by April Hill
"Is that all you ever think about?" she asked sweetly.
"Pretty much. Since I met you, anyway." He sighed. "You should be flattered. I used to be regarded as a workaholic." He took her hand and pulled her down on the bed next to him. "Why don't I go out and pick up something for dinner, then come back here and…"
Beth wasn't listening. She had focused the binoculars on Felix Kruger's bedroom window again.
"Adam!" she gasped. "There's a woman in there with him—on the bed!"
McCann scowled. "Put those damned things down, or…"
"She's not moving! Look!" She handed him the binoculars.
Wearily, McCann focused on the bedroom window. "The shade's down. How can you…"
"Look a little lower. It's open about six inches from the windowsill. See that foot there? Is that a woman's foot or, or what?"
"Okay, maybe it's a woman's shoe. Maybe Felix is a cross-dresser. I hate to tell you this, but I can think of several possibilities for what we're looking at—the least interesting of which is that the lady's asleep. Maybe she's drunk. Maybe completely worn out by old Felix's insatiable appetites. Who the hell knows?"
He stuck the binoculars in the drawer of the bedside table and slammed it shut.
* * * * *
At 3:00 a.m., Adam turned over in bed, reached for Beth and found her gone. But she hadn't gone far. She was standing at the bedroom window, balanced on one crutch as she peered through a small opening in the curtains—watching Kruger's darkened bedroom window.
"Okay, that does it, Sherlock!" McCann got out of bed, swept Beth up under his arm and carried her back to bed over his hip, like a hundred-pound bag of potting mix—maybe closer to one-twenty-five
The distance was short and the trip uncomfortable, especially since Beth had a fairly good idea of what was going to happen when they reached the bed. The encounter wasn't likely to be sensual, either, since Adam was obviously a whole lot grumpier than he was horny.
Still holding her under his arm, he dragged the four pillows to the center of the bed, punched them together to form a smallish mountain and dumped her face down over the top.
"You can't spank someone with a broken toe," she said.
"Sure, I can. I asked your doctor if it was okay."
"You did what?" she cried.
"I asked him if spanking someone with a broken toe could do further harm, and he said, and I quote, "as long as the great toe in question is securely positioned and not subjected to undue stress…"
"He said no such thing!"
"Not in those exact words. What I told him was that the part that might be getting spanked wasn't anywhere near the great toe. It was pretty a damned interesting conversation, actually. He said he'd once treated a woman whose husband spanked her right up until she was eight months pregnant, and both she and the baby were one hundred percent healthy. He made a suggestion though. Said that if it was him doing it, he'd go out in the yard and cut himself a couple of switches—and I quote again—'position the lady over a couple of big pillows, take her pants down, and just plain wear her out.' Maybe he meant wear the switches out. I can't be sure. Anyway, he told me that a switch stings like blazes and leaves a great pattern on the butt and the backs of the lady's thighs, without the thud. Thudding's not good, apparently. I could be wrong, but I think maybe the pregnant patient might have been his wife."
"Very funny."
It wasn't funny, though. Adam had already collected the switches the previous day, and they lay waiting in the bottom drawer, freshly stripped of their leaves, but still green enough to be supple and strong. It took him about two seconds flat to pull her pajama bottoms down to her knees and start thwacking everything in sight with the first switch. She squirmed and squealed and yelped and even tried pleading that her toe was in danger of a relapse, but by this time, even Beth knew that her word probably wasn't regarded as especially trustworthy. Normally, Adam was a patient man, but he had a cop's ingrained dislike of lying. That, along with Beth's ongoing disregard for her own health and safety, had begun to wear on him. Adam had decided that it was time was to make his point about both issues and make them doubly clear—by applying the switch twice as hard as either crime probably warranted all by itself.
In Beth's opinion, though, the second switch was definitely overkill.
When he'd finished, he left her lying over the pillows, with her bottom and upper thighs covered with a thatchwork of bright red lines, every line of which had begun to itch miserably. Adam sat down at the desk to make a phone call, and when she started to pull up her pants, he motioned for her to stay as she was.
"Like this?" she wailed.
"Like that," he ordered. Without taking his eyes off her, he punched in the numbers on the phone.
"This is ridiculous," she growled. "And embarrassing. I'm getting up."
McCann put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Move one inch off those pillows and I'm going to get the bath brush and start all over, and set you on goddamned fire—again."
"You're bluffing," she said, proving once again how slow she could be about grasping Adam's mood.
"Try getting up and see."
Fifteen hard but mercifully placed swats with a plastic bath brush probably wouldn't have been especially bad on a bottom that hadn't already suffered through a painfully-thorough switching. In Beth's case, though, with her backside still scalded and itching, the swats were sheer hell, and if she expected sympathy from the Lieutenant, she was disappointed. When she dared to complain and accompanied the complaint with a mild obscenity, he responded by pulling her across his knee, lowering her pajama bottoms again, and delivering a brief, barehanded spanking to everything that had already been scorched. And when she responded to this escalation with an even more obscene remark, he calmly spread her legs wide, held them open, and applied a flurry of penalty slaps to her soft inner thighs that brought her to tears—and instant remorse.
