Finished, he zipped up the tote bag. He checked the computer screen again. Caitlin was stowing the exercise rig under her bed. He watched as she took off her workout clothes and tossed them into a laundry basket, then toweled herself dry in the bathroom. She spent a few moments selecting an outfit to wear, and during that time she was naked on the screen of his computer-and, no doubt, on other screens as well. There were others who liked to watch.
But only one who was not content with mere watching.
She chose a yellow blouse and beige cargo shorts. Treat studied her as she dressed. He did not turn away even when she sat on the edge of her bed and laced up her sneakers. It gave him a peculiar feeling of intimacy with her to know that he was preparing for his evening just as she made preparations for hers. Almost like a real couple.
Soon they would share an intimacy purer and more intense than any lovers’ tryst. They would know the closeness of predator and prey, of torturer and victim. They would share the wordless language of suffering, and together they would experience the final delicious frisson of death.
Treat shook his head, dispelling the vision his imagination had conjured. He looked around him. No more daylight filtered through his shuttered windows. Darkness had come.
He entered his walk-in closet and began to select his attire for the evening’s entertainment. A formal affair, so he would wear black.
For Miss Osborn, on the other hand, the event was strictly come-as-you-are.
17
C.J. was making dinner when the phone rang. She glanced at the clock on the stove. Ten minutes to six. Salesperson, probably. She almost didn’t answer, but on the third ring she picked up the cordless unit mounted by the fridge. “Hello?”
“It’s me. Rick Tanner.”
Tanner had never called her. “Hey, Rick. What’s up?”
“I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“How I’m doing?” Carrying the phone, she returned to the stove and used a wooden spoon to push around some stir-fry vegetables in her frying pan. “We just talked at the station a couple hours ago.”
“Yeah, but at the time I didn’t know what had gone down in that hostage situation. How you climbed in through the rear window and took away the guy’s piece.”
She turned down the flame under the saucepan. The broccoli was starting to scorch. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Pedro’s. I’m finishing up a Code Seven right now.” Completing his dinner break, he meant.
Pedro’s was a Tex-Mex diner frequented by Newton cops and Sheriff’s deputies who worked the Florence area. “Some guys from your division have been talking. I think you impressed them, Killer.”
“You’re not supposed to call me that, remember?”
“It was a slip.”
“Anyway”-she ladled the cooked vegetables onto a plate-“I wasn’t trying to impress anybody. I just didn’t want… well, you know…”
“Another SWAT screw-up? Like the warehouse in Long Beach?”
She took a long moment before answering. Sometimes Tanner really could surprise her. “How’d you know I was thinking of that?”
“I didn’t. My partner did. He had to walk me through it real slow. I caught on eventually.”
“I’ll bet you caught on sooner than you’ll admit. You’re not so dumb, Tanner.”
“That’s what I keep telling everybody. But do they listen? Nah.”
There was an uncomfortable pause when both of them realized they had temporarily run out of conversation.
“Look,” Tanner said, “that’s all I called to say. And, uh, I wanted to ask you a question.”
“Ask away.”
“Is it a problem for you-me being SWAT? I mean, is that why… well, you know?”
“Why I’ve been sort of unfriendly?”
“Right. Not that I don’t deserve it. I probably do. I’m an asshole. Even my best friends tell me so.”
“They might be underestimating you.” She looked out the kitchen window, into the darkness. The sun was long gone. Again she found herself wishing night didn’t come so early in the winter. “Look, you SWAT guys have a job to do, and most of the time you do it well. Anyway, you had nothing to do with the warehouse. That was LAPD Metro’s deal.”
“Sure but, you know, once we put on our vests and goggles, we pretty much all look alike.”
She laughed. “I don’t have anything against you. Rick. I’ve just been… cautious since my divorce.”
“Yeah, I can understand that. And, uh, I’m sorry if I’ve been, you know, coming on too strong.”
She was touched. He had never apologized to her before, for anything. “Is this your sensitive side coming out?” she asked with a smile.
“Could be. I wouldn’t know. I’m not too familiar with my sensitive side. But if I’ve been, well… acting like a jerk…”
“Maybe a little. But I goad you into it, I think.”
“I guess I just need to, you know, chill out a little. Around you, I mean.”
“Maybe we could both play it that way. You don’t go for any three-point shots, and I won’t try so hard to block.”
“Basketball metaphors. I like that.”
“First rakish, now metaphors. I’m starting to think there’s more to you than you let on.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Uh, sorry-that was the old Rick Tanner.”
“The old Rick Tanner’s not all bad. Actually, I kind of like talking to him.” This was true, though she hadn’t realized it until right now.
“You’ll like the new guy even better.”
“I just might.”
“So we’re cool?”
She smiled. “We’re cool.” Absurdly she wondered if he was wearing his sunglasses right now, in the dark.
“Glad to hear it. Guess I’d better be going. Me and my partner are officially back on duty.”
C.J. surprised herself by holding him on the phone a minute longer. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You ever hear anything about the Four-H Club?”
“Bunch of farm kids trying to raise the world’s biggest tomato?”
“No, I mean-well, it’s sort of crazy, but I got this e-mail message welcoming me to the Four-H Club. Unsolicited and unsigned. I wondered if it meant anything.”
“Like a threat?”
“It’s probably nothing. But on my way home, I could’ve sworn there was somebody tailing me.”
“Description?”
“White van, cargo style, California plates. That’s all I got.”
“When did you receive the e-mail?”
“Today.”
“So first you’re followed, then you get this message?”
“It might not mean anything.”
“I’ll ask around. See if it rings any bells.”
“No, don’t bother.” She was sorry she had mentioned it. “It’s nothing. I’m being paranoid.”
“In this city, with the work we do, paranoid is a good way to be.”
“Don’t go to any trouble. I’m sure it’s a joke or something.”
“I’ll ask anyway. If I find out anything, I’ll call.”
“I think I’m just going crazy, that’s all.”
“I’ve been crazy for years. I can relate. Hey, Chang’s telling me we’re taking a one-eighty-seven in gangland. Gotta roll, Killer.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said, smiling, but Tanner had already hung up.
She replaced the cordless handset in its charger, then carried her meal into the dining area. Picking at her veggies, sipping ice water, she thought about Rick Tanner. It seemed his playful come-ons weren’t so playful, after all. He really did care about her. Underneath the macho facade, there could be a person worth getting to know.
Or maybe not. It could be just another act, a subtler come-on. She wasn’t sure what to think. The divorce had left her wary, hypervigilant.
Still, calling had been a nice gesture on his part.
To be honest-she smiled sadly-it was more than Adam would have done.
18
Treat kept his white van in the underground parking garage of his apartment complex. The van, a Ford Econoline, was parked neatly between the stripes, flanked by a snazzy black Miata and a dented Honda Civic, a mix of vehicles that reflected the egalitarian mix of tenants in his building-rising corporate stars and showbiz types waiting for a break, recent college grads still living off their parents and senior citizens surviving on fixed incomes.