literature

Back In Business

Deviation Actions

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Dalton & Cross
Part Two
"Back In Business"



“STRING OF MURDERS BAFFLES POLICE” proclaimed the front page of almost every newspaper in the state. Reba Dalton smiled smugly as she picked up the city’s local paper and scanned the first page. She plunked a small handful of cash down on the newsstand top in front of the clerk.
“How’s it going, Charlie? How’s your wife?” she asked as she leaned one denim-clad hip against the wooden shack.
The old clerk slipped his thick coke bottle glasses onto his beak-like nose and blinked with watery eyes up at the woman. “Just fine, just fine. And how’re you liking your new…job?” he inquired with a wink.
Reba smiled tightly and nodded towards the paper. “I’m getting along, I suppose.” She snatched up the newspaper and pushed the cash towards Charlie. “Keep the change. To take that sweet wife of yours out on the town.” She chuckled softly. “See ya around, Charlie.”
Waves were exchanged and Reba slunk silently and gracefully away, face hidden behind the crisp unfolded pages of her paper.
Moments later her cell phone rang, its poly-tonic ringer sounding off something low and melodious. She flipped it open and pressed the talk button.
“Reba Dalton.”
“It’s me…” purred the all-too-familiar voice on the other end.

By night fall Reba had cancelled her previous plans and was standing in front of a towering icicle of a building. It was tall and the structure was oddly spiraled; the surface gleamed with cold steel and frosted glass. Reba’s eyes reflected the smog-muddled starlight as she stared up to the top floor. She could almost picture him there, reclining like a drowsy panther on one of his expensive leather sofas. Or perhaps he was in the study with his sleeves haphazardly rolled up as he poured through the most recent book that had been published in tribute to Reba’s fresh emergence into her old career.
Either way, Reba found she could not quell the discomfort that clawed at her insides. She told herself it was only the anticipation of her new assignment that Dimitri insisted was too important to reveal over the phone.
In the elevator she examined her reflection in the long plates of mirror that covered the walls from floor to ceiling. Her long red hair fell in a silken veil down her back, ending just above the small of it. Within the gap left by hair and the low scoop of her evening gown, an elaborate tattoo was visible. A pair of red-and-silver wings stretched out over the pale skin and wrapped around over her hips. In the center of the wings was a large glittering ruby, painted so expertly it could have been a real gem. Her dress was of a light, satiny fabric that matched the cloudy amethyst of her eyes. It clung smooth and sleek against her skin then pooled out into a small train at her heels.
The elevator chimed; she had reached the top floor. Dimitri’s floor; his home and also where he conducted business. She stepped out silently, her gaze sweeping the place in a long analyzing glance. The roof was paneled in domed plates of clear and green tinted glass so that the stars and pale moonlight shone through. But there were also places where round, cheery lamps cast an amber glow about them that spilled over onto the plush white carpets.
Reba strolled slowly through the large open room, her fingertips trailing lightly over the rich furniture and smooth marble tables. Things had certainly changed since they were kids. She could remember when all Dimitri had to his name was a rickety card table and a rusted old shotgun. Her lips curved up wryly.
“Things have certainly changed, haven’t they darling?” drawled a low voice from behind her. Dimitri.
Reba turned slowly, artfully concealing her alarm at his sudden intrusion into her silent inspection. She took her time with the panoramic stare she used to rake him, to size him up. Crisp chinos stretched up and even further up until they reached the tucked in slight billow of a freshly pressed white dress shirt. As she had speculated his sleeves were pushed up unevenly to his elbows. The top few buttons of his shirt had been left undone so that his own tattoo showed through the gap: a pair of sepia colored unfurled wings with a drop of amber in the center. Reba let her gaze linger there and a smirk twitched at her lips. He’d left it bare for the same reason she had chosen a dress with a low back; those almost identical tattoos linked them, reminded them of what there had once been.
Dimitri cleared his throat and Reba’s eyes flew to his, glaring into the golden wolf-like orbs hidden behind the small frameless glasses that partially concealed his hawkish face. The wolf…the hawk, both ravenous and merciless predators. Reba smiled.
She flopped back and sank into the cloud-like softness of a black leather sofa with a sigh of silken fabric. Dimitri prowled across the room and settled himself opposite her in a high backed chair. He studied her closely. The two stared each other down, both trying to gain the upper hand in a futile struggle for power, both trying to will the other to break the absolute stillness of the silence that had descended upon them.
Dimitri sighed and raked a hand through his onyx black hair. Reba arched a brow. Was that a streak of silver? But Dimitri was far from old. Something terrible must have happened to him….
“…Reba.”
She looked away, furious with herself. She shouldn’t care if the man dropped dead. In fact, she should delight in it. After what he had done to her….
“Reba. Look at me,” Dimitri’s voice was level and quiet. There was a pause and he took a deep breath. “Look at me damn it!” His voice lost its uncharacteristic softness.
Reba bristled. She stood and walked with purpose over to stand in front of him. She stared down, eyes boring ruthlessly into his. “What? Why am I here? Tell me who you want me to kill and let’s get this over with. I’m very busy….”
Now Dimitri smiled. “You say that every time I want something from you, and yet you always do what I ask. There was a time when you would beg me for assignments. There was a time when…well, I’m not arrogant enough to think you ever loved me. And you never did, did you, precious?”
“Of course not,” Reba’s reply was cold, well rehearsed even though it consisted of only three words. Why had she agreed to come here?
Dimitri stood smoothly, so close that Reba could smell the scent of soap lingering about him. He placed a hand under her chin and tilted her head back ever so slightly so that she was made to look into his eyes. She did so grudgingly, her own eyes narrowed dangerously.
“You ask me who I want you to kill this time. Kill your hate for me. Quell your fears. Bury your guilt. None of it was your fault….”
“Damn right it wasn’t my fault!” Reba shoved him forcefully in the chest. “It was yours! I didn’t want to go. It was you…it was always you….”
As Dimitri fell back into the chair behind him, caught like a foul ball in the glove of its upholstery, Reba lunged past him towards the elevator doors. She stabbed at the button but there was no light, no chime that meant she would soon be leaving this ridiculous trap behind her. Confront her with that, would he? She stabbed at the button more vigorously.
Dimitri stepped up behind her and wrapped his hand around her wrist as she went to press the button again. “I had it disabled for the next few hours.”
Reba sighed and her arm dropped to her side. “That’s taking ‘do not disturb’ to a whole new level, don’t you think?”
Dimitri chuckled coolly but his fingers squeezed like five miniature pythons around Reba’s wrist as he led her into the library. She grudgingly allowed herself to be ushered away from the elevator doors, the portal that would take her home. What else could she do?

