Window of Death (Window of Time Trilogy Book 2)

by DJ Erfert

  Every shadow morphed into a murderous figure. Her plants suspended from the ceiling took on human-like forms, and Lucy had to blink to give them leafy tendrils instead of heads and arms. Chairs were men crouched readying to jump when she passed by.

  The refrigerator kicked on, and she silently cursed it. Now she couldn’t hear if a footstep squeaked a floorboard behind her, and her pulse beat faster in her ears, complicating her search even more. Fatigue controlled her body, and she resented it.

  By the time Lucy returned to the living room, the dark silhouette of a man larger than Johnny filled the open front door. She’d closed it behind her. At least she thought she had. Lucy raised her gun, aiming at the man’s center mass—until Junie Brockway’s voice whispered behind him.

  “Is she in there?”

  Lucy dropped her arm down to her side and said, “Yes, Junie. I’m here.” She turned on the kitchen lights shaking her head. “What on earth are you doing walking in on a search?” She lifted her gun. “I could have shot you.”

  Junie rushed through the living room, straight to Lucy. “Of course you wouldn’t have.” She embraced her like a best friend. “I was worried about you.”

  “So was I,” Jim said. “And we brought brownies.”

  Lucy’s gaze dropped down to his hands. A chocolate mound of confection sat seductively on a plate covered in clear plastic wrap. Junie peeled back the plastic and handed her a brownie from off the top.

  “Now, go take your shower and get that nasty decon water off your skin before it eats through to your muscles.”

  Lucy took a bite and mumbled, “How did you know?”

  “I swear I didn’t tell her,” Johnny said.

  “I haven’t been retired so long that I don’t still have my contacts,” Junie said, smiling. She pushed Lucy toward her bedroom door. “Besides, I remember the smell.”

  “Oh, gross,” Lucy said, stuffing another bite in her mouth.

  ~*~

  Johnny leaned his hip against the island separating the kitchen and dining area and stared at Lucy’s boss moving a small, cell phone-sized box around the living room while his wife chatted loudly.

  “We’ll leave from the agency tomorrow morning after Lucy’s debriefed and go car shopping,” Junie said as she took down three mugs from the kitchen cabinet. “It will be her first car since graduating from the university.” The loud clinking and banging of cabinet doors surprised Johnny. When she practically slammed the mugs onto the counter, he got worried—until Junie winked at him.

  Jim moved his little box around the wall crowded with pictures, pausing only to pluck something tiny from behind one of the frames before he continued. Junie retrieved the small, battery-looking thing from him and deposited it in the freezer compartment of the fridge. The methodical search of the house took ten minutes. All the while Junie talked in a monologue of trivial information and made five more trips to the freezer.

  “We’re silent now,” Jim said, sitting down at the dining table.

  Junie placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

  “What were those things you put in the freezer?”

  “Listening devices,” Junie said, picking up another mug of coffee.

  “Lucy’s house was bugged?” Johnny asked, incredulously.

  “It’s better than the alternative,” Lucy said, coming back into the kitchen. She was dressed in Johnny’s hand-me-down fire department t-shirt and blue pajama bottoms covered in tiny red fire hydrants. “I swept my bedroom and bathroom.”

  “Did you find anything?” Jim asked.

  “Yeah. Two bugs. One next to my bed and one in the bathroom above my medicine cabinet.”

  “What did you do with them?” Junie asked, taking a sip of coffee.

  “I flushed them.” Lucy went to her kitchen. “I need some tea.”

  “I’ll make you some.” Johnny took her elbow and redirected her to the oak, claw foot table. “You sit down. I’ll make you an omelet, too.”

  “Yum,” Lucy said, sitting down next to Junie.

  “I guess you need to change your locks,” Johnny said, opening the fridge and taking out a carton of eggs.

  “They probably didn’t touch her keys,” Junie said, taking a bite of brownie.

  “I’m sure whoever planted those bugs could pick the locks as well as I can.”

  Junie laughed. “Almost as well.” She reached over and lifted Lucy’s chin. “You’re sunburned.”

