V is for Vengeance (Kinsey Millhone 22)

He said, “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Her smile was brief. “I doubted it myself.” Her gaze flicked from the lighted neon beer sign mounted on the wall to the bar and from there to the cartoon arrow that pointed to the ladies’ room.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but you’re not comfortable.”

“Of course not. All this cigarette smoke? By the time I get home, my clothes will stink and I’ll have to wash my hair.”

“I’ve got a better idea. Place I want to show you. You’ll like it.”

“We’re going someplace else?”

“Don’t be so nervous. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

She dropped her gaze. “I have time constraints.”

“We’re not leaving town,” he said. “Let me correct myself. A short distance out of town. Fifteen minutes max.”

“What about my car?”

“I’ll bring you back. What time do you have to be home?”

“Four.”

“Not a problem.”

When he got up, she put a restraining hand on his arm. “Drop me at my car and I’ll follow you,” she said.

He leaned close to her ear, taking in the smell of her hair and the light scent of lilac coming off her skin. “You just want to be in control.”

She seemed to shiver at the touch of his breath. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

He stood up and held her chair. “Where are you parked?”

“Around the corner.”

“Me too. I’ll walk you out the side door. That way you won’t have to parade past these yahoos. They’ve been staring at you.”

He took her arm lightly, shielding her from view.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I’m not telling you. This is an experiment in trust.”

“Why would I trust you?”

“You already do. Evil as I am, I’ve got an honest face.”

“You’re not evil, are you?”

“Not entirely. Then again, I’m not entirely honest.”

He saw her to her car, a snappy teal blue Thunderbird in mint condition. Somehow it pleased him. He was parked three cars behind her. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled out. She waited until he’d passed before she pulled out behind him. He led her down surface streets, watching her in his rearview mirror. She kept pace with him. As he drove through each stoplight, he was careful she made it through the intersection as well.

When he reached the 101, he took the southbound on-ramp and continued for a mile. He got off at Paloma Lane, which ran parallel to the freeway on a wide stretch of land that bordered the Pacific Ocean. The railroad had co-opted the right of way some years before, but aside from the thundering of the trains passing twice a day, this was prime real estate. Most houses couldn’t be seen from the road, which meant that privacy was guaranteed. The mix of evergreens and eucalyptus cut the sunlight into patches.

He slowed and activated an automated gate of weathered wood. The houses on either side of the property were hidden behind eugenia hedges some thirty feet high. He turned into the driveway and followed it around to the left until it widened to a motor court sufficient for six cars. He parked and got out. He waited until she’d pulled in behind him and parked and then he opened her car door. He offered her a hand and helped her out.

“This is your house?” she asked.

“A weekend place. No one knows it’s mine.”

As they walked toward the front door, he took out a set of keys. The exterior of the house was board-and-batten, painted yellow, the windows shuttered in white. The roof was standing-seam metal with a low pitch that suggested the architecture of the tropics—Key West or Jamaica. Palms were grouped in the small yard, which was half sand, half grass. The front door swung back and she stepped into the small foyer, pausing to take in the space.

The front wall of the living room was floor-to-ceiling windows. Just outside there was a wide wooden deck enclosed by a board-and-batten barrier wall, waist high, topped with darkly tinted glass panels, which kept the ocean visible while anyone standing on the deck was screened from view. She walked as far as the glass and looked out. The air was fully saturated with the scent of ocean, and Dante watched her close her eyes and inhale.

“You like it?”

She smiled at him. “It’s perfect. I love the ocean. I’m a water baby. Pisces.”

“Me too. Only I’m Scorpio.”

“How long have you had the place?”