“This is not what I meant when I said to wait in the car,” Mick growled as he joined Wynn. He relented a bit, asking, “Did you find anything?”
“Nope. No footprints in the flowerbeds, no scratches on the back door by the lock.” Wynn smiled slightly. “That is what I should have been looking for, right?”
“Among other things, yeah. When you got here was the security box activated?”
“I…” Wynn frowned. “No, damn it. I didn’t think about that. I just unlocked the door, heard the music, and, well, did a quick check of the living room and kitchen before calling you.”
Mick sighed. “Next time, don’t enter if it’s off and I’m not here. For now, let’s see if our prowler did anything more than turn on the CD player.”
Wynn followed Mick inside, noting Mick’s hand was resting on his gun. “You know whoever it was, he’s long gone by now,” he pointed out.
“Undoubtedly, but I’m taking no chances.” Mick went to turn off the music, careful not to touch anything but the ‘off’ button. Then they went through the downstairs, finding nothing, and headed up to the second floor.
“Damn it to hell,” Mick said angrily as he stepped into their bedroom.
Wynn had to agree with that sentiment when he looked past him and saw the bed. The covers had been stripped back, leaving the bottom sheet visible. It was liberally spattered with red paint, some of which had made it to the wall behind the bed. Mick held up his hand to keep Wynn from coming into the room, as he placed a call to John to tell him he was to pick up the forensics kit and ‘get your ass over here’.
“What good is that going to do?” Wynn asked after Mick hung up. “We know who’s responsible.”
“It’s still a crime scene and we’re playing it by the book. Not that we’ll find anything. I suspect Deacon’s too smart to leave any fingerprints behind.” Mick surveyed the rest of the room. “From the look of it, the paint is the only damage. What I don’t get is why he left the music on.” He frowned as he stepped back into the hallway. “And he had to have done that, and this—” he pointed to the bed, “—not too long before you got here.”
“How do you figure?” Wynn asked.
“Because if he hadn’t, the CD would have reached the end and stopped before you arrived. By the way, is it one of yours, because it wasn’t anything I recognized?”
Wynn shook his head. “That’s not my sort of music.”
Mick managed a smile as he started downstairs. “And you thought it was mine?”
“Well…maybe, if you get into really dark moods.”
Mick opened the CD player, carefully removing the disc by its edges. “I am for damned sure not a Tool fan,” he said adamantly, reading the label. “Which one was playing when you got here?”
“Like I’d know? It was something weird.” Wynn frowned, trying to remember. “Something about no quarter.”
“Definitely sending you a message then, even without the paint.”
Wynn was about to reply when there was a knock on the front door. Mick went to answer, his hand once more on the butt of his gun, only relaxing when he saw it was John.
“Someone has a real hate on for one of you,” John said a few minutes later as he dusted the bedroom for fingerprints. “Any guesses who?”
Wynn glanced at Mick, barely nodding when Mick gave a slight shake of his head. “No clue. I saw it and figured it was some kid who gets off on vandalizing,” Wynn replied.
“How’d he get in?”
“Through the office window, I think,” Mick said, before Wynn could answer. “It was there or through the basement window just below it, which is hidden by the bushes.”
“Okay, I’ll dust them both. I’ll need prints from the two of you for comparison purposes. However, and I’m not an expert, as far as I can tell, all the prints here come from one of you. If it was a kid then he’s watched enough TV to know to wear gloves.” He shot a look at Mick. “Did you forget to turn on the alarm box when you left?”
“We must have, because it wasn’t on when I got here,” Wynn replied.
“And you still came in.”
“Yeah, I know. Mick’s already lectured me about that.”
“Why the hell have one if…” John chuckled. “Okay, one lecture was probably enough.
When they returned to the ground floor, Wynn almost suggested John dust the CD player. Then he realized doing so would put paid to the idea it was just a vandal, one who had only vandalized the bedroom. If John thought about that…
Apparently Mick had the same idea because he said, angrily, “This was more than just a kid. They’d have done their dirty work down here too.”
