For once, Drayco thought Benny had an excellent idea. Hay-hitting never sounded so good. It was strange enough being on the wrong side of the bench during the hearing, but the whole recounting of the warehouse fire and Gilbow’s death was far worse. As if his subconscious hadn’t already punished him the past few months with a series of violent dreams—dreams of being trapped in a fire that made him wake up sweating.
He wasn’t sweating now as he made his way to his car in the twenty-degree weather. Fortunately, the forecast for snow had been downgraded, and he was able to make a stop by a florist on the way back to his Capitol Hill townhome.
Would Darcie like the roses? Or was that too flashy? He popped himself on the side of the head. This was Darcie he was talking about, definitely roses. The more expensive, the better.
Flowers ordered—with a very high same-day delivery fee added—he headed home under the dark, moonless sky for time alone with his piano and a glass or two or three of Riesling before bed. Just as he stepped across the threshold, he got a whiff of coffee. And was that garlic bread he smelled?
He dropped his coat on the wingback chair near the door, grabbed a baseball bat from the umbrella stand, and strode into the kitchen. Darcie Squier greeted him with a glass of red wine and a kiss. “You’re early. No problem. The food won’t take long.”
Drayco lowered the bat. After eying the smoke detector and not seeing any signs of Darcie’s usual burned cuisine, he said, “How did you get in?”
“Your lovely neighbor, Mrs. Chapman. She’s seen me here enough I was able to con her into letting me in. You told me you gave her a key in case of emergencies. And this was an emergency. Well, a Valentine’s Day emergency. And I’ve seen you punch in your code.”
Drayco made a mental note to change his security codes. And ask for his key back. “You didn’t tell me you were coming. I wired some flowers to Cape Unity.”
Darcie opened the oven and pulled out an aluminum-foil container, kicking the door shut behind her. “I knew you couldn’t come to me with your board hearing and all. So, I came to you, instead.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. So much for being alone with his piano and his thoughts. “It was sweet of you. Truly. But I’ve had a horrible day. Not sure I’ll be great company.”
“Nonsense. What could possibly be so bad it would ruin the most romantic day of the year?”
“Finding out your mother has risen from the dead and was arrested for murder.”
Darcie almost dropped the pan in her hands, but Drayco rescued it in time. “She’s still alive? That’s awful.” She stood there a moment, then grabbed a couple of plates and served up the lasagna. Drayco spied a takeout bag from Luigi’s Primo Pasta on the counter.
“Not quite the response I expected from you.”
“Not awful she’s alive, I suppose. But after turning her back on her family decades ago. I mean, why now? Unless she’s dying and trying to make amends.”
“People don’t usually try to make amends by killing a government employee.”
“She murdered somebody? Oh, God, that is awful. Too bad she didn’t stay missing.” Darcie balanced the plates of lasagna in her hands. “Ever wonder if your mother abandoning you makes it harder for you to trust women? Because I’ve wondered that.”
He glared at her. “Are you my shrink now?”
After putting the lasagna on the table she’d set with red placements and candles, she grabbed his hand and pulled him after her. “Eat. You’ll feel better on a full stomach.”
He wasn’t hungry but didn’t want to offend her after all the trouble she’d gone to. Luigi’s had the best Italian around, and it wasn’t as difficult a task to wolf down the meal as it would have been otherwise.
She hopped up from the table to grab something out of the refrigerator and put it on the table. “For the pièce de résistance,” she opened the lid. “Tiramisu. They say it’s an aphrodisiac.”
She winked at him, then put her hands on the zipper of the dress she wore. It wasn’t her usual getup, hardly form-fitting and more like a tent. The reason became clear when she pulled down the zipper and let the dress fall to the floor. “And if the tiramisu doesn’t do it, maybe this will.”
She wore what resembled a red ribbon, with thin straps over the shoulders, bows that barely covered her breasts, and a strap hanging down just below her navel. And that was all. “Aren’t you going to unwrap your present?” She winked at him.
Maybe it was the pent-up anger from long-simmering emotional fires, maybe it was the stress of the hearing, maybe a little of it was seeing Nelia unexpectedly. But he did more than unwrap Darcie. He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, removed his clothing in seconds flat, and proceeded to engage in some of the most torrid and rough sex of his life. Not thinking, not feeling, not caring, just primal and raw.
Afterward, Darcie rolled on top of him and nibbled on his neck. “If this is what having your mother return from the dead does to you, I take it back. It’s not awful at all.”
He lay there, staring at the ceiling, barely feeling Darcie’s presence. The sex hadn’t helped his frustrations one bit. He should grab a block of C4 and go blow up something instead.
She poked his shoulder. “Tell me what you’re thinking, darling.”
“Your flowers are going to be pretty sorry looking when you return home.”
“We’ll get more. Nothing lasts forever.” She slid out of bed, and he heard her going downstairs. When she returned, she had the tiramisu in hand. “And this won’t last much longer if we don’t eat it now.”
“Not sure I have the appetite for it.”
“Well, I sure do.” She dipped into the creamy cake with her finger and smeared some on his body in various sensitive places. He relaxed and gave in to his fate of becoming her dessert, banishing thoughts of the photos in his attic and of their subject, now locked firmly away in an Arlington detention facility.
§ § §
The observer put down the infrared binoculars on the passenger seat, then grabbed some seeds from a plastic bag and popped them in his mouth. As he chewed, he watched the townhome across the street, but there was no new activity inside or out. The light in the upper window switched off, making him smile.
He picked up his cellphone. After thumbing the screen over to the phone list, he pressed the first entry and then said to the voice on the other end, “Scott Drayco is at his townhome with a brunette.”
He listened for a moment then repeated back what he heard. “Darcie Squier? Is she a problem? No? Okay, then. One less person to follow. What about Drayco? I think he’s settled in for the night.”
After more instructions, he replied, “A sound plan. I’m getting too old to use a car headrest as a pillow all night, anyway—get a crick you wouldn’t believe. I’ll keep an eye on Drayco when he meets with that Arlington cop tomorrow. And good night to you, too, boss.”
He rang off and flipped through the photos on his sim card. Lots of Draycos—both of them—also Benny Baskin, the brunette, of course, then Drayco’s neighbor, and Nelia Tyler. He stopped on that one. The brunette was a looker, all right, but if he were Drayco, he’d be banging Tyler. He’d always been a sucker for the whole beauty-and-brains combo.
With one last look at Drayco’s window, he started up the car and pulled out of his parking spot. He flipped the radio to a station playing folk music. Sounded like the Wemyss Weavers playing a Scottish ballad. A good omen.
He hummed along as he cranked up the heater and drove down the street with regular glances in his rearview mirror. You could never be too careful, even with the night on your side.