Blade Dance (5 page)

Wallis had missed the party, missed the merry chase on which he’d led the authorities, because of her injured leg. Her lovers must have been among the crime unit personnel who found the body. Recovered, not rescued. He’d learned the difference in terminology. Relished that difference.

Hastily quitting the gear room, Theo found the office-study, which appeared to double as their war room. Book shelves, wall maps, three desks, three laptop computers, radio chargers, file cabinets. A steno notebook lay on a desk, and he leafed through it. The handwriting was precise, the thought processes methodical. Surely Wallis’s book.

I must admire her intellect. She’s pegged me fairly well. Not the whys and wherefores, of course, but the anger. And I’m certainly angry
. He came to the last words, underlined in heavy ink.
Probably impotent, unsuccessful with women, maybe since grade school, betcha no prom
.

“No way you should know that! Bitch!” He screamed and threw the notebook across the room, the pages flapping like wings. “Bitches like you, that’s why I’m impotent! And you’ll pay for it,
oh yes
, you’ll
all
pay for it!”

Out came the inhaler. Two puffs. Count to five. Retrieve the notebook, replaced it on the desk, just so. Sit. Take deep breaths. Count to five.

When his breathing leveled out, Theo returned to the cottage and lay on his bed, careful not to wrinkle the bedspread too badly.
Oh well, I can fix it later
. Arm over his eyes to block the afternoon sun, he considered the notes Wallis had penned, admitted how close she’d gotten, even if it was only circumstantial.
Too close
.

People had no idea how easy it was to kill. And, if one had even half a brain, how easy it was to get away with it. With murder.

His physical appearance and personal mannerisms were totally non-threatening. He’d schooled himself, learned to blend in. His job—his perfect job—kept him right in everyone’s face. Not something a serial murderer would do.

Theo allowed himself a week to scope out his victims. Precisely one kill a month for three months, always in the middle of the month. Another month to make sure the cases went cold. Sometimes, he tutored through another school term, just to be really sure the police had reached a dead end. Then, he continued on his way. He bounced around the region, with no discernible pattern of travel. He didn’t particularly like children, but he didn’t dislike them, either. They were just necessary props. Good tutors were always welcomed with open arms. And he knew he
was
good at his job—after all, he’d had the perfect upbringing.

Using his free hand, he withdrew his penis again. He’d never had a successful sexual encounter. At least, not with a live woman. His dear, darling, nanny had seen to that.

His parents were university professors, finally close to retirement. They had tenure, they lived well, and he had a fairly upscale childhood. Tenure combined with private family wealth meant that his parents could afford to travel. They could afford a live-in nanny.

Pretty Colleen had been a grad student studying at the same university at which his parents taught, so hiring her was the perfect solution for all concerned. Perfect, that is, except for Theo.

Yes, pretty Colleen Ryan. Slender, willowy, creamy skin, red hair, blue eyes. Pert nose, freckles, a magnificent bosom. Unfortunately, pretty Colleen had a few kinks.

Theodore—she called him Teddy, which he hated—was about ten years old when she began to prey upon him with serious intent. Before that, it was mostly “accidental” brushing up against him when she bathed or dressed him, causing him great embarrassment—which she pretended to ignore. However, shortly after the occasion of his tenth birthday, their relationship changed.

Finally came
that
night, the night the really terrible things began to happen.

In the ensuing days, Theo became so depressed that his mother thought he was coming down with a serious illness. During the ride home from the pediatrician’s office—Theo was a perfectly healthy little boy, said Dr. Johnstone—he had tried to tell his mother. He couldn’t find the words.

Colleen avoided him for nearly a week—Theo prayed she would stay angry at him, prayed that his ordeal was over. Then his parents told him they’d planned a four-day weekend to visit colleagues in another state. He’d asked if he could go with them, begged them, told them that he didn’t want to stay home. They laughed at the thought of him spending three boring days in a house filled with nattering professors. That was the word his father used, nattering.
Who spoke like that
? Mother and Father left for Providence, without a backward glance. After all, their perfect son never caused a problem.

As it turned out, his nanny
hadn’t
been ignoring him. She’d been working herself up into a frenzy of hate and revenge, waiting for the right opportunity.

