by R. T. Wolfe
* * *
They were meeting at Get Lucky's of all places. Duncan ordered a draft. When in Rome.
The bar was sticky and his seat was cracked. Innards from the chair's stuffing poked his backside. Nickie wanted to catch her Slippery Jimbo.
Duncan's bar stool sat at the far end and gave him a beeline view across the room, down the narrow hall and right to the entrance door. The streetlight shone through each time the door opened.
No one paid attention to them. He sat with his legs straddling hers, his hand tucked around her thigh. Nickie rarely looked like a cop. She didn't walk like a cop. He could spot a cop. Her heels were too high, her pants too snug. Her jacket hugged her female hips right below where it tied around her waist.
She carried herself as more of a warrior, sizing her surroundings. She didn't do it in only sleazebag bars. She did it everywhere. She was a tall, sexy, cop warrior. And she was his.
He ringed one of her belt loops and pulled her into him. He kissed her on the cheek before touching his lips to hers.
"Technically, I'm on duty, Reed," she said pitifully weakly.
He closed his eyes and savored the taste. "Mmm. I'm helping keep your cover. And besides, I haven't seen you naked in—" He glanced at his watch. "—fifteen hours."
She crossed her legs and let her hip fall to the side of her stool. Loosening the top button of her work blouse, she glanced over her shoulder and checked the door again.
"That's not helping," he croaked.
She squinted, then raised a corner of her mouth. "It's not meant to."
She set her elbow on the bar, then lifted it, investigating what was making her arm stick to the Formica.
"If you had James's cell," Duncan reminded her, "we wouldn't have to meet in a place with a sticky bar."
"If you would have told me months ago Jimbo had spotted Zheng, we wouldn't be here at all."
Point taken. "Finish telling me about your meeting with Strong and Lewis."
"They agreed to my request."
"Nicely played, Detective."
"I think we need a plan B. And possibly C."
"Because Moody is likely onto us. Of course. What did you have in mind?"
He kept an eye on the door for James as he listened to her plans B and C and ran his thumb in circles over the back of her hand. And she always told him men couldn't multitask.
She was right, Moody knew. The idea of the portrait with his Jaguar had been forced. That was simple enough to see.
They planned for another hour. He switched to water and let her knees sink between his as they sat. He was warming up to Get Lucky's and all of its illegal smoking and couples who could easily choose one of the rooms in the back to do what they were doing in the booths.
He explained that Moody's security system was identical to the one he owned before he upgraded. He could hack into it enough to pause the system for a few seconds, he was sure of it. She explained details of the visual and audio bugs she hoped to plant on Moody's property as part of their plans B and possibly C.
"Don't look now," he said. She was one of the few people who could hear that phrase and wouldn't look.
"Let me know when he gets closer," she said. "I don't think he'll bolt, but it's happened before."
He dipped his head closer to her, running the end of his nose along her jaw as he watched James saunter in alone. He wore his usual light-brown trench coat, his hair slicked back. An unlit cigarette stuck behind his ear, he scanned the place as he walked and spotted them. His eyes closed. Duncan sensed that behind James's lids, his eyes were likely rolling.
Nickie must have read the recognition in Duncan's eyes because she rotated easily, leaning an elbow against the sticky bar. James's face read something between phony elation and reservation. He gave a heavy sigh before walking toward the two of them.
"Detective, dude. What brings you to this less-than-adequate place of business? Of honest business, I might add."
Nickie snorted. "As if what is going on in those back rooms is legal." She said it as a statement, quiet enough that the bartender didn't hear. "Come. Sit. Let me buy you a drink."
The suggestion seemed to make James lower his brows deeply and slow his step. Gingerly, he placed a hip on the stool two seats from Nickie. She switched to the one next to him. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she must have squeezed hard, because he lifted his shoulders and ducked away from her grip.
"Hey, Savage. What's that for?"
