Out of Control (11 page)

“These are great.” She held out her hand. “Give 'em over. I'll do it.”

He pulled the bag back. “Not yet. I need you sharp for this. After.”

She stuck her hands in the pockets of her short leather jacket and jerked her chin impatiently. “So? What do I do, then?”

“I need you to go to the kennel on the corner of Hardwick and Sorenson Avenue. You will collect a dog for me there. It's a small black mongrel, part poodle. His name is Mikey. You must say that you are Margot Vetter's niece. Repeat the name to me.”

“I'm Margot Vetter's niece,” the girl repeated obediently.

“You're picking up her dog early because you're throwing a surprise birthday party for her,” Faris instructed. “Insist on it. Be persuasive and charming.”

Anxiety flashed behind the death's-head superimposed upon the girl's face. “What are you gonna do to the dog? Are you gonna hurt it?”

“Don't worry about that,” Faris said. “That doesn't concern you. Just think about”—he rattled the contents of the baggie—“these.”

He gave her a ride to a point a few blocks from the kennel, repeated the instructions, and drove to their established meeting place, a graveled parking lot behind a new construction site.

Twenty minutes later, the girl appeared from behind the chain link fence. She didn't have the dog. Faris felt his stomach drop. Bad sign. He got out of the car, and asked the question with his eyes.

The girl looked defensive. “They said the lady told 'em under no circumstances could they let anybody but her pick up her stupid old dog. I swear, I tried. I made a big stink. Told 'em they'd totally ruin the party and everything. But it was no use. Shit, man. Fuckin' Nazis.”

“It's all right.” Faris was surprised that Margaret had second guessed him like this. He should have known.

“So, uh…” Her eyes were still hopeful. “It wasn't my fault. I did everything you said.”

“I don't blame you,” he said gently. He pulled the baggie out and presented it to her. “Go on, take it.” He could afford it, after all. Marcus had an endless source of pharmaceutical supplies available to him.

She snatched them from his hand, fished one out and stuck it in her mouth. The desperation of a hollowed-out soul. So young, but inside, she was dead already. His blow would be the touch of mercy, to stop her before she degraded herself further. So sad. For a moment, he actually loved her. He was her salvation now. Her only hope.

The girl flung her head back and stared up into the pale, late afternoon sky, her eyes wide and glowing bright with anticipation. “This is gonna be awesome,” she crooned. “Oh, man. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Faris murmured, meaning it with all his heart.

He struck with his fingertip to three points on her spine, whiplike gestures so fast she just gasped and yelped. No need for the needles. Each situation called for its own technique. Each time, his aim was more sure. Death itself guided his hand. It knew its own business.

The blond girl crumpled to her knees. Whump, she fell to her bottom. She flopped onto her side, a black leather comma on the ground, her hair a pale flame against the dark dirt and gravel, eyes frozen wide. The baggie fell to the ground, pills scattered on the dirt.

Faris looked around to ensure their privacy and crouched next to her. He kept a patient, respectful vigil until the convulsions began.

Then he got up and checked his own footprints. Fortunately, the dirt was dry and hard beneath the shifting gravel. He inclined his head in a short bow to the twitching, gasping creature on the ground.

He got into his car and drove away.

S
he was insane. Letting herself get steamrolled into a dinner date when she should have been fifty miles down the road to nowhere by now.

Margot sipped her wine as she wandered around Davy's house. His lethal combination of charm and subtle coercion got her every time. Even tonight, when she could least afford it.

Still, she was pathetically glad to get to see him one last time.

Mikey ran into the living room, tail flapping, to show off the bone that Davy had given him. Mikey was in a party mood. He made sure she noticed his good fortune, and trotted back to where the real action was.

Amazing smells wafted out of the kitchen. She might have known Davy McCloud would be a good cook. A fine cabernet breathed in a decanter on the table. Mushrooms and garlic in butter sizzled in the pan on the stove. The charcoal grill was fired up out on his porch, right below which the waters of Lake Washington were ruffled by a fragrant breeze. Margot took another sip and reminded herself not to relax. Letting down one's guard was what happened right before getting slammed. Then again, she got slammed whether she let down her guard or not. But stupid or not, she felt safe here.

Davy McCloud's beautiful home was spacious and comfortable. Lakeside property, in Madrona. Wow. The detective business must have treated him really well. She peeked into a big office lined with books, two computers, a laptop and a large array of unfamiliar electronic devices. A big sunken living room boasted soft, textured silver gray couches and armchairs, a pale Berber rug, a heavy, scarred wooden coffee table, a picture window overlooking Lake Washington. It made her nostalgic for her house on Parson's Lake back in San Cataldo. God, how she'd loved that place. Mold, mosquitos and all.

He had a kick-ass audio and video system. The art on the walls consisted mostly of pen and ink drawings, black and white landscape photos, and a couple of delicate, understated paintings, the kind with just a few telling brushstrokes. Comfy, classy, super-masculine, but the place could use a few splashes of color. A fireplace had photos on the mantel over it. She moved closer to study them.

