Sizzle

  She closed down her computer at eleven. Sam was in the kitchen, having just come in from the backyard.

  “What were you doing out there?” she asked.

  “Just checking.”

  “Checking what?”

  “The yard,” he said. He raised his eyebrows at her outfit. “I like that on you, but …”

  “But what?”

  “I like it off you better.”

  “I’m going to bed.” She turned and slowly sauntered toward the stairs. Glancing seductively over her shoulder she said, “Are you coming?”

  Sam made sure all the doors were locked before heading upstairs. He took a quick shower, wrapped in a towel, and knocked on Lyra’s door.

  “Who is it?”

  He opened the door and walked in. Lyra was lying on her side, propped up on her elbow with her head in her hand. She didn’t say another word. She simply lifted the sheet. Her robe and gown were already off. When he pulled her to him, he sighed with pleasure.

  Lyra wanted to be the aggressor. She pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. Her eyes locked with his while her hand slowly moved down his body.

  “Had any fantasies lately?” she asked, her voice a sultry whisper. Her fingers circled his navel. “I have,” she said. “Do you want me to show you?”

  He swallowed hard. She took that as a yes and began to kiss every inch of him. As her tongue playfully titillated, her fingertips drove him out of his mind, her touch arousing him to an ecstasy he had never before experienced. When they both found release, she collapsed on top of him. She fell asleep as he stroked her hair and tried to calm his heartbeat.

  Sam was shaken. Lyra was so loving and giving. She wasn’t shy with him. Beth had been a loving wife, but she had never initiated sex. He hadn’t experienced anything like this with her. The two women were so different.

  He knew that Lyra would not have made love with such passion if she didn’t care for him. Perhaps she was falling in love with him. And what did he have to offer her? Lyra deserved to have someone who would share his life with her, and he had vowed he would never marry again. He still felt the pain of losing Beth. If anything happened to Lyra, he couldn’t bear it.

  But how could he leave her?

  He fell asleep without an answer.

  ———

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Lyra went right to work on her script, and Sam spent time on the phone and computer. He was frustrated with the investigation and was pacing while he thought about all the possibilities. O’Malley was monitoring Flynn’s conversations and was hoping the Irishman would be angry enough to make a few calls that would shed some light on why Lyra had been targeted.

  Lyra closed her laptop and stretched. She was stiff all over. “It feels like months since I worked out. No one knows where we are. Do you think we could go for a run?”

  A run sounded good to him. “It’s hot out, but I’m up for it if you are.”

  He usually ran five miles every morning during the week and ten on Saturdays and Sundays. Lyra, on the other hand, was usually happy with three, but she was determined not to slow him down, so she ran alongside him matching his stride. By the time they returned to the duplex, she was soaked with sweat and gasping for air.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when he saw her red face. He lifted his shirt and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “I’m fine,” she said breathlessly. “It’s sizzling out there.”

  Her wet clothes clung to her body. He gave her the once-over. “You sizzle. Let’s get you upstairs and cool you off.” He took her hand and leading her toward the steps.

  He ran a cool shower and then stripped out of his clothes before undressing her. Together they let the spray of the water take the heat away.

  Later, as Lyra was standing at the sink slicing an apple, she said, “Do you have plans for this afternoon, Sam?”

  He came up behind her and kissed her neck. “You’re my plan.” He reached over her shoulder, took one of the slices, and popped it into his mouth.

  “Would you mind if we went out? I want to buy the new camera and some extra equipment. The camera can take pictures for up to a month, but I’ll keep it there for only a couple of weeks.”

  “As long as you promise not to go back before then, and when you do, you go with your bodyguard.”

  Go with your bodyguard. The phrasing was a subtle reminder he would soon be leaving. “I promise,” she said.

  Since they were going to be walking in trash, Lyra ran up to change from shorts to jeans. She put on her flip-flops, grabbed a fresh pair of socks, and went to the garage to get her boots.

  They didn’t take long at the camera shop. Lyra knew the exact model she wanted and had called ahead to make sure they had it in stock. She purchased two extra battery packs and was back in the car before Sam could point out the time or tell her to hurry. With the help of the camera store owner’s instructions and the manual, Lyra got the camera ready while Sam drove to Paraiso Park. All she had to do once there was remove the old camera, set the new one in place, and flip a switch.

  “One, two, three, easy as can be.” Gigi used to say that to her whenever Lyra complained of homework.

  “What did you say?” Sam asked.

  “Nothing important. Do you have only one gun?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he told her he had finally scheduled his lecture to the cadets.

  “In L.A. or San Diego?”

  “L.A. first, then I’ll drive to San Diego early the next morning, give the lecture, and be on a plane back to D.C. that night.”

  Lyra felt as though an elephant had just landed on her chest. Fortunately, she had been looking away from him when he dropped the news, and was able to recover before she turned to look at him.

  “Am I getting a new bodyguard?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m thinking tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay.”

  If he said, “If you’re ever in D.C.,” she knew she’d start crying.

  When he left, it had to be completely over. She couldn’t handle seeing him every now and then, or eventually running into him with another woman. Lyra wasn’t angry with him. He hadn’t forced her to fall in love with him, and he would never have touched her if she hadn’t allowed it.