"It's Detective Savage to you, Jimbo. I need you to look at a picture." She slipped her hand inside her jacket and pulled one of the better close-up pictures they'd gotten of Jun Zheng and set it on the counter.
James shook his finger at the photo. "That's the guy. That's the guy I came to you about last winter. The one who was asking around about you. See how valuable I am?"
"Valuable? Do you have a name for me?"
James shook his head.
"Do you have an address? Have you seen him more than once?"
He lifted a shoulder and dipped his head. "No, but—"
"I want the entire conversation, beginning to end."
"It was a long time ago, ya know?"
Nickie placed her hand back on his shoulder. Duncan imagined she must have pinched the spot around the tendon that led from the neck to the collarbone, because James dipped his shoulder and winced again. "Hey, what 'cha gotta do that for?"
"I want to know."
She released him, and he rolled his shoulder as he answered. "He spoke like an American. You know, no Japanese accent."
"Chinese, but go on."
"He had your picture. Wanted to know where you went and who you used for information. I didn't give you up." James patted himself on his good shoulder.
Duncan closed his eyes tightly.
"Who else did he talk to?" Nickie asked.
"I don't know. I didn't see." He lifted a hand ready to block Nickie's arm if necessary. "For real, detective dude... Detective Savage, dude. I only saw him the one time. I didn't think it was a big deal. I could keep an eye out for you."
Nickie handed him a bill and paid for his beer. "You do that, Jimbo."
She pushed away from the bar and Duncan followed. This was making him crazy. It was late and he was suddenly very tired.
* * *
The muscles in Nickie's body tensed, waiting to spring. She sensed she was dreaming, but couldn't convince herself it was a dream. He was coming. He was coming and she was ready.
They'd put her in the red room. They named each for their color like it was the real White House. The white house. They'd put her in a duck yellow, lacey bra with matching panties. That was what they liked to call them. They never put makeup on her. They wanted her to look like she was a virgin. They'd taken that from her a long time ago.
This one liked her. They'd brought him to her before. He called her Savage like the rest of them. She'd show them a savage. He came in with his deep voice busting out over something the guard said. Lifting his arm once to the guard, he shut the door and turned his eyes to her. She scrambled to the edge of the bed and curled her legs tightly into her. It was only partly an act.
He huffed a half-laugh and emptied his pockets like her father did when he came home for the day.
"I'd hoped you'd be that way, honey," he said like she was some sort of little girl.
She shook with fear, more from her plan than of him.
Chapter 17
The man in Nickie's dream tossed his jacket over a chair and pulled at his tie.
"They..." Nickie could hardly get it out. "They record us, you know."
His hands stopped. He didn't turn his head, but moved his eyes from one side of the room to the other.
"There," she said, pointing to the lion's head on the wall.
He continued with his tie, tossed it on a chair, then untucked his shirt.
He didn't believe her. He had to believe her. Please believe her. He was going to ruin everything.
He took his shirt off, his blubber h
anging over his pants so far it hid his belt. Taking his jacket from the chair, he walked with it to the far wall.
She took her chance and pulled his tie from the chair to the bed.
He tossed his jacket over the lion's head before he came to her. "There we go, honey. Just you and me."
She put her mind somewhere else. Somewhere safe. Her lip trembled as the weight of him sunk the bed and tilted her toward him.
"Now, where did we leave off last time?"
Bracing, she let him pull her legs until she was horizontal, then reached with her arm as his clammy body pressed against her. She could smell cigars and alcohol as his hands searched and squeezed.
She found it. She found it and she was going to do it. She grasped his tie and started thrashing like a fish. He'd expected it. That was why he chose her. Always be the smartest person in the room, she told herself, as she wrapped the tie around his neck.
A hand lay gently on her shoulder. She sat up and spun. Somewhere she noticed the room had changed, but it didn't matter. She swung like a savage at the figure behind her.
"It's okay." He blocked it like he knew it was coming. "It's me."
