Dressed in White

by Diana Stone

  “Barely. That poor lady had her wrist broken. It’s getting worse.”

  “Come on. Leave your truck here. We’ll go somewhere,” he starts leading me around to the passenger side.

  “Hang on. I hate to leave it.” I tug on his hand. “The town shuts down at night, and it will be here like a beacon.”

  “It would be a beacon anywhere. You know, they can get to it at the ranch, or at a hotel.”

  “I guess so, but let me get some things,” I grab my backpack containing my Smith and Glock, “Two friends in here.”

  He smiles and nods—looking pleased.

  I’m not used to a man looking happy when I get my armaments. Most would feel emasculated, or afraid.

  I lock up, shut the tailgate, then he escorts me to the passenger side. Such a gentleman.

  He drives around the block, twice. Then he heads out to the highway. He makes another few turns, in and out of housing tracts, then takes farm roads for another ten miles, west to Lompoc.

  I sit quietly. He has proven his trustworthiness, so I don’t need to quiz him about where he is taking me. I recognize some landmarks, like River Park where they have wine and food festivals, and Home Depot—always a good place for fencing supplies. He drives past.

  He makes a right on Highway 1, and passes the air force base and the prison. The sun has dipped, and there are no lights here in the middle of nowhere. It’s good land, close to the sea, but it hasn’t been developed. There are fields with crops, and low hills with sage and scrub oak. And we keep driving.

  He finally makes a left off the two lane road onto a single lane. A few minutes later, he slows at a rolling iron security gate, which he clicks open. This is getting interesting. He pulls to a stop outside what looks to be a steel warehouse.

  “We’re here.” He turns off the engine and faces me. “You’re safe now.” His face has a glow from the dashboard lights. Outside, the twilight has faded to a misty gray.

  “They’ll never find me out here. Secondly, there’s that amazing gate. Do you have attack dogs?”

  “I have cameras and sensors, but no dogs,” he leans in to kiss me. I lean forward to meet him.

  “Come on, I’ll show you.” He clicks on the building lights and gets out.

  I open my door, and step into the cool, damp ocean air. “This is my, I guess you could call it, my headquarters.”

  He taps a code into his phone and the steel door clicks unlocked. Dim lights come on, revealing an interior different from the sterile exterior. The floors are wood, and the walls are regular drywall.

  We’re passing a door, then he stops, and opens it. “This is my office.”

  It isn’t what I would expect. I’m actually not sure I expected anything, since I don’t know him. It’s furnished with a heavy wood desk and two brown leather chairs. It has the look of a businessman’s power office. The area behind his desk are floor to ceiling wood bookcases. They’re filled with books, and a row of trophies and certificates.

  I glance around and see three enlarged photos of helicopters on the wall. One is a military attack helicopter, either taking off or landing. The next is a pilot in a helmet and flight suit. The third is him standing by the door of a black and gold helicopter.

  “Are all these you?”

  “Yeah, it’s good to have skills.”

  That’s an understatement.

  “I can train a horse, but my skills in other areas are lacking.”

  “You have skills.”

  “In bed?”

  “No. I’m not going there. I mean you were an excellent officer, you can handle problems, you’re reliable, and you’re strong and brave. Don’t underestimate yourself,” he looks sternly at me. “This isn’t a competition.”

  “Ok. But still…”

  “Come on,” he leads me out, and we continue down the hall. There are two doors which we pass. He stops at the next on the left. He leaves a thumbprint, and it opens.

  “Hopefully no one will cut off your thumb to get in.”

  “I’m considering upgrading,” he flashes me an amazed look. “I think about it every time I enter.”

  “We’ve seen too many movies.”

  He steps in and flips the lights on low. It’s a man’s luxury condo. The living room is in front of us. It towers up two stories of open air, with whitewashed brick walls. It has a loft vibe, with a heavy black leather couch. The coffee table is a twisted steel airplane part with a sheet of glass on top. Stainless hanging lights and a massive, colorful, expressionist painting of a jet flashing through the sky—I think. It captures the heart of the room.

