walkway of Troy's house. She quickly let herself inside.
Her first inhalation of Troy air was slow. She figured her customary disregard of the posted speed limits had bought her some extra time, even though she was under orders not to linger.
Troy's house smelled...good.
She didn't know what she'd expected. Sweat socks? Motor oil? Moldy beach towels?
It was like none of those. His house smelled like...like sage or rosemary or basil or something. She didn't cook, so she couldn't quite pinpoint which herb or herbs she was sniffing, but it was a clean, green scent.
The house was clean and green too. Pale celery-colored walls, a darker green trim, natural fiber carpet covering bare wood floors. Plain, Shaker-style furniture. Wow. Given the chance, she would have predicted shag carpeting and a Bow-Flex serving as both sculpture and clothes hanger.
Instead the living room was in those quiet colors, and making it even more quiet, there was no tele vision or stereo in sight. The adjoining small dining area held a simple table. A framed scroll covered with Chinese characters hung on the wall.
A nearby switch plate allowed her to light up more of the house. It illuminated the overhead fixture in the dining room and pointed the way to the kitchen. Desiree made it there in seven steps, and again noticed how clean it looked and smelled. White tile sans pizza boxes and crushed beer cans.
Across the kitchen there was another doorway, leading out past the refrigerator to a short hallway. From there a quick left revealed a bathroom that appeared unused. To the right, an office with phone, computer, fax. In the free floor space stretched a black yoga mat. Hmm.
She kept going, and located a nice-size master bedroom suite.
Big bed.
Troy's bed.
It was covered by a pristine comforter that was crisply spread like icing over a king-size petit four. Enlarged photographs were framed and hung in an interesting pattern on the wall. Most of them appeared to be of family - black-and-whites of kids living the surreal life - well, surreal to her eyes, since there was always an adult participating in the shot.
Mother leaning over to help blow out birthday candles.
Dad's arm curled around a little boy's waist as he sat on a pony.
The scattered results of a messy sled overturn, with a passel of kids laughing as hard as the parents pictured in the shot.
Surreal.
There were families who really had a life like that?
The darkened door of the attached bath beckoned. Bad, Desiree, bad! She didn't listen to the half-scolding voice, though she did accommodate her guilty conscience by tiptoeing into the room, her feet clicking with subdued taps on the tiled floor.
Troy's soapy spice-and-lime scent lingered in this room. Neatly hung on a rack was a towel, still damp, and she ran her fingertips over it, then drew them along her cheek. Inside the shower was a squat bottle of liquid soap. No shampoo.
Hah. Shaved heads didn't need such a thing.
There was toilet paper in the holder. She was impressed. A roommate she'd had in college claimed that men never bothered replacing a used roll. "They just prop it on the spool, or maybe set it on the ledge of the bathtub, or on the tank behind the toilet. What - are they animals?"
Surprise, surprise, the Terminator was at least semitamed.
Without a qualm, she opened the medicine cabinet. Regular first aid stuff. Boring.
The cabinet under the sink had lots of shaving cream - made sense - and a big box of condoms.
Desiree stared at them. Where did he buy such a big box? Why did he need such a big box?
It was open.
Before she could stop herself, she'd yanked it out and set it on the tile counter. At purchase, it held forty-four. It would be her secret until the day she died, but she counted how many remained.
Twice.
Six were missing. She began picturing humiliating moments for half a dozen faceless women. Stuff like wearing two different colored shoes, a skirt tucked into panty hose, a toilet paper streamer stuck to a heel. She was still trying to come up with three more scenarios when she heard a noise.
From the front of the house. Someone turning the doorknob.
Desiree froze. Had she locked it behind her? Who could it be?
Probably Troy, she thought, come to check up on her. As silent as a ghost, she placed the condoms back in the cabinet and shut the door. Now he wouldn't know what she'd done.
But he'd known she'd come to his house, so