by R. J. Jagger
She put her head under the spray until her hair was soaked.
Then shampooed.
Imagining how she looked with her arms up and her breasts stretched high.
She had a good body.
She knew that.
But was it good enough for Parker?
With the shampoo still in her hair, she grabbed the bar of soap and worked it over her body.
Wishing that the door would suddenly open.
And that Parker would step inside.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Day Three—April 14
Thursday Evening
______________
TECHNICALLY, TEFFINGER didn’t have jurisdiction to investigate Jena Vellone’s disappearance, so he and Geneva filed a missing-person report with Cherry Hills P.D. and asked for permission to run a “parallel” investigation, meaning that Teffinger would take the lead and keep them in the loop. At first they were hesitant, since Teffinger had been the last person to see Jena safe and alive. But Teffinger’s chief called and staked his personal reputation on the fact that Teffinger wasn’t involved in any way, form or shape.
That tipped the scales.
Of course, Teffinger still couldn’t take possession of physical evidence, so Cherry Hills took the bloody sheets. They’d use the CBI to run a DNA analysis and determine if the blood belonged to Jena, a third-party, or a combination of the two.
None of Jena’s neighbors saw anything.
Or knew anything.
The prints lifted from Jena’s house didn’t trigger any database matches. Trace evidence got collected, but nothing that could identify the perpetrator.
Squat.
Squat.
Squat.
Rule out robbery, though.
Lots of good stuff in plain sight didn’t get taken.
Whoever came in wanted Jena.
Not her things.
Jena’s emails, computer files and personal effects didn’t point towards stalkers or weirdos in her life. Plus, that’s the kind of thing she would have told either Teffinger or Geneva about in any event.
No ransom calls came in.
Teffinger was alone in homicide, wondering what to do next, when darkness fell on the city. He looked at the coffee pot—usually his friend—and determined that his hands were already shaking too much.
Not good.
He grabbed his sport coat, walked down the stairwell to the parking garage and headed home.
On the way his cell phone rang.
And London’s voice came through.
“I thought we were going to get together tonight,” she said.
“Tomorrow might be better,” he warned. “I’m not very good company right now.”
She didn’t care.
“We can just hang out at your house if you don’t feel like doing anything.” He gave her directions and then tried to remember if his house was a minor or major disaster area.
Major, he decided.
And stepped on the gas.
LONDON SHOWED UP just as the streetlights kicked on. She wore a sleeveless white dress, short enough that it would lift up to her cheeks if she reached above her head. Teffinger couldn’t remember ever seeing a woman so beautiful. She handed him a bottle of white wine and said, “This is in case you decide to get me drunk.”
“Actually, that sounds like a pretty good plan,” he said. “You want to grab a glass? They’re in that top cabinet right there.”
She walked over.
Then gave him a sideways look. “You better turn your head,” she said.
“Towards you or away?” he said.
She chuckled.
Then waited until he looked away.
“Did you wear that dress for me?” Teffinger asked.
“Actually it’s for me,” she said. “Otherwise I’d be nude.”
He made a concerned face.
“We certainly don’t want that,” he said.
Alley walked into the room.
London picked him up and said, “He’s like a little, furry you.”
“Or I’m like a big him,” Teffinger said. “It’s a raging debate.”
Teffinger lived in a split-level ranch near the top of Green Mountain, third house from the end, on a cul-de-sac. The mountain slanted down to the back of his property, leaving almost no backyard. But he built a redwood deck off the side of the mountain that was higher than his roofline. Up there, at night, you could see the city lights all the way from Boulder to the Tech Center.
That’s where he took London, after getting her a sweater.
She was impressed but said, “I’ll bet it’s even better from the top of the mountain.”
“True,” Teffinger said.
“Show me.”
“It’s a half hour hike,” he said. “In the daylight.”
“Are you scared?”
He chuckled.
“Okay, but remember, you asked for it.”
He stuffed a blanket, three cans of Bud and the bottle of wine into a small backpack and then led London up the draw towards the transmission tower at the top of Green Mountain. Each step brought them closer to the barking of coyotes.
“Remember, if they attack, you don’t have to be able to run faster than them,” he said. “You only have to be able to run faster than me.”
“I heard that joke before, except with bears.”
“It works with anything that has teeth.”
“I see.”
“I tried it once with chickens,” he said. “It didn’t work.”
“Because they don’t have teeth.”
“There you go.”
When they got to the top and settled down on the blanket with drinks in hand, the trip was worth it. It seemed like they were in an airplane, coming in for a night landing.
They laid on their backs and looked at the stars.
