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Spectre
“For fuck’s sake.” She struggled harder and I let go of her hands to focus on sedating her. Her body was wild and hot as lightning. I tried to ignore it as I pulled out the syringe, but I couldn’t. Her warmth, her scent...her softness. She swung backward and I wrapped my left arm around her upper body, pinning her torso to me.
She moved far faster than I expected. She also didn’t display anywhere near the fear she should have. Everything about her threw me off, including how she’d managed to grab one of the cheaply made butcher knives I’d noticed on my initial walk-through of the house. I hadn’t noticed that because of my insane reaction to the feel of her moving against me. That never happened. Locking my jaw, I pushed the plunger on the syringe and tried to ignore her wriggling, struggling warmth.
Sick fuck. She’s scared and fighting and you’re getting a hard-on.
But even my mental castigation wasn’t enough.
In the blink of an eye, I went from detached and focused on the matter at hand to focusing on her—the round, lush feeling of her ass as she shoved against me, the flex of her legs as she fought. If my brain had been where it needed to be, instead of being suddenly tied up with my wayward dick, I would have noticed the knife sooner.
As it was, I barely had time to shift before she made the wild plunge backward. She drove it into my thigh and the blade pierced flesh in a way that it went in through the lateral area, like she wanted to peel away the top layers of skin and muscle a bit at time before exiting.
Instinctively, I jerked my leg straight back just as she wrenched her hand forward to attack again.
The pain hadn’t hit yet but it would.
I’d also made the fatal mistake of loosening my hold a fraction, giving her the chance to turn.
Ignoring the first bloom of pain, I evaded as she made an awkward attempt to lunge. I grunted, then swore.
She swung around and glared at me, the cheap knife wet and gleaming red.
It would have been laughable—me, standing there bleeding while she started to sway, holding a knife that likely had never cut anything tougher than my own skin.
“Put it down, Ms. Jenkins. The medication will hit your system soon—”
“Fuck...” The word came out too thick and slow. She cleared her throat and rapidly blinked her eyes. “You drugged me.”
For some insane reason, the befuddlement in her voice, the anger, it bothered me. Blood spread up my neck to stain my cheeks red.
“Just enough so you’ll sleep.”
What the fuck. Why am I explaining myself?
“Great.” She sagged backward and made a rude sound, blinking owlishly as she stared at me. “So I won’t be conscious when you kill me? Or are you taking me to Tommy so he can do it?”
“I’m not taking you to Tommy.” That was the last thing I’d do.
“Liar. Just leave my dog here. Okay? My brother will call me tomorrow. He alwash...always does. Leave the dog. He’ll take care of her. If you didn’t kill her. There’s no reason for that fuckface to hurt me and my dog.”
Her voice was thicker now and something that might have been tears lit her eyes along with the anger.
Shit. Something hot and uncomfortable settled in my gut, even as rage started to fester and flame in the back of my head, a toxic, deadly mixture. Tommy, you don’t know it but you’re already dead.
“I’m not taking you to O’Halloran, Tia.” I frowned at the sound of my voice forming her name, but I couldn’t take it back. I didn’t even want to.
“You’re a motherfucker. I stabbed you. I hope it hurts.” She gave me a wobbly smile and her lids drooped. Then, a second later, she looked back at me with a bright, almost fevered smile. “Tell Tommy to fuck off.”
I was almost too late.
Lunging forward, I caught the blade right before she would have gutted herself, closing my hands around hers and engaging in a brief tug of war. She screamed, the sound ragged, raw and desperate. I got the knife away and hurled it across the room.
She swung wide at me, missing by inches, then stumbled, almost falling. I caught her and felt a fresh rush of hot blood flow down my leg. I needed to get my leg dealt with and bandaged, but I couldn’t yet. Not until I knew she wasn’t going to do something foolish.
“You miserable fucker,” she mumbled, growing limper with each passing second. She glared at me, more emotion showing on her face now than I’d seen. “You’re a miserable fucker. Are you going to hurt my dog, too?”
“No.” I brushed her hair back from her face, not even aware of the action until it was already done. “I won’t hurt the dog.”
“Okay.” She relaxed, oddly enough. “You’re still miserable and I hate you.”
“I understand. You’re safe, Tia. I won’t hurt you.” Her lids drooped low and she sighed, the sedative finally taking hold.
* * * * *
BY THE TIME I MANAGED to deal with my leg, the dog was stirring. I hadn’t planned on the animal and the sedative I preferred to use was short-acting. I hadn’t brought anything else into the house with me and I’d already spent far too much time here.