Adam had apparently reached the end of his patience, and as she lay over the stacked pillows with her bottom ablaze, Beth carefully calculated what it had taken to bring on a spanking miserable enough to actually make her cry. It was something she certainly didn't want to risk again—not right away, anyway. Not for years, if she could help it.
* * * * *
She woke up the next morning, immediately climbed out of bed, found her crutch and hobbled off to the bathroom—to check the damage. She was surprised and not especially pleased to find that only a few traces of pink flesh remained to memorialize last night's spanking. It would have made her happier to be able to point out to Adam a bit of stark evidence of his brutality. Glumly, she was forced to conclude that her very worst spanking ever hadn't been quite as bad as she had thought while it was in progress. Memorable certainly, but well short of brutal. It embarrassed her to remember that only four hours afterward she had allowed herself to be seduced. Okay, maybe not even seduced. Her sobs had wound down to an occasional sniffle by the time he came upstairs again, and they'd lain quietly together for a long time, talking. No apology had been forthcoming from Adam, but he had told her again how worried he was about her, and finally, Beth had slipped her arms around his neck and mumbled her own apology. They'd made love twice before she fell asleep, and in deference to her tender bottom, she had been on top both times.
That evening, after they returned to the house after having dinner, Beth told him about her unnerving experience in the basement. "Why didn't you tell me this yesterday?" he demanded, but he didn’t wait for the answer. "Can you describe the sound?" he asked.
Beth repeated her analogy—of a giant plunger in a giant toilet. "Not too clear, huh?"
"Maybe too clear," he said. "Is there a sump pump down there?"
Beth shrugged. "What's a sump pump?"
He thought for a moment. "Kind of like a bilge pump."
"Only for a sump, right?" she asked, helpfully.
"Yeah."
"Okay, what's a sump?"
Adam sighed. "Never mind. I'm pretty sure you don't have one."<
br />
"Do they cost money?"
"Of course."
"I don't have one."
"Where do you keep the light bulbs?" he asked.
"In the lamps, mostly."
"You don't have extra light bulbs?" Adam was getting annoyed.
She shrugged. "I will on payday."
He got up and walked away, to return a few seconds later with two light bulbs stolen from the lamps in the living room. "Wait here," he said. He unclipped the small flashlight from his belt and started toward the hallway.
"Where are you going?" Beth cried with alarm, struggling up from her chair.
"To check out the damned basement. I should have done it days ago."
"You're not going down there by yourself!" she yelled. "Wait until morning, when I can call someone."
"Call who?"
"An electrician. An exterminator. A sump pump guy. I don't know. Someone else! I don't want you down there!"
"Do something useful, and look around for candles. I found a couple in the top kitchen drawer the other day."
"Please, Adam!" Beth pleaded.
"There's nothing in the basement but junk and spiders," he said.
"That's what I thought," she grumbled. "Before I heard the big toilet plunger."
"I just want to look around for the fake windows," he insisted, opening the basement door.
"Why? You know they've got to be there, somewhere," she called after him "Windows don't just disappear, even fake ones. Adam?"
* * * * *
Beth found a box of utility candles and a book of matches then rolled them in a tea towel and tossed them down the basement steps to Adam. With that accomplished, she dragged a chair down the hall and sat by the basement door.
"Keep talking to me," she shouted down the stairs. "So I'll know you’re all right."
"Right, General," he yelled back, "and I'll fire three shots when I see the redcoats coming."
"Stop kidding around, Adam! I saw a big cockroach down there—the size of those kosher dills you get at the deli."
"I'll keep a sharp eye out for him. I'm terrified of pickles."
"Very funny. Did you find the windows?"
"I couldn't find my butt with both hands in this place," he called. "Too dark. The damned candles keep going out. There's major draft coming from somewhere."
Beth shivered. "Please come back up. I'll call an electrician and install some lights down there, I promise. Did you find the one light? With the dead bulb?"
Adam didn't answer.
"It's right at the bottom of the stairs," she called. "On the right."
Silence.
"Adam?"
She stood up and limped to the basement door, with one hand against the wall.
"Adam? Did you find the light?"
Suddenly, the lights in the kitchen and the hallway flickered once and went out, plunging the house into darkness.
Beth called down the basement stairs again, and when Adam didn't respond, she made her way in the dark to the open doorway and felt with her good toe for the first step. She had begun to tremble slightly, which made it harder to keep her balance as she felt for the second step and then the third. Holding on to the splintered railing with both hands, she limped to the next step and the next, wincing in pain each time the injured toe made contact with a hard surface. Her confidence grew at each step, though, and she made it three quarters of the way down before the pain forced her to stop for a moment.
"Adam? Where the hell are you?" she called into the absolute darkness. "If you don't answer me, I swear to God, I'm going to…" A clawing sound from the far corner made her stop and listen. "Adam, is that you over there?"
The sound stopped, and Adam didn't answer. Beth closed her eyes, trying not to cry, and took another painful step downward.
With a sharp crack, the basement stair split, sending Beth tumbling down the last few steps. Her scream was cut short when she landed on her side on the concrete floor, hard enough to knock the wind out of her and send a bolt of agony up her right leg and all the way to her crotch.
