by Sandra Cox
He still stood with his arms crossed, his expression bored, his gaze on the ball.
“Go on,” her friend urged.
Gabby complied, staring into the globe. “I see a marriage ring and six, no wait, seven children.”
“Good God!” Christopher started out of his studied indifference. Someone standing nearby snickered.
Gabby bit back a giggle. He looked positively appalled.
Amy threw him a hurt look then brightened. She pulled on his sleeve. “Your turn.”
He started to protest, but the people standing around laughed and pushed him forward.
Gingerly, Gabby put her hands back on the crystal. Her fingers began to tingle and the colors in the ball rushed together like waves. She closed her eyes and when she opened them, he was staring back at her from the crystal, his eyes cool.
“Well, Norse Queen, what is my future?”
The voice shattered her communion with the ball. Reluctant, she tore her gaze from the globe and studied the stranger. Even though his expression was bland and his voice light, Gabby could sense the tension running through him like lightning bolts.
When she glanced back down the spell was broken and the crystal was once more clear.
“Alimony payments,” she said crisply.
A ripple of laughter broke out around them.
Christopher rose from his seat. He could not quite hide his relief at the dire prediction.
Gabby watched him through narrowed eyes. Just what had he expected her to say?
“It’s been quite educational. Are you ready, Princess?”
“But we just got here,” Amy protested.
“Ah, I thought you wanted to see my etchings or something equally quaint.”
Amy brightened. She winked at Gabby.
Gabby could feel her face puckering up like a prune, as she glowered at Amy, but her best friend appeared not to notice.
“Or something,” Amy said suggestively, wrapping her hand around that hard arm.
Gabby looked at Christopher. “I’m sure you can see yourselves out.”
Christopher smiled back nastily. “It’s been a memorable experience, but I wouldn’t give up your day job.”
Amy giggled. “Of course, not darling, Gabby’s a reporter.”
Gabby could have sworn he paled.
“A reporter,” he echoed in a hollow voice.
Chapter Five
A reporter, well wasn’t that just dandy, Christopher thought sourly, as he sat on the side of his bed and yanked off his shoes, sending first one then the other hurling across the room. Reaching up, he pulled off his wig. His hair was the same tawny color of the hairpiece but much shorter. He knew, without the wig, the hard planes and angles of his face were subtly softened. He ran his hand through the thick tufts, feeling them stand on end.
He’d known that woman was trouble the moment she cannonballed into him. He moved restlessly on the bed. Just thinking about the few brief moments when her long supple body pressed against his made him tense and edgy.
Cursing, he jumped off the bed and stalked across the room.
Picking up the remote he sank down into the plush couch cushions. Christopher pushed the button and as the TV flashed into life, he grinned nastily. Ms. Bell hadn’t liked the idea of him having a tête-à-tête with her flaky friend one little bit.
Amy had clung like a barnacle. After they left the party, he’d had to plead a headache, like a damned debutante, to get rid of her.
But she had served her purpose. It had been almost laughably easy. He’d needed access to the Norse Queen’s house. He smiled. The moniker was fitting. With that long blonde hair, statuesque build and haughty carriage she did resemble a queen of old.
Once he’d discovered Ms. Bell’s name, it had been the work of a moment to track down her address.
Christopher frowned. Unfortunately, there had been no mention of her reporting career when he traced her background. Some waitress work in nightclubs had been about all he’d dug up. She obviously wasn’t a big name or he’d have heard of her by now.
He’d watched her house for a couple of days, seen her friend pop in and out and arranged an accidental meeting.
It would have been easy enough to just break in, but he preferred as few surprises as possible.
He now knew every room in her home and, most importantly of all, where she kept the globe. How ironic that it was in the bedroom. He felt his brow wrinkle like corrugated cardboard. Why had the troublesome woman said she’d seen his face in the globe? Surely, she didn’t know about the legend.