  “I know.” Lucy touched the skin on her forearm. “And it hurts, too.”

  “I’ve got some aloe in my medical bag,” Johnny said as he set a sauté pan on the stove. “I’ll make sure I slather you before you go to bed.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Why do you think your house was bugged?” Junie asked.

  Lucy shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t know anybody knew I lived here.”

  Jim set his cup down and drummed his fingers on the table. “Cooper Steele knows.”

  “Cripes, you don’t think he’s trying to get sensitive information to hold over her, do you?” Junie asked. Her voice dropped in volume like the bugs in the freezer could pick up on their conversation. “We already know he suspects Lucy’s capable of so much more than our regular operatives.”

  “Yes,” Jim said. “And since she’s not accepting his offers willingly, he may be preparing to resort to blackmail.” He leaned back. “Maybe I should talk to him.”

  “Thanks, Jim, but—” Lucy shook her head, “I can take care of this.” She blew out a tired breath. “After I have a good night’s sleep.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said, leaning over her shoulder. “How are you going to make sure whoever planted those bugs doesn’t come back in tonight and replace them while you’re asleep?”

  “I can stay overnight,” Junie said. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “No, Junie,” Lucy said. “I want you to be well rested for when we go car shopping tomorrow.” She shook her head. “I’ll place an extra alarm in front of the doors.”

  “An extra alarm?” Johnny asked, confused.

  “Yeah.” Lucy got up, went over to the counter and took another brownie from the plate. “If you place a metal garbage container an inch away from the door, and then balance an empty Pepsi can on the lip and lean it against the door, then if that door opens, even a little—”

  “The can falls into the metal container making a loud noise—” Jim said.

  “And it wakes Lucy up,” Junie said, finishing the scenario.

  “Oh.” Johnny looked back at Lucy with a better understanding, but still concerned. “So what happens after you leave the house tomorrow?”

  “Cripes,” she whispered.

  Jim got up. “I’ll go get my video camera. We can set up a surveillance.” He kissed Junie’s cheek and said, “With any luck, we’ll have a picture of the perp and something to confront Steele with. I’ll be back in a few.”

  “If he’s the one who had the bugs planted,” Lucy said, breaking a piece of brownie off and popping it in her mouth. “Maybe I should get a big dog and make it unpleasant to come inside.”

  “Unpleasant for whom, exactly?” Junie asked with a grin.

  “It’s not like I want a battle-trained pit bull.” She sighed. “I never had this problem when I stayed in hotels.”

  “But you like this place a hundred times better than a smelly hotel,” Johnny said as he poured three scrambled eggs into the hot pan. “And your bed is your own with only one previous owner.”

  “I love my house. And I love my bed.” Lucy walked around the counter and stopped next to Johnny, sliding her arm around his back. “I don’t want anybody in here that isn’t invited.” She leaned over the sauté pan. “You’re not going to put anything in my eggs are you?”

  “No, honey.”

  “Lucy, an omelet is an omelet because of the extras you put inside of it,” Junie said, standing up. “If you only have beaten eggs, then they’re called scrambled.”

  “No, they
aren’t.” Lucy pointed at the dish as Johnny slid the cooked eggs from the pan to the plate. “See? That folded look is an omelet.”

  Junie exhaled loudly. “You’re hopeless.”

  “Want some?” Johnny asked as Lucy took her plate of scrambled eggs to the table. “I can make you a western omelet if you’d like.”

  “With bacon, onion, salsa, cheese, and fried potatoes?”

  “That sound good to me.”

  “Could you make one for Jimmy, too?”

  Johnny set the pan in the sink and turned on the water. “It’s as easy as making Lucy’s extra alarm.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lucy came out wearing a tight tank top and pajama bottoms, and Johnny picked up the cup of aloe vera from the coffee table. He had set it in the fridge to chill—the gelatinous plant extract would feel good against her sunburned skin.

  She sat down next to him on the couch. “Are you sure there aren’t any more of those listening devices in your house?” he asked.