  She’d get over him. Absolutely. She would pour herself into her work, and eventually she would forget all about him.

  Like that would happen.

  She felt a burst of anger. No one to blame but herself, she decided. She would not make him feel guilty, but by God, she wouldn’t say good-bye to him either. That was asking too much.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  MILO HAD A PROBLEM. WHERE WAS HE GOING TO FIND A bunch of old smelly books? Old DVDs and CDs weren’t a problem. He had shoplifted enough of those from various stores over the years, and he could toss those in a box. But old books?

  Then it hit him. The library. He could grab all the books he needed, pack them in grocery sacks, and outrun the librarians to his car.

  Milo hadn’t been inside a library since he was eight years old, so he didn’t know about all the changes. He was unaware that there were detectors that would set off an alarm if even one book was taken out without being stamped, but he found out about them when he passed through the metal bars and a loud pulsating beep brought people running.

  He also vastly underestimated librarians. They weren’t at all like the ones in old movies on television. No, these women didn’t wear their hair in buns or walk around in ugly, black, tie shoes with thick soles. The two women he encountered were kind of hot, and if he hadn’t been trying to get away from them with two grocery bags loaded with books, he might have tried to ask one or both of them out.

  Man, those women loved their books, and there was no way in hell they were gonna let one get out without a fight. Fearing that they would beat the crap out of him when they caught him, he ran down one aisle after another, A to D, E to G. They were closing in o
n him in the self-help aisle when he had to slow down to catch his breath. Panting, he finally dropped the sacks and sprinted for the door, high-jumping the metal bars to get out before more alarms could go off.

  Now what? Fortunately, it didn’t take long for Milo to come up with another brilliant idea. He would buy new books and throw them around the house until they looked old and worthless. He knew there was a big bookstore across the street from the mall, so he drove there and asked the clerk behind the information desk if he had any new books that looked old.

  The young man said “Excuse me?” three times before he understood. Then he said, “No.” He did, however, turn out to be helpful. He took Milo to an area he called the classics, and some of them had real dark covers, like the ones Lyra had taken from the yard sale. The clerk brought him a cart and told him he’d be happy to help him find titles.

  “No, I just need old-looking books,” Milo said as he began pulling books off the shelves.

  The clerk left him alone, and Milo cruised through the stacks tossing in anything that had a dark cover or an embossed print. He had learned his lesson from the library and knew he couldn’t steal these books because the store had the same kind of shoplifting detector panels just inside the front doors. What’s the world coming to, he thought, when books had to be protected from thieves?

  He filled two boxes, and when he paid cash at checkout, he mentioned to the clerk that he needed more old books. She gave him two extra empty boxes from the back and suggested he try Mary Ann’s New and Used Book Store on Nall and 89th. Since Milo had never bought books before, this was all news to him. He wished the clerk had said something about the cheaper used books before he’d paid so much money.

  Mary Ann’s had just what he wanted. Once again, he didn’t bother to read any titles. All he was interested in were the old covers. He dropped his books on the counter and tapped his foot impatiently waiting for his purchases to be rung up. The nerdy clerk in his rimless glasses and long unkempt hair took his sweet time and delighted in reading each title as he scanned it.

  “Let’s see, what do we have here?” He turned the book over to find the bar code and read, The Basics of Toilet Training. He swiped the decoder gun over it. “Check.” He reached for the next. “Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Check.” He picked up another. “The Trials of Menopause. Check.” He looked quizzically at Milo. “Eclectic choices. Are these for you?”

  Milo didn’t like the nerd’s haughty attitude. “I like a lot of different stuff,” he huffed defensively. “Just hurry up.”

  Milo left the store with two full bags and transferred them to the extra boxes in his car. When he shut the trunk, he was all set to impress the boss. Recovering the missing books and CDs would remind him that he could always count on Milo. He could just imagine the praise his boss would heap on him and wished he could call Mr. Merriam right then and there to tell him he was on his way, but phone calls to the boss’s office or personal cell phone were strictly forbidden. Milo would have to wait for his adulation.

  MR. MERRIAM WANTED TO see the park that Milo had told him about. It sounded like the ideal place to bury a few incriminating articles. Like a safe.

  Keeping the safe in his office was borrowing trouble. He kept it hidden, but he worried that one day a cop would come in with a warrant and find it. He needed to get rid of it as soon as possible, and the more he worried about it, the more nervous he became. He sent Charlie and Stack out to buy a tarp, a couple of boxes of Clorox Wipes, and rubber gloves.

  “Make sure you get three pairs of leather gloves, too.”

  When they returned to the office, Charlie put the tarp on the floor while Stack locked the door. It took the strength of all three men to move the safe to the middle of the tarp, and then Charlie and Stack put on the rubber gloves and started wiping it down.

  Charlie backed his van to the service door, and they changed into their black leather gloves to carry the safe downstairs. Grunting like hogs, they lifted it into the van.

  Paraiso Park was a dream come true for Mr. Merriam. He was so happy about it, the smell didn’t bother him at all.

