The whisper was soft as I watched him from across the room. “Enjoy your dinner, Eli. Don’t worry about how it was paid for.”

It bothered me that I’d verbalized my thoughts. It was unprofessional. Looking away from Eli, I made sure that no one was obvious in their concern about the crazy lady at the table for one who was talking to herself. Eli Martinez worked for a hedge fund and could easily afford his meal at Rio Bistro. I couldn’t, but my dinner was an investment.

The waitress was sweet and her job was probably a hell of a lot more difficult than that of most of the people she served. She’d been attentive and patient. I was sure she would have preferred to have more than one customer or that I’d eaten faster, but I had a job to do.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Just the check, thank you.”

I paid and left a healthy tip before I nursed my coffee and waited for Eli. He finally finished his aperitif, got up, and exited the restaurant. I checked my phone and used the Notes function to record the time he left. I surreptitiously took a photo of the blonde he was with. It wasn’t his wife, she was a different blonde. Eli was at Rio Bistro every Tuesday and Thursday and never left earlier than 8:30. Tuesdays were for his girlfriend du jour, Thursdays were with his wife.

The next day I sat outside the Rio Bistro’s parking lot and drove off at exactly 8:35. I timed the drive to his apartment and noted the stoplights, just as I had the previous 11 times I’d mapped out his trip home. Parking next to a playground a block over, I made my notes, compared them to my previous observations, and then drove home.

It had been a long, stressful day and I wanted to unwind and relax.

Eggplant lasagna wafted through the air and seduced my senses as I made my way to the bathroom. Stripping off, I stepped into the hot pounding water. Turning around, I placed one hand on the shower door and the other on the wall and let the water and heat work their magic on my back. Head bent down and long wet hair obstructing my view, I smiled as I heard the bathroom door open.

Michael’s deep voice was warmth and love and support. “Not even a hello? Just pass right through the kitchen and into the shower?”

“Hello, my love.”

“My love? You think that’s going to work?”

“Did it?”

I loved the voice of his rumbling laugh. “Yeah, it sort of did. Rough day?”

My clothes were strewn about the floor. I knew I’d have to wait patiently as he put his socks in his shoes, folded his shirt, then his pants, and placed his underwear in the hamper before he joined me. We were different in so many ways. My husband was a neat-freak and I absolutely wasn’t. He loved classical music and I listened to anything but. Michael was large and built for strength where I was lithe and built for speed and endurance.

Stepping into the shower, he lifted my chin with his index finger. I expected him to kiss me, but he paused, looked into my eyes for a moment. His cute lopsided smile began to grow and then bent down and met my lips with his own. Straightening, he caressed my face, hands stretching along my jaw, fingers gently stroking that sensitive skin just below the ear. I shivered. Bending down, he kissed me again as the water dripped from his head to mine.

Hands gentle on my shoulders, he turned me towards the spray and slowly began to massage my upper back.

“Long day?”

I was glad to be facing the wall instead of my husband as I lied to him.

“Ummmm, right there. Just stay right there. Yeah, Mrs. Ferguson can’t understand why she isn’t losing weight. She was telling me this when she had powder on her cheek. The woman stopped for donuts on the way to the gym and didn’t see the problem.”

“Get her a new trainer.”

“No, I’ll just have another talk with her and set her up with the nutritionist.”

“Okay. Things were good aside from Mrs. Ferguson and her donut addiction?”

I laughed and wriggled as his fingers worked their magic. “Yeah, just busy.”

I’d been lying to him for almost two months with made up excuses for why I was late or had to miss dinners. I couldn’t exactly tell my husband that when I wasn’t a personal trainer I was a second-generation thief and safe-cracker and was going to take absolutely everything of value from Eli Martinez. Instead, I told him stories about Mrs. Ferguson or Ilse Westbrook. Ilse was married to Adam, who was a hotshot wrestling coach. She brought down her friends and the girlfriends of a bunch of the wrestlers. She was probably responsible for half my clientele.

The stories were all true, but they only told him about part of my life. Michael didn’t need to know what was going to go down. I was going to get my piece of justice from the children of the men who abandoned my father and let him rot in prison for the crimes they helped commit.

