by Angie West
“Oh, my God.” Lindsey gasped, grabbing at Kate’s arm. “They’re on the floor, too.”
“This entire room is made of mirrors. Walls, floor…” Kate glanced up. “Ceiling.” She uncurled her fingers from around her cousin’s sleeve and tip-toed further across the glass floor, noticing that behind her, the other two women’s steps were also halting and cautious.
She had the worst sense of vertigo. The room was one giant, seamless box that reflected their numb shock back at them in stark clarity; there was not a dust bunny in sight here. This room looked like it had been Windexed to within an inch of its life, and Kate had the stomach-dropping sensation of walking on thin air, like the entire floor could drop out from beneath them at any second.
“And Viola couldn’t afford to fix up the outside of the house and replace the whole roof?” Olivia asked skeptically. “Do you have any idea how much something like this must have cost?”
“Why did she do this?” Lindsey wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” Kate murmured.
“Well…” Olivia was the first to recover. “Now you have a kinky sex room.”
“Wonderful,” Kate said dryly.
“But I guess that explains the shadow you saw.” Olivia shrugged, still eying the room like the foreign thing that it was. “Reflection.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Kate swallowed, unease creeping along the edge of her spine as she ushered the other two out of the room and down the stairs. Olivia passed her the shiny new house key the locksmith had delivered to the hotel earlier in the day, and Kate locked up.
Outside, a sudden crash and accompanying four-letter word had all three women swiveling toward the house next door in time to see a tall figure in a flowered sundress and big hair trip over her mile-high stilettos. Shards of broken pottery, spilled flowers, and dirt littered the walkway. The woman righted herself, stepped over the mess, and tottered into her own house without looking at the open-mouthed trio on the sidewalk.
“Oh, my…” Kate uttered, clapping a hand to her mouth. Beside her, Lindsey giggled.
“You’d better steer clear of that one, Kate.” Olivia stared after the platinum blonde and shook her head. “Bad neighbors can make your life a living hell.”
Chapter Two
Bad Day
He was wearing a dress.
Jaxson hated his life. It wasn’t enough that he worked long hours and hadn’t had a day off in six months. It wasn’t enough that he worked like a slave—most of the time, anyway. Such mundane, everyday shit, he could handle. Hell, most days he didn’t even mind being so underpaid, but this… He grimaced as he caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror.
This was too much. It was official; he’d reached an all-time low. Now they had him wearing a goddamn dress. It was enough to make a man want to quit but he couldn’t, not until they caught the bastard. And of course, like a puppet on a string, his freedom was not his own. The New York City DA was his puppet master, and if Jaxson wanted to avoid hard time, he had to dance to their tune. Literally.
With this final thought, he once again eyed the bright pink taffeta with disgust, slammed his feet into the pair of matching size-eleven pumps, grabbed his shell pink, beaded clutch—God, he was carrying a purse, too—and stalked out the front door. He was brought up short an instant later when the hem of his calf-length gown snagged on an old, rusted nail. He froze, cursing as the fabric caught and pulled on the sharp end of the nail.
Carefully, he freed the delicate fabric and inspected it for tears. He didn’t know jack about sewing, and he’d be damned if he’d visit a tailor like this. Ditto for hitting up the local boutiques for a replacement dress. It had been hard enough to find “evening wear” in New York to fit his five-foot-eleven frame. But here in this Florida hick town? Forget it. There wouldn’t be much to find; he’d overheard some of the other dancers in the club talking about what a pain in the ass it was having to order costumes off the Internet. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except he didn’t have a computer here, which meant he’d have to use Crystal Cove’s only public library to place the order. Hell. No.
He shuddered at the thought, eyed the gown one last time, and dropped the hem, satisfied it was still more or less in one piece.
He made it as far as the driveway before Jake stopped him. The seasoned detective slid the dark brown 1984 Buick into the space beside Jaxson’s own half-silver half-rust, aging Plymouth Voyager. Both vehicles were police issued and hand picked for this particular mission.