She held her arm back, fist tight, chest rising and falling like a rabbit's. "Oh no." She crossed her arms in front of her and made herself sit down at the edge of the bed. "Not again," she breathed. "Are you okay?"
"I'm always okay." He placed his hand back on her shoulder and squeezed before he slid it to the back of her neck and leaned over to kiss the top of her head.
Falling on her pillow, she gave herself a moment to let her breathing slow. He stayed. He always stayed. Knowing. Who does that? Turning her head, he lay next to her with his eyes closed as if nothing happened.
She asked him once why he never questioned her about how she escaped. He told her she would tell him in her own time. If it weren't for the muscles in his jaw that flexed and released, she would assume this was a regular morning for him.
She watched his beautiful face as he slid his hand down to find hers. "It's almost Christmas Eve," he said with eyes still closed.
"Hmm?"
He lifted one lid and eyed her.
"That's right." She tried to smile. "It's almost Christmas Eve, and we're going to your aunt and uncle's."
He smiled. No teeth, just a warm, safe smile that made her feel exactly that.
* * *
Nickie pulled to the curb in front of the home Duncan grew up in. She looked down at her 9-by-13 pan of mini-strombolis and started laughing. It was the same thing she brought the first time she'd come to his aunt and uncle's home.
Today was different, even if her dish-to-pass wasn't. She was free of jitters and feelings of inadequacy. His family was as welcoming and nonjudgmental as Gloria's. She sat in awe of the idea there were two families in existence like them.
And yet, she parked in the street. She may be welcome, but the oil that leaked from her car would drip on Nathan's driveway. Her boots crunched in the few inches of snow that had fallen. They were lucky it wasn't a few feet. It was beautiful. The towering trees stood covered in white guarding their property like soldiers.
Duncan's aunt was a landscape designer. In the winter months, she changed to yard-decorator. There had to be a better word for it. Lining each side of the drive was a row of trees wrapped in hundreds of tiny white lights shining beneath the new snow. The evergreens that stood tall at the corners of their enormous house were wrapped in the same, as well as the thick pillars that stood guard outside the front door.
This must have been where Duncan learned his love of big.
Someone had to have seen her and let Nathan and Brie's golden retriever out the front door. He tore down the drive to greet her. In one hand, she held her pan of appetizers, in the other was the gift she brought them. As the dog came bounding toward her, Nickie reminded herself Brie was a whiz at training dogs.
Sure enough, a few feet before he reached her, he put on the brakes and sat. "I'll be damned, Red. You are a good boy." She noted the contrast between his frozen head and his butt and tail that wiggled like a crazy man. "Come on. Let's see who let you out."
They'd told her not to, but she couldn't help it. She knocked and waited. One of Duncan's cousins answered. It was one of the twins. She could never tell them apart, so she smiled and offered generic holiday greetings.
"I'm Jonathon," he said as he helped her wrangle her coat and gifts. He must have known. The place was filled with dark green and deep red decorations wrapped around the stairs and hanging from the doors. Beneath the arching staircase was a portrait of Niagara Falls painted by an eight-year-old Duncan. She thought it was good enough to put in one of his shows.
"You're late." Speak of the devil.
"I texted you."
He kissed her with the stromboli as a barrier between them. "That you did. Come."
She understood why the foyer had been free of people. They were opening gifts. So much for not feeling awkward. Duncan took the pan from her and leaned over to place it on a counter filled with enough food to feed a small army.
When she was growing up, Christmas meant a mountain of presents with her name on them... all from her parents. Dresses she didn't want to wear, and as she got older, wouldn't wear. Ballet slippers for the classes she didn't want to take, and English riding gear when she would have preferred riding bareback. It was no wonder her parents didn't search for her when she disappeared.
Nathan and Brie sat on a couch. Next to them, propped against the wall was the painting of the creek that flowed behind the house. It was the portrait Duncan had been working on for them. Their three nearly grown biological children sat on the floor. Duncan and Andy, Rose and the baby were there along with their grandparents, who were so old they made her grandmama seem like a teenager.
