to face me.
I jogged my head to one side. “Not any more, it’s not. Anyway, I’ve been at plenty of crime scenes. I know the routine. I won’t disturb anything.”
“So
rry. Not going to happen.”
“You don’t understand, Agent. I go in alone or not at all. That’s how I operate.”
“Not this time,” Gunn put in.
I made a face. “Okay. Fine. Let’s go.”
They followed me to the house, but stopped when I veered south and put my foot on the first concrete step.
“The door back here is open,” Vanderkamp said.
“Go ahead, take your time. I’ll wait in the car.”
“Jesus Christ,” Gunn said in an undertone.
I kept going, fairly skipping up the steps, an achievement when the air clogs the breath in your lungs.
“Please come back, Miss Banks,” Vanderkamp called.
I turned on the step. “Give me a reason.”
“Let’s talk about it.”
“I understand your skepticism.” Man, this humidity could kill me. I sat on the step. “But you guys came after me, I didn’t volunteer, so I figure someone in the Bureau believes in what I do even if you don’t. I have to be alone or it doesn’t work. Simple as that.”
Sheesh, Tiff, you do realize you just lied to an FBI agent, right? But they couldn’t know that.
Vanderkamp flicked one hand at me. “Give us a second?” Both agents went into a huddle.
The agents separated. Vanderkamp walked to the steps. “Okay, Miss Banks, it’s all yours.” He didn’t say it out loud, but I heard the but. . . .
I stood. “I will not touch a thing.”
Royal gave me a tiny smile, just a stretch of the lips, but his eyes were somber. He knew interaction with shades could be hard on me and this one promised to be a lulu.
We walked back to the wood steps up to the deck. Royal pulled me in and his hands pressed my shoulder blades. I thought his demon warmth combined with the heat and humidity likely to fry me. “Be careful, Tiff,” he breathed into my hair.
The house was empty, or he would sense a presence, yet he still worried. He wanted to be at my side in case I needed him. I smiled, picked a dead leaf off his lapel, dotted a kiss below his ear. “If I need you, I know you’ll be there in a heartbeat.”
