CHAPTER 15

Ben

“Do me a favor?” I ask Isla. “Stay in the car.”

I’m not sure what made me ask Jen about the picture, but something was nagging at me. When she mentioned the picture of me, that unsettled feeling only grew. I suddenly felt the need to get up the mountain quickly.

“What’s going on?” she asks me, a hint of worry on her face.

“I just want to have a quick look,” I tell her, pulling the gun from under my seat, where I’d stored it. Isla’s eyes go big, but before she can object I lean in for a kiss. “Just professional paranoia. Lock the doors.” I close the door and wait until I hear the click of the central lock engage before I turn to the house, glancing sideways at the tracks I spotted in the dirt when we drove up to the house.

I smell it the moment I unlock the door and push it open. Urine. The heavy pungent odor clinging to the air particles and masking any remaining paint fumes that may have lingered. To my left, the door to the laundry room stands open. A door I’m pretty sure I closed before leaving the house on Wednesday. I slip inside and notice a smudge on top of the dryer. Part of a shoe print. My eyes immediately fly up to the window, which appears to be closed. On closer inspection, I notice the safety bar that braces the slider in place, is not engaged. I’m trying to remember if I’d checked the window closely enough on leaving. Apparently not. Complacency is a dangerous thing; I should know that. I’ve lived on the edge and vigilant most of my adult life. It was simply a matter of survival. Somewhere in the past couple of months, though, I’ve clearly become too relaxed.

I click the safety bar in place and move slowly past the kitchen on my right. Nothing appears out of place there, but when I move further down the hall along the back of the great room, the smell of piss gets stronger. A quick peek into the smaller bedrooms reveals nothing, and I know in my gut whatever I’ll find will be in the master suite. I almost have to gasp for air when I step into the bedroom. In the midday sun, it is easy to see the wet marks on the new floor and the freshly painted walls. Everywhere. Like someone took a hose to it. The stains go as high up as the ceiling.

I don’t want to walk through the mess in here, but I have no choice, it’s the only way into the bathroom and something draws me in that direction.

REMEMBER THIS COLOR ?

LOOKED BEST AROUND YOUR COCK !

The deep red writing on the mirror stirs a memory, as does the silver lipstick lying on the wet counter. Everything in here is sprayed as well. A woman. Most definitely a woman. I pull my phone out of my back pocket.

“Damian? I’ve got a problem.”

-

“But why can’t I see?”

Isla hasn’t let up since I drove us down to the trailer.

The poor dog is barely able to move in here, but he seems to have settled in on our bed. It’s Isla who is restless.

“Not much to see. We’ve got to wait for law enforcement do their thing first,” I tell her again. That wasn’t necessarily my choice, but Damian insisted I back the fuck out of the house and handle this by the rules.

“Sorry man,” he’d said on the phone earlier. “Things have been nuts here and what with Thanksgiving and everything, we haven’t really had a chance to look at those emails yet. Think it’s the same chick?”

“Hope to fuck so,” I told him. “One is enough.”

“Any thoughts on who it might be? Names?”

Truth is, I hadn’t until I saw that message today. A woman I’d associated with during the course of an investigation about ten, maybe twelve years, ago. A club owner in Tulsa, with ties to a Columbian drug lord, was suspected of using his exclusive club for more than just pussy. The woman was one of the bartenders and provided an easy way in for me. I remembered the club was called Orquidea, and the girl...

“Jahnee.” The name finally came to me.

“How do I spell that?”

I told him everything I remembered, which wasn’t necessarily a whole lot. My interest had only been access to the club, which I accomplished by fucking her a few times, not sharing life histories with her. I don’t even remember her last name. Not something I’m proud of, and certainly not information I want to share with Isla.

“Just please tell me there weren’t dead animals in there or something.”

Isla’s worried voice drags me back to the present. I guess not giving her details, so I don’t upset her, only sends her imagination in overdrive. I reach over and pull her to me.

“No, nothing dead. Someone came in through the laundry room window and vandalized the master suite,” I explain, stroking my hand over her head, hoping it’s enough.