John nodded slowly. “So maybe someone who doesn’t like the fact the two of you are living together. I’d sure hate to think we had anyone in town who felt like that—and acted on it. Okay, let me dust the office window for prints while you all check to see if the basement window has been tampered with.”
As Mick and Wynn headed down to the basement Wynn asked softly, “Do you think he bought that explanation?”
“Yeah.” Mick’s mouth tightened in anger. “I hate that I had to suggest it but he’d have thought about the situation and come up with it himself soon enough, I’m sure.”
“The question is how did Deacon get in?”
“The same way he got into your studio in the city to play his games. He apparently has a fair knowledge of how to do a B&E since you said he got through a locked and bolted door there. And he managed to disarm the security system here, because I know for certain I armed it. It’s second nature for me.”
“So the cabin’s no safer now than it would have been if Mr. Grimes hadn’t set up security there. Somehow that doesn’t make my day.”
“Doesn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy either, so from now on, I go up there with you.” When Wynn started to protest, Mick said, “Not to stay, just to be sure it’s safe.”
“Not happening. I’m quite capable of doing that myself.”
“And if he’s inside waiting, or had booby trapped it somehow, then what?”
“If he’s waiting I can handle him. If he’s set a trap, your being there too won’t keep it from going off.”
“I guess,” Mick said slowly, obviously not liking the idea. “But you’ll call me when you get there, before you go inside, and again when you know it’s safe.”
“Shades of Maribel.” Wynn laughed low.
“And for the same reason, damn it, so don’t argue with me.”
Just then John came down, asking, “Anything?”
“Not that I can tell,” Mick replied. “The window—” he pointed to it, “—is still latched from the inside.”
“Okay. Then I’ll take off. There were several different prints on the office window so maybe we’ll get lucky and find the son-of-a-bitch who did this.”
“I hope,” Wynn muttered, knowing that wouldn’t happen.
“Just be careful and aware,” John told them as they all headed back upstairs. “And, for the love of God, make sure you set the alarm when you’re not here.”
“We will,” Mick replied.
“Better,” John muttered. “The next time he might not stop at vandalism and I don’t feel like breaking in a new sheriff.”
Mick chuckled, telling him that wasn’t going to happen. “I’ll see you in the morning. Now go home before Carly begins to wonder where you are.”
As soon as John was gone, Mick and Wynn went upstairs to clean up the bedroom as much as possible. As Mick surveyed the paint-spattered wall, he grumbled that they’d have to repaint to cover the mess.
“Redecorating. Hot damn!”
Mick glared at Wynn before chuckling. “You going to do a mural for us?”
Wynn surveyed the wall. “Hell, why not? How pornographic can I get?” He grinned at the look of horror on Mick’s face. “Just kidding. I’ll figure out something though. But for tonight, I suggest we use the other bedroom and order a new mattress tomorrow. We’ll nev
er get the paint smell out of this one.”
“Definitely. And let’s get some supper. I’m starving.”
“When aren’t you,” Wynn said with a grin.
“Right after I’ve eaten?”
“Yeah, true.”
They both laughed, then sobered. “We are going to stop the bastard, before…” Mick spat out angrily.
Wynn nodded, wrapping his arm around Mick’s waist as they left the bedroom. “Yeah, we are, and the sooner, the better. I’ll go up to the cave in the morning to set our plan in motion. With luck, things will be back to normal before we know it.”
Chapter 20
The white cat slunk through the trees surrounding the cabin, every sense alert for any sign of an intruder. Sniffing the air, he caught the scent of another cat. Faint—and old, perhaps a few hours old, he thought, still lingering on the brush close to the cabin. He climbed up to a low tree branch then onto a higher one, scanning the area. Small sounds of movement filled the air, the denizens of the forest going about their daily business. If he’d been hungry, the white cat could have fed well on the pair of rabbits he saw skittering from one low bush to the next a few yards away.