  The kitchen counter is stainless and is the barrier between the living room and kitchen. The fridge is huge. “Are you hungry?” He steps around me and opens the single top door.

  “Wow. You’ve been shopping—and cooking.” It occurs to me, “How do you cook when you’re out of town?”

  “Remember my mother—the chef.”

  “She keeps you stocked?”

  “I called her and look what shows up… gifts! Seriously, I neither have the time nor interest to cook. You may not like some of it—it’s a bit too traditional for your liking.”

  He reaches in. “Here, chicken enchiladas. Is that alright?”

  “Yes, that’s perfect, thank you,” my eyes get a little misty over his thoughtfulness. I blink them away.

  He pulls down an earthenware plate, gets a fork and sections one off. “Or would you like two?” He looks up. “Are you alright?” he steps close, looking concerned.

  “Yes. I guess I’m fragile at the moment. Now that I think about it, I only had coffee and one bite of pastry this morning before the asshole came in.”

  “Hold on.” he holds up one finger. He quickly gets the plate going in the microwave, under that plastic cover, then pulls me into a good, strong hug.

  I take a deep breath and let my head rest against his. “I fall apart when I don’t eat.”

  “You’ve been in the combat zone today, it’s to be expected. Do you think I go without eating?”

  “No. I can tell by your build. You’d be a rail if you didn’t.”

  “Come on, let’s sit.” He walks us to the bar stools and seats me. “Water?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  The micro stops without a beep. He gets water from the filter, picks up the plate, and slides them in front of me.

  He hands me the fork. “Have as much as you want,” watching as I take a bite.

  “Mmm, this is good. Thank you.” I flick my eyes up to acknowledge his effort.

  He sits next to me, watching. I keep eating, not like a hog, but with a strong appetite.

  When I’ve munched through about half, he stands up, runs his hand down my back like a cat, and goes to the fridge. “Since you’re doing so well with the enchiladas, I’ll leave them for you. He pulls out another few containers and dishes them up for himself.

  We’ve been eating for a while. I’m finishing my second serving. He’s eating pulled pork, rice, and beans. There hasn’t been much conversation. My brain is quiet, and he hasn’t been saying much, but the silence isn’t oppressive. I put down my fork, take a long sip of water, and sit up straight.

  Swiveling to look at him, I have a hint of a smile. “Thank you. That is for everything, not just dinner.”

  He nods, still chewing, like when the server asks how you like your meal. He swallows and puts his hand on my cheek. “Anything you need.” Then looks down at his food—almost in a hurry.

  What I would do in a different situation is get up, and either begin washing the dishes, or loading the washer.

  But my intuition, my inner smarts, is telling me something. He really likes me. I’m staying put in this chair and not breaking the mood. I swing the seat around to face him. I reach one leg and run my shin up his calf muscle.

  This isn’t the same thing as sliding my bare foot up his thigh. I’m wearing running shoes. No, it isn’t the same at all.

  But he seems to think it i
s!

  As I watch, his expression changes from benign to intense. He swallows, turns, slightly leans toward me, his mouth opens a little, his eyes dilate.

  Wow, I’m seeing all this unfold in front of me.

  His hand whips down to my foot, holding it locked against his leg.

  Oh shit.

  He pulls off my shoe from the heel. It drops to the floor. Then he smiles a closed-mouth leer I would hate to see on another man, but I like seeing on him.

  He slowly lifts my foot to his lap, his eyes keeping contact with mine.

  Inch by inch, he peels off my sock… and lets it fall.

  He runs his fingers along my arch.

  I feel my insides clench. I wish I hadn’t eaten so much. I needed the energy, but this scenario is moving in another direction...

  It almost tickles, but not quite. Then he applies more pressure, like a masseuse. “Mmm,” I start to close my eyes and lean back, then catch myself. There’s no back to the chair.