“Vandalized how?” she demands to know, tilting her head back to look me in the eye. “Holes in the wall? Windows broken? What?” The deep sigh slips out before I can check it. Not enough then.

“Nothing broken, and nothing that we can’t get rid of with a good scrubbing—urine.” Her confusion is visible on her face. “And lipstick,” I add, and that gets her attention. Her eyes close to slits and her perfect lips press into a straight line.

“A woman,” Isla hisses, pulling from my hold. She turns around, braces herself on the small sink, and drops her head down.

I’ve got to admit, I’m at a bit of a loss what to expect here, so I settle for putting a hand on her back.

“That woman!” she yells, as she swings around, knocking my hand away. I take a cautionary step back and watch as my little pixie changes into a snarling fury. “What was the message?” she spits out, catching me of guard. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, it’s not quantum physics. It’s clear what she’s trying to do.”

Isla doesn’t even blink when I tell her what’s written on the bathroom mirror.

“God, how cliché,” she mutters dismissively.

The next moment, I hear the crunch of tires on the path—the cavalry has arrived.

Isla

The sound of the approaching car has got Atsa up and off the bed in a flash.

I barely manage to grab him by the collar as he tries to squeeze by Ben, when he steps out of the trailer.

“Not without a leash, buddy.” I grab my coat where I tossed it on the couch and find his leash underneath. The dog is at the door, his nose pressing against the seal, and a low growl coming from his throat. “Easy, puppy,” I whisper at him, as I clip the lead to his collar and take it in a strong grip before opening the door.

Good thing too, since his head is already pushing through the narrow opening.

“Hold on, boy.”

Outside, Ben is talking to a tall, lanky man in uniform. Both heads turn my way, as I struggle to control the dog, and all conversation stills. That pisses me off.

“What’s the plan?” I snap, inserting myself in whatever it is they were discussing.

“Isla,” Ben mumbles, his voice low and warning, before he sighs and indicates the other man. “This is Drew Carmel, Montezuma County Sheriff. Sheriff, this is Isla Ferris.”

“Sorry to meet under these circumstances.” The man offers his hand, which Atsa doesn’t seem to approve of, if his low guttural growl is any indication.

“It’s okay,” I tell the dog as I take the handshake. “Sheriff.” I nod with a tight smile. “Now, what was I interrupting?” I push, when neither man gives any indication of volunteering any information.

“I was just about to head up to the house and wait for my deputy,” Sheriff Carmel says with a nod, and quickly retreats to his patrol car, leaving Ben and I to watch him drive away.

“You scared him off.”

I whip around, my temper flaring.

“I don’t care,” I snap, fired up. I don’t give a shit if I’m being unreasonable. “Why is it, I get the feeling that even after I had to drag what little information I have out of you, I still get the sense you’re holding back? Oh, wait, maybe it’s because the big boys stop whispering the moment I’m within earshot?” Ben opens his mouth to speak, but I flick my hand in front of his face to cut him off. I’m on a rant. “I had plans, Ben. Plans that involved that big new bathtub up there, and our new king-sized bed, in our brand-spanking new house. I’m tired, and I’m pi-hi...pissed,” I sob, hysteria finally catching up with me.

I hate feeling out of control.

I hate that there may be things I don’t know about Ben.

I hate thinking it means something when he tries to hide things.

I hate feeling unhinged.

More than anything else, I hate that someone is messing with a really, really good fucking thing.

Ben

I’m clearly clueless as to how this works.

The one thing I was trying to avoid, is the one thing I managed to accomplish; upset Isla. Shit—and not just a little. Who knew that anger and tears go together? I sure as fuck didn’t.

So I stop thinking and do what comes naturally; wrap her in my arms and in a hushed voice start talking.

“I think her name is Jahnee...” I start, and proceed to tell her exactly what I told Damian and Sheriff Carmel, holding nothing back this time.

By the time I’m done, her sniffles have slowed down, and she takes a swipe at her nose with her sleeve.

“How did you leave it with her?” she asks.

“Not sure what you mean.”

