Jo Robertson - The Avenger

Olivia let her eyes wander around the small living room of Isabella Torres' duplex. The sofa where she sat faced the window in a ground-floor apartment and offered a spectacular view of a wooded area across the street.

She felt uncomfortable staying in the home of a virtual stranger, but Isabella's friendly eyes met hers from across the room where she stood by the window. "Pretty, huh? The area is environmentally protected so developers can't throw up another set of apartments."

Both women were silent, watching the late afternoon sun play over the small brook that trailed through the foliage across the narrow street. A child rode by on his tricycle, head helmeted like a soldier. Olivia liked the quiet here, but she missed the familiarity of her own home.

After Olivia had translated Ted's words for the team, she and Isabella had driven to Sacramento where Olivia packed a small bag and vanity case. The others continued Ted's interrogation while the two women came straight here and Olivia settled her belongings into the guest room.

"It's awfully nice of you to offer your home to a stranger, but I don't need a babysitter."

Isabella smiled wryly as if she agreed with Olivia. "Your Agent Holt insists you're not safe in your own home."

"He's not my – " Olivia began abruptly and stopped. Was Jack hers? Had he always been?

Isabella walked into the small kitchen off the living area where she reached into a high cabinet for a bottle of pills. "Don't worry. I'm not sticking around very long. No one's going to figure out where you are so you can get some rest, okay?"

Olivia followed Isabella into the kitchen and sat on a bar stool near the counter that divided the two rooms. "I appreciate it."

"De nada. No problem. Just promise you'll get some rest." She handed Olivia the bottle of sleeping pills. "These will help. You've been through a lot during the last few days."

Olivia blew her breath out and tried to get her mind to focus. "Ted Burrows talked about being in big trouble, but he said he was innocent… "

"They all say that." Isabella reached for a towel under the sink. "Charles thinks Burrows is trying to minimize his own part in all this. His lawyer will probably call a halt to further questioning unless a deal's on the table."

A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over Olivia. A good night's sleep sounded appealing right now even though the sun hadn't set.

Within an hour after Isabella left, Olivia had showered off the grime of being in the same room with Ted Burrows, and tucked herself into the guest bed. Her lids drooped from the effects of the sleeping pills Isabella had foisted on her. As she drifted off, her mind scrolled through the words Ted had used in their short conversation. Casual talk, words that were benign and meant nothing.

Drowsy and fuzzy-brained, she forced herself to think. Although his words meant nothing, they demonstrated his expertise in spoken Latin. Ted's Latin conversation was perfect. He was almost as good as she was, definitely had the ability to… to… to what? She couldn't remember.

Just as the curtain of sleep fell over her consciousness, she recalled that, in addition to his assistant status at the university, Ted taught a Latin rhetoric class.

A class for Howard Randolph. She almost laughed through the haze of drugs. Silly Howard wasn't much of a threat.

The police were on to his accomplice! May already have him in custody!

The Avenger sped as fast as he dared on Interstate 80, taking the Capital City Freeway just south of the Madison Avenue exit. Although he hadn't yet formulated a plan, speed drove him relentlessly. He rubbed the clammy flesh at the back of his neck and turned the air conditioning on high, letting the cool air blast his heated body. A spasm tightened his cheek and he massaged the spot hard with two fingers.

Never one to panic, he beat down the flutters of concern, breathed deeply, and considered his options. The situation necessitated action. Still, he doubted his assistant could reveal anything very incriminating. For all the man's high IQ, he proved remarkably dull-witted when it came to covering his ass.

Momentarily, he lamented involving the man, but little could be done now. He sighed and shook off his regret, a wasteful enterprise at best. At the time he'd needed the release their little adventures brought him. Especially when the latest punishments he meted out failed to satisfy him. Failed to tether the pulsating urges that overtook him.

No, the accomplice knew enough about the Avenger's business, but not the most damning – the notes. He wouldn't make a connection between the case and the Avenger. And whatever he did remember would be lost in the enormous maze of other guilty activities.

So, his plan – clear away the artifacts first, the most egregious evidence. The thought of destroying his mementoes wrenched his gut with an almost palpable blow, but it was necessary. Leave no testament to what he'd done. Expunge all traces that the sacrifices had any link to him.

Next – destroy all connections with his assistant. That would be more difficult, but manageable. If the police arrested the man, let him take the full weight of the law.

He began to relax. No need to panic. The situation was unfortunate, but not insoluble. Let the authorities do what they would. Let the system run its natural course. Their focus on his assistant would take the heat off the Avenger. Renewed boldness surged through his body.

Over to the right, off the freeway, he spied the lighted sign of a sports bar and cantina. Luis, it shouted in large florescent letters. The green glow winked seductively at him like a woman beckoning from a warm bed. Impulsively, he pulled off the freeway, drove into the packed parking lot, and edged into a free spot at the rear of the building. He needed a drink, something to settle his nerves, put him back on track so he could continue his work.

Twenty minutes later, he'd finished his third highball when the woman sidled up to the barstool next to him. Her nails caught his attention first. Long and curved, painted bright red, they looked lethal, like enamel-coated Samurai swords extending from the tips of her fingers. A stirring in his groin prompted him to follow the line of her arm to the neckline of a dangerously low-cut black dress. Sleeveless and tight. She had the full-bodied figure no longer popular among today's anorexic women. He enjoyed the lushness of her body as she edged even closer to him.

"Buy you a drink, mister?" Her throaty voice slurred the words. This was not her first drink.

Suddenly a surge of sanity ripped through him, and with it, fury. A common whore! She sought to drag him into the iniquities of her flesh. She wanted him to grab her and do all kinds of dirty things to her in the back seat of a car, in an alley, even on the floor in front of these strangers. Disgusting, vile creature!

The bulge in his trousers expanded.

The Avenger blinked furiously. He must leave before he did something foolish. He'd come too far in his journey to fall into a woman's trap. He tossed several bills on the counter and slid off the barstool.

"Hey, whass wrong?" The overhead lighting caught the woman's features and cast them in a greenish hue, made her blonde hair brassy and her face mannequin plastic.

Without answering, he hurried toward the door, out into the cool night, and around the corner where he'd parked the sports car. As he fumbled with the unlock button on his remote, he sensed her behind him. He turned. She tottered in impossibly high heels, her skimpy black dress hiked up to her thighs, a stupid grin on her face.

"Hey, baby, come on. I just wanna have a good time." She reached him and ran her talons down the sleeve of his jacket. "I know how to have a real good time. Wha' cha say?"