“You’re incredibly tense, Sondra. You sure you’re okay?”

“I am now.” And I was. As long as I was in the arms of my husband, everything else could fade away into the background.

He didn’t say anything in response to that, just kept working my shoulders with his fingers. My eyes fluttered closed and I sighed. Slowly, the pressure began to change; one moment he was working a knot out of my neck, the next his hands were sliding firmly along the tops of my shoulders. The moment after that, the firm pressure became lighter, softer, more sensual. His fingers traced back to my neck and one by one, his fingertips gently trailed down my spine.

My neck didn’t lack attention, though; by the time his fingers reached the base of my shoulder blades, his lips were on the spot where my shoulder met my neck. I sighed again, softly, and shivered almost imperceptibly. His fingers moved to my ribs, far enough down so that when he slid them around me, they were just beneath my breasts.

He didn’t move his body closer to mine; he knew I would do it myself, that I’d step back and relax against him as he moved his hands up to cup my breasts. I couldn’t stop myself. The moment my breasts were in his palms and my nipples were hardening against them, I leaned back into him.

A soft murmur of appreciation met the spot he was kissing on my neck as my ass met his quickly-hardening cock. He pushed it against me, taking just a moment for himself, just a moment of relief in my body before devoting himself to my pleasure.

Michael was generous when it came to sex. It was almost surprising how tender he could be, especially knowing how capable he was of rough passion. No matter how he wanted it, it was never about him taking me; it was about him loving me, loving my body, doing whatever he could to make me happy. His pleasure was dependent on my pleasure; his release prolonged by mine.

I loved those little moments, those ones where he couldn’t stop himself from giving in, just a little bit. I loved the sharp intake of breath as he slid his cock against me, the soft but resonant groan as I shifted my hips and felt his twitch against me.

He pinched my nipples and I smiled; one hand continued cupping my breast as the other traced intricate little patterns down my ribs and stomach until it reached my mound. In contrast to the slow, lingering pace he’d started with, his fingers dipped immediately into my folds and found my clit.

“Someone’s eager tonight,” I said, smirking.

“Don’t want the lasagna to burn,” he said, his lips brushing against my skin.

I bit back a laugh. “Better get to it, then.”

He teased me just a little longer, the rough pads of his fingers stroking my clit until I was struggling not to beg him for more. Instead, I circled my fingers around his wrist and pushed back against him harder.

His grunt was short and staccato as his cock prodded against me. Moments later, he was guiding me forward, giving me just enough time to brace myself against the wall of the shower before he was using his knee to nudge my legs apart.

He entered me the way I knew he loved to: slowly, letting every inch of his shaft sink into me. It was agony. Amazing, perfect, blissful agony as he gradually filled me. I whimpered, biting my lip to keep from pushing back against him, knowing how much he loved the feeling of entering me for the first time. I couldn’t take that from him.

Finally, he was fully inside me, and only then did he start moving faster. His fingers moved in time with his thrusts, guiding me to the edge of release, speeding up only when he heard the change in my breath, the low gasp as pleasure collected and grew and peaked inside me.

He groaned as I cried out, thrusting harder as I came, using my orgasm to work towards his. I couldn’t stop myself from pressing harder on the shower wall, bearing back against him as my body tensed and relaxed, as heat traveled through my veins and a feeling of intense lightness overtook me. His hand moved from my clit only so he could grab my hip and let himself break free of that practiced hold on himself.

It was almost as good as coming, that feeling, the way he lost control, and finally took me for his own purposes. I reveled in that feeling and in the sounds he made, the way he gripped me, the final moments when I knew he was there and he was panting and gasping as he erupted.

He lingered inside me after he came, pulling me back up from the wall and kissing my neck again. He lingered there, too, and again when I turned around, and again as he kissed me and held me against him. He lingered so long that when we finally got out of the shower, the eggplant lasagna was charred along the edges.

It was well worth it.