“How did you end the relationship? Was it amicable? Was she upset?”

“Babe, there was no relationship,” I point out. “I got the information we needed, we shut down the operation, and I moved on to the next assignment.” That earns me a punch to my shoulder.

“But did she know that? You just disappeared without a word, didn’t you? And clearly that message didn’t get across if she still carries a torch,” Isla mumbles those last words, shaking her head. “Although she has a weird way of showing it.”

I did disappear without a word. I never told her my real name. I think I was Brent Kaiser for that one. I used that alias a few times. My focus was always on getting the job done, by whatever means necessary, and I didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about the players—or the innocent bystanders. At least not until my last assignment brought me to McPhee Reservoir. And Isla.

-

The sun is going down by the time the police cars finally leave and I lock up the house. We’ll deal with the mess tomorrow.

Isla is on her way back down to the trailer. She came up with me when the evidence technician arrived. We’d left Atsa in the trailer and he was making a ruckus, wanting to tag along. I was surprised Isla was more curious than anything else.

She’d brought her camera and offered to take pictures of anything worth noting. I ended up simply observing, as Isla tagged along behind the other woman as they moved from laundry room, to bedroom, and finally into the bathroom. By then Isla was so focused on getting the exact shots the tech asked for, she barely seemed to register the message.

I watch from the rock as she parks the ATV and opens the trailer door, removing the cumbersome collar from an excited Atsa, before letting him run free. Young as he is, he already seems protective of her. He was leery of the sheriff and seemed restless with the arrival of the other cars. He hasn’t even had a chance to get used to all the sounds and smells. Despite his obvious excitement, he doesn’t seem to venture very far from Isla as she walks down toward the water’s edge, returning to her side before loping off to investigate another trail his nose picks up.

I’m covering the utility trailer, which is still housing the bed, with a tarp, when they come back from their walk.

“There should be bleach in the shed on the shelves,” she says, holding down the corner as I pull the strap tight. “Come hell or high water, tomorrow night I want my bath, and my bed.” I look up and smile at the determined look on her face.

“Damn right,” I confirm, earning a little smile back.

“Sandwiches okay?” she asks over her shoulder, as she walks to the trailer, slapping her thigh to call the dog.

“Sounds good to me.”

With the tarp tied down, I head into the shed to look for the bleach. Two bottles are sitting on the supply shelves and I pull them down. I grab some other things I think we might need, along with a couple of buckets, and set them close to the door so it’s easy to pick up tomorrow. Then I pull out my phone and dial Damian.

“And?”

“They just left.”

“How’s your girl doing?”

“Good, all things considering. Surprisingly well, actually.” Damian chuckles at that.

“She doesn’t seem the type to suck her thumb in a corner,” he offers.

“Not exactly. So have you had any luck?”

Damian was going to try and see what he could find out about the woman, with only her first name and her place of employment, give or take a decade ago.

“You’d think with a name spelled like that, there wouldn’t be many around,” he complains. “Two hundred and thirteen popped up in the system. Can you believe it? That’s only the ones who’ve been witness to or perpetrated a crime. You can always check with your old boss, see if the DEA is willing to share what they have.”

I know they’d have a record. I also know that my old boss didn’t always agree on the way I got the job done. After Isla’s reaction earlier, I’m starting to see why.

“I will, if you can’t dig anything up,” I concede.

“Now what about security? Gus Flemming is right there, maybe twenty minutes away, if you decide you need some help.”

“Appreciated. I think we’ll be okay. Just a middle-aged woman on a rampage, right? We should be able to manage,” I jokingly assure him.

I don’t let on that this whole situation unnerves me.

I close the shed door and look around the deserted campground, the only light from the two street lamps on the other side of the gate, and that coming through the windows of the trailer.

It’s silent, without the sound of frogs at the edge of the water, or the lowing of the cattle grazing the mountain in the summer. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, but nothing is moving.

The noise of the tap running inside the trailer pulls me from my trance. I head inside, where the dog lifts his head from his perch on the couch, and the woman looks up from the plate to greet me with a smile.

Home isn’t a place.