"Shit!"
Beth reached out with both hands, searching for something to grab hold of in order to get to her feet. The pain in her foot and leg was excruciating, but when it ebbed quickly, she heaved a sigh of relief. Her hip felt bruised, but nothing new seemed to be broken.
"Adam?!" When there was still no answer, Beth began to feel the first stirrings of real fear, something she knew she couldn't surrender to. Not yet. Not until she found Adam.
When nothing better turned up after a couple of minutes of frantic searching, she scooted backward across the damp floor until her back touched the stairs then reached up for the railing and hoisted herself onto the bottom step. By the time she was able to stand up, with most of her weight on her left foot, she was breathing hard and hurting everywhere.
Her progress across the darkened basement was slow and painful. At least twice she crashed into what felt like heaps of trash and came down hard again. But by now, she was mastering the art of getting on her hands and knees and pushing herself up without holding on to anything. The air cast on her injured foot provided enough rigidity to ease the pressure on the injured toe, but she still gasped with pain each time the toe bent.
When she fell for the third time, she came down on something softer than concrete—and more vocal. Adam swore and sat up abruptly, and they bumped heads—hard. Beth had never been so happy to be facing a throbbing headache in her entire life.
"Are you all right?" she cried, feeling for his face in the darkness.
"I'll live. I ran into the wall, I think. Or it ran into me." He reached for her hand. "How did you get down here?"
"The hard way," she groaned. "I'm selling this damned house—tomorrow, if I can. Are you sure you’re all right?"
"Have you noticed the smell down here?"
"Mold," she said. "And mildew."
"No," he said quietly. "Something else. Something worse."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ten minutes later, after a slow, difficult climb up the basement steps, they stepped into the darkened hallway. Beth was limping badly, and Adam, still dazed from running headfirst into a brick wall, was doing what he could to support her.
Adam tried the hall switch, and swore. "I was about to tell you about the lights," Beth said. "Just before I came down after you, they just blinked and went out. I think they're off upstairs, too."
He groaned. "Tell me the circuit breakers aren't in the basement."
"Actually, no. In the laundry room," she said. "Over the dryer."
In the kitchen, Beth slumped down into a chair and watched as Adam checked the gray metal breaker box.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, nervously.
He flipped a breaker handle, and the kitchen and hall lights went on. "No, I guess not. Probably just an overload. The wiring in these old houses can't handle all the electrical crap we have today." But when he closed the box and joined her at the table, something was obviously still puzzling him. "How often do you pop a breaker like that?"
"Only when I turn on the bedroom air conditioner while I'm running the computer and the microwave and then go in the bathroom and dry my hair." She paused for a moment before asking the next question, not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer. "What about the windows, Adam? That's what you went down there for, isn't it?"
"Yeah, and I can't figure it out. When this house was built, it had four basement windows: two at the front and two in the rear. I know that because I checked the other houses in the development the same day I talked to Fred Lawrence. There are eight houses with the same floor plan as yours. A couple of them have minor differences in the exterior design, but every one of them has the same basement window arrangement, because the foundations were built at the same time, using the same blueprints, presumably. And Kruger's house, which is exactly like yours, down to those carved heart designs on the shutters, has the same window arrangement—two in front and two in back. And all of
them real. Your rear windows are dummies. Get down on your hands and knees and look in, and what you see is solid wall—maybe concrete, maybe plywood. It's hard to tell.
But, what's funny is that there's no trace down there of the two rear windows, fake or not. I was feeling my way along the walls where they should be when I ran into whatever it was I ran into."
"So maybe Kruger changed everything around while he making all those alterations Lawrence told you about," she suggested. "Removed the windows, covered them up, something like that."
"I'm sure that's what happened, and maybe it's no big deal, but it bothers me. Why would he do something like that? There's not enough light down there as it is. And why can't I find them?"
She shrugged. "Okay, maybe they're there, but just really dirty, or maybe there's a lot of crap piled up in front of them. You saw the basement. It's filthy. There's fifty years of trash down there, maybe more. It's hard even to move around. You saw—or felt—that yourself. I hate to be the one to suggest it, but now that the power's on, you can go down and put in a good bulb, and look around. Just stay on the stairs, this time, okay?"
"There's no light."
"Sure there is. It’s not like a real fixture or anything, just a long, kind of frayed cord with one of those click on and off metal sockets at the end—and a dead light bulb."
"All that's left of it is a length of wire about two inches long, just under the joists."
"Okay, so maybe I accidentally yanked it down when I was stumbling. I was grabbing at anything I could to keep my balance."
For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and Beth could see that he was debating telling her something. "The wire was cut, Beth," he said, finally. "Sliced in two." Adam stood up and took her arm. "Get a few things together. I'm taking you to my place."
She beamed. "I thought you’d never ask. What'll I do about the cats, though?"
McCann groaned. "Okay, bring some of them; feed the rest before we leave, and I'll come back in the morning and take the others over to the boarding place my daughter uses."
"That's okay," she said. "As long as there's food and water, they'll be fine here for a couple of days. They're all reformed strays, used to fending for themselves."