Restless, he stalked the length of his room, back and forth, sinew, blood and bone working in perfect symmetry as he paced. He stretched out his arms and felt lean muscle ripple just below the skin. As he passed it, the mirror threw his reflection back at him, his tan dark against his white briefs and ribbed sleeveless undershirt.
He glanced at the clock on the desk, midnight. Was the Norse Queen asleep yet or should he wait another hour before paying her a visit?
Well there was only one way to find out. He walked to his closet and pulled out a pair of black jeans and a black pullover.
Minutes later, he left the hotel, slipped into a rental car and turned on the ignition. With a purr of the engine, the car glided onto the quiet, dark street.
The black Chevy Camaro he’d leased slid smoothly to a halt. The light from the street lamps fell short of the car. He’d parked a block away from Ms. Bell’s house.
Turning off the car lights, he killed the motor and got out of the car. The slam of the car door sounded unnaturally loud on the quiet street.
He heard a rustling in the shadows and whipped around, poised and ready for trouble. A light breeze lifted his hair.
“Mrrow.”
Christopher relaxed. He smiled as a big yellow tomcat strolled into the light. “Headed for a midnight rendezvous are you?”
The cat looked at him then disappeared into the dark.
Stealing down the street, he kept to the shadows. He stopped on the sidewalk in front of Ms. Bell’s house. The curtains silhouetted her as she walked through the living room. Not in bed yet.
He grinned. She was still in her gypsy getup. That outfit was enough to turn a clergyman lustful.
At the sound of a car engine, Christopher straightened. Beams flashed at the end of the block. The last thing he needed was to be caught loitering about after midnight. He walked quickly to the backyard fence. Ignoring the locked gate, he placed his palm on the cool aluminum rail, stuck his toe in the six-foot fencing and vaulted over.
Christopher could hear the dog barking inside as he drifted into the shadows.
The back door opened. Ms. Bell stuck her head out and looked around. Seeing no one, she shrugged and went back inside.
He watched the door close then leaned up against the old oak prepared to wait.
The car that had turned onto the street slowed down in front of Ms. Bell’s house then went on by. As Christopher listened, someone cut the motor. Two car doors slammed. He slipped to the side of the house, waiting.
Minutes later, the gate rattled. A voice hissed, “What are you doing you idiot? You’re making enough noise to wake the whole neighborhood. Go back to the car and wait for me there.”
Stretching, Christopher peered around the side of the house. “But, Mr. Leaky,” a large man was protesting, “how are we supposed to get in? The gate’s locked.” He rattled it again.
“Go back to the car,” a small wiry man hissed.
Christopher nearly purred. Well, well, well, Leaky. Leaky was the son of a bitch who’d stolen the crystal to begin with. He smiled grimly. Apparently, word had gotten back to Leaky that one of his minions had screwed up…badly.
He shook his head. Thanks to him someone had sold Gabriella Bell a priceless crystal for five hundred dollars. He wondered if she had any possible idea of its worth. Not likely since she was using it to tell fortunes.
His conscience had briefly bothered him about
the intended theft, until he’d seen her using it like a gypsy with a crystal ball for God sakes!
The idiot, whom Christopher recognized as the shopkeeper, slunk back into the darkness.
Leaky pulled a small tool from his back pocket and picked the lock. He slipped through the gate and closed it behind him then crept toward the back of the house.
Christopher flexed his fingers. He really was going to enjoy this. Stepping out of the shadows, he purred, “Are you lost, Leaky? You seem a bit far from home.”
The small man gave a violent start. Even in the darkness, Christopher could see him blanch. But then he had the eyes of a cat.
Leaky tried to bolt, but Christopher was too quick. With a panther-like lunge, he reached out and wrapped his arm around Leaky’s neck. “We have to talk,” he purred in the smaller man’s ear and drew him into the shadows.
Sliding both hands up, Christopher squeezed the jugular. “Now tell me, my little rodent, why you had the audacity to steal from me?”
Leaky gasped for air. “I didn’t know it was yours, Saint, honest.”
Christopher’s fingers tightened.