Deeming it safe for the moment, the cat leapt down, startling a squirrel who chattered angrily at him after dashing up the nearest tree. Moving to the cabin, the cat walked slowly around it. The scent of the other cat lingered there as well, stronger on the porch. Overlaying it was the scent of a man.
* * * *
“I’m outside the studio,” Wynn told Mick, holding his phone to one ear while he dug his keys out of his pocket.
“No sign of Deacon?”
Wynn hesitated a fraction of a second before replying. He hated lying to Mick. “Nothing so far. I’m going in now. I’ll call you as soon as I know it’s all clear.”
He closed his phone, shoving it into his pocket, then unlocked the cabin door. He pushed it open, stepping back quickly just in case. Nothing exploded, for which he was heartily glad. Quickly he stepped inside and disarmed the alarm box before closing the door again.
* * * *
The white cat moved inch by inch around the interior of the cabin, following the scent of the other cat in its human form. The human had touched several things, foremost among them the pencils and sketchpads lying on the work table. Taking in deep breaths, the cat searched for any foreign scents that would say the human had left something deadly behind.
Finding nothing to indicate he had, the white cat shifted, clothing himself again.
Then Wynn opened the sketchpad where Deacon’s scent had been the strongest. How childish. He stared at the blood-red line drawing Deacon had done. It showed two figures locked in battle—one human, one jaguar. Or at least Wynn presumed it was supposed to be a jaguar from the blotches on the body that could have been spots.
He called Mick again to fill him in on the sketch Deacon had made.
Mick was not happy, as indicated when he snapped, “Get out of there. He could be anywhere—watching, planning his attack.”
“Not happening. If he’d wanted to ambush me, he’d have done it when I got here. He’s just letting me know he can get in here too. It’s part of his game. I’m going to pack up my supplies and head up to the cave, just as we planned.”
“Wynn—” Mick said, his voice filled with disquiet.
“Mick, I’m going to do it! Stop worrying, I can take care of myself. He’s not going to shoot me. That would take away the fun of the game in his estimation. He wants to drag it out then take me on one-on-one. That’s why he left the sketch, to let me know how he sees this ending.”
There was a deep sigh from Mick then, resignation filling his voice, he said, “I know you’re right. I just—”
“Worry. I know. I promise I’ll call when I get to the cave. And just a bit off topic as they say, I love you.”
Mick chuckled. “That was, but I like hearing it. Love you too. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
* * * *
Wynn’s muscles were tight when he finally reached the cave. Not because of the hike up, he’d had no problem with that. He realized as he set down his pack a few yards from the cave entrance that while Mick might have believed his confident words that Deacon wouldn’t take potshots at him, his own mind must have thought otherwise. His whole body ached with tension. Taking several deep breaths, he bent, touching his toes, straightened, and repeated the exercise several times before kneading the back of his neck. Finally unwound, he picked up the backpack, moved the last few yards to the cave, and crawled through the tunnel, standing when he was far enough inside that he could.
Taking a sketchpad and his box of pencils from the backpack, Wynn returned to the small ledge outside and set to work. He became so involved in what he was drawing he didn’t realize it was noon until he looked again at he scene below him and saw how much the light had changed.
Time for part two. He added a few more lines to the drawing to complete one section then stood, stretched, and returned to the cave.
* * * *
The white cat stood poised at the entrance to the cave then paced slowly around the brush that hid it to stand on the narrow ledge. The air smelled fresh and cool with autumn fast approaching.
He swiveled his head, searching for any danger, knowing he stood out against the greenery of the brush and the darkness of the mountainside. But then, that had been the plan to lure his foe to him.
Be obvious. Be aware. Taunt him with my presence. Let him know I’m not afraid.
Slowly he ambled downwards toward the valley floor, leaping on occasion from ledge to ledge along the way.