Brie stood and everyone stopped talking. She was staring at the gift Nickie held in her hand. It wasn't wrapped. How do you wrap a hardwood maple sapling? "Oh," Nickie said, breaking the silence. "I remembered you... lost some trees last summer." At least she remembered to tie a bow around the pot.
"I don't know what to say," Brie said. She walked to Nickie, then wrapped her arms around her in an embracing hug.
Nickie held the tree to the side and used her other hand to pat her on the back.
"It's perfect," Brie said. "So personal. Thank you." The rest of group greeted her and offered wishes of happy holidays.
She wanted to say it was nothing because it was nothing, but instead, she said, "Merry Christmas."
* * *
Duncan persuaded Nickie to park in his garage. As silly as it was, it was a step. A storm was headed in, and the term 'storm' had a different meaning in upstate New York. He'd hooked the plow to the end of his SUV and backed it in the third spot of his double-deep three-car garage.
As they opened the door to the service entry, he pulled her coat from her shoulders. "I have a surprise."
"I've learned to go on alert when you say that."
"You'll like it."
She turned to face him and squinted. "I believe you."
He hung up their coats, dropped her overnight bag at the bottom of the stairs and took her hand. The back of the house stairs were circular and wound up and down. For the first time, he took her down the descending passage.
The basement was finished. Nickie had squashed his hopes for a shooting range, reminding him she was a cop and that it would be illegal. Her feet stopped before him, and he looked around the open space like a tourist. This side wasn't what he wanted to show her. It was more of a man cave. A large screen television sat in front of two recliners, which served as bookends to a double-long leather couch. A large table for cards was positioned on the other end of the room with a lengthy wet bar on the side.
"Nice." He knew she meant it.
"Walk this way." He guided her through the closest door. "This is what I wanted to show you." He opened it and gestured using his best Vanna White impression.
Her eyes lit in such a way he
wanted to do it all over again just so he could watch them.
He'd installed a four-lane, twenty-five yard lap pool. It lay next to the glass walkout sliding doors that led to the woods behind his house. Room for a future sauna and guest bathroom were to the side, and on the other was a set of weights, an elliptical and a heavy bag.
"Is the heater working?" she asked as she lifted her shirt off. The blood instantly drained from his head, leaving anything more than basic conversation fruitless. She was naked in seconds. He stood, stunned like an idiot. Why hadn't he had the pool installed first, he wondered, as he stripped.
The snow was coming down outside, covering the ground with a thick blanket of white. His Nickie was in his arms, safe and without reservation. He wanted the snow to come down, trapping them there for days, maybe weeks.
Foreplay in the water was followed by more on the deck of the pool. They made love like it was their first time, or maybe their last. He cursed himself for not installing an elevator as they walked to the third floor, wrapped in towels with their clothing piled in their arms.
They curled in the covers of his bed like mummies, legs twined and her head on his arm, using it as a pillow. They gazed at the ceiling as the skylights piled with white.
"Do you remember your real parents?" she asked.
"My memories of my childhood are much like other children in the sense that the ones of my early years are less clear. I do remember learning to walk, though."
"Yeah," she said with sarcasm dripping from her tone. "That's just like the rest of us humans."
"I remember my parents, yes. The sound of my mother's voice. She sang to me at bedtime. My father played catch with me. We used Velcro mitts and tennis balls."
He rubbed his thumb over her silky shoulder.
"The waiting sucks."
Said in the true form of his detective. He knew where she was going with the change in subject and didn't have an answer. They'd found some pictures of Zheng, but nothing recent and nothing tagged or hinted at his identity. James 'Slippery Jimbo' Spalding had been of little help. So, they waited. Waited for New Year's Eve when they would hopefully find some answers and 'bust some heads,' as his detective would say.