  Lucy glanced around the living room, her gaze falling on the wall with all the framed pictures of the former owner. She’d bought the hundred-year-old bungalow from a former movie star who was almost as old as the house. Vivian Haynes left most everything when she moved to the retirement home, including photos of her with major motion picture stars from the thirties, forties, and fifties. Johnny knew each picture meant something to Lucy, like Vivian had been her own great-grandmother.

  “I’m sure Jim did a good job sweeping the inside.”

  Johnny dipped his fingers into the cup and scooped out some cool aloe. He started with the top of her warm hand. “But you think they might have planted something outside?”

  Lucy leaned back and sighed. “What better place to find bugs than in a garden?”

  “Do you think they might have heard us talking tonight?” he asked as he worked his way up her arm with the aloe. She had her eyes closed.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m getting very tired of Cooper Steele’s attention.”

  Johnny put another glop of aloe on Lucy’s skin near her shoulder and slowly worked it in. “Are you going to call him?”

  “No,” she whispered. “I think I’ll go and see him—personally.”

  He leaned over her face. “Are you falling asleep?”

  She opened her eyes with a smile on her lips, making his heart beat faster. “That’s not the first thing I think of when you’re touching me.”

  Johnny glanced up at the camera her boss mounted above the built-in cabinet. It took in the whole room, including them. Before he could move back, Lucy lifted her head and kissed him, making him not care about their lack of privacy. She smelled like lavender and aloe, and he pulled her closer—held her tighter—fell deeper in love with her.

  She pushed him back and moaned. “Ouch,” she said, touching her mouth.

  “Sorry,” Johnny whispered. “Your lips are chapped.” He dipped his fingers into the cool aloe again, and Lucy sighed when he dabbed some on her cheeks, working his way across her nose and lips, and down her neck. The gel doused the fire in her skin, and by morning would relieve the burn enough she’d forget she ever got lost in the Arizona desert. On the way home from the airport, she’d told him the details of her encounter with the border patrol and radioactive bombs.

  “Are you awake?” Johnny whispered. When she didn’t say anything, he had his answer. The antique clock on the mantle had chimed ten o’clock a few minutes before, and he finished applying the aloe to her other hand before lifting her off the couch. As soon as he stood, she woke up.

  “I can walk,” she murmured.

  “I know. I’ve seen you.” He shifted her weight higher.

  “Put me down.”

  “I will.” For all her protest, Lucy didn’t try to move from his arms while he walked to her bedroom, and he knew with just one blow she could gain her freedom—if she wanted it. He stopped next to her sleigh bed and gently laid her down. It was unmade, like every other day he’d seen it. Lucy’s house was neat and orderly—never a dish on the counter or dirty clothes out of the hamper. But she never, ever, made her bed. “I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight.”

  “No, don’t—”

  “I’ll be okay there,” he said, covering her with an old quilt left behind by the actress. “You know I can sleep anywhere. I want to make sure nobody comes into your house. But I need to be out of here before seven for work.”

  Pulling the blanket up higher, Lucy said, “Me, too. But you don’t have to sleep on the couch, Johnny.”

  He looked over at the other side of the bed and then at her again. “Yes, I do.”

  Lucy smiled. “You don’t trust me?”

  Johnny sat down next to her hip and ran his knuckles down her soft, sunburned cheek. “I don’t trust myself. You know how much I love you.” He waited for her to tell him she might love him, but she dropped her gaze to his chin and stayed quiet. He leaned down and kissed her chapped lips. “Sleep well. I’ll set the alarms in front of the doors for you.”

  ~*~

  A strange sound roused Johnny from sleep. He expected to see the front door open, although the sound wasn’t the soda can falling. Staying still under the quilt, he quietly observed the dark room. The fireplace had grown cold, so it had to be well past midnight. He could hear the gentle ticking of the mantle clock though the dial wasn’t lit. The fridge was silent. So was the water heater in the closet off the kitchen. No footsteps. The noise must have been his imagination—until he heard Lucy whine—and then give out a terrifying scream.