When pretty, evil, Colleen came to his bed that night, no one heard his screams.

The next morning, he awoke alone in his bed. She must have redressed him. After the first burst of panic eased off, he cleaned himself, carefully rolled the pajamas into a plastic grocery bag, then buried them at the bottom of the trash can out by the side of the garage.

Colleen was already outside on the patio when he tiptoed back into the house. She lounged next to the swimming pool, wearing a skimpy bikini she never would have worn if his parents had been home. Theo stood at the counter as he ate his Cap’n Crunch and watched her out the kitchen window.

Although Theo was a small boy for his age, he was wiry—and a better swimmer than anyone knew. Colleen, more of a sunbather than a swimmer, never actually got wet. It was ridiculously easy to pretend he was drowning in the deep end of the pool. Of course, Colleen jumped in to save him.

When she stopped struggling, when no more bubbles came from her mouth or nose, he pushed his nanny to the bottom, down to the filter. The filter suction trapped her lifeless body from the back, so she looked like an overturned turtle that couldn’t right itself.

Taking his time, Theo had dressed in fresh pajamas, put the wet ones in the dryer. While he waited for the cycle to finish, he mussed up his soaked hair, let it dry, so it would appear as if he’d been sleeping. He searched her room, removed anything that might have been incriminating—like the sex toys, of which she had quite the collection. He didn’t know what most of them were for, but he hid the items under a loose board at the bottom of his closet. He’d have time enough to investigate them, later.

Theo washed, then put away, his cereal bowl and spoon, but left the box and the container of milk on the counter, so it appeared that he hadn’t yet eaten his breakfast. He rumpled up his clean, dried pajamas, folded them, laid them at the foot of the bed, which was what he usually did after he dressed for the day.

Back to the patio. He laid an open textbook at the foot of Colleen’s lounge chair, placed a cup of coffee, fixed the way he knew she liked it, on the table next to the lounger. He waited until the coffee grew cold, checked the pool one last time, determined that she was really dead with no hope of revival. He counted out five more seconds then dialed 9-1-1. His screams and hiccupping sobs were very convincing.

Since their precious little boy appeared to cope well with the horrible trauma of finding poor, drowned Colleen, his parents were easily convinced that Theo had outgrown his need for a nanny.

***

Not knowing when Wallis and the men would return to the house, Theo made supper a quick affair. He finished his bowl of Beefaroni, drank his glass of milk, ate his three Oreo cookies. As before, he cleaned up, left the kitchen spotless. He walked back to the cottage, watched TV for a while, did some idle Internet surfing while he came up with a new plan.

Time to change tactics.

Chapter Four

The outside security lamps were on when Wallis and the guys returned to the farm. The cottage looked dark. She was glad. More like relieved. Theo had lied, plus, he gave her the creeps. Of course, people lied for any number of reasons.
Maybe he just wants privacy. Maybe he’s in Witness Protection. I should check that out with the Marshalls. Whatever
.

Austin and Michael had given her all sorts of grief for allowing the weird dude to continue to stay at the cottage. She didn’t like the guy, but he was probably innocent enough. His employment background checked out. After all, he was trusted to work with kids. Besides, why ruin a perfectly good day. The three of them had spent a marvelous time out and about, a few towns over. Visited with colleagues at a barbeque, agreed
not
to talk shop, then enjoyed a marvelous dinner at an out-of-the-way restaurant that did not cater specifically to police, or firefighters, or….

No one had
ever
taken care of Wallis as well as her men.
Mmm
, her
men, indeed.

Austin grabbed her crutches and her purse, unlocked the front door, flicked lights on as he went. Michael carried her into the house, headed to the kitchen.

“Y’know, I’ll be glad when this damned cast finally comes off, but I could definitely become accustomed to this special treatment.” With her arms around Michael’s thick, brawny neck, she kissed him, deeply. She was so hungry for him, loved the warmth of his skin when she dragged her fingertips over his body.

“Next time move faster, then you won’t get shot. And don’t get too comfy with the idea of special treatment. It’s back to work for us, while you laze around here like a kept woman.”