Teffinger knew this was the point where he was supposed to roll over and take her, but he couldn’t get Jena Vellone out of his head. Wherever she was, Teffinger was to blame. Not fully, but at least partially.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Day Three—April 14
Thursday Afternoon
______________
AFTER BREAKING OFF FROM LAUREN LONG, Tripp headed back to his car, which was parked on the south edge of downtown not far from the library, two rows over from where the woman had parked. Cotton clouds floated in from the mountains, typical for an April afternoon in Denver. The temperature was nice.
Tripp felt good.
But being around all the women downtown had made him horny. Maybe he should call that escort—the one he partied with at The Church on Tuesday—and collect what she owed him.
That sounded good.
But a fresh woman sounded even better.
Lauren Long would be perfect.
But he dared not take her today.
She’d be incredibly fun, once the time came. As soon as she disappeared, the activity would be deafening. Mr. Daddy Big-Shot would launch an army to find his precious little baby. That was the beauty of the thing. It reminded Tripp of when he was a kid and spotted a pile of ants on the sidewalk, thousands of them, all in one spot for some stupid reason, just asking to be stepped on. As soon as he did that, every single little black spec went into a panic, scampering this way and that way as fast as possible. But not a bit of it did any good. Nothing could undo what had already been done.
That’s what Lauren Long would be like.
After he took her.
He walked south.
Coming up on the library and the art museum.
The Denver Public Library was pretty cool from an architectural viewpoint. It looked like several different buildings joined together, which could have turned out terrible, but didn’t. The Denver Art Museum, on the other hand, was a disaster. It was a silver titanium abstract shape with non-vertical walls that came to triangular points. It looked like a Picasso cube on acid that had fallen out of the sky, which could have turned out cool, bu
t didn’t.
The parking lot came into view.
One more block and he’d be there.
Suddenly footsteps approached from behind.
TRIPP TURNED TO SEE TWO MEN. They were tall, muscular, and walking fast. They both stared directly into his eyes as they approached, like predators.
Vampires?
He could take either one of them by themselves, but wouldn’t have a chance against both at the same time.
“Hold up buddy,” one of them said.
Tripp stopped and turned all the way around.
Facing them.
His heart racing.
“Why were you following Lauren Long?”
Then it made sense.
They must be the woman’s bodyguards.
They must have been walking behind her, giving the woman space, and spotted Tripp.
He turned and said over his shoulder, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He turned away and continued walking.
Then one of them said, “Hey, wait a minute, one more thing.”
When Tripp turned, the man was already swinging at his face. Then Tripp’s head exploded in colors, he fell, and his forehead bounced off the concrete.
Seriously hurt.
Disoriented.
“We’re not going to be as friendly next time. Do you understand?”
A minute later he was muscling himself into a standing position when a woman ran over.
“I saw what those two men did!” she said. “I got a picture of them with my cell phone.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Day Three—April 14
Thursday Night
______________
AT THE OLD ORLEANS, the stress made Rave drink more than she should, but it didn’t affect the performance. If anything, it loosened her up and let her get further out on the edge.
The people noticed.
And hollered and hooted to prove it.
The place was dark and packed with sexual tension.
Perfect.
Well, not totally perfect.
Parker wasn’t there.
His theory was that the slayers wouldn’t make a move in public, so she was safe inside the club. And it would be better if Parker wasn’t seen in Rave’s vicinity any more than necessary. So he hung around outside the club, in the shadows, watching the entrance. If Rave spotted anyone conspicuous inside—say a man by himself, not drinking, studying her every move—she was supposed to call and describe the guy. So far, however, that hadn’t happened.
She was belting out a spirited version of Bob Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone” when she spotted a familiar face at the bar.
A man about forty-five.
Bald.
Designer sunglasses.
Immaculately dressed.
Flamboyantly gay, even at a distance and in a crowd.
Tim Pepper.
Her manager.
He waved, clearly getting a kick out of the surprise on her face. Then he leaned to the person next to him, a nice woman about forty, and said something in her ear.
THREE SONGS LATER, during the break, Rave went over and joined them. Pepper already had a screwdriver waiting for her.
“Thanks,” she said, draining half the glass in one gulp.
She looked at the woman, then back at Pepper and said, “Who’s your lady-friend?”
“Amanda Pierce,” he said.
The woman held her hand out to shake.
But she looked friendly, so Rave gave her a hug instead.
“She’s with Storm,” Pepper said. Then he just looked at her, letting the implications hang.
“Storm as in Las Vegas?”
Pepper nodded.
Then he said, “Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you that you’re on audition tonight.”
“What—”
She smacked him on the arm.
“You should have told me.”
She would have dressed better.
She would have sung better.
She would have drunk less.
