Sandra Brown - Low Pressure

“He took notice of you.”

“At a time in my life when few people did. I never forgot his kindness. I saw him from a distance at the barbecue. He waved at me. He was a nice man.”

“I doubt that’s why Moody put a star next to his name. Any idea?”

“None. But I think Rupe knows.”

“I’d bet money on it.” Coming to a stop sign at the intersection, he asked if she wanted to stop at her parents’ house. “While we’re in the neighborhood.”

“Would you mind? When I moved into my house, I left some dress clothes behind to be packed up later.” Looking sorrowful, she added, “I’ll need them soon.”

When they pulled up to the gate, she gave him the code and he punched it in. As he followed the driveway up to the house, he said, “Place hasn’t changed much. Still makes me feel like I need to pull around to the rear, so if it’s all the same to you I’ll wait in the car.”

“I won’t be long.”

She rang the bell and was greeted by a uniformed housekeeper, who peered around Bellamy to curiously scope him out. She asked something, Bellamy replied, then the two went inside. In under ten minutes, Bellamy came out carrying a suitcase. He got out and helped her place it in the backseat.

“Different housekeeper from the one I remember,” he said.

“Helena has been working for my parents for about ten years. She’s very concerned about Daddy. Olivia’s keeping her updated, but I also promised to call her as soon as I heard anything.”

“Where to now?”

“Haymaker.”

“I agree. We need to get Moody’s cell-phone number out of him.”

“He’ll be reluctant to give it to us.”

“My hoodlum mentality may come in handy.”

She smiled. “I’m going to depend on it.”

“Long drive from here to his place. Call first, see if he’s there.”

“That would warn him that we’re on the way.”

“Not if you hang up when he answers.” He passed his phone to her. “Use mine. No name shows up.”

Before leaving Haymaker the day before, they had obtained his land-line number as well as that of his cell phone. Bellamy called each of them twice but got voice mail on both. “So now what?” she asked, visibly frustrated.

“We fall back and regroup.”

Ray complimented himself on his stamina and self-discipline.

He’d been inside Bellamy Price’s closet for going on five hours, patiently waiting for her to come home. He didn’t know when that might be, but she had to return eventually. Whenever that was, he would be ready, physically and mentally.

Getting into her house had been easy, the only challenge being to kick a curious cat out of the way as he’d slipped in through an unlocked window partially concealed by a tall shrub. The house was silent and empty and smelled of cleaners and fresh paint.

The message he’d left on her wall had been painted over, which didn’t bother him much. That had been a dumb idea. This time he had something better in store. Her walls may get streaked with red, but it wouldn’t be paint.

Before taking up his post in her closet, he’d opened her bureau drawers and played with some of her underthings. Just for the heck of it, just because he could, just because it gave him a naughty thrill that would have shocked a snooty rich girl like her.

He wasn’t around women much, and none he’d ever been with had worn stuff this nice. He’d liked the feel of her silky, lacy things against his face, his snake tattoo, his belly. But after a time, he’d reluctantly refolded everything he’d handled, put the articles back as they’d been, and closed the drawers.

He’d considered hiding beneath the bed, then opted for the walk-in closet. He would have better mobility. She would open the double louvered doors and there he would be.

“Surprise!” Saying it in a stage whisper, he’d practiced his lunge several times.

Her closet smelled even better than the sachets he’d found in her chest of drawers. It smelled like perfume. He held one of her blouses to his face and breathed deeply. But he hadn’t wasted a lot of time on that indulgence, knowing that he must psyche himself up for what he had to do.

To prep himself, he’d flexed and extended his fingers. He’d done some curls with his left arm and made wide circles with it to loosen his rotator cuff. He’d cracked his neck, stretched his spine, and rolled his shoulders. He’d gone through these exercises every twenty minutes to keep himself limber and alert.

He’d left the closet only once when he’d had to pee. He’d gotten a kick out of unzipping and exposing himself in her bathroom. He’d watched himself in her mirror as he stroked and squeezed. “How do you like that monster, missy?” He thrust his hips toward the mirror. But as fun as it had been to imagine her reaction to such aggressiveness, he’d done the smart thing by zipping up and returning to his hiding place.

Night had fallen, but his eyes had adjusted gradually to the deepening darkness, so he hadn’t minded staying in the closet with the door closed. Patiently he’d waited. Another hour passed. Then two. He’d routinely done his exercises to keep his body revved and his mind as sharp as the blade of his knife.

He’d waited.

And now, he heard a key turning in the front door latch.

“The painter must have been here,” Bellamy said as she pushed open her front door and stepped inside. “I can smell the fumes.”

Dent followed her in, carrying her suitcase, which he set just inside the front door. “Will the odor bother you?”

“As tired as I am, nothing could keep me up tonight. But I do want to make a run at Haymaker first thing in the morning.”

“I’ll check upstairs.”

He started up, but she stopped him. “The painter’s been here. The locksmith secured the house. I’m sure it’s okay. Don’t bother. Thank you for seeing me in.”

“I didn’t just see you in. With that knife freak on the loose, no way am I leaving you here alone tonight.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He studied her for several seconds, then came down the steps slowly. “You throwing me out?”

“Spare me the wounded-puppy eyes.”

“What kind of eyes would you prefer?”

“Spare me that, too.”

“What?”

“The flirting. Sexy smile. Smoky eyes. Tone of voice.” She sighed. “Didn’t you understand what I was telling you today?”

“Be more specific.”

“What I told you on the flight back.”

“You’re not having sex with me.”

“That’s right. So you should just say good night and leave.”

“You really want me to go?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“My car is locked inside your garage.”

Chagrined, she tipped her head forward and let several moments elapse. Then, “Follow me.”

She led him into the kitchen, where she unlocked the door that opened into the garage. Reaching around the jamb, she hit the button on the wall, and the motor for the overhead door engaged.

When it was up, she turned back to him. “There. You’re free to go.” But he didn’t move. He waited her out until she stopped glancing about at anything and everything else before finally garnering the courage to look him in the eye. “We’ve already talked about this, Dent.”

“We didn’t finish the talk.”

“I did.”

“Without giving me a chance to counter.”

“You don’t get to counter, because it’s not an argument. I told you from the start that you and I… that it wasn’t going to happen. Ever.”

“Using Susan as your excuse.”

“Susan wasn’t an excuse, she—”

“Was a slut. And out of some backward sense of obligation or balance or whatever, you’re denying your own sexual inclinations.”