For a brief instant, the scent of his foe wafted past the white cat, carried by an errant breeze. He tested it and found only the odor of the jaguar, not of the human armed with a weapon. Satisfied that, for the moment at least, his foe could not attack with anything other than its claws, the cat continued on.
He reached the cabin with no further indication his foe was nearby in either his jaguar or human forms. Stretching out on the cabin’s porch, the cat soaked in the sun’s warmth as he cleaned his white fur. Then he stood, nudged open the cabin door, and entered.
* * * *
“He was around when I went to the cave,” Wynn said, once he disentangled himself from Mick’s embrace. “Or, to be more specific I sensed him after I left.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Mick tried to keep the worry and anger he felt at Wynn’s words from showing. He knew deep inside Wynn probably was able to defend himself against a physical attack by Deacon. It was the ‘probably’ that bothered him. True, he’d seen the end result of Wynn’s battle with Lionel, but it had been the result of a direct attack by the black jaguar. Deacon was playing games, ones that could prove deadly for Wynn if he dropped his guard for even a moment.
“What would you have done if I had called?” Wynn replied, glancing at his lover before going to the fridge to see what they could fix for supper. He snorted softly, turning back to face Mick. “Come riding in, guns blazing? That would hardly be an inducement for him to have stuck around.”
“I know,” Mick admitted, taking the steaks Wynn handed him. Then he chuckled. “I’d have snuck in silently, gun in one hand, a knife between my teeth.”
“With a bandana wrapped around your head and an earring dangling from one ear? I’d pay to see that.”
“No earring. I gave those up when I took over as sheriff. They sort of destroyed the image of bold, brave lawman.”
“You are so kidding me.”
Mick grinned. “Maybe, maybe not.”
Wynn stepped closer, fingering one of Mick’s earlobes. “You’re kidding, unless you were into clip-ons.”
Mick shivered, reaching back to drop the steaks on the closest surface before pulling Wynn into his arms. “You know, that’s one of my sensitive spots.”
“For which, read erogenous zones.” Wynn grinned wickedly. “I know. So are we going to do something about it?” He ground against Mick, laughin
g when Mick told him to stop or they’d never get supper made. “I think in this case, sex takes precedence. Right?”
“Right,” Mick managed to get out before Wynn’s lips descended on his in a fiery kiss that drove everything else out of his mind except taking his lover then and there—which he did, with no resistance at all from Wynn.
Chapter 21
“I hate waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Wynn grumbled as he got dressed the next morning.
“I know exactly how you feel. I hope the bastard finally decides to end his games and get with the program.”
Wynn arched an eyebrow at Mick. “What is it they say about being careful what you wish for?”
“Yeah, I know—you might get it or something like that. But it’s what we both want so we can get back to our real lives again.” Mick rubbed a hand through his hair then muttered to himself that he’d just combed it.
Wynn chuckled. “I like it like that. Makes you look sexy.”
“Yeah, well ‘sexy’ here is going to grab some breakfast and get to work.” Mick headed for the bedroom door, stopped, and came back. “After I warn you to be careful and check in when you get to the studio.”
“You could have done that after we ate you know.”
Mick smiled tightly. “Oh I will.”
And he did, twice, once during breakfast and once before he left, after giving Wynn a toe-curling kiss.
Minutes later, Wynn took off as well, going up to his studio. With no signs Deacon had been there, much to both Wynn’s relief and disappointment, he spent the morning working on his painting. When noon came around, he stepped back to look at the results and smiled.
Better, much better than what it was before. Maribel was right. I needed to be with Mick. He chuckled softly. Not that finding that out was such a big surprise once she made me face the…problem I was having, I guess.
Feeling satisfied with his morning’s work, Wynn took the lunch he’d brought with him out onto the porch and sat down to eat. I really should go shopping so I’ve got food here. He chewed contentedly as he basked in the warm sunlight. Tomorrow, on the way up.
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