The first was a black and white portrait of a family. A grim-faced, long-haired man with a broad, hard jaw like Davy's hovered protectively behind a light-haired woman who looked much younger than he. Four boys clustered around them. She recognized the nine or ten-year-old Davy instantly, even stringy and thin, with a mop of long hair hanging over his face. His somber, piercing gaze hadn't changed at all. The other boy, next size down, was laughing up into his mother's face, and the other two looked like twins, clowning and mugging for the camera. One of them had to be Sean, but she couldn't tell which one.

Another picture was Davy, Sean and the middle brother, all grown up. Grinning, their arms over each other's shoulders. Yowsa. All three of them had turned out fiendishly good-looking. What were the odds of that? She wondered where the fourth brother was. There was a formal engagement portrait, too, the middle brother with the long hair, gazing adoringly down into the face of a pretty dark-haired girl. How romantic.

Margot took a swallow of her wine and indulged in a sharp pang of envy. She had no brothers or sisters to hang pictures of. Her father had been out of the picture most of her life, and thank God for it. Mom had been great, a tough, funny, salty old bird, but she was long gone. The few precious pictures she had of Mom were lost in the void. She hadn't dared to go back to her place to collect her things after what happened.

What became of the stuff in a rented house if a tenant disappeared without a trace? She had no relatives to claim it. Did the city do something with it? Or did her landlord just shove it all into garbage bags and call the Salvation Army?

Just one more of the many questions that tormented her at night.

Oh, well. Wanting to be part of a family wasn't a weakness of character. Being sick with jealousy over other people's families definitely was, though. She tried to jostle herself out of it. Poor, pitiful Margot. So sad to be all alone in the world. Yeah, yeah. OK, that was enough. The pity party was over. Everybody out of the pool. She had stuff to do.

“Hors d'oeuvres are ready,” Davy called.

Her stomach rumbled at the concept, and she headed back into the kitchen to check them out. Mikey was in doggie heaven. He'd already choffed down his dinner, and was getting chunks of raw beef dropped into his mouth for dessert, the little stinker.

“Fresh baguette, olive paste, herbed goat cheese and sundried tomatoes from the Italian deli,” Davy said. “Help yourself.”

Margot stared down at the colorful spread of tempting food on the kitchen bar. “Good God. You call this hors d'oeuvres? This is a full meal!”

“Not by a long shot.” He dropped another shred of beef fat into Mikey's waiting mouth, provoking a frenzy of wagging and squirming. “The full meal comes after. This will barely warm you up. Besides, you taught Ifs, Abs and Butts today. You can afford to splurge.”

Margot's mouth twitched. “Dumb name, huh?”

The deep dimples that bracketed his mouth were so gorgeous when that swift grin flashed out. “Memorable,” he said.

Margot rubbed her bottom ruefully. “Believe me, it is. It's a killer.”

His eyes traveled the whole length of her body with obvious approval. “If that's how you get that panther woman body, I'm all for it.”

She stared at him, startled. “Panther woman?”

His eyes slid away from hers, embarrassed. “Just something about the way you walk. You're so graceful. You know, like a female panther on the prowl. Sinuous and gorgeous. Dangerous.”

She felt herself going warm and soft inside, like a whole body blush. “Dangerous? Me?” She tried to laugh. “I wish. Panther woman. Gosh, I like it. You know just how to flatter the socks right off a girl.”

“It's not flattery. I wouldn't say it if it weren't true.”

She slashed at the air with mock claw hands. “Here comes Panther Woman,” she hissed. “She's hungry, too, so watch out. She'll chomp you in one gulp.”

The gleam in his eyes turned thoughtful. “I had a dream about your Panther Woman persona last night.”

She bit her lip, apprehensive. “Do I want to know what it was about?”

“I don't know,” he said calmly. “Do you?”

“Is it sexual in nature?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

She weighed caution against curiosity, and caution won. “Then don't tell me.”

“Fine. Whatever. Try one of these.” He smeared a chunk of crunchy, olive-oiled baguette with goat cheese, laid two gleaming sun dried tomatoes on top, put a napkin under it and presented it to her. “This is for your poor tired butt.”

“My butt thanks you,” she said demurely. She took a bite, and the intensity of the flavors almost made her moan. She chewed blissfully.

The itch of curiosity got steadily sharper. “Oh, I give up,” she snapped. “Tell me your dream. You dirty tease.”

His grin was triumphant. “You were a dominatrix. Playing bondage games with me. Ropes, chains, showing me who was boss.”

Of all things, that was the last one she expected. She was rooted in place, oil dripping down her arm. Could he have tuned in to the sexual fantasy she'd had last night? She felt transparent and scared.

“Holy cow. How did you…is that what you're into?”

He caught the oil drip with a napkin, and sponged it off before it got to her elbow. “No,” he said. “I like control. Maybe you've noticed.”

