The Sleeping Doll

smooth face, though half-hearted; she was still shaken by the incident at Jack’s restaurant. Pell didn’t care. The bubble within him had started expanding once more. He wasn’t sure whether Kathryn was driving it, or Jennie.
    “Which one’s ours?”
    She pointed. “Come on, honey. I have a surprise for you.”
    Hm. Pell didn’t like surprises.
    She unlocked the door.
    He nodded toward it. “After you, lovely.”
    And reached into his waistband, gripping the pistol. He tensed, ready to push her forward as a sacrificial shield and start shooting at the sound of a cop’s voice.
    But it wasn’t a setup. The place was empty. He looked around. It was even nicer than the outside suggested. Ritzy. Expensive furniture, drapes, towels, even bathrobes. Some nice paintings too. Seashores, the Lonesome Pine and more goddamn butterflies.
    And candles. Lots of them. Everywhere you could put a candle there was a candle.
    Oh, that was the surprise. They weren’t, thank God, lit. That’s all he’d need—come back from an escape to find his hideaway on fire.
    “You have the keys?”
    She handed them to him.
    Keys. Pell loved them. Whether for a car, a motel room, a safe deposit box or a house, whoever possesses the keys is in control.
    “What’s in there?” she asked, glancing at the bag. She’d been curious earlier, when they met on the beach not long ago, he knew. Purposely he hadn’t told her.
    “Just some things we needed. And some food.”
    Jennie blinked in surprise. “You bought food?”
    What, was this the first time her man had bought her groceries?
    “I could’ve done that,” she said quickly. Then nodding at the kitchenette, she added a perfunctory, “So. I’ll cook you a meal.”
    Odd phrase. She’s been taught to think that. By her ex, or one of the abusive boyfriends. Tim the biker.
    Shut up and go cook me a meal . . . .
    “That’s okay, lovely. I’ll do it.”
    “You?”
    “Sure.” Pell knew men who insisted that “the wife” feed them. They thought they were kings of the household, to be waited on. It gave them some sense of power. But they didn’t understand that when you depended on someone for anything, you were weakened. (Also, how stupid can you be? You know how easy it is to mix rat poison into soup?) Pell was no chef but even years ago, when Linda was the Family cook, he liked to hang out in the kitchen, help her, keep an eye on things.
    “Oh, and you got Mexican!” She laughed as she pulled out the ground beef, tortillas, tomatoes, canned peppers and sauces.
    “You said you liked it. Comfort food. Hey, lovely.” He kissed her head. “You were real steady today at the restaurant.”
    Turning away from the groceries, she looked down. “I got kind of freaked, you know. I was scared. I didn’t mean to scream.”
    “No, no, you held fast. You know what that means?”
    “Not really.”
    “It’s an old expression sailors used to say. They’d tattoo it on their fingers, so when you made fists, you’d see it spelled out. ‘Hold fast.’ It means not running away.”
    She laughed. “I wouldn’t run away from you.”
    He touched his lips to her head, smelled sweat and discount perfume.
    She rubbed her nose.
    “We’re a team, lovely.” Which got her to stop rubbing. Pell noted that.
    He went into the bathroom, peed long and then washed up. When he stepped outside he found a second surprise.
    Jennie’d stripped down. She was wearing only a bra and panties, holding a cigarette lighter, working on the candles.
    She glanced up. “You said you liked red.”
    Pell grinned, walked to her. Ran his hand down her bony spine.
    “Or would you rather eat?”
    He kissed her. “We’ll eat later.”
    “Oh, I want you, baby,” she whispered. It was clearly a line she’d used often in the past. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t true now.
    He took the lighter. “We’ll do atmosphere later.” He kissed her, pulled her hips against him.
    She smiled—a genuine one now—and pressed harder against his crotch. “I think you want me too.” A purr.
    “I do want you, lovely.”
    “I like it when you call me that.”
    “You have any stockings?” he asked.
    She nodded. “Black ones. I’ll go put them on.”
    “No. That’s not what I want them for,” he whispered.

Chapter 18
    One more errand before this hard day was over.
    Kathryn Dance pulled up to a modest house in the netherworld between Carmel and Monterey.
    When the huge military base, Fort Ord, was the industry