Ded Reckoning Read Free Page A

 Head turning taking in the terrifying scene continues, "Oh sweet Jesus.  Oh, Lord."  Then pushes herself a few inches back from Hunter, nonetheless clutching his face with her hands, pleads,   " Stai bene ?   Are you okay?"
    She holds Hunter, hands cupping his face looking at his forehead and whimpers, "You're bleeding."  She stops.  Glares at Bradovich who is staring at her in disbelief.  Actually, he's ogling.  Dee's raven dark hair is unbrushed, touching wildly on her shoulders.  She looks as if she has had a euphoric tussle in bed, or got up from a dead sleep with no time to primp.  The latter is more the case except for the earlier morning cat-fight routine.  She's replaced her sheer robe worn earlier with a halter top, no bra.  Her breasts are barely restricted by the halter and are still pressed hard against Hunter's chest.  His body unintentionally aides the containment of her own self-contained-underwater-breathing-apparatus. The SCUBA gear occupies all Bradovich's attention.  She's also wearing "hot pants" made famous by PSA "stews" which hide little and accentuate her soccer ball butt and slender, shapely legs.  In sandals the shape is distinct, let alone what they might look like in heels.  Her dark flashing eyes are set in a perfectly sculptured roman-like face.  Her complexion is clear, tanned, and Italian.  She is to anyone that goes to the movies, a Sophia Loren or Elizabeth Taylor clone.
    Dee snaps at Bradovich, "What are you staring at, and who the hell are you?"
    "Well, ma'am, in order of the questions, one helluva beautiful woman.  Do you have any sisters?"  He takes in a breath, "And I'm Detective Bradovich, San Diego PD...at your service, ma'am."
    "You wish."  Pauses, settles, and in a more raspy tone, "It's about time you got here.  I called hours ago.  I'm ... and yes I do.  Neither of us would waste our ... you  took  ..."
    "Five minutes, ma'am.  That's flyin' on a Saturday morning."
    "Well, it seems like hours," she snaps.  Then in a more civil tone, "Anyway, I made the call.  I reported all this."  Then cooing to Hunter, "You're not dressed.  And you're hurt."
    Hunter says, "I'm fine.  This is Detective Bradovich."
    Dee responds, "I know.  We introduced ourselves."
    Bradovich injects, "No, I introduced myself.  You ..."
    "I'm Teresa Columbo.  Mrs. Columbo.  His neighbor," hugging Hunter again.  "And the Property Manager for that...that house," pointing to Hunter's shambles, "and his landlord.  In a manner I suppose."  She pauses, knowing she is starting to ramble.  Bradovich continues to stare.  Hunter shrugs.  Dee looks at Hunter, then glares at the detective and snaps, "And don't you get any funny ideas.  If my husband, Angelo, were alive and here, he'd set you straight.  I'm just the Property Manager here, mister."  She pauses again, "And neighbor...and a concerned citizen."  She takes a deep breath as if to continue.
    Bradovich says, "I believe you, ma'am."
    Hunter says, "Look, Mrs. Columbo, he's got a lot of work to do."  Then looks to Bradovich and says, "Brad, let me get inside, get cleaned up, dressed and assess the damage to the house.  Then you come in after getting things moving and resolved here, and we'll talk.  Okay?"
    Bradovich nods in agreement.  Looks at Dee, shakes his head, then holds up his hand, palm out to prevent a comment from her.  Says, "You're right.  I've got a lot of work to do."
    Hunter says, "Great," turns to go and stumbles over Magpie, sitting alertly at Dee's side.  The fawn-colored boxer leaps aside but not without a low protective growl.
    Dee grabs Hunter's arm, says to Magpie, "Come.  Heel." and leads Hunter toward the house, the dog alongside.
    Bradovich mutters under his breath, "Wonder which one she's talkin' to," then hollers, "Hunter, I'll be in shortly.  Don't go anywhere and don't