  He slowly puts my foot down and stands. “Come on, we can’t have you falling over,” his voice has a hoarse quality. He sweeps me up, and carries me to the couch—like I don’t weigh 138 pounds, plus dinner.

  He carefully places me in the corner, with thick pillows to lean against. He’s close, in front of me. He leans his elbow against the side and moves in for more.

  I’m interested in giving him what he wants. It’s what I want too.

  Finally, I have someone who measures up!

  33

  Planning

  I’m consumed. Mind, body, and soul. It actually happened—I’ve been caught. I’m in love. No, it’s more than that—it’s scary.

  We’re wrapped up together in his bed. My arm is across his chest, his leg heavy across my thighs—protecting and claiming me.

  “I’m glad I had a good meal. I would have collapsed without the calories.” I murmur in fun.

  He briefly squeezes my shoulder. “Should I thank my mother?” he chuckles.

  “Maybe I should thank her!” Or maybe not.

  A little while later, he’s sleeping, and I’m still feeling great. The only light is coming from the kitchen. This was unexpected; it was nowhere on my radar. He brought me to his cave and office. Does it mean I’m important to him—more than just an interesting woman? I would like to think so. This place is in the middle of nowhere. It doesn’t seem like a hotspot to bring chicks. Although he does have a condo in Lompoc. I doubt that’s anything fancy, based on the part of town it’s in.

  I’m beginning to feel I’m somewhat special. I hope I’m not succumbing because I’m sleeping with him. That tends to screw with the female mind. It didn’t with the others I’ve been with. It’s him I’m going nutty over.

  I’ll let this go, and it can fly where it will. I need sleep. Hmm, I also need to find the bathroom. I drag myself out of bed and go to one of two doors. I hear a slight buzzing when I open it. It’s dark, and cold. The kitchen light isn’t reaching around the corner, but it feels cavernous as the damp air drifts in.

  I won’t go exploring. It’s likely the rest of the massive warehouse. It isn’t my business, and I don’t have a reason to doubt him. I quietly close the door and move to the other side of the room. I push it open and I can see one soft recessed light come on. That works for me. I don’t need a glaring blast of wattage.

  It’s easy to crawl back to bed, since my night vision hasn’t been compromised. The kitchen lights let me make it without tripping. I drag the sheets up, make some adjustments, then slip into bed, pull them up to my ear and take a deep breath. Now I’ll sleep.

  “You sure make a ruckus,” he puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “Oh!” Sorry. I guess I was moving around a bit.

  “Exploring?”

  “No, I had to find the bathroom. I had two doors to choose from. I didn’t go in the warehouse. I figured you have indoor facilities.”

  “Good guess. I’ll show you tomorrow,” he kisses me lightly.

  I only slightly respond, not wanting to start another hour of awake-time. I really do need to get some sleep, and I don’t sleep well in strange beds.

  “Goodnight, Princess,” he uses the name he used to call me.

  “Goodnight, Freddie.”

  “God, I hope not.”

  “Yeah, me too. I like the law abiding you.”

  He pulls me close, snug against him, and gets his rest.

  * * *

  I sleep for a while. I wish I had a clock. I always wake in the night and check the time I have left. I still feel the dip in the bed—that’s a good sign.

  Later, I feel him carefully getting up. The slow, ponderous movements indicative of someone trying not to wake you. I don’t see the sun yet.

  He heads into the kitchen. In the light I can see he’s dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. I hear him go out the front door which I know leads down the hall to the office, or other places yet unseen.

  If I’d known he was leaving, I would have said I was awake. Now I’ll be lying here wondering what’s going on. I’m not going exploring again. That would seem like I don’t trust him. I do. And I will trust until shown otherwise—which sounds worse than I intend.

  I’ll see if I can sleep. I sprawl across the middle of the bed, just like I’ve become accustomed to. Finally, I feel myself drifting off.

  Noises in the kitchen wake me—noises like plates and silverware. I figure that means it’s time to rise. I drag on my jeans and t-shirt and head out there. I run my fingers across my snarled hair. Oh well, there’s no getting around it, I look a tangled mess.