Leaky pried at them to no avail. “A customer offered me a fortune for it, but I wouldn’t have touched it if I’d known it was yours. You got to believe me.”
Christopher shook him.
Leaky’s head snapped back so sharply, that for a brief moment, Christopher thought he’d broken the man’s neck.
“Who?”
“Don’t know,” Leaky gasped out. “You know how the business works. Never any names. Just telephone calls and manila envelopes exchanged.”
Christopher pressed him up against the house and smiled a wolfish smile. “Too bad for you, you didn’t bother with a little more information.”
His ring glittered like arching green fireworks in the dark, as the back of Christopher’s hand made contact with Leaky’s face. The slap echoed through the night.
Leaky tasted blood in his mouth then felt it trickle down his chin.
Even though a chill March wind blew, beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. The rest of his body was cold and clammy, frozen with fear. In the circle Leaky moved in, Saint was called The Tiger, though never to his face. It was said he once ripped out a man’s heart while it was still beating.
Leaky liked to think the story exaggerated, but regardless of whether it was true or fictionalized, The Tiger was not a man to cross.
Saint moved an arm against Leaky’s throat and pressed him hard against the house. A splinter dug through Leaky’s shirt and lodged in his back.
Something silver glittered in the moonlight. A thin stiletto appeared, as if by magic in Saint’s right hand.
Leaky was too scared to swallow. The knife hovered along his neck then moved. Before Leaky knew what was happening, Saint made a short slice on his arm then crossed it. Droplets in the form of an x beaded up on Leaky’s arm.
Leaky forgot caution. “You cut me,” he screamed.
The dog began to bark. Another dog down the street followed suit. The light on the porch stoop flashed on, creating a circular yellow glow in the dark.
Christopher grabbed him by the collar and drew him deeper into the darkness. He brought his face up against Leaky’s. “Don’t ever mess with me or mine again. Stay away from the crystal and the girl. Or next time I’ll cut your heart out.” Then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows. Moments later, the soft purr of an engine sounded down the block.
“Who’s there?” Gabby called from the porch.
The dog went racing past her.
Leaky stood like a statue, frozen with fear, except for his heart galloping like a horse in his chest. The dog was between him and the gate. His sense of self-preservation kicked in and he raced toward the fence that Saint had disappeared over moments before.
Leaky jumped for the fence. He heard his pants tear and felt a stinging in his hindquarters just before he scrambled over it. He cleared the fence and glanced back. A huge fuzzy dog stood snarling at him, a piece of dark blue cloth dangling from his jaws.
Leaky took off holding the flapping material covering his posterior. “Let’s get out of here!” he told Robey as he opened the car door and jumped in.
The car pulled away from the curb. Leaky rubbed his stinging flank. “I hope you know a discreet doctor in this benighted burg because I’m going to need a tetanus shot for sure.”
* * * * *
Gabby clapped her hands then whistled. A sharp, piercing sound that she was certain her neighbors wouldn’t appreciate. “Ned. Come here, Neddy boy.”
Ned came trotting out from the backyard, with something dangling between his teeth.
Gabby squatted down and he came to her, wagging his tail. He dropped his treasure into Gabby’s lap. Gabby held up the cloth. It was dark and coarse, material pants were made from. She began to shake. Someone had been lurking around her house.
She hugged the Chow-mix. “Good dog. Good dog, Neddy.” She straightened and looked around. In a voice that she hoped was firm, Gabby called out, “I’m going into the house, to call the police. If you are still out there I strongly suggest you get the hell out of Dodge.”
Get the hell out of Dodge? Jeez oh Pete! Where had that come from? As if she didn’t know! The colloquialisms that escaped her lips when she was under extreme stress could be laid directly at her father’s door. Her dad was an old western buff and fascinated by the ten-foot tall sheriffs, who proudly wore their tin stars and stood unafraid in the middle of the streets, their legs splayed, ready to mete out justice to the bad guys.