The department hadn’t chosen them because they were good, serviceable vehicles. They weren’t—a fact Jaxson could personally attest to—hell, most of the time he counted himself lucky to make it to work. Then again, he thought, glancing down at the silk pumps, maybe “lucky” wasn’t the right word.
Regardless, neither car qualified as a reliable vehicle. They coughed, sputtered, and guzzled oil like it was going out of style. But they were nondescript, and fit in well among the cracked sidewalks and older houses in this established, south Florida neighborhood. And it was a good thing to, because he sure as hell didn’t blend in. He didn’t care what Jake said about his elaborate disguise providing the perfect camouflage; no other man in this neighborhood was wearing a goddamn dress.
Jake unfolded his length from the decrepit Buick and stood in the driveway, hands on his hips as he gave Jaxson a slow once-over, lingering on the pink taffeta flounces in the full skirted dress. Jake’s lips twitched and Jaxson glared, a look that clearly said “I dare you to say anything.”
Jake hooted with laughter, and Jaxson realized the glower was lost on the salt-and-pepper haired cop who had seen much worse. Well, that and Jaxson wasn’t exactly the picture of intimidation in his pastel finery. Hell. I’m in hell.
“I give up, who are you supposed to be? Marilyn Monroe?”
“Shut up, Jake.”
“Well, whoever you’re supposed to be, you look like a real class act.” Jake grinned and used one hand to close the drivers’ side door. With a shrill creak, it snapped shut.
“Uh-uh,” Jaxson said. “If you came here to mock me, then forget it. I’m late and I’m not in the mood.” He didn’t tell Jake that it was vintage night at the club. Which, in Jaxson’s opinion, was even worse than the usual pulsing techno music, bump-and-grind atmosphere of the place. It wasn’t as bad as the pink frilly hell that was ladies’ night, though, and that was something. Not that he’d ever admit as much to Jake, or anyone else, for that matter.
He’d cut out his own damn tongue before he’d supply his already over-curious uncle Jake with any of the gory details of how he spent his nights. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the concept of rubber-necking; he’d stare at himself too, dressed in this ridiculous getup. But it didn’t mean he had to share his misery with the people around him, which lately consisted of drag queens and Jake.
Jaxson stepped over the broken flower pot, kicking the thick coral-colored pieces into the overgrown grass beside the porch.
“As a matter of fact, I didn’t come here to give you shit, boy.” Jake strolled across the lawn, grinning when his nephew scowled even harder. “Melanie sent me. Your aunt’s worried about you,” he said, sobering a little as he wiped a hand across his forehead. “But I’ll be happy to be able to report that other than this heat and that dress, you seem to be doing just fine.”
“Yeah. Fine.” Jaxson snorted and shoved his way past his uncle, the man who was responsible for his current predicament. No, that wasn’t fair. Jake hadn’t known about the gambling. His uncle hadn’t known a thing about that until after Jaxson had been arrested. But he damn sure had a hand in arranging this twisted little set-up.
Jake’s hand shot out, latching onto Jaxson’s satin-covered bicep and blocking him from getting to the Voyager. “You could be in prison right now, boy. That judge was looking to make an example of you. It wouldn’t have been a slap on the wrist this time. You’d be sitting hard time. And it could still happen.” His voice lowered so
only his nephew could hear the deep timbre, not that there was anyone around to eavesdrop. “Your sentence is only suspended, and it all depends on your cooperation. So, if you’ve got some fool idea of skipping out…”
Jaxson threw off his uncle’s grasp and snapped, “I’m not.”
“You’re welcome, you know, for saving your worthless ass from doing five to ten in Rikers Island,” Jake said without malice.
“You actually think this is better than prison?” Jaxson hissed. His eyes darted first to one side, then the other before zeroing in on his uncle again. “Dangling like goddamn bait on a hook for some sick, twisted pervert?”
“You’re performing a valuable service for your fellow citizens.”
“I’m wearing a fucking dress!” Jaxson exploded.
“Yeah, that you are, boy. That you are.” Jake chuckled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans and rocking back on his heels.