Reba sat curled at one end of the jade silk brocade settee, her shoes carelessly kicked off on the floor. Dimitri was sprawled languidly at the other end, eyeing her over the crystal goblet of water he held gracefully in one hand. But he couldn’t catch her amethyst eyes long enough to hold them. Her gazed seemed fully absorbed in watching the minute waves of blood red wine lap against the sides of the belled wine glass she held. She tipped it up to her lips and drank deeply.
Dimitri smirked, dipping a finger into his drink and running it absentmindedly over the rim to create a soft humming sound. “When did you start drinking?”
“I’ve taken so many lives, would you begrudge me for trying to shorten my own?” Reba didn’t look up and she took another sip, smaller this time.
Dimitri chuckled and downed the last of his water. “Well said. I suppose not, my eloquent speaker.” He set his glass aside then reached over and plucked Reba’s from her hands. “Talk.”
The abrupt order seemed to snake into Reba’s throat and pull the words past her lips. “That little girl…you knew she was going to be there, didn’t you, you….”
Dimitri cleared his throat thickly. “Enough with the swearing and name calling. Get to it, princess.”
She continued, “That little girl…and I shot her. I was the one with the gun but you…it was you who sent me. And I missed…god, how did I miss? The man was right there, and in walks his daughter.”
Suddenly two arms were around her, pulling her like the limp doll she had become into his lap, cradling her head against his chest. At first she resisted, stiffening and edging back into the arm of the settee, but the combined effect of the wine and guilt had made her pliable and sapped the strength from her muscles and the will from her mind. She curled into him, silently listening to the watery thud of his heart.
“Tell me the rest.”
Reba’s fist balled around the fabric of his shirt and she jerked her head away. “Why should I? So you can feel sorry for me?”
But she relaxed her grip and sighed when Dimitri said nothing. Her hand brushed against the small scar that his tattoo masked. All of this had been a ruse to make her recount that horrible night. It was so elaborate, so well set up, so comfortable, that she couldn’t completely ignore all of it.
“Then I tried to save her. CPR, you know? But her blood…it was all over my hands, dripping and so hot I thought it would burn away the skin. Then the sirens started up and I ran. …You picked me up outside.”
She looked up into those golden predatory eyes. Dimitri’s mouth twitched downward in a smirk.
“I am good for something after all then,” he almost purred; Reba felt the words rumbling up from deep inside his chest.
Reba heaved a ragged sigh. “Damn it all, Cross. How is it you always get what you want? I’ve never told anyone before.”
He shrugged and pushed her gently back onto the sofa so that he could stand. He strode away from her, his hands buried in his pockets. “There’s one thing I don’t have that I desperately want,” he grinned flatly as he spoke.
Reba laughed quietly and leaned back against the arm of the settee. “Keep dreaming.”