Dad was speaking to another inmate and didn’t see me when I entered. I leaned against the wall and watched as he spoke animatedly. Dad had picked up the habit of using his hands and gestures to emphasize his words after the second stroke. He had been my giant before he went in, the center of my universe, and larger than life. Now he was a broken man who thought he needed to use gestures to make himself understood.

Seeing me, he smiled and limped over to a free table. In spite of everything, he was still handsome. Where most of the inmates had their hair shorn tight, Dad kept his longer, almost brushing his shoulders. I got us two sodas and some chips from the vending machines and joined him.

“Hey, Dad.”

He reached for my hand before looking at the guards and stopping. “Morning, Princess. Drive okay?”

“Sure. No traffic out in the boonies.”

Looking around at the guards again, he slowly raised his hand and rested it on mine. Other inmates were hugging loved ones and holding children on their laps. My father was afraid to touch my hand because a guard might say something. He’d had all of the life and spirit beaten out of him and it broke my heart.

We chatted for a while about his job in the prison. He worked in the laundry and it seemed to be something he enjoyed. Dad talked about the people he worked with and how he found someone who gave him a good game of chess. He showed me his glasses and seemed proud of them. The man who bought me a new car when I turned 16 was proud of a pair of $20 glasses.

I forced myself to smile. “That’s great, Dad. How old was Mom when she had to get glasses?”

“Thirty-five? Around there.”

“So, I have that to look forward to? I got glasses on both sides of the family?”

He patted my hand. “I guess so. I could picture you in them. They’ll just make you more beautiful. Tell me about work. You still helping that wrestler guy and the cage fighters?”

“Adam. Yeah. They come into the gym a lot and I help out sometimes when they have a woman prepping for a fight.”

“In the ring?”

I smiled. “No, just helping them with cardio and stuff like that.”

“So, Adam is a karate guy?”

“Wrestling only. People sort of specialize. He’s a good coach. I think those fighters cross-train. He helps with wrestling. Adam’s a nice guy, but I really like his wife, Ilse. We’re going to set up something with the two of them and me and Michael. Dinner or something.”

“How’s Michael doing?”

“Good. The range is picking up business. Another year or two and we’ll be doing well enough to start giving you grandkids.”

“Does he sell guns, too?”

“Yup. Most of the money comes from the range, though.”

“Tell him to be careful, okay? Stay on the right side of the law. Vet all his customers.”

Sighing, I put my other hand on top of his. “I will, Dad.”

He was silent for a moment. “You, uh, you still working on that other project?”

“I am.”

“It’s ... Honey, you have a good life. You make enough. Don’t cross these people, please.”

Squeezing his hand, I smiled. “It’s going to be okay. Don’t worry about me. I’m not the little girl you left that day.”

“You weren’t so little, Princess. Still, I missed so much. Graduation, your wedding, everything.”

Taking my hand from his, I sat back in the uncomfortable chair. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I did.”

“That’s bullshit, Dad. Some stupid honor amongst thieves crap? You would have been out by now if you had rolled over on the rest of them, but instead, you valued being a stand-up guy over spending time with me. One day! You’ve been out one day and that was for Mom’s funeral. Was it worth it, Dad? They didn’t lift a finger for you. Not for a lawyer, not to get you protection in here, not even a few bucks for your commissary account. They didn’t do a thing!”

“Yeah, they didn’t do a thing. You got that right.”

“And here you sit while they’re living the life of Riley.”

“You’re not hearing me. They didn’t do a thing.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. No one came knocking on your door, Sondra. I kept my mouth shut and you’ve led a good life. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? No one came knocking.”

“What? That’s ... That’s crazy. Why would they ... Are you saying that you kept quiet to keep me safe?”

He was quiet and sadly shook his head. Pushing his can of soda with his index finger, he wouldn’t look at me.

“It’s okay, Princess. You’re happy, right? You and Michael? I’m gonna have those grandkids. My little girl is safe and happy and I’m not doing so bad in here. Just ... Just leave it alone, okay? Let them do what they’re doing and you just lead your life.”

“Dad ... Daddy, did you...” My stomach clenched and then clenched again. I couldn’t speak. For years I’d believed that his macho honor was more important to him than me and Mom. I didn’t come to see him for almost a year after Mom passed.

