Little Red and the Wolf

debonair with his coal-black suit, powder-blue shirt and matching tie.

“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t think anyone was home.” His brown eyes raked down her body, pausing a little too long at her breasts. A lopsided grin blossomed over his clean-shaven face. “You must be Maizie.”

There was a leer in his voice, if a voice could leer, that made a cold chill settle at the base of her spine. Maizie straightened, suddenly feeling vulnerable despite the six-inch cleaver in her hand. She pulled the edges of her robe together, holding them shut rather than setting the knife down to tie the belt.

“You’re trespassing,” she said. “I already called the cops.” Great idea, too bad she hadn’t thought of it before she raced down half-dressed to shoo away the criminal. Ugh. Her brain was oversexed, frustrated mush.

“Really? How awkward. You see, I’m here at your grandmother’s behest.” He stepped into the living room.

“Stay back.” Maizie brandished the cleaver in both hands.

The man stopped instantly, his cocky smile melting away along with all the color in his skin. He held up his hands in surrender. “Hold on, Maizie. Relax. I told you. I’m a friend of Ester’s. Call her. Check it out.”

“Yeah, right. How do I know you’re not some serial killer here to chop me into little pieces as soon as I turn my back to use the phone?”

His smile returned, minus the cockiness. “Well, you’re the one waving the meat cleaver around. And this isn’t my people-chopping suit.”

Okay, good point. Most serial killers probably didn’t wear Versace on the job. She recognized the style. “Who are you? Gran didn’t mention anyone was coming. I just saw her yesterday.”

He dropped his gaze, looked away for a moment then back, his eyes suddenly sad. “Ester doesn’t always remember things clearly. I’m sure she would’ve told you, but, you know.”

Shit. She knew exactly what he meant.

His smile warmed. It was a nice smile that lit his eyes and sharpened the roundness of his jaw. He was kind of handsome, in a stiff, businessman sort of way, with a thin nose, thick brows and short wavy hair, cut just above the collar.

“The name’s Anthony. Anthony Cadwick.” He stretched one hand toward her, very slowly. “I don’t bite and I only chop people into little pieces figuratively.”

Okay, so now she felt kind of stupid holding the cleaver like a hatchet ready to chop off a limb. She lowered it to her side, then set it on the end table next to the front door.

“Hi, Tony. I’m Maizie, the crazy granddaughter.”

“It’s, um, Anthony, actually. Nice to finally meet you. Your grandmother speaks of you often.” He stepped forward.

They shook hands. His skin was warm and soft, his handshake firm not wimpy like he worried he’d hurt her. She liked that.

“Anthony. Sorry. Nice outfit.”

“Same to you.” His gaze dropped to her open robe and then to her bare legs from above her knees. “I woke you?”

Maizie tied her robe, made a knot. She shoved her bed-hair back from her face, the other hand holding her collar together. “Actually you interrupted a really great dream.”

“Mm, sorry about that. Ester said you lived in the city. Didn’t think anyone was here.” He checked his watch. “Afternoon, someone’s got a great work schedule.”

“I stopped by last night to check on things. Took a walk in the woods. It got pretty late, so I just stayed. The place is more comforting than I remember. Particularly the wildlife.”

“Umm…”

“Wait. What time did you say?”

He checked his watch again. “Twelve twenty-five, now.”

“Oh, crap. I don’t even have time to shower.” She spun around and headed for the stairs. “Uh, listen, I have to be at work, like now, so if you can see yourself out… Lock the door behind you. Thanks.”

She’d already turned the landing when she heard him start up the stairs. “Actually, it’s quite a propitious circumstance. Your being late for work notwithstanding, of course.”

She stopped and leaned over the banister. “Okay, maybe I was too vague before. I have to change clothes and haul ass. You need to leave.”

“But I’ve been wanting to speak with you. It’s about your grandmother. I’m really quite concerned.”

“Yeah? Maybe it’s something in the water.” She didn’t have time for this. Maizie took the last two steps at once and raced to her room. She slammed the door and twisted the cheapy knob lock. Better than nothing. Maybe he’d see the closed door and get the idea.

Maizie jerked out of her robe and ripped her little nightgown over her head. Her gaze fell on her sundress from yesterday. Not only had she worn it to work the day before, but her escape from the pissed-off wolf had left a nice long tear in the hem. There had to be something better.

She went to the closet. Maybe some scrap of her old clothes had hidden out in there. She started digging and realized her old room closet had apparently become the place where out-of-date coats went to die.

“Y’know…Maizie?”

Sheezz, the guy couldn’t take a hint. Or a simple direct order. She rolled her eyes and kept searching through the plastic-covered garments. “Yeah?”

“Oh. Uh, your grandmother cares for you a great deal. Talks about you all the time.”

“That right?” Bingo. Right between a maroon tweed jacket and the overstuffed winter coat, she found an old wraparound denim skirt. “Gawd, were these things ever in style?”

“What’s that?” Anthony’s voice sounded louder, like he leaned against the door. Was he listening to her change clothes? Creepy.

“Nothing. So, you were saying Gran talks to you about me?” If he was yackin’ away out there, she knew he wasn’t listening to her being naked in here.

“Yes. Yes, she does. All the time.”

Maizie rolled her eyes again. She needed a top. She’d reached the end of the closet and found nothing in there that would do. She turned and raced across the room to her old dresser.

Top drawer…junk, playing cards, pens, rubber bands. She shoved it closed. Next drawer…books.

“I don’t think there’s anything on the planet she cares about more than you,” Anthony said.

Maizie slammed the book drawer closed then moved to the next…more books, same as the last. She yanked open the bottom drawer.

“Clothes, thank gawd.” Double-D boulder-holder bras, enormous granny-panties, and… eureka! A nice little stack of old T-shirts.

“The only thing she might care about half as much is her big silver wolf.” Anthony laughed, but Maizie’s blood ran cold. She froze.

Until last night the silver wolf had been a figment of an old woman’s imagination, a character in a fairy tale. But he was real now.

He was real and beautiful and… She didn’t want to think about the rest of it. About his strange cameo in her dream. What was that? There’d been a moment, after she’d caught the animal in Granny’s house, that she’d been afraid. Not afraid of being killed, but afraid she couldn’t stop him if his embarrassingly bold licks intensified, morphing into something more, something worse. Maybe that fear, that weird possibility had tainted her dreams.

“Maizie?”

She shook her head, snapping out of the odd train of thought and grabbed the top T-shirt. Taking it to the bed, she dressed.

“What did Gran say about the wolf, exactly?” she asked.

“I’m sure you’ve heard it before. She said she has to protect it and she promised never to sell the land so he always has a place to run. Same as always.”

The T-shirt was tight, but it’d do. She’d throw an apron on when she got to the shop. Maizie dug her brush out of her purse and grabbed her hair ring from the nightstand.

“If you ask me,” Anthony said, “I think the wolf is you. Metaphorically speaking.”