Dance of the Rogue

by Cris Anson

  “The cast on Dad’s wrist doesn’t let him do much cooking,” the woman said, “so I’m staying here for a few days to fill up his freezer with nuke-and-serve stuff. His buddies told him the EMTs paid a visit here last night. Was it Miss Rosalie? Is she all right?”

  “Rolf, this is Shelley Matheson. Her father lives in that white two-story with blue shutters a few doors down. He’s a retired state policeman who’s always looking out for the neighborhood.

  “This is my friend Rolf,” she added.

  Rolf understood why she wouldn’t want to identify him as a Dwyer until things were verified, but he wondered if he should be annoyed that she didn’t call him Thorvald. Or maybe she felt the same ambivalence he did.

  Fantine began relating Nonie’s accident and current condition to this Shelley woman, but Rolf’s attention had been snagged by her father’s occupation. Former occupation.

  Retired state police.

  How could he get that man into Nonie’s house without alerting Fantine to the niggle in the back of his mind? Or should he just come out and say something?

  “Your dad still awake?” he blurted out.

  “Oh yeah, he’s a night owl. Addicted to the late-night talk shows.”

  “You think he might want to come by and take a look?” He wrapped an arm around Fantine’s shoulder. “I’m sure it was just an accident, but hey, while stuff is still scattered around, I’d be more comfortable if he could eyeball it to make sure we aren’t missing anything that could tell us what happened.”

  He felt Fantine stiffen under his arm, but she said only, “That would be nice, if he’s up to it.”

  Shelley whipped out her cell phone, and by the time Fantine had unlocked the door and set up a pot of coffee to perk, Judd Matheson was walking through the front door.

  Rolf scrutinized the man, Central Casting’s idea of a perfect cop. Square face with grizzled growth of beard, gray hair in a buzz cut, piercing gray eyes that seemed to miss nothing, body squat and solid as a carton of milk. The only jarring note was the white cast on his left hand. And the plaid shorts and white T-shirt paired with sockless brown leather sandals.

  Rolf shook his hand as Fantine returned from the kitchen. She gave them a thumbnail sketch of what Nurse Leon and the Life Monitor System clerk had told them, what they themselves had seen, how they’d tucked Hercules away for later burial.

  “Why don’t you go about your business,” Judd said, “and I’ll just look around.”

  “Okay. Come into the kitchen when you’re done. There’ll be fresh coffee.”

  Shelley gave Fantine a hug. “I still have to clean up the mess from the Bolognese sauce I cooked today. I hope Miss Rosalie’s home soon. She’s such a sweetheart. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. I’m on vacation for the next two weeks and I’ll be in and out of Dad’s during that time.”

  “Thanks.” She escorted the older woman out then returned to the kitchen and picked up the cup of coffee Rolf had poured for her. Her face grew serious, her body language tense.

  “Okay, out with it. What did you see that made you ask Judd to come by?”

  Rolf shrugged. “Nothing. Just a crawly feeling on the back of my neck. I know from how neat the RV looked that you’d want to clean up the hallway as soon as possible, and I simply jumped at the opportunity for a savvy pair of eyes to check it out first.”

  Her smile was tentative. “I suppose it’s smart. I mean, how could she have just…”

  “Yeah. She didn’t strike me as a loose wing nut,” Rolf said. “Especially with a private bath in her suite. She had to have heard something that pulled her out of her bedroom in the middle of the night.”

  They leaned against a counter, sipping coffee neither of them especially wanted, awaiting Judd’s return. When he did, he was writing in a small notebook.

  “This looks serious,” Fantine said by way of greeting.

  “Just a habit of long standing.” Judd tucked the notebook into the back pocket of his shorts and helped himself to a cup of coffee at Fantine’s gesture, taking it black. After a sip, he looked at them speculatively.

  “How many entrances to this house? There’s the front door, of course, and the one in the sunroom. Anything else?”

  Fantine bit her lower lip, apparently distressed by the question. “Underneath the sunroom there’s a basement walk-out door to the backyard.”

  “And the basement stairs, where’s that? I thought it would be under the main staircase, but there’s a half bath there instead.”