Was he rotting in that prison for me?

The rest of our visit was quiet and subdued. I showed him photos of Michael and he wanted to see some of Ilse, who I talked about so much. Some of them had her husband Adam and her brother-in-law. A few had Adam’s brother, Alex.

“Thought you said he was a wrestler?”

“He was. He’s a coach now, but his brother is into boxing.”

“Violent family.”

“No, not really. They’re all really sweet. Adam’s sister can be a little ... unhinged, but they’re all good people.”

He looked at the photo for a while. “Maybe. Honey, these people, the one’s from your project, their fathers are violent.” Dad looked up at the guards and back to me. “If you can’t let this go, promise me you’re going to be careful.”

I took his hand again and smiled. “I promise, Dad. I’m not bragging, but I’m not going to get caught. I know how that sounds, but it’s not overconfidence or arrogance. I’m methodical, don’t take risks and I’m probably the best you’ve ever seen.”

He offered a small smile back. “I don’t doubt it, but, you know, why take the risk? You’re not hurting. You have food on the table and a roof over your heads.”

“Was that enough for you? The shop kept us going okay. We ate well. Our house was okay. You installed locks and safes and sold security systems and we did alright. It wasn’t enough, right? My reasons are different, but like you, I want more. Just a different type of more.”

It was breaking me seeing him like this. I could tell how difficult it was for him to keep smiling. He nodded slowly and wiped his eye. Voice cast down to a whisper, he nodded again before speaking. “Just ... be careful, okay? I can’t lose you. You’re the only thing that keeps me going.”

“I will, Dad.”

I spent the drive home shifting between crying and being infuriated. His limp was worse and the only spark in him was when he talked about me and possible grandkids. Because of me. If he wasn’t protecting me back then he could have been out by now. They had clearly used me and Mom to threaten him and then let him rot in there.

Fuck that. He should have been with Mom until her end. He should have been with me now. He should have met his son-in-law outside and under the sun. They stole him from me, his daughter. I was going to take everything they gave their children, absolutely everything.

*****

I could smell the grill going as I approached the front door. My man was home and he was cooking. Smiling, I walked in the house and straight back to the patio.

“How long before dinner?”

“About 20. That okay?”

“Sure. I was going to go for a run down by the River Walk, but I can go after dinner. What are you making?”

“Grilling up some marinated portobellos and I have some chicken going for the salad.”

“Sounds delish. Anything else?”

“Charred watermelon with honey and tossed with feta.”

I set the table and put on some music before we ate. Michael’s mother loved to give us kitschy gifts from places she vacations. We have an Eiffel Tower pepper grinder and a Pont des Arts napkin holder. I got lost for a moment staring at the two. The heights lent themselves to thinking of the Villa Pueblo Community and the building adjacent to it. The villa used to be a senior’s living facility that was converted over to condos. The tallest building in Pueblo, it filled up quickly with people who simply had to live in just the right zip code, in just the right building, with just the right neighbors.

Of course, Eli had to live there.

I’d been putting the building on my jogging route to get a feeling for the neighborhood, the Villa itself, the doorman and other staff and the adjacent buildings. Pushing the napkin holder against the peppermill I wondered if I could access the Villa from the other building. They weren’t attached, but they were close. If I hooked up a line, it wouldn’t be difficult to climb from one to the other, but I’d be totally vulnerable during that climb.

“We can get something better and put those out when Mom comes over.”

I looked up at Michael and saw him watching me fiddle with the peppermill and napkin holder. Trying to smile, I held his gaze. “No, I love them. I was just ... thinking.”

I watched my husband as he brought in the dishes from the grill. Wherever he was in a room my eyes would find him of their own volition as if he had a gravity that only I was pulled to. He saw me watching him and stopped for a moment holding a platter. He smiled at me, quietly amused that I enjoyed gazing at him. Michael always insisted that he was lucky to be with me.

The truth was that I was the lucky one.

“Can you grab the iced tea?”

Shaking my head softly, I got up. He shouldn’t have had to ask. While I was sitting at the table plotting what might put our lives together in danger, he was making us dinner.