Besides, if someone was still out there, Neddy wouldn’t be standing next to her with his tongue hanging out, he’d be out in the dark, chasing the bad guys. Ole Ned must be a bit of a sheriff fancier himself. Giving his fuzzy head a final pat, she said, “Let’s go in now.”
She nearly tripped over Jericho, sitting smack-dab in front of the kitchen door, complaining as only a Siamese can about being left out of all the excitement.
As soon as both animals were out from under her feet, Gabby locked and bolted the door, then ran through the house to the bedroom. She stopped in the doorway her eyes instinctively drawn to the bookcase where the globe rested in its bowl.
The crystal was quiet. No churning waves of color swam about inside the circular orb. She walked over, picked it up and clasped it to her bosom. No one, but no one was getting her green crystal. The analytical portion of Gabby’s mind knew she was becoming obsessed with the globe and knew as well there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
Holding her precious globe, Gabby walked into the living room, stopped and sniffed. The faint scent of a man’s cologne hung in the air. It had since the party.
Gabby sniffed again. Pleasures. And she knew exactly who had been wearing it. For some reason she found the idea of Saint’s scent in her home almost as disturbing as having an intruder in her backyard only in a much more elemental manner.
She gave a small humorless laugh, causing Jericho to stop in the act of cleaning the hind leg he had hoisted in the air and look at her inquiringly.
“He probably picked the cologne for its name,” she told the Siamese.
Bored with the conversation, the cat went back to his ablutions, his sandpaper tongue rasping across his clean chocolate-colored flank.
“You could just tell by the condescending way he looked at all the poor fools at the party that he thought he was better than everyone else.” Gabby paced the floor. “He probably considers himself the greatest lover since Casanova. And if Amy tells me about her exploits and his prowess, I’ll kill her,” she said fiercely.
“Meow. Meow.”
“I am not being catty. No offense,” Gabby told the cat.
To make matters worse, the globe chose that moment to reveal Christopher Saint’s face smiling nastily at her.
Gabby said a word her sainted mother, God rest her soul, would have considered highly improper. Holding it at arm’s length, she marched back to the be
droom, put the globe in the bowl and threw her gypsy shawl over it.
Muttering to herself, Gabby undressed. She left her clothes in a heap on the floor and pulled a worn cotton nightshirt, with a picture of a Siamese, over her head.
Ned trotted to the window, stood on his hind legs with his front paws on the sill and began to whine.
“What’s the matter, Neddy boy?” Gabby asked, watching him. He barked and wagged his large plumy tail, still looking out the window.
Gabby walked to the window. Leaning over she opened it and peered through the screen at her dark backyard.
* * * * *
Christopher swore quietly, his side pressed against the house. Did the woman have no sense of self-preservation or just no sense?
In fact, he’d been swearing monotonously since she’d begun to undress. Just how much privacy did she think those little lace curtains provided? Why didn’t the idiot have blinds?
He’d come back almost immediately after having left. He reparked the car on a different block then resumed his vigil. He was taking no chances on Leaky returning.
He leaned deeper into the shadows and away from the window as she gave a last look around, her face pressed against the screen. “Must be a squirrel, Neddy.”
“You should call the police, you idiot,” he whispered under his breath.
Stunned, he watched her slam down the window, a strange expression on her face. His voice had barely been a whisper on the wind. Unless she had the hearing of a cat, there was no way she could have heard him. Nonetheless, he was sure she had.
The lights went out. He frowned, pensive. She was probably at this very moment convincing herself she’d imagined the whole thing. He sure as hell intended to blot it from his mind along with that comment about staying out of her ball. What the hell had she meant by that? Surely, she couldn’t actually see him in the damn thing. No. It wasn’t possible.
He moved restlessly then stopped, listening. His senses were particularly acute. They’d been developed as a child living on the streets of Calcutta. And the rattrap she lived in apparently wasn’t insulated.
But whether it was his own acute hearing or the paper-thin walls, he could hear the bedsprings groan as she sat down on the bed. They groaned again as she lay down and rolled over looking for a comfortable sleeping spot.