  “Right behind you.” She showed him the servants’ stairs, both to the second floor and to the basement, tucked between the kitchen and formal dining room alongside what was euphemistically called a butler’s pantry.

  “Huh. No lock on it,” Judd said, eyeballing the door to the basement. He withdrew his notebook and made more notes. “Upstairs? Fire escape, anything like that?”

  Fantine shook her head. “No.”

  “Who has keys to the place?”

  “Well, I thought Nonie and I were the only ones, but obviously I didn’t know about the lockbox. So I don’t really know who else might have one.”

  “Tell me about the cat. That’s something I can’t figure out.”

  “Poor Hercules,” Fantine said. “We both saw him at the same time. Lying—” she cleared her throat, “lying beside the stairway. You can probably tell where from the pattern of the blood on the floor.”

  “Your camera, Fantine. Show him the pictures.”

  “Oh. I’d forgotten. Rolf suggested—” She snapped her mouth shut. Explanations were unnecessary. She retrieved it from her handbag and handed it to Judd. He scrolled through them without comment then set it on the counter.

  “Want a job on the force?” he asked Fantine. “Looks like you covered every angle.”

  “Ask Rolf. He told me what kinds of pictures to take.”

  Rolf shrugged to hide a shudder. Him? A lawman? “I watch a lot of CSI.”

  “Did Rosalie have any arguments recently? Anyone have a grudge against her?”

  “Nonie? Good grief, no! Everybody loves her.” Fantine tensed. “Judd, you’re not just asking questions out of the blue. What did you find?”

  Rolf intercepted Judd’s glance and knew he’d found something. “She has a right to know. The woman is practically her grandmother, as you probably already know. And Fantine has a head on her shoulders. If she can hare around the Rocky Mountains alone in an oversize box on wheels, she can handle whatever you’ve come up with.”

  Judd took a sip of coffee, obviously stalling. “All right. It appears—”

  The front doorbell rang, along with a peremptory knock. “Police! Anyone home?”

  “What the—” Rolf followed Fantine’s hurried footsteps into the hall.

  “See? The door isn’t locked. I know something’s happened to my aunt.”

  Just as she reached for the door, it swung open to reveal a uniformed officer trying to restrain the man behind him.

  “Uncle Pearce! What on earth?”

  The inside of Pearce’s gut congealed. What the fuck was that blasted woman doing here? She and the gigolo should have been in another state and on their third blowjob by now.

  “I called Aunt Rosalie half a dozen times today and she hasn’t called back.”

  “Yes, I heard a couple of your messages,” Fantine said. “You don’t usually give her a minute-by-minute update of your stock manipulations. What changed that you were so anxious to reach her?”

  “I was worried. I knew you had gone to Pennsylvania and that she was alone. After she fell the other day, I wanted to make sure—”

  “But why the police? Why not just go in and see for yourself?”

  “I don’t have a key.” He glared at her. He knew damn right well that she had one, the bitch. “I stopped by about a half hour ago and there was still no answer. I was worried, so I called 9-1-1 and asked them to meet me here.”

  “Hey, Captain Matheson, is that you?�
�� The patrolman’s eyes lit up when he saw the other man enter the foyer. “I heard you speak last year on forensic evidence in the digital age. It’s so good to meet you in person. So sorry you’ve retired.”

  Pearce felt sweat coalescing in the small of his back as the cop shook hands with the older man. He looked familiar, like he’d seen him in the neighborhood, but didn’t know his name. Captain? Forensic evidence? With a sick feeling in his gut, he looked at the blood on the parquet floor, on the Oriental rug.

  Where the fuck was the body?

  “What’s this?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the mess. “Where’s Aunt Rosalie?”

  “I’m sorry, Pearce. I’ve been so busy since we found out that I didn’t have time to let you know what happened. Nonie fell down the steps.”

  Pearce had to fight to contain his anger, his fear. He knew damn well she’d fallen. He’d strung the wire that tripped her. He’d seen her laid out on the damn floor! “Where is she?” he gritted out.

  “Thank God she had that monitoring system. When she didn’t answer the phone, they called the EMTs.”