  “Good morning Beauty,” he looks up and comes around to give me a grand squeeze.

  “What time is it?” The windows aren’t letting in the ocean air. The blinds are closed, but I wonder if they’re real.

  “Almost 9:00.”

  “At least I slept well.”

  “Come sit down. You need food, while we discuss things,” he pulls out the chair.

  I sit and look at him, indicating I’m ready to begin.

  “I got up early and did some computer work looking into the enforcers,” he sees my interest, so continues. “They work for a guy by the name of Coletti. He’s a big time loan shark. He launders, loans, and collects. It’s his collection that we’re concerned about. If his clients don’t pay, they vanish. He has a reputation for being charming and well dressed. He is a ladies man by night and a killer all the time. Your friend Tony got involved with the worst of the bunch. No one will let a payment slide, it’s always due.”

  “I wonder if he found Tony yet. And what about you and me? His men aren’t having an easy time getting to me. How pissed is he?”

  “I don’t know specifically about us, but in general, he wants everyone terrified of him. This will be a blow to his ego.”

  “Great. So we run forever—I don’t think so.”

  “There’s my girl,” he puts a bagel and cream cheese in front of me. “No, we will become the exception to his rule.”

  “Do you have a plan and do you have lots of friends?”

  “Yes. And yes, I do have a lot of friends,” he smiles a confident, fighter’s smile.

  “Wow, that’s nice, because I don’t.”

  “Yes you have—me,” he leans across the counter and stares at me.

  “Thank you.”

  I’m sitting here, not eating. It’s hard to be hungry when the news is this intense.

  “Jess.” He comes to stand eye to eye with me. “When we talk about Part-2, you’ll feel better.”

  “Oh, Part-2?” This sounds promising.

  “Coletti will come for me too, as soon as he reads the police report. I’m listed as a witness who killed his enforcers and saved your life. The guy who came after you yesterday is in custody for kidnapping, assault, as well as a host of other charges stemming from the pursuit.”

  “I’m sorry about getting you involved. I had no idea going to the casino would start this.”

  “Don’t worry, I can ha
ndle it. As I said, I have good friends, and the DEA will also protect me, and my family.”

  “Oh hell, I didn’t think about your mother!”

  “I plan on establishing communications with Coletti. I will make it known that we are accidental players, have nothing to do with the default on his loan. If he continues to send goons, he will find each one dead. It’s a simple business proposition—he backs off, or he loses.”

  “You don’t think he’ll get angry having to back off?”

  “That’s where I tread carefully. He has an ego the size of China. He isn’t used to anyone standing up to him.”

  “I wonder how sensible he is. Or—isn’t.”

  “Besides the government on our side, I have friends who served with me who have impressive skills. You think I’m a good shot? They’re just as good, and would be happy to get back together.”

  “That almost sounds fun. Not really fun, but like justice.”

  “That’s my girl. I know what you mean, but we’ll steer clear of the justice route, if possible. There are always things that go wrong. We don’t want anyone else hurt.”

  “Their guy is in county lock-up in Santa Barbara. He knows how to get in touch with Coletti”

  “I have a call in about setting up a meeting—unless he’ll give me the answer over the phone.”

  “I doubt it. He will probably want to be a powerful, ego-driven asshole, and try to get you to beg.”

  “Yeah, that’s my thought as well. Even if Mr. C. wants to meet, he’ll run me through a few hoops.”

  “I’m sorry you got involved.”

  “I’m not. It keeps me sharp. I’m afraid of letting myself get lax. Plus, my brothers in arms will be glad to jump in.”

  “Just one thing. You and your mother are family. I’m not.”

  “You are—because you’re mine.”

  34

  More Plans

  I need to let Nikki and Monica know I’m alive and so very well. My phone has been on the counter since last night. I don’t have any messages, that’s good. So I send the same text to both. Nikki replies immediately.