Bernard DeLeo - Cold Blooded

“Why bother telling me all this now?”

“Need-to-know, and you need to know. We’re going down to Sarasota and stir things around. If I can find out who their people are watching the bank -”

“We take them out, get the flash drives, and vanish.”

“I love it when you talk psycho,” Nick whispered, covering Rachel’s mouth with his own.

“Hello!” Jean called out, peeking into the cabana, with her two friends giggling behind her.

Nick pulled away reluctantly as Rachel had not moved from him at all. He waved at the kids in the cabana entrance. “Look who’s here, Rachel, our long lost daughter, Jean. Her timing is remarkable as usual.”

“Your…oh…” Jean caught on quickly. “Yeah, Dad, my friends and I want to watch the plasma for a while and eat.”

“Fine,” Nick agreed, reaching behind him and grabbing two towels. He pulled Rachel to her feet. “We’ll go for a swim. Don’t wreck the joint. It’s only rented.”

“Okay…Dad,” Jean agreed happily, gesturing her friends inside.

Rachel poked Jean’s shoulder. “Of course you know, my daughter – this means war.”

“Oh bring it, Mommy. Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad. Don’t drown.”

Nick and Rachel swam together for a time, before Rachel pulled Nick over to the side of the pool. She moved into his arms, giving him a quick kiss.

“It just occurred to me how weird your involvement in all this really is, Nick.” Rachel encircled her feet around Nick’s ankles and pulled close to him. “One glimpse of me and you turn the world upside down. I think that’s kind of hot.”

“Considering the body count so far, Wonder Woman,” Nick whispered, the center of his being turning to molten lava, “we better keep the coals white hot.”

“I had a great time, Nick!” Jean cried out from the backseat. “I’m going to see Kelly and Garth tomorrow. They asked if I could come over to their house and hang out. We don’t have Terminator duty tomorrow so it should be okay, right Mom?”

Rachel looked over at Nick, who shrugged noncommittally.

“I guess it’s okay. They seem like nice kids. You have to be careful what you say, just like in Pleasanton.”

“I’m Jean Weatherby. My Dad is Roscoe Weatherby, and my Mom’s name is Rachel. We’re staying here for a little while because my Dad’s a killer and we have to hide out until the coast is clear.”

“Not funny!” Rachel whipped around with her hand up threateningly, causing Jean to squeal and cringe defensively in her seat. She looked over at Nick, expecting some form of reaction but he was watching the road and smiling. “Aren’t you going to say something, Dad?”

“We all handle this mess in a different way,” Nick answered. “Any way a seven year old wants to handle what Jean’s dealing with is okay by me.”

Nick glanced at Jean in the rear view mirror. “As long as the seven year old doesn’t get us all killed by forgetting to play her part in front of strangers.”

“I’ll be eight next month, August thirtieth,” Jean announced. “I won’t forget, Nick.”

“Good enough. It’s going to be hot in the house. I left the sliding glass door open for Deke and set the thermostat at eighty-five. We can take him for a walk when it gets dark.”

“Aren’t you afraid we might have a break in?”

“I have a vault in the house it would take more than your average goon to even find, let alone break into. Besides, we can’t put Deke out in the back all day.”

“I think you like our dog more than you do Jean and me.”

“That obvious, huh?” Nick asked, getting a punch in the shoulder for his trouble.

Nick brought up the rear as Rachel and Jean walked from the garage through the connecting doorway. Hearing Rachel gasp, and Jean start laughing, Nick caught up with them at the entrance into the living room. Every loose cushion in the home’s lower floor had been dragged through the sliding door into the back yard. Rachel turned to Nick as he glanced between the bare furniture and the cushion mound in his backyard with tight-lipped surprise.

“Please don’t kill him, Nick,” Rachel pleaded.

“Hey Nick, it looks like Deke found his own way of dealing with our mess.” Jean gestured at Deke, who lay on his back at the very top of his pillow mountain, paws curled against his chest as he stared sideways at his human companions.

Nick glared at Deke and then grinned. “Well at least he didn’t rip them apart first.”

Nick vacuumed the last of the cushions. He handed it to Rachel. “I needed to do a cleaning. Nice of Deke to remind me.”

Deke ‘gruffed’ from where he lay, next to the couch where Rachel placed the cushion.

“See, he’s really sorry.” Rachel threw the cushion into place and stroked Deke’s head.

“Yeah, he looks real repentant.” Nick laughed. “We should have taken a picture of him up on his cushions. What’s Jean doing?”

“Playing video games in her room. I bet you like us better than the dog now.”

“Even with dragging them out into the shade, it was hot work.” Nick ignored Rachel’s dig. “Deke needs a challenge. Did he ever rearrange your furniture while you were at work?”

“No, but he used to take all Jean’s stuffed animals out of her room and throw them around the house. He’s still a puppy. Deke turned three only a couple months ago.”

“That’s twenty-one in dog years.” Nick pointed at the attentive Deke. “He’s old enough for the death penalty.”

Deke immediately sat up and extended a paw.

“Very shrewd.” Nick shook the dog’s paw. When he released it, Deke gave him his other paw to shake. “I’m going to the grocery store and get this clown a few soup bones. Want to make out a list for me? I have a barbeque stored in the garage. Does Jean eat steak?”

“Sure.” Rachel nodded. “I’ll make a list. Do you want us to go with you?”

“I’d rather not leave your four legged furniture mover alone for the time being.” Nick pushed Deke’s head playfully before standing. “You make the list, and I’ll check in with our US Marshal connection.”

Nick retrieved his satellite phone and called Grace. The indicator he’d attached to register a trace went from green to red almost instantly when he heard Grace’s voice.

“I see you’re tracing us.” Nick watched for the red light to start blinking.

“It’s not us, Nick, I…hey…how do you know we’re tracing the call?”

“I’m checking in. So far, we’re okay on this end. We only have seconds left on this call. Anything you need to tell us?”

“Keep your heads down. If you hear some other voice besides Tim or me when you call, run.”

“Noted. Any luck getting the one who accidentally killed our shooter?”

“We hit the cover-up wall on this, hence the phone tap. There are also rumors starting to fly around about what a bad guy you are. Anonymous tips from official sources are telling us you may be more dangerous than the people we’re trying to bring down.”

“I told you, writers are very dangerous people. I can make you into a complete idiot in one sentence.”

“Oh really?” Grace snorted derisively.

“The frumpy US Marshall named Grace leaned against the alleyway wall, picking her nose, glancing up periodically while looking for witnesses to the loathsome act.”

“Frumpy? What do you mean, frumpy? I-”

“Times up,” Nick said as the red light began blinking. He disconnected.

Nick found Rachel at the kitchen table writing out a grocery list. He sat down next to her, liking her choice to stay in the black bikini. Nick ran his hand lightly over Rachel’s nearly bare back. She shivered under his touch, but kept working on the list.