Early evening sunlight shone bright and clear through the large plate-glass, lace-draped windows that lined the walls of Reba’s dining room. The modest house had been the first purchase she had made with the money from the assassination that had brought her out of retirement. Now she sat under the high ceiling, watching half rainbows reflected from the small cut glass chandelier bounce along the white walls.
Papers were strewn over one end of the kitchen table, most filled with neat meticulous writing. In the center of all of it was a lone Polaroid of a woman in her late thirties smiling blithely at the camera. As always the name that had been printed below the photograph had been scratched out in heavy lines of ballpoint pen. Reba raked the mess of papers into an awaiting trashcan and stood up from the table, the legs of her chair scraping across the hardwood floor.
The long hem of her evening dress swept over the floor in a gentle rustle of crimson taffeta. She gathered her hair into her hands and twisted it up, securing the strands with a jewel encrusted clip. She glanced at the delicate silver watch that wrapped around her glove covered wrist.
“Cross, we’re going to be late.”
Dimitri emerged from farther back in the house. An untied black bowtie hung around his neck and he was rubbing at his damp hair vigorously with a towel. Reba frowned at him and strode over to offer her assistance.
She tied the bowtie with deft movements and straightened the lapels of his black tuxedo jacket while Dimitri continued drying his hair. Reba snatched the towel away when she was done and tossed it onto the back of a chair. She tugged off her gloves and reached up to his still damp hair, running her fingers through it and arranging the ebony strands just so.
“That’s the best I can do.” She yanked her gloves back on and refastened her watch. She sighed, “We’re officially past fashionably late Cross.”
Dimitri looked up and raised an eyebrow at her, amused. “Yes, but I look wonderful.”
Reba rolled her eyes and snatched up the towel again, chunking it at him. “Let’s just go.”

“My dear Ms. Dalton, you do dance ever so divinely,” crooned the stout old man who was propelling Reba across the dance floor.
Women in jewel colored dresses and the men who escorted them like the black veins that bind a stained glass window together waltzed and swirled over the highly polished pink marble floor of the city’s most prestigious ballroom. Gilded mirrors hung heavy in their frames along the walls while gold draperies kept the balmy night air from intruding into the well air-conditioned space. Music had played low and sultry all night long, carrying the dancers around the floor on the wings of its notes.
As Reba glided along with the most influential men of the time, all the while watching for her victim, Dimitri had lounged in a wing backed chair in the corner. From there he silently willed the woman from the photo to him. His gestures were charming, his eyes alluring and just a little bit dangerous. Reba almost envied the women who swarmed around him, each trying to edge their way a bit closer into a coveted place at his side…that is, until she noticed he was paying no attention to any of them. When he was not shamelessly flirting with the older woman his eyes had followed the swooping path Reba had traced along the dance floor.
Finally the song ended and the stout little man released her. Reba smiled indulgently at him before weaving her way towards Dimitri. She slipped easily through the bevy of beauties to perch lightly on the arm of his chair. Her arm slid across his broad shoulders and she toyed a bit with the rose pinned to his lapel.
When she spoke she leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing against his ear, “Dimitri…darling, I’m so bored of dancing with those vapid old men. Can’t we go home?”
Dimitri’s eyes shifted towards her and he arched a brow curiously. She smiled innocently back at him. It wasn’t until the other women that had previously surrounded him had begun to drift away did Dimitri realize what she was up to.
“That was a dirty trick,” he growled softly when all the women had left.
Reba grinned triumphantly. “Yes, yes it was. But really, can we get on with this? These shoes are killing me. And it doesn’t help that half these men can’t dance and have trampled my toes.”
Dimitri laughed and stood, breezing past her.

