“No, thanks. With your permission, I’d like to check all the doors and windows.”
“Permission granted. I’ve already checked them, but I guess you just never know.”
“Right. Unless you have high-grade locks, they may be easy to pick. Even dead bolts can be compromised by an experienced burglar.”
Crystal shivered as the female officer toured the house to make sure all points of ingress were secure. When the deputy returned, her posture seemed more relaxed. “We’re good.” She extended her right arm and gave Crystal a full smile. “My first name’s Erin.”
Crystal shook hands with her. “What a crazy evening. Do you think there’s any chance this is the guy from Medford?”
“Possibly. It’s not that far to drive.” She walked to the dining table. “Mind if I sit here?”
“Not at all. May I get you something to drink?”
Erin sent her a grateful look. “I’m dying for a glass of water. I forgot my bottle at home, and I didn’t get an evening break.”
Crystal deduced that the deputy had missed getting a break on her account. “I’m sorry. I may have overreacted when I realized someone had been in the house, but I’ve always been told never to try dealing with a situation like that by myself.”
“Good advice.” Erin’s blue eyes sparkled and emanated kindness. “And I’m very glad you followed it. Even though I’ve been trained, I wouldn’t go in my house if I suspected someone was inside. I’d call for help, too. Someone who’s broken into a home is on the alert for trouble. You can’t know where he may hide to jump out at you, and he could be armed.”
Crystal sighed. “I was frightened. I’ll admit it. And that was before I learned that this guy might be a killer.”
“Any intruder might be a killer. They have a lot to lose if they get caught.”
A voice blasted over the hand unit Erin carried on her hip. The sound startled Crystal so badly that she slopped water from the glass that she’d just filled. Erin listened to what was said. Crystal recognized Barney Sterling’s voice coming over the channel, but she didn’t understand much of the cop jargon.
When the transmission ended, Erin sighed. “Well, they’ve found his car, or think they have. Tanger called in the plate number. Now they’re getting in position to watch the vehicle. With any luck, he’ll think he’s gotten away and try to reach it.”
Crystal delivered the glass of water and an optional cup of ice. Erin tipped the tumbler back and drank all sixteen ounces without taking a breath. “Ah,” she said, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sorry. I was really parched.” She got up from the chair. “Mind if I get more?”
A moment later she returned to the table. This time she dropped a few cubes of ice into the water and only sipped. Crystal wanted to scold Rip for scratching at the bathroom door, but given that she knew it would do no good, she took a seat across from the deputy instead.
Erin inclined her head. “Is that the dog that sounds like Cujo?”
“Yes. I’m surprised he isn’t doing his most ferocious growl.”
The deputy’s cheek dimpled in a half smile. “Thanks for locking him up. A lot of dogs detest uniforms.”
* * *
Tuck knew it was silly, but he was worried about Crystal. Normally, she tried to drop by and see him at least once a day, and failing in that, she almost always called. But he hadn’t heard from her today. Busy, he supposed. Sometimes he forgot the hectic pace you kept when work and daily necessities pulled you in different directions. It was ten past nine. She’d probably gone to bed, thinking she’d have plenty of time to visit with him tomorrow, her only free day of the week.
He clicked off the TV and pushed farther back in the recliner. Beside him on the table sat a cold beer. The faint scent of hops drifted to his nose as the effervescence released its fragrance. His floor lamp cast a circular spot of light on the ceiling, giving him something to stare at. He liked Essie’s living room better than his own. Even though half of hers was taken up by office furniture, she’d still managed to create a cozy and attractive sitting area, and he appreciated the little touches—the fancy lampshade with flowers on it and the small throw pillows barely large enough to support someone’s head. Useless things, but he admired them because she did.
A knock came at his door. He swore under his breath. These days he kept the damned thing locked. He wanted no women in his apartment unless he invited them. Since Crystal had hired that lawyer, Tuck no longer had to hide his indulgences, but he still didn’t appreciate feminine yammering or snooping.
“Comin’,” he called.
