He listened for intruders and heard nothing other than the storm slamming against the windows. With the lights out, he made a pass through each room and then dialed his office.
A tender, timid voice answered.
“Hello?”
“London, it’s me,” Wilde said. “Are you still up for this?”
A pause then, “Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. Don’t let me get killed.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “If you get killed, I’ll give you your retainer back.”
She laughed faintly and said, “Fair enough.”
“Okay, I’m at your house now and the coast is clear. Come home and follow your normal routine when you get here. I’ll be upstairs lying on the floor behind the bed. Don’t worry about turning on the lights, no one from outside will have a line of sight on me.”
“Okay.”
“Do you normally close your window coverings at night?”
“Yes.”
“Leave one or two of them open a crack so he can see you moving around. I want to be sure he knows you’re home.”
“Okay.”
“You sound nervous.”
“I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
Wilde smiled.
“See you soon.” A beat then, “One more thing. Don’t talk to me if your face is pointed towards a window. I don’t want him to see your lips moving.”
“Good idea. You brought a weapon, right?”
Right.
He did.
“A gun?”
Right.
That.
He laid in the dark behind the bed, memorizing every sound, every play of light from the streetlights, every engine in the night.
Fifteen minutes later a car pulled into the driveway.
The front door opened and the lights downstairs kicked on.
Curtains swung closed across rods.
More lights kicked on.
A refrigerator door opened. An ice tray got cracked and ice fell into a glass, followed by something poured over it. The sound made Wilde thirstier than he already was. A bottle of RC would be nice-no, not a cola, a beer; an ice-cold beer, straight from the freezer right before it froze.
The suit jacket was next to him on the floor.
Inside the left pocket was the pack of Camels.
Wilde resisted the urge to tap one out.
The resistance lasted all of a minute before he broke one loose and lit up. The smoke in his lungs was so damn perfect. The roughness in his brain softened.
The bedroom lights suddenly turned on.
Curtains swung closed across rods.
With his head at floor level, Wilde had a view of the woman’s feet. They walked towards him and turned at the bed, followed by the woman’s body sitting on the mattress.
“So far, nothing unusual,” she said.
“He’ll wait for you to go to bed. Just keep doing what you do.”
Wilde watched as shoes came off followed by nylons.
A dress dropped to the floor.
Then a blouse.
Then a bra.
Then panties.
“I usually take a shower before I go to bed,” London said.
“Then do it. Don’t break your routine.”
The bathroom was across the hall in line of sight from Wilde’s position. As the woman walked to it, her body came into view.
She was naked.
Her ass was taut and smooth.
Her back was strong.
Her raven hair cascaded.
Her left hand carried a glass of wine.
She left the bathroom door open, got the shower up to temperature and stepped in. The curtain didn’t close all the way. Wilde had a good reflection of her in the mirror. He watched her until his conscience made him stop. Then he rolled onto his back, lit another Camel and stared at the ceiling, being careful to blow the smoke under the bed where it wouldn’t be seen from the outside.
The shower shut off.
That’s what his brain said.
His eyes didn’t listen.
He watched the woman’s every move as she toweled off, swallowed the rest of the wine and slipped into a T-shirt-nothing else, just the T. When she headed back across the hall, Wilde didn’t drop his eyes. The woman’s body was still moist. Her breasts pressed against the cotton.
She flicked the lights off.
The room dropped into darkness.
Then she stepped over him and got into bed.
“Good night,” she said.
Before Wilde could answer, lightning exploded outside, so close that the walls shook.
“Good night.”
“Thanks for being here.”
“No problem.”
68