  Johnny jumped off the couch and dodged furniture running into her room, all while she kept screaming. He hit the light switch on the wall and found her sitting up in her bed.

  “Lucy!” He grabbed her shoulders, and she opened her red-rimmed eyes. “What happened?” She threw her arms around his chest, pressing her face to his neck as she fought for control over her deep, gasping breaths. Johnny held her, letting her calm down while he did, too.

  “I had,” Lucy said, struggling for breath, “a nightmare.”

  He ran his hand down her back. “Were you back in the desert?”

  She shook her head. “No, I … I had to watch—my mother get murdered.”

  Johnny held her tighter, remembering the nightmare she’d told him about a few months ago. “I’m sorry. I remember that dream.” With his mouth next to her cheek, he said, “You want to talk about it?”

  “I want to forget about it.”

  “Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen.” He let her go. “Want some Jasmine tea?”

  She nodded. “Might as well. I can’t go back to sleep.” Lucy slid out from under the covers and followed Johnny into the living room.

  “I’ll put on the kettle and then get the fire started again.” He helped Lucy down on the couch and covered her with the blankets he’d been using. Johnny clicked on the torch lamp next to the side table. A hard knock at the front door stopped him from going into the kitchen.

  “Should I answer it?” Johnny asked.

  Lucy leaned back. “Look out the window first.”

  “Are you worried it may be the guys who planted the bugs?”

  She shook her head, smiling. “They don’t usually knock first.”

  “Okay.” Johnny flipped on the porch light, pushed aside the heavy panel next to the door, and then sighed deeply. “Luucee, you in big trouble,” he said with his best Cuban accent. After moving the tin can alarm, he opened the door. “Hello, officers.”

  “What?” She got up with the blanket around her shoulders.

  “Hello,” the first officer said. “Is there a problem here?”

  Johnny saw the two cops’ stare take in the room behind him, as well as Lucy—and him. Johnny glanced down at bare knees. He wore only a white undershirt and a pair of black boxer shorts covered with tiny white and black Dalmatians. They were a gag gift from Lucy for taking care of her after she was wounded two months ago.

  “No, sir.” J
ohnny stepped back, and the two men came inside the house.

  “I’m Officer Dale Banks, and this is Officer Christopher Cross. Dispatch got a call from a neighbor saying she heard screaming. We were sent to check it out.”

  Lucy turned and went back to the couch. “My stupid nightmare.”

  “Your what, ma’am?” Officer Banks asked, stepping closer.

  “Lucy had a nightmare,” Johnny told them. “I was about to make her some tea.”

  “Must’ve been a bad one,” Officer Cross said, moving next to his partner.

  “It was. It always is,” Lucy said quietly. She tugged the quilt around her legs and settled back against the cushions. “I’m sorry I woke the neighbor.”

  “She thought you were being murdered,” Cross said.

  Lucy shook her head. “Not me. My mother.”

  Banks’ stare fell on Johnny. “Have you called your mother-in-law to check on her? Maybe your wife had a premonition.”

  Johnny let out a heavy breath. “We’re not married.”

  With her gaze on Johnny, Lucy said, “My mother was stabbed to death when I was six months old—and I witnessed it.”

  “And she’s had these horrible nightmares about it since then.” Johnny sat down next to her and said, “I thought they had stopped.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  Banks cleared his throat. “You can remember from when you were six months old?”

  “Yes, I can.” Lucy closed her eyes and leaned into Johnny. “Every detail—like it happened yesterday.”

  “Is the perp in prison?” Cross asked.

  Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d assume so.”

  “I hope so,” Johnny said.

  “Did you know the man?” Banks asked.

  Lucy lifted her head from Johnny’s shoulder. “No. At least I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “All I could see was … was his …” She lifted her right hand, making a fist, and then changed to her left hand. “Johnny, he had the knife in his left hand. I never noticed that before. And,”—she ran her hand along her sunburned left forearm—“there was something on his skin.” She squinted. “I think he had a tattoo.”

  “Did anybody else see this happen?” Banks asked, taking out a little notebook from his shirt’s pocket.