I couldn’t risk trailing blood through the house while looking for a first aid kit, so I improvised. That was something I excelled at. The entrance wound bled steadily enough that a bandage alone wouldn’t do it. I’d found super glue in the meticulously organized kitchen drawer, and used it to seal it the best I could. Then, using a pad of paper towels as a makeshift bandage, I hunted down a first aid kit—she’d have one. This neat house, the organization, I had no doubt of it.
The kit, under the sink in the bathroom, looked like something a pro would be proud to own and I was able to bandage it properly.
I lingered only long enough to take care of the blood in the kitchen, using bleach and paper towels that I flushed one by one. There was no way to know if I’d gotten everything but at least there was no obvious sign that a man had bled like a stuck pig in here.
Even though the injury hurt, I found myself smiling as I opened the door to Tia’s closet. I didn’t get surprised often and hadn’t ever had a woman throw me off balance.
Don’t spend time wondering over it right now. You have to get her away from here.
Her and the dog.
We needed miles between us and this house, well before Tommy sent in somebody else. He wouldn’t waste any time once he realized I wasn’t taking the job.
Stepping into the oversized, walk-in closet, I almost turned around and left. It was too big, an airy, feminine space that instantly made me feel out of place and out of my depth.
Organized with ruthless precision, there were built-in drawers of soft peach, open shelves stacked neatly with T-shirts, grouped by color. Sweaters were folded on another set of shelves and also organized, not only by color, it appeared, but by material as well. There was a section for dresses, organized by season and color, and by length and occasion as far as I could tell. A few dressier pieces at one end, with the rest of them casual, all marching in a perfect rainbow.
Jeans stacked on one shelf and below them, another set of stacks, all cotton and various shades of colors. More pants, I assumed. Judging by her organizational craze, she wouldn’t be putting shirts over there.
Moving deeper into the managed chaos of color, I spied the shelf where she kept a couple of duffels and below that, four weekend-sized suitcases, the sort one she could take on an airplane. None were the plain, solid color people typically used. Instead, they were patterned with outdoor scenes. One showed a wintry landscape, while another depicted a beach and one looked like New England in the fall. I touched that one with the tips of my fingers, thinking of Massachusetts and the lighthouse Sarge had left to me when he died.
Pushing the thoughts aside, I acted on instinct and grabbed the one with the winter landscape. I wasn’t surprised to feel the weight of it. I didn’t know if she’d been planning a trip or if she routinely kept suitcases packed, but it was convenient. Putting it on the bed, I flipped it open and checked. Several pairs of jeans, socks, underwear and bras. Inside a packing cube, I spied a couple of sweaters. Judging by the colors visible, at least two.
I closed it, then went into the bathroom. It wasn’t a surprise to find a toiletry case packed and ready to go. Grabbing it, I looked around but didn’t see anything I might be missing. I was almost to the kitchen when a thought occurred to me. I brushed it off. But after two more steps, I stopped and swore.
“You’re going to get your ass caught over this.” I gave both Tia and the dog another quick look. The dog was stirring restlessly, but that was all. A few more minutes, easy.
Jogging to the studio, I grabbed a couple of sketchpads and several small boxes of drawing supplies she’d left on her desk. That would have to do.
It took more time than I liked to get everything in the car, including the dog’s collapsible wire dog crate. It erected easily and I shoved the cushion in there while keeping half an eye on the dog and the other on the neighborhood. It was still quiet. I’d backed my vehicle into her driveway, careful to keep my face averted to avoid doorbell cameras. I’d already disabled Tia’s. I would take her computer and hopefully find a way to access the account. The phone wasn’t coming with us. It would stay here. I hadn’t been caught on the device but erasing the timeframe for which it was disabled would slow things.
If I couldn’t access the account, in the end it wasn’t a big loss.
As I approached the dog’s crate, she opened her eyes groggily. The soft brown reminded me, again, of a small, silly pup.
Stop. Do the job.
“Hey, girl,” I said. “Sorry about this.”
I gave the dog another dose of the sedative—a heavier one. I’d have to access more, but I had an acquaintance close to St. Louis. He’d stock me up and I could finish the rest of the trip.
I was too pragmatic to waste time on hoping, but I found myself disliking the idea of having to drug her the entire ride. And I wasn’t talking about the dog, although I didn’t like that idea either.
Up front, Tia slept, although thanks to the sedation, it was more like unconsciousness than sleep.
She wouldn’t stay that way much longer but I had enough time to get off this mountain and out of Gatlinburg.
That would be enough for now.