“Uh, yeah,” she admitted. “It's kind of hard to miss.”

“Weird, though.” He shrugged. “It worked for me in the dream. I woke up with—oh, well, never mind. Do you like corn on the cob?”

She embraced the change of subject with relief. “Who doesn't? Can I husk it for you?”

“Yeah. The water's boiling. Crisper on the right. Do four for me and as many as you think you can eat. They're really good.”

His refrigerator was well stocked, which was no surprise. A body like his had to run on a whole lot of really high-quality fuel. The husks she peeled revealed translucent white kernels set on the cobs like creamy pearls. Water bubbled, mushrooms sizzled, the garlic and shallots in the marinade tickled her nose. Davy McCloud's big, well-appointed kitchen was the most seductive place she'd ever seen.

Probably just because Davy was running it, though.

She dumped the corn into the boiling water and gave the olive paste a try. Fabulous. She mixed it with the goat cheese. Even better. She chewed slowly, savoring the sight of him slicing red onions. Men always looked sexy when they cooked, and Davy was outrageously sexy to begin with. The combined effect was way over the top. He tossed the onion slices into a pan, where they began to sizzle.

“Just look at the guy,” she complained. “Give me a break. He chops onions and his eyes don't even water. What are you, anyhow, freaking Superman?”

The grin that lit up his face took her breath away. It was like a ray of light flashing out of him. “Let's throw those steaks on the grill.”

They carried platters of gorgeous food to the table on his porch while the steaks grilled, after which they loaded up their plates and set to it. Mikey had relaxed, too. He was sprawled under the table, fast asleep, belly distended, twitching with happy doggie dreams.

She'd almost forgotten what such civilized pleasures felt like. Dining al fresco, sipping fine wine, eating great food, enjoying a soft breeze off the water. To say nothing of the stunning scenery across the table, dressed in jeans and a loose white linen shirt that showed off a tantalizing glimpse of chest muscles. The man was insanely gorgeous.

Delicious, after months of scrimping and scrambling to stay alive.

Dinner was amazing. The steaks were tender, heaped with sweet fried onions and browned mushrooms. The corn exploded in her mouth, sweet and dripping with real butter. The potatoes were aromatic with crushed rosemary. The frilly salad greens gleamed with Tuscan olive oil.

He leaned across the table to refill her wineglass when she finally began to slow down. “We need to talk about—”

“How to proceed, yes,” she cut in. “I've been meaning to talk to you about that, Davy. I've told you several times that I can't afford this, and every time you shine me on. I just got fired today, my rent is late, I'm full of bills, and you're out there racking up expenses with wild abandon. Like that cleaning service. And the lab. You've got to stop.”

S
ince you'll never see me again after tonight anyhow.
The doleful thought weighed on her more heavily every second that passed.

He took a deliberate sip of his wine, eyeing her over the rim of his glass. “First off, the crime lab is no charge. A friend did the tests for me for free. Second, the cleaning service is my housewarming present to you, welcome to the neighborhood and all that.”

“No way.” She was already shaking her head. “I can't let you do that. There's a lot you don't know.”

“I know about your fake identity, Margot.”

That stopped the words right in her throat. “How…” She swallowed, licked her lips. “How the hell do you know about that?”

He gave her a no-big-deal shrug. “It's my trade. Did you think I wouldn't check? I've known since the day that Tilda introduced us.”

She put her wine down before it could slip out of her numb fingers. “Actually, in the normal world, men don't do background checks on women before they've even exchanged phone numbers.”

Davy lazily speared a chunk of crisp golden potato off the serving platter, chewed and swallowed it. “What's normal?” he asked lightly. “Besides, it depends on the man's level of interest.”

She folded her arms over herself, regretting the snug tank top she'd worn. It made her feel naked and vulnerable. “I think it depends more on the man's level of paranoia,” she said.

“Paranoia and common sense caution look similar, depending on your point of view. In any case, your ID is amateur crap. No depth to it at all. Whoever put it together for you should be put out of business.”

She felt almost offended on behalf of her poor crappy ID. “It was all I could afford,” she snapped. “Just how far do you feel justified in snooping into my life? What else do you know about me?”

“Not as much as I want to. Let me finish, Margot.”

The steely note in his voice punctured the bubble of her nervous anger. Davy stared into his plate, brow furrowed, as if he were choosing his words, one by one. A prickle went up her spine.

Maybe she was about to find out why she shouldn't have relaxed.

“I'm not going to pressure you about your past,” Davy said. “What I've done till now, consider a gift. And what I plan from here on out, I'd like to propose…an arrangement.”

Her nervous prickle intensified, and she wished she'd passed on the wine. “What kind of arrangement are you talking about?”

“First, I want to be real clear with you. I don't want any misunderstandings. I know what I have to offer a woman, and what I don't have. I want to lay it out, all up front. No bullshit of any kind.”