“Of course.”

We ate and I pushed everything other than Michael from my mind. “Tell me about your day.”

“I hired someone new.”

“Really? Can we afford that?” I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. If he did it, we could afford it. Michael was the reasonable one, the partner that was steady, logical and planned everything out. More importantly, within a month I would have most of Eli’s money.

“Yeah, it’s a kid and it’s only about 15 hours a week. He seems nice and he’s ... I don’t know, enthusiastic. His mother owns the horse rehabilitation ranch next door to the range.”

Next door was a bit of a misnomer. We owned over 80 acres of land outside of town and the Archer Ranch could barely be seen from the shooting range. Michael had plans to build a huge outdoor paintball facility to go along with the range.

“He’s Penny’s kid?”

“Yup. He’s totally into the paintball idea. They used this graphics program to plot out the land and where obstacles should go. Him and his girlfriend. I tried telling him not to do anything unless he’s on the clock, but ... Yeah, try telling that to a 15-year-old when they’re excited. He wants to set things up with themes, like a course built on Greek mythology and stuff.”

“Well, I guess there’s a lot worse things a 15-year-old could be doing.”

“True. I’m thinking we might have to split the property. We’d have to pay taxes on both, but if they are separate lots it might save us on liability issues with the insurance.”

“Okay. I mean, the range faces the other direction and they are so far away from each other that it’s ridiculous, but if it’ll save money and help with liability, sure.”

We talked about the rest of his day and then a bit about Dad. Michael kept touching me as we cleaned up the kitchen; a slight brushing by as he moved to the sink, a hand on my back, leaning into me gently as he put a dish in the dishwasher. I thrilled at every moment of contact, regardless of how fleeting it was.

After closing the dishwasher, I turned, pulled his head down and let my lips meet his. Snaking my arms around his neck, I held him there. When we eventually broke contact, he lightly slapped me on the ass.

“You better get going if you’re going to get your run in.”

“Wanna go with me?”

“Yeah, but I can’t. I need to get some paperwork done and into the state by the end of the week. I’m gonna knuckle-down and get to work.”

Reaching up, I kissed him again. “Okay. Be back in a couple.”

It was a perfect day for running. The humidity was low and the temperature was in the 70s. After stretching and warming up, I did three miles. It wasn’t my normal, but I had other things to do. After his sentencing, Mom closed up Dad’s shop and sold most of his equipment. She didn’t know about the storage unit. He’d prepaid for three years and I picked up the rent after that.

Pueblo Self Storage had nine-foot fences topped with barbed wire and seemingly endless units. I parked and went to ours. It’s a little weird that I didn’t think of it as mine by that point, but it still resounded with impressions of my father. I felt closest to him and who he was here, even more than I had at our childhood home or the prison where the man as he became was incarcerated.

Located off I25, their boat and RV storage helped keep the block our unit was in out of sight. That wasn’t a major concern, but I was happy to take whatever ancillary benefits I could. Once I was sure that no one was looking, I went over, unlocked the door, rolled it up, stepped in, and closed it. He’d had two lights swinging free in the middle of the unit and I’d stepped up his efforts.

We had row upon row of safes and a number of tables with just stripped down lock mechanisms. Gardall, NEXT, Hollon, Rhino; all major brands were represented. I stayed up to date on new developments and innovations and kept my skills honed. Running my fingers along the cool metal, I thought of Dad. For years I’d wondered about his obsessions and was angered by how he valued jobs, the grift, and adrenaline over his family.

Thinking of Michael and what we had, my anger at Dad dissipated. I was his daughter and I was just like him. I craved vengeance. I needed to get revenge on the people that betrayed him.

And I needed in spite of how it might take me away from the man I loved.

*****

Showing up at the range Thursday morning, I helped Michael as much as possible and got some firing time in. He had some guys with earth-moving equipment in and they were doing stuff out back for the paintball. I watched them for a bit before going back inside. I sold a Glock 43 to a woman who was concerned about the size of her hands and set her up with a six month membership.

Michael came out to the storefront, noise-cancelling headphones around his neck. He gestured out back.