Reba left securing the woman to Dimitri. She was outside now, sitting silently on a stone bench in the garden. It was quiet here with everyone else inside the ballroom enjoying themselves. The body probably wouldn’t even be discovered until someone needed a smoke.
Two silhouettes appeared in the doorway that led to the garden. Reba stood and removed her gloves; it would do no good to get any blood on the expensive fabric. Dimitri came into view with the woman hanging on his arm. Dimitri’s eyes flicked her way and Reba tucked her gloves into the bodice of her dress. She reached down and soundlessly lifted the hem of her dress to remove the small dagger that was sheathed on her thigh. The blade was just long enough to plunge through skin and a slight layer of muscle and the hilt was made of silver accented mother of pearl, fitted perfectly for Reba’s palm.
Dimitri stood behind the woman with his arms draped lazily around her thick waist. Reba stepped from the shadows and, lightning fast, one of Dimitri’s hands flew to the woman’s mouth. The dagger was a flash of silver in the dark night then the only sound was the soft sigh of material as the woman collapsed.

The limousine was dark, with cool air wafting from the vents above. Reba reclined against one door while Dimitri sat opposite her and to the left with his feet propped on the seat.
“Very nicely done Reba my dear,” Dimitri intoned before taking a long draught from the plastic bottle of mineral water he clutched.
Reba shrugged, obviously pleased with the compliment. “It’s been a long time since we worked together. Your timing was a bit off.” She grinned.
Dimitri reached out and took her hand in his. He turned it over and studied the palm. Reba, knowing that blood would be seeping from the lines in her palm, tried to pull her hand back. But Dimitri tightened his grasp and with the other hand withdrew a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He dripped some of his water onto the thin sheet of white linen then dabbed at a rust colored spot on her hand. The drying blood washed quickly away. He turned her hand over and brought it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the knuckles.
When he released her hand, Reba studied the appendage as if she had never seen it before. The skin was clean, soft and pale in the starlight that filtered though the moon roof of the limo. That was it then: after so many nights of coming home from an assignment to struggle with the imagined blood, one touch from Dimitri was enough to remove that horror. Or had the curse been lifted when he had made her reveal what had happened on that night so long ago?
The limo jolted to a stop and Reba turned to look out the blue tinted window at the amber glow that emanated from her house. The door opened smoothly and Dimitri slid out, offering a hand to Reba. She took it blindly and allowed him to lead her to the wide front porch of her house. She fit the key into the lock and started to open the door. However, she paused halfway and turned to look at Dimitri. He stood behind her with his hands in his pockets, watching her with a flat expression stretched over his face.
She took a step towards him and reached out to clutch his lapels and pull him down closer to her. He leaned down easily, as if he had expected just this very action. When she didn’t meet with the expected resistance, Reba paused and looked up at him as if she had forgotten what she had meant to do. Dimitri stared at her for a moment, searching her violet eyes. He reached up then, gently prying Reba’s fingers off of his lapels before he straightened himself upright once more.
“Goodnight, Reba.”
Dimitri turned brusquely and strode in a seemingly casual manner back to the limo. He slid in and clicked the door quietly shut without looking back to Reba as she stood on the porch in a pool of yellow light.
Reba heaved a nearly silent sigh before darting into the safety of her house, hiding behind the barrier of her door. She turned off the porch light and Dimitri was left gazing into darkness from the confines of the limousine.
Part two of the Dalton and Cross trilogy. In this one, more of Reba's past is revealed as she teams up with Dimitri once again.
© 2007 - 2024 RebeccaStapp
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