“Was on audition,” the woman said. “When I came here, the big question was whether you were as good as your portfolio and whether we should book you for a month. Now I’m thinking that your first stint needs to be six months, minimum. Be warned that we’ll want exclusion options for Vegas bookings for an extended period, so our competition can’t grab you after we turn you into a household name.”
A household name?
Rave must have had a deer-in-headlights expression because Pepper laughed.
Then he hugged her.
“Welcome to the big time, darling.”
Rave looked at the woman—Amanda Pierce—who nodded and said, “The next step is for you to come to Vegas and meet some people,” she said.
“When?”
“No rush, in the next couple of weeks.”
Cool.
Way cool.
Pepper said, “We’re going to need to make your sound bigger. I’m thinking something like adding a keyboard player and a couple of female background singers.”
“Got to have plenty of sex on stage,” the woman added.
WHEN THE CLUB CLOSED, Rave followed Parker back to her place. He parked down the street and then ran through the backyard shadows until he got to her house. He entered the back door to be sure everything was okay.
It was.
He pulled the curtain aside a few inches and motioned for her to come in.
She did.
Then what she hoped would happen did happen. Parker put his arms around her waist, pulled her stomach to his with incredible strength, and locked her into position.
He kissed her.
With a passion that she’d never experienced before.
A passion that made her tremble.
And want to give him every fiber of her being.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Day Four—April 15
Friday Morning
______________
TEFFINGER GOT UP BEFORE DAWN Friday morning, jogged three miles, and then encountered something strange when he got back—the sweet aroma of coffee. He followed the scent to the kitchen and found London, dressed only in a T-shirt, pouring pancake batter into a hot frying pan.
“I’m guessing you like pancakes since you got them,” she said.
She wore no makeup.
And had her hair pulled into a ponytail.
So unpretentious.
So real.
“Sorry about last night,” he said, referring to the fact that he didn’t make a move on her under the stars, or back at the house afterwards, or even in the bed when she talked him into letting her give him a backrub.
“It’s okay,” she said.
Teffinger walked over and kissed her on the back of the neck.
She didn’t turn around but said, “You’re such a tease.”
“Trust me,” he said. “I’m not trying to be. I’m in a total reactive mode. I’m reacting to Jena Vellone disappearing, I’m reacting to finding you, I’m reacting to the fact that I have a picture of a skinhead who pounded a wooden stake into a woman’s heart and I still can’t catch him—”
“Finding me?” she asked.
“Right.”
“Does that mean you’ve been looking for me?”
Teffinger wrapped his arms around her from behind, clasped his hands on her stomach and pulled her in tight. Then he nibbled on the back of her neck.
“Ordinarily this is where I would come up with some smart-ass answer,” he said. “But the truth is yes, I have been looking for you.”
“You mean, looking for someone—”
Teffinger headed for the shower and said over his shoulder, “I want you to move to Denver. I won’t be able to handle a bunch of miles between us. I’m not that kind of guy.”
“I just met you yesterday,” she said. “You expect me to pack up my whole life and move just because you think it would be a neat idea?”
Teffinger chu
ckled and said, “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Then he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.
He stripped.
Then got the shower temperature adjusted.
And stepped inside.
Two minutes later the lights mysteriously went off.
And London stepped under the spray with him.
“Okay, why not?” she said.
“Why not, what?”
She smacked him on the arm and said, “Don’t be a smart-ass.”
“When I said Denver, I meant my place,” Teffinger said. “Just so we’re on the same page.”
“Okay, your place.” Then she got serious and said, “Are you sure?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Positive.”
“Positive positive? Or—oh my God I hope she doesn’t snore—positive?”
“Positive positive,” he said.
She put her arms around his neck and pushed her breasts onto his chest. “Now that that’s settled, show me if I made a mistake or not.”
Teffinger got her heated up in the shower.
Then led her to the bed.
Soaking wet.
Where he took his time with her.
And she with him.
TEFFINGER GOT TO WORK BEFORE EVERYONE ELSE and had one thing and one thing only on his mind—finding Jena Vellone. The problem was, he didn’t have a single lead.
Nothing.
He called everyone who knew Jena, to see if she’d complained to them about strangers or bumps in the night or anything else that would possibly explain what had happened.
No one knew squat.
But forgave him for waking them up.
When Sydney showed up at 7:30, Teffinger said, “I’m starting to get the feeling that it was just a random, spur-of-the-moment thing, in which case whoever targeted her probably did it at the club that night. Maybe someone hit on her when I was talking to London, and Jena never mentioned it to me.”
Sydney took a slurp of coffee and asked, “So how are you getting along with this London woman?”
“She’s going to move in,” Teffinger said.
Sydney scrunched her face.
“Are you nuts? You just met her—”
“She’s nice,” he said.