  “Drive around to the back side of that hill in case someone comes in behind us to dump. It looks like there’s more garbage here in front. Guess people don’t want to take the time to drive around.” A few minutes later, he said. “Will you look at that. A bunch of flowers found a way to grow in this cesspool. Go ahead and park. We’ll dump the safe behind that heap on the other side of the flowers.”

  When they got out of the van, they looked all around while they put on their leather gloves.

  “Now remember,” Mr. Merriam said, “try not to let your clothes rub against the safe and leave fibers on it. I don’t want anything to lead back to us.”

  They shuffled like old men as they carried the safe across the little garden, trampling the flowers as they went. They reached a tall pile of trash with a torn and stained mattress lying on top.

  “Okay, drop it here, but watch your feet.”

  After getting the safe to the ground, they pulled the mattress over it.

  Mr. Merriam strutted back to the van peeling off his gloves. He looked up at the blue sky and let the sun’s rays wash over his face as he smiled with relief. Glancing back, he made sure the safe wasn’t visible amid all the other junk surrounding it. No one would ever know it was there.

  Better yet, no one could connect it to him.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  SAM AND LYRA WERE ON THEIR WAY TO THE PARK WHEN LYRA got a call from her apartment manager. He had some bad news to report.

  “Someone vandalized your car,” he began. “Broke every window in your SUV, even the back one. Glass everywhere,” he added. “I think whoever did it used a hammer. Dented your doors, too.”

  After thanking him for the call, Lyra dropped the phone in her lap. “We have to turn around.”

  Sam noticed her frown. “What’s wrong?”

  After she explained what the call was about, she said, “I guess I’ll need a tow service.”

  “You’ll need to file a police report, and you should get photos for your insurance company. O’Malley will want to take a look at it first, though. We’ve got to let him know.”

  Depressed, Lyra rode to her apartment in silence. When they reached the parking lot, Sam parked a good distance away from her SUV and told her to wait in the car.

  Tears of anger flooded her eyes when she saw her shattered SUV. She was seething. “I’m getting real impatient with these creeps.”

  Lyra nervously tapped her feet on the floor as she watched Sam walk around the car and bend down to look underneath. What if he touched it and, boom, the car exploded? He’d be blown to bits.

  She jumped out of the car. “Sam, let the bomb squad do that.”

  “Get back in the car, Lyra.”

  “Damn it,” she muttered. “If you get blown up, I’m going to be seriously mad.”

  Sam finished examining the exterior, careful not to touch it and smear any fingerprints. He carefully reached inside the driver’s window and pulled on the handle to open the door. Brushing aside the broken glass, he leaned in. He found a pair of sunglasses in a pink case under the driver’s seat and a CD wedged between the seat and the armrest. Under the passenger’s seat was a DVD, and in the back cargo area he pulled out a thin book of poetry. He carried the loot to Lyra.

  “Oh, there are my sunglasses. I’ve been looking for those. What’s this?” She looked at the book first and then at the DVD and CD. Finally recognizing them, she said, “These are from the yard sale. Everything in my car went flying when I swerved on the freeway, and these must have landed under the seat. I missed them when I boxed everything up for the ranch.” She looked at the CD and didn’t recognize the singer’s name. Holding up the DVD, she said, “The African Queen. I’ve never seen it, and I love Humphrey Bogart. Want to watch a movie tonight?”

  “Sounds good,” he said. “I guess these vandals weren’t the creeps after your yard sale finds. Do you
have your car keys? We’ll drop them with the apartment manager for the tow service.”

  After making the necessary calls, they were finally ready to drive to the park. Unfortunately, it was rush hour, and rush hour in Los Angeles was like running with the bulls. If you didn’t keep up, you got crushed. The speed limit on the 405 was 65 miles per hour, but most drivers thought that was just a suggestion. The bumper huggers and the lane changers usually made Lyra so tense, her hands were welded to the steering wheel by the time she pulled off the freeway. Sam didn’t seem bothered by the traffic. Now that she thought about it, he was rarely bothered by anything. She envisioned him knocking people down on the rugby field. The image was such a contradiction, it made her smile.

  Lyra exchanged the camera equipment at the park while Sam stood watch, his hand resting on his gun the entire time. No one came or went while they were there. In fact, there was an almost eerie silence as the wind blew through the trash, picking up papers and tossing them from one heap to another. Once they were away from the park, Sam relaxed.

  They arrived back at the duplex around seven with two pizzas from one of Lyra’s favorite pizza shops. It was a buy-one-get-one-free night and each came with a large bottle of Diet Coke. They had enough food to feed an army. Lyra put the boxes on the kitchen table, thought about making salads, and changed her mind.

  “Would you like to watch a film while we eat?”

  “Sure.”

  They moved the food to the coffee table in the living room. Sam leaned back on the sofa ready for her to put the DVD of The African Queen in the player, but instead, she sat down next to him with her laptop and inserted the latest memory card.

  “I have thousands of pictures,” she explained, “but what’s great is that I can zip through them until I see a car or a person. Then I slow it down. I’ve had two memory cards without a single person in any frame. Do you mind if I take a look before we watch the movie?”