“I’m going to…work.” He growled the last word, slammed the door, and gunned the engine. The Voyager coughed and sputtered down the block, the wig itched like a son-of-a-bitch, and Jake’s laughter rang in Jaxson’s ears as he headed to the club for another night in pink satin hell.
* * *
It was late when Kate returned home from her first shift at the hospital. Home. She heaved a sigh and rotated her shoulders and a neck that felt stiff and awkward from a night hunched over small print font in bad lighting. There hadn’t been much else to do but catch up on paperwork, and clean. The activity proved to be a poor time filler, though, since the morgue was already in immaculate condition.
The morgue. Hell. She was working in the morgue. Kate cringed as the grim reality sank even further beneath her skin, the reminder of her creepy new job description chilling her in the balmy night air.
If she were more alert, Kate would have been damn angry. After all, she hadn’t spent the last two years in nursing school so she could spend her nights babysitting corpses in the basement of a hospital. Her situation was made bearable only by the fact that the arrangement was temporary. It was a good thing, too, since she was pretty sure she’d go stir crazy if she had to spend too many more nights in that chill, cavernous space, the chemical odor of astringent filling her nostrils until her stomach churned.
Well, Kate sighed, it was a job, and she was getting paid LPN wages. She gripped the edge of the Toyota’s door, fingers pressing into the black rubber seal that rimmed the orange metal as she hauled herself out of the car. For one long moment, she stood in the middle of the driveway and stared in silence at her house.
Her house. The words had only a slightly more natural feel than “the morgue,” and Kate was hard-pressed to say which place felt more foreign and strange. Probably the house, she finally decided, bumping the car door shut and then flinching at the sound. God, she hated even the thought of walking into that dark, empty space. But who knew Lilly would run into Alexandra this afternoon? Then again, why had she told Lilly she didn’t mind staying at the house by herself? She knew her sister would have come home, had she asked her to. But that would have meant explaining why she was loathe to stay alone in the rambling old house, and Lilly was too young to have clear memories of that time in their lives, to remember…
“Shit.” Kate closed her eyes. Why hadn’t she left a lamp burning? A porch light, anything. The creepy old house—which, in full light did not look at all charming—was flat out menacing in the dark.
Sharp-peaked turrets stretched and blurred with the black sky, and shadows danced in the windows with the reflection of a line of cars that passed down her street. A grinning teenage boy leaned halfway out the window of the middle car and shouted a greeting to Kate. Radios blared, then faded as the cars turned the corner. The street was once again quiet, deserted.
A gust of wind kicked up a pile of dead leaves on the sidewalk near the porch. The breeze propelled storm clouds in from the beach far beyond the house, bringing with it a salty air that fairly crackled with static electricity. At the end of her driveway, the street lamp flickered ominously a split second before it went dead. Thick, dark swaths of cloud scudded across the moon. The world went black, and Kate was lost in its shadows.
She gasped, finally spurred to action. The outside no longer felt any safer than the house’s interior and the fine hairs at the back of her neck became cold and shivery, lifted by the breeze that whipped around her as she hurried up the walkway. Sagging wooden steps creaked beneath her weight as she took them two at a time, stumbling onto the porch and skidding to a stop before the ornately carved and beveled front door. She took a deep breath and grasped her key in one hand, clutched the knob firmly in the other. Her heart began to thud painfully in her ears as she attempted to insert the key into the lock. The door swung inward at the slightest pressure. It was already open.
Chapter Three
Boy Meets Girl
There was someone in her house. It took Kate all of ten seconds to figure this out, to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that she wasn’t alone. The creak sounded like a shot in the dark, echoing through the pitch black foyer and robbing Kate of breath as she trembled in the open doorway.
Earlier, when she’d left for work, the door had been locked. Olivia had mentioned in passing that the door had a tendency to stick unless the handle was wiggled just-so, and Kate distinctly recalled twisting the key in the lock, then jiggling and testing said lock on her way out the door. And since she hadn’t yet given Lilly a key of her own, that only left one possible explanation. Someone had broken into her house tonight. Her eyes bore into the gaping darkness of the foyer, unable to discern so much as the outline of the entryway furniture.