He’d get his brace off on Monday, and he couldn’t wait. The doc called it a cast, but to Tuck it was a newfangled excuse for one. Still, it was lightweight and had done the job. It might take him a few days to work his arm muscles back up to full strength, but at least he’d be able to move freely and bend his wrist again. He struggled to his feet and crossed the floor with what he felt were strong strides. Almost recovered, he thought. I’ll be able to go home soon. What a fine kettle of fish that was, because now that he’d met Essie, he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave.
“Who is it?” he called out.
“Me,” a soft voice replied.
A smile sprang to Tuck’s mouth. “Hot damn.” He disengaged the door chain and opened the portal. Essie looked so pretty standing in the hall. She was all gussied up in a straight brown skirt and matching jacket over a silky blouse the same color as pearls. “Come on in, beautiful.”
She smiled and accepted the invitation, running the palm of a slender hand over his chest as she moved past him. With only that little touch, she made him feel forty years old again and hornier than a three-pronged billy goat. “What brings you so late? I figured you’d be in your nightie and reading a good book by now.”
She turned to face him as she reached the sofa. “I came to stay over if you don’t mind having me.”
Tuck’s heart skipped a beat. “Stay over?”
A mysterious smile curved her mouth. A bewitching twinkle warmed her eyes. She peeled off the brown jacket to reveal a long-sleeve red cardigan underneath it.
“You cold? I can turn the heat on.”
Essie giggled. “No, silly. The sweater is my getaway garment. Patricia the Horrible watches the camera footage. She allows no intimate fraternization between unmarried residents. But she can’t watch every second of footage, so if she sees me enter your apartment wearing one thing and leaving in something else come morning, she may think she missed some frames.”
“Uh-huh.” That was Tuck’s standby response when he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Over, she’s staying over. Did that mean what he hoped it meant? “Can I get you something?”
She slowly drew off the cardigan. Hussy red, it was, and the color made his blood hum through his veins. “Just you,” she said as she tossed the sweater on the table.
Tuck didn’t need to hear that invitation twice. “The bed or the sofa?”
“Sit in your chair first. I want to set the mood.”
He was already in the mood. But when a woman was slowly unfastening her blouse and a black lace bra played peekaboo with a man, he didn’t argue the fine points. He sat in his recliner.
Essie twirled to look at him. It seemed to him that she went into slow motion, taking so long to get that dad-blamed blouse off that he wanted to get up and help her. Only then he realized she was performing an elegant striptease. He couldn’t for the life of him relax on the recliner. He sat forward on the edge of the seat like an offensive line center who was about to snap the football. All his muscles went taut. His attention was riveted entirely on her and what those slender fingers might uncover next.
Holy smokin’ Jehoshaphat. As she unveiled the bra, he saw that it was like no other he’d ever seen, possibly because it wasn’t lace after all, but more like doily crochet with dainty
black flowers and just as many holes. Parts of her breasts showed through, and as all-over beautiful as they were, his gaze snapped to those erect nipples that posed for him like harlots on a street corner. He started to get up.
“Ach!” Essie held up a hand. “You stay right there, mister. I’m not done yet.”
Tuck feared if he waited for her to be done, he might be finished before he got started. “Essie.” His voice sounded like somebody had both hands wrapped around his throat. “This ain’t necessary.”
She unfastened her skirt, turned partly away from him, and began inching the waistband down over one bare hip—only then he saw that it wasn’t totally bare. A thin band of black elastic pressed against her soft, creamy flesh. A thong? He’d only ever seen them in girlie magazines.
He was up off the chair so fast that he felt like his new hip joint had been lubricated with WD-40. He looped his good arm around Essie’s waist and drew her back against his chest. Her shoulder blades poked against his ribs.
“I’m not finished,” she protested.
Tuck hated that his right hand was partly covered by fiberglass. But he made do with what he had and slowly moved his left palm over her body until he reached her breasts. She gasped and arched, welcoming his touch. He was pleased she wasn’t quarreling with him about it now.