  “Monitoring system?” When had the bitch gotten something like that?

  “Yes. It was on a chain around her neck. It saved her life.”

  “So she’s not—she’s not—”

  “She’s in the Intensive Care Unit at Mercy Medical. She hadn’t regained consciousness as of eleven this evening, when we last saw her.”

  Pearce locked his knees to keep from collapsing. He’d seen her! She hadn’t been breathing! How could she still be alive? How long had it been from the time he left until the EMTs got there? Damn, damn, damn!

  If she ever awoke, would she remember the feel of the trip wire on her ankles? Would she accuse him of it?

  Shit! Did she have marks on her ankles? He had to get there first thing in the morning and assess the damage.

  He closed his eyes, hoping he presented an attitude of prayer. “Thank heaven she’s all right.”

  “She’s not all right,” the bitch snapped. “She’s got broken bones, a fractured skull, and she can’t even tell us what happened!”

  “Easy, easy. You know what I meant. That she…that she’s still…with us.”

  Fantine closed her eyes, covered them with her fingers. “I’m sorry, Uncle Pearce. I was out of line. I know I’m overreacting. Nonie means the world to me, and I’ve had too much coffee and too little sleep.”

  “It’s okay. I understand. I guess I’m a little shocked too.”

  Talk about understatement.

  He turned to the patrolman. “Thank you for your time, Officer. I’ll be sure to make a donation to the Policemen’s Benevolent Fund this year.”

  “We’re here to serve, Mr. Kelleher. Can I give you a ride back home?”

  “I’m only a few blocks away. Thanks, but I’ll walk.”

  He most certainly did not want to spend a single unnecessary moment with an officer of the law, or he’d lose it.

  And he still might.

  Lose everything.

  * * * * *

  “I don’t trust that man, and I only met him yesterday.”

  Fantine spun around to look at Rolf. They had all been standing around the foyer watching Uncle Pearce disappear into the darkness between street lights. “He’s okay. You just have to get to know him. Uncle Pearce has been Nonie’s financial advisor ever since her husband died. Does all her taxes, quarterly reports and stuff like that. She couldn’t get along without him.”

  Rolf ran his hands through his thick black hair. “I’m sorry, Fantine, I know he’s family and all, but—”

  The patrolman cleared his throat. “Uh, Captain? Do you need me for anything?”

  Fantine had forgotten the officer was still there.

  Judd looked at him thoughtfully. “Officer Bowden, can you give me a minute?”

  “I’d be honored, Captain.”

  Judd turned to Fantine. “Please. Make yourselves comfortable in the living room. We won’t be long. I just want to get another professional opinion.” He punctuated his request with a sweeping gesture toward the archway, making it seem like an order, to get them—keep them—out of the way.

  “Now I’m really getting nervous,” Fantine said as they sat down close to each other on the ruby-and-gold striped settee.

  Rolf took her hand and brought it to his lips. “They’re only doing their job.” He kissed each finger then opened her palm and placed a warm kiss into its center. “It’s better to be safe.”

  “Do you think someone…did something to cause Nonie’s fall?”

  “No,” he said emphatically. “He’ll have an opinion about how Hercules fits into the accident. Don’t go creating scary scenarios in your head.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she sank into him. “I’m so glad you’re here with me, Rolf. Yeah, I could have handled it alone, but it’s nice to have someone—you—to share it with. Good or bad.” She wrapped her arm across his middle, burrowing even further into his warmth. “I have to say, you’re more than just a Beautiful Bad Boy. You actually have a cool head in a crisis.”

  The long smooth strokes of his palm down her arm, his even breathing, the occasional feel of his lips on her temple almost made her doze off. The scent of him, musky, warm and hinting of salt, permeated her senses. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so good just sitting down.

  “Fantine? We’re ready to go now. Sorry to have kept you waiting so long.”

  She and Rolf were reluctant to end their cozy respite but walked to the archway where Judd and Officer Bowden awaited. She reached out a hand. “Thanks for coming by, Judd. Hope your wrist heals really fast. You have all that grass to cut,” she teased.