The intruder could still be in the house. Ice washed over Kate, and she told herself to move, to run—but she couldn’t. Oh, God, she couldn’t move. It was just like those dreams she used to have. Nightmares where she was surrounded by the dark, running through deserted, fog-shrouded streets and she knew that someone was chasing her, that she needed to run like hell, but…couldn’t. Her muscles coiled now, ready to spring, and still she remained glued to the porch, a fine cold chill working its way over her skin. This was no dream; this was reality. A twig snapped, somewhere to her left, on the other side of the wrap around porch.
No! Kate sprang into action, turning her back on the open doorway, whirling away from the scuffling sound at the other end of the porch, closer now. She stumbled down the steps, tripped over her own feet on the last one, righted herself, and sprinted across the yard. Her gaze darted to the house next door. The windows were all dark; oh Lord, what if there was no one home? What if her neighbor was sound asleep and the intruder grabbed Kate before anyone even answered the door? What would Lilly do without her?
Was the man still behind her? She didn’t know. She couldn’t hear anything over the rush of her own pulse, a steady thrum, thrum, whoosh that filled her ears and blocked out all other sound. She felt like she was running in slow motion—she wasn’t going to make it to her neighbor’s porch. There was no way.
Scream, she commanded herself, sprinting up the wide set of steps and pounding on the front door, hard and frantic, until the sides of her hands ached. She only hoped her neighbor could hear the noise; each time her fists connected with the solid wooden door, it felt slowed-down, muffled. She didn’t dare turn around, expecting at any moment to be snatched roughly from behind.
Suddenly, above the blood rushing through her veins, Kate heard movement on the other side of the door. A loud thump, then a crash and a curse, could be heard from within the house. In the next instant, the door opened a crack and someone peered at her through the narrow opening. The faint glow of a lamp illuminated the man’s face, and relief flooded through Kate in a welcome tidal wave. Only then did she risk throwing a glance over her shoulder. She didn’t see anyone, thank God.
“Can I help you?” The man opened the door a little wider now, glancing right and then left before his gaze settled onto Kate’s face.
“Yes,” she g
asped, gulping lungful after lungful of humid, salty air. “Please help me, someone—” Kate’s gaze swung away from her own yard and back to the man in front of her. She froze. He was wearing makeup. And not just some black liner, either, but a full-out, Tammy Faye deal. “—broke into my house,” she finished, eyes wide and fixed to his face.
“Yeah?” he glowered at her. “Go call a cop.”
“But—” She recoiled when he turned on his high-heeled shoes, stalked back into his house, and slammed the door in her face.
* * *
He didn’t need this shit. Jaxson leaned over to untie the ankle straps on his shoes, then shoved them off, feeling a small measure of satisfaction when his kick sent the strappy heels flying across the kitchen. They hit the cabinet with a sharp thud, and he glowered. The woman’s outline was faintly visible through the sheer peach curtain that covered the heavy block glass window pane in the front door. She hadn’t left.
Jaxson was unaccustomed to the surge of guilt that tightened his chest when he replayed the way he’d just spoken to the woman, but he didn’t particularly regret his sharp tongue. He was tired, his goddamn feet hurt from walking around in those goddamn heels all night, and he’d had his ass pinched by an eighty-five-year-old man tonight. A strange woman interrupting him, and then gawking at his makeup job, when he’d been this close to putting an end to this wretched day and calling it a night, had been the last straw. It was added bullshit that he didn’t need. Like it wasn’t bad enough he was here as the DA’s bitch. Jax had enough problems of his own; the woman outside could damn well take care of her own.
But she was a woman, his conscience whispered. It was a thready, tenuous sound that he hadn’t heard in a very long time. He didn’t want to be hearing it now. Jaxson sighed. The woman said she’d had a break-in. Who was she? Where did she live? Was her intruder still out there, was that someone watching her, maybe even now coming after her? He rested his forehead on the linen-covered glass, cooling down for a second before he grasped the doorknob, twisted, and faced the woman, grim acceptance lacing his tone.