She’d come here to seduce him, and he was plumb seduced. He wished he could sweep her off her feet, but he wasn’t strong enough yet. Instead he led her to his bedroom, jerked back the comforter, removed the rest of her clothes, and nestled her on the mattress. She still wore her brown heels, but unless he decided to kiss the undersides of her toes, a sensation he knew drove some women wild, he didn’t give a shit about her footwear.
She tried to unfasten his shirt as he lowered himself over her, but her hands went still when he drew one of her nipples into his mouth. Tuck’s last conscious thought was that she liked this. Well, his brain did resurface once when he brought her to a climax and she screamed. For a split second, he worried that her cries might echo up and down the hall to disturb the peace, and he knew Flintlock would be all over that. Otherwise Tuck just lost himself in this sweet, wonderful woman who gave so generously of herself to him. She made him feel as virile as a young man again, and he used every last store of strength he had to make her scream twice.
* * *
Not for the first time, Tanner wondered why drug researchers hadn’t developed a safe sleeping pill for kids. Tori sat in the tub with bubbles pillowing around her shoulders, a new requisite for bathing when Daddy had to help. She was beginning to feel modest, and Tanner, not wishing to discourage that in any way, had started investing in a physician-approved bubble-bath liquid that helped keep his daughter covered while he assisted during hair washing. Right now she was chattering like a windup doll. Rip, of course, was her main topic of discussion. Tori wanted a blue heeler, amen. Now that Tanner had seen how wonderful Rip was with kids, he wasn’t quite as predisposed to avoid that breed when he went puppy shopping.
With a weary sigh, he sat on the toilet. His daughter slithered around like a cartoon mermaid in sea froth, one side of her hair wet and springing back into curls, the other side as straight as an arrow and moist only at the ends. Tanner glanced at his watch. He’d allow her five more minutes. Then it would be time to give her a quick shampoo and rinse, wrap her in a towel, and leave the room so she could put on her pj’s in privacy.
“How come Nana is coming over to sleep on the futon in our study?” she asked for at least the sixth time. “I thought it was her night out.”
“It was, but she came home early and offered to come over so I can go somewhere.” Tanner planned to pay Crystal a surprise visit and turn that lame air-kiss he’d given her earlier into a full-blown one that would curl her toes. “Nana’s bringing movies. You get to stay up late because there’s no school tomorrow. She’s going to make her super-fast caramel corn. Just remember to brush your teeth before bed.”
Tori’s brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re going to see Crystal, aren’t you?”
Tanner tried never to lie to his kids. “I might. Do you object to that?” He’d also learned not to dumb down any conversation with his daughter. “If you don’t like her, I’ll stop seeing her.” Really, Tanner? Don’t make promises that’ll be hard to keep. “You and Michael always come first, no matter what.”
“I like her. She’s taking me to the library to find dog books. She says reading Nana’s romances at my age is like opening Pandora’s box. I don’t think she knew the box was actually a jar, but that’s okay. Not everyone thinks Greek mythology is fun to read.”
“What do you find interesting about it?” Tanner could remember struggling to stay awake while he studied that stuff at university.
“It’s like fairy tales, Daddy, only for grown-ups. What’s a girdle? I looked it up, but none of the definitions explained why Hippopotamus would have one.”
Tanner was so relieved that Tori had just referred to Hippolyta as a huge amphibious mammal. It made her seem more like the eight-year-old she actually was. “A girdle is— Well, it can be anything from a belt to an elasticized body garment for women that trims their figures and flattens their stomachs. Hippolyta’s was made of gold. I think it was probably a really wide belt.”
“And it was magic. Heracles killed her to get it.”
Tanner wondered which reading material was worse for the development of his daughter’s character, Greek mythology or his mom’s romances. At least in love stories the main protagonists didn’t typically murder people to possess prized treasures.
“Okay, Princess, it’s time to shampoo.”
“Aw.” Tori’s voice went whiny. “Why can’t I keep my hair straight for tomorrow?”