“Those guys? We’re swapping. They get 90 day memberships and I get them fixing stuff up for the fields.”

I smiled. “Great!”

“Yeah. Costs us nothing, really. I’m not even sure if they would have joined otherwise.”

“Sure. Sounds perfect.” Did he think I was concerned about the money? He had to know I trusted him.

I met Jason, the kid who was so excited about the paintball. He introduced me to another teenager as his girlfriend and she seemed to beam. They insisted that I look over their plans for fields and although they were thorough and amazingly detailed, they seemed a bit ambitious. Smiling and nodding, I made a mental note to talk to Michael.

Standing half a block from the condos, I waited and then waited some more. After finally seeing a college-age kid approaching the building with a pizza, I ran up.

“Glad I made it in time! That mine?”

“You...” He checked his slip. “Maggie Kutchens, 307b?”

“Yup.” I handed him two twenties. “You’re the best. Have a good one.”

Taking the pizza, I walked into the building and saw the doorman. “Pizza for Kutchens, 307b.”

Eli lived in 704. It was a double-sized condo, doing away with the need for a letter designation. He was too good for such mundane things as smaller living spaces. It’s amazing what you can find if you know where to look. I knew which condo was his, I’d gotten floor plans from the city when he wanted structural renovations and I knew that his closest neighbor always summered in New York, probably in the Hamptons.

I delivered the pie, made back $25 of my money, and went up to the seventh floor. Once the elevator doors opened it took me less than 30 seconds to get to Eli’s door. I had a set of bump keys that I’d filed down myself. I was prepared for Schlage, Kwikset, Baldwin Signature, and most other lock brands. If it wasn’t some high-end eastern European or Asian lock, I was set.

I’d been bumping locks since I was 12. Dad would take me on house calls when I wasn’t at school. We’d have lunch and he’d use it as an opportunity to talk, to really talk. We discussed everything. Our conversations ranged from my grades to where he wanted to retire with Mom. When we were helping some man get back in his house or an old lady change her locks, Dad would explain what he was doing and why he was doing it. I’d help as much as possible and he was always scrupulous with the money. If we were together, I’d get half of the pay for that job, which was ridiculous but I didn’t know that at the time.

He also used the customers to teach me more than just how to manipulate locks. If we were offered food or something to drink, we always accepted but made sure it was modest. If there were a plate of cookies, we’d take two each. If soda or water were offered, we took water. It was important to him that we never insult anyone’s hospitality.

I learned how my father thought during those days. We always did what we were paid to do, but if the person was nice, we were happy to do something extra. He’d offer advice on security or help someone carry in groceries or just chat if the person was lonely. If, on the other hand, the person treated us poorly or was cruel when we could see it, we did the job and left and Dad kept a record of who we wouldn’t work with a second time.

This carried over to his second job. Dad never stole from anyone that was struggling and he ensured that his victims were people who would normally go on our list of people we wouldn’t work for. Basically, he had a weird code. He stole from rich assholes.

As I’d guessed, the lock on Eli’s door was a Schlage. I inserted the key, pulled it back to the first notch, twisted it slightly, and then rapped it with the sap I kept on me. Nothing. Shit. I went through the process again and it worked. Pulling my sleeve down over my hand, I opened the door, stepped in, and closed it behind me.

I took a minute to slip on some nitrile gloves and then a second pair over the first. Finding his office was quick and easy. My top priority was getting a look at Eli’s keyboard. I took three photos, turned it over, and took another three. Finding his safe was simple. He had it put behind a painting like he was living in a bad movie from the 70s.

The safe itself was an interesting choice. It was a Mesa, which was uncommon. Not cheap, but not too expensive either. His concern seemed to be more for heat protection in case of fire than theft, but it did a good job for both. An amateur wouldn’t have an easy go of it. I took some more photos and then checked for cameras and video feed. There were none that I could see and I’m pretty good. I’d check again once I had control of his computer.

I got the hell out of there, went back down to the first floor, gave the doorman a small wave and finally relaxed as I was driving home.

*****

Michael was still on the computer when I got in.

“Good run? Get the heart rate up?”