  Judd and the patrolman walked to the door. Then, almost as an afterthought, Judd turned around. “Oh, would you mind if I borrowed your camera? I’d like to make copies of your shots. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

  “Not at all.” But Fantine knew there were things Judd wasn’t sharing with them.

  * * * * *

  Rolf ordered Fantine upstairs as soon as the front door was locked. “I’ll check the lights and stuff,” he said. “You just get in bed and relax.”

  As he checked the locks on doors and windows, shut lights and pulled the plug on the coffeepot, he wondered how he’d feel if he actually owned a home, with all its responsibilities and headaches, then shook his head to clear it. You’re way too tired to think about it, he told himself.

  Still, he wasn’t too tired to replay in his mind what Fantine had said as they waited on the settee for Judd to finish. Something about him being more than a bad boy, that it was nice to have someone standing by her in a crisis. With a little jolt, Rolf realized he’d never before been needed by a woman in a scenario not linked to sex. Sure, Nonie needed him, but she was family. But having Fantine—a woman he wanted to spend time with—need him, well, it just felt unexpectedly good. He’d just have to make sure she continued to need him.

  “You’re the most important thing in this house,” he said when he reached Fantine’s room. “You’re going to loosen up, even if I have to beat you over the head to get you there.”

  The quiet laugh he coaxed out of her tickled him. She was way too uptight. He couldn’t blame her. He knew something was percolating inside Judd’s mind, but tonight, tonight was for her.

  For Fantine.

  His woman.

  For a moment he simply stood there, looking his fill. She lay on her back, the sheet outlining her lush form underneath. A small lamp cast a weak amber glow about the room, making her skin look lit from within, her valleys and curves intriguing, her hair, shimmering with color, spread on the pillow.

  “You look beautiful. I’m going to make sure you feel beautiful too. Don’t you lift a finger.”

  He stood at one side of the bed and gently tugged the sheet down, exposing her slightly flattened breasts, her incurved waist, the ample hips, her long, strong legs. Bending over, he began to k
iss her toes, delicate touches with lips and teeth, while gently massaging her arch. After eliciting a small groan of pleasure from her, he moved to her ankle, following his baby kisses with fingertips, caressing, circling, kneading.

  Up her calf to a knee, gently tickling the underside of its angle while laving the skin over and around the patella. Shaking his head slowly, he allowed his thick hair to fall forward, stroking her skin at its own whim. He moved to her thigh, teasing the inner curve but avoiding the place he most wanted to touch, to taste.

  Because this was about her, not him.

  He could see the slightly raised goose bumps as his hair danced along her belly. He smiled when her hips began to move in a restless rhythm. Skimming her hipbone with his tongue, he aimed for her navel, a perfectly formed “innie”, then moved upward, his fingers trailing along the path his mouth had taken. Up her torso, kissing his way between her breasts to her collarbone, nibbling at her throat, her jaw, finally licking a path around the curve of her ear.

  Her breaths had grown slower, deeper, as he’d begun massaging her feet and legs, but now they became short, choppy.

  “That’s it, sweet thing, keep your eyes closed and just feel.”

  Feel. Oh boy, could he feel his Magnum growing, straining against the zipper of his jeans. Why the hell hadn’t he taken off his own clothes?

  Because this one is for her, he reminded himself.

  Still, he took a moment to yank off his T-shirt. She’d want to feel skin on skin, he reasoned. Because he sure did.

  He dropped tiny kisses over her closed eyes, her temples, then kissed his way down the other side of her jaw and throat, rubbing the bare skin of his chest along her shoulder as he leaned over her to kiss her other arm.

  Some seducer, he thought, wondering how long before his cock would jump right out of his jeans. Three times four is twelve, four times five is twenty…think of anything except how he wanted to slide that hard ramrod right up into her sweet pussy. By now he was sure it was nice and juicy, hot and wanting.

  But he held himself rigorously in check. For her.

  He let his chest brush against the hard nubs of her nipples as he worked his way down to her fist clenching the sheet. He detoured back to her rib cage and followed the curve of her hip down to the outside of her thigh.