“Because one side is already wet and going curly.” When he glimpsed tears welling, he quickly added, “Crystal gave you a straightening tool. If you want no curls tomorrow, I can do your hair in the morning.” As he said that, Tanner wondered how he’d pull that off. “I may not be quite as good at it as Crystal is, though.”
* * *
Crystal lay on her bed, covered by only a clean sheet. After apprehending the Lingerie Burglar, Barney Sterling had come to bag her soiled linen as evidence, and Erin had helped her remake the bed. Wanting to be sure all her bedding was sterile, Crystal had thrown her blankets and comforter in the front loader. Then she’d put them in the dryer, which would finish its cycle in a few minutes.
She had no reason to feel nervous now. Whether harmless or dangerous, the burglar was in custody. Only a match of his DNA with that of the Medford killer would finger him for murder, and the laboratory process might take weeks. Regardless, Barney had assured her that Thomas McVoyer would be kept in jail until the authorities could verify that he’d harmed no one. Even then he would do jail time for breaking and entering.
Tom McVoyer. With a first and last name like that, I might turn out weird, too, Crystal thought. It was strange how names sometimes seemed to predict people’s destinies. She’d never forget the Idaho dentist named Dr. Pang, or the meat cutter named Floyd Butcher. Voyer was spelled differently than voyeur, but the pronunciation was almost the same. Had the Lingerie Burglar been teased as a youngster by other kids who called him a “Peeping Tom” or “voyeur”?
She heard a noise outside and jerked around to stare at the sliding glass door. Rip whined and stood on his hind legs to put his paws on the edge of the mattress. He cocked his head and studied her. “I’m okay, Rip. I just have trouble calming down after a bad scare.”
The dog jumped on the bed and lay down about a foot away. He’d never offered to sleep with her, and Crystal knew the only reason he did tonight stemmed from his desire to comfort her.
“You know I’m uneasy, and you’re trying to make me feel safe. Thank you, Rip. You’re becoming one of my best friends.”
No Name suddenly joined them.
�
��What is this? Has my bed become a community area?” She couldn’t help but smile as she fingered the kitten’s fur. “What a night.”
No Name meowed, the sound plaintive.
“Oh, dear heaven, I totally forgot to feed you guys! You’re probably starving.”
Crystal swung out of bed and rushed to the kitchen. She put kibble and fresh water in the cat bowls first, and then she started to feed Rip his usual fare. Only when she glanced down at his face, which was becoming dearer to her by the moment, she remembered a steak in the fridge that she had thawed for her dinner tonight. Since she’d already eaten at the Cauldron, even if it did seem like forever ago, she decided to cook the meat for Rip instead.
“A hero should dine on steak,” she said. “You protected me tonight. If not for you, I wouldn’t have known that creep was outside and he wouldn’t have been brought into police custody.”
After heating a skillet, she added a tiny dollop of oil. The steak sizzled when it hit the pan. She seasoned it lightly with only salt, vaguely recalling that either garlic or onion powder, both her favorites, was bad for canines.
“Rare, medium rare, medium, or well-done?” she asked the heeler.
He barked and pranced, clacking his nails on the wood. Crystal couldn’t determine what his vote was, but she could see that he was eager, so she decided on rare. When the steak was done, she put it on a plate and cut it into bite-size pieces. As soon as she set the meal on the floor, Rip devoured it.
After licking the plate clean, he appealed to her for more with one of those happy grins. “That’s all I’ve got that’s special, Rip. But I’ll fill your bowl with regular dog food, just in case you’re still hungry.”
After measuring out some kibble, Crystal returned to her room, leaving the lights on at the front of the house. She couldn’t bring herself to turn them off, not tonight. Barney believed that he had caught the culprit. The registration of the man’s vehicle linked him to a Medford address. But what if Thomas McVoyer was just another tourist who had been taking a walk along the road? In Mystic Creek, a lot of people, even women, did that late in the evening. It was one of the perks of living in a small, rural community where the crime rate was low. No evidence was found in McVoyer’s car to connect him to the burglaries, which troubled Crystal. If he was the man who was in her house today, where had he stashed her lingerie?
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