“If I’m such a burden, why are you still holding me? We’ve been standing here forever.” She kissed him again, gently sucked at his bottom lip.

He laughed and returned her kiss. “Because it feels good to have you trapped in my arms. You can’t get away.”

“According to your logic, fella, why would I want to escape from my slaves?”

Austin returned to the kitchen, put the kettle on for tea. “That’s us, slaves. Good choice of words.”

Michael settled Wallis on a chair. “Y’know, it’s interesting that this place has like twenty rooms, yet we always end up here, in the kitchen. I wonder why that is.”

Wallis held up her hand, as if she was in school. “Wait, I know that one, I know that one.”

Austin leaned against the counter. “Yes?”

“According to Great Auntie Wallis—for whom I was named, and who left me her wonderful estate—the kitchen was always the family meeting place. A happy place. Farmhouses were often built around the kitchen, sometimes literally. This house wasn’t, but the kitchen was still the favorite room of the Gardner family. Gardners had the house built in 1785, and Gardners have lived here since 1785.”

The tea kettle whistled. Austin set a mug of vanilla caramel tea in front of Wallis. “Y’know, I never thought to ask. Since it was built over two hundred years ago, does this place come with any ghosts, any wandering spirits? Must have picked up something, or someone, in a couple of centuries.”

“
Hmm
. Good question. Not that I’m aware. I always remember Auntie Wallis saying it was a safe place, a refuge. I don’t know if it’s true, but it always felt like a secure haven to me. Still does. Actually, more so now, with the two of you here. My own ghost busters.”

She finished her tea in silence. When she reached for her crutches, Michael swooped her up again in his thick arms.

“Okay, Gallo, now you’re being silly. I limp along fine with the crutches.”

“I know you do. I’m just saving time.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. As in, time for bed.”

He nuzzled her neck, which sent goose bumps sailing around the Cape of Good Hope. Her good hope, in any event. “
Ooh
, I like the sound of that.”

Austin was already waiting for them, stripped down to snug boxer briefs. He’d spread a bath towel on her bed. He’d also collected a safety razor, her favorite scented shaving mousse, a wash cloth, and a hand towel.

She smirked. “
Mmm
, someone wants to play.”

Michael set her on the floor, undressed her. He mimicked Austin, stripped to his briefs. Then he laid her in the middle of her bed, on the towel.

Austin joined them on the bed. “We’ve been away from you. Our mission was accomplished, sadly, to a terrible end. This is our obligatory time off, after doing double shifts for days.”

“But—”

“
Shh
. Let us do what we do best.”

“Spoil me?”

“Love you.”

Her throat tightened, making any coherent response impossible. That was what they did. They loved her. And no one could do it better.

Michael gently spread her thighs apart, draped the hand towel over the top edge of her cast, to prevent it from getting wet or soapy. He leaned forward, kissed her mound, stroked her with his fingers.

Her pelvis rose up to meet his hand. “
Mmm
, don’t stop, baby. Don’t stop.”

“Sorry, Austin’s turn.”

She sighed, feigning disappointment.

Austin moved closer, sprayed the shaving mousse on her barely-there pubic curls. “Now, keep still.”

Michael lay next to her, his body touching as much of hers as possible. While Austin carefully shaved her, Michael kissed her, fondled her breasts, tweaked her nipples, gently, so she didn’t jump and wreck Austin’s artistic touch with the razor.

The denuding process didn’t take long. Finished, Austin wiped away any trace of the perfumed mousse, patted the area dry, then removed all the paraphernalia to the bathroom. By the time he returned, Michael had moved down the mattress and had his mouth on Wallis’s smooth labia.

“Damn, son, you move fast.”

Michael looked up. “Yeah, well, the last time, you had the home court advantage, and I was the late-comer.” He grinned. “No pun intended.”

Wallis’s pulse rate kicked up, her breathing came shorter and faster. “Christ on a cracker. Stop arguing, already. I want you. Both of you. Together. Now.”

Michael came up on his elbows.

Austin sat next to her. “Are you sure? It didn’t work out so well the last time, and that was before you were shot, before your leg was wrapped in a mummy cast.”