Forever in Your Service

by Sandra Antonelli

  “You think Grant knew where it was going?”

  “Possibly. How often does Taittinger send large parcels?”

  “Every now and again. Crates of bottles to his mother in Florida, two or three bottles of wine, or a set of six we’ve packed and sent. It’s picked up by a service. He receives deliveries of larger things—the rugs and car parts, mostly. I don’t really understand.” Mae’s brow furrowed.

  “Neither do I. But I have some ideas.”

  “Such as?”

  What could he say, how could he explain when he couldn’t explain to himself, or prove it? “This isn’t going to make any sense, but I don’t know quite yet. I have a box of puzzle pieces, some of which fit the puzzle, some that might fit, and some that change shape. I haven’t a theory. I’m merely grabbing at whatever I can.”

  “You’re improvising.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re also sweating.” Her eyes traversed his forehead and hair as damp as the small of his back and underarms. “How can you be sweating when it’s thirteen degrees down here?”

  “Un-pretty things occurred the last time I saw this mosaic.” Kitt went on breathing evenly. “I died, Mae. Except I didn’t. ‘Come home,’ you said. I heard you. You heard me, I heard you. Come home. I think that’s why I sent you postcards, so you’d know. So I’d know.”

  Mae fell silent, watching him. He was certain she was considering ways she might ease his clammy discomfort. Her hand moved to touch him before she reconsidered. Instead, she sucked her bottom lip and half-smiled, half-grimaced, flesh between her teeth. “You remembered everything that happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t want to tell me about it, do you?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I’m sorry I asked. I’m sorry I suggested you think about it again.”

  Kitt blinked, slowly, drinking in the woman who stood apologising for something she’d had no control over any more than he had. “I want to think about something pleasant,” he said, and reached for her, taking her wrist, letting the feel of her cool skin fill his clammy palm. He pulled her forward, grasping the chain with the glasses hanging around her neck and dropping it over her shoulder. “I want to think about how you smell.” He drew her very close, nose nestling into her neck so that he could breathe in the scent of her and drive out the lingering malodorous, hellish phantasm of that container. Softly, mindfully, listening to the way her breath caught, he nuzzled his lips into the tiny spot behind her ear, and pressed his hands to her back. “I want to think about how you smell, and how you feel. You feel real, whole, here, and I don’t want you here, except I want you here.” He lifted his head and found her mouth.

  She gave a small, muffled laugh of disbelief, made a tiny noise of satisfaction, and sank into him, into the kiss, and his chilly clamminess quickly dissolved into a soft, shared heat. “What have I gotten you into?” he murmured and kissed and kissed and kissed her.

  Mae pulled the tail of his shirt from his trousers and slid her palms up his back, her touch warming his cool, damp skin, delight giving him a chill of a pleasurable nature. The remnants of the depravity he’d borne witness to evaporated. He kissed her, she kissed him, and buzz-buzz intermingled with the sound of their breathing. Buzz-buzz. Buzz-buzz.

  Mae drew back and reached beneath her apron, into the side pocket of her dress. She read the mobile’s screen as Kitt unbuttoned the top of her dress. He leaned in and kissed her throat as she swallowed. “Taittinger wants me.”

  “As do I.”

  “You’re not having me here.”

  “No, I’m not having you here. I’m kissing you here.” His head moved. “And here. And here.” Her skin prickled beneath his lips.

  Mae shivered. “All right, you win. You are quite skilled when it comes to kissing.”

  “As I said,” Kitt stepped away from her, “Vassiliki taught me well.”

  Mae buttoned her dress. “I have no wish to hear of your former girlfriends, even the one you had when you were a skinny, hormonal teenager. Taittinger knows I’m in the barn showing you the car. He’s on his way here.” She gave a whistle for the dog.

  “Actually, I was a bit podgy.” Kitt tucked in his shirt tails and offered his elbow. When she looped her arm through his, he led her to the freight lift, waited for the dog to get on board, and switched off the lights. Mae pressed the wall control and the lift rose to the barn above.

  The platform stopped. For a moment, he held her close and absorbed her heat, her presence, her fingertips stroking the stubble of his shaved hairline until the dog grew jealous, rose up to paw at the back of his thighs. Kitt let Mae go, grabbed the overhead control box, pushing a button. Felix trotted off the platform and cowered behind Mae when the perforated metal platform closed with a light clunk.

  Kitt flopped the rubber mat back into position, moved behind the convertible to roll it back into place, and waited for Mae—and the dog—to get into the car. The convertible in its original place, Mae got out of the pink disaster and stood in-between the open door. The dog curled up on the passenger seat. Kitt took his jacket from the seat and smiled.

  “I don’t think I like that you’re so smug and cheerful and handsome all of a sudden,” she said.

  “Since we’ve found something on Taittinger, you can report to Bryce via a nice text message.”

  “Shouldn’t I meet with him in the morning, as arranged?”

  “No. You can leave and I can get on with my bloody work without worrying about you.”

  “All right,” she said faintly, one hand on the doorframe.

  Kitt nearly choked on his surprise and half froze as he put on his jacket, arm pausing in a sleeve. “Thank you.” He pulled on the jacket.

  “You’re feckin’ welcome.” Mae exhaled. “Since you found what I was looking for, I’m done. Where do you want me to go? May I go home?”

  Where did he want her to go? “No. I’d send you to Sicily, to your friend Fiorella’s, but Bryce knows where that is and if Bryce knows, Llewelyn knows. I don’t want anyone to find you. This means I’m going to have to ask Reed to help me again, which is going to expose him even more than it already has.” He grinned, suddenly amused, phone in his hand. Mae leaving. Arrange safe house. Now, he tapped the message to Reed. “On the bright side, it’s going to piss him off.”

  Mae put both hands on the searing pink car. The skinny dog scampered across the seat and made his way to her, nosing his snout into her elbow. She reached back and rubbed his ears. “I don’t understand that sort of amusement,” she said. “I don’t understand why you think it’s hilarious to piss off a man whose help you need.”

  Kitt’s smile grew wider. He turned, watching through a window for movement outside. “Didn’t you ever do things to piss off your brother because it was fun?” He looked back at Mae. “No. No, you didn’t, but I’m sure it was the other way around.”

  “It was. Sean used to tease me mercilessly, poke me, pinch me, do things just to get a reaction, and I never understood that. My mam used to say it was how he expressed how much he loved me without being all girly. Years later, I found out later that was absolute shite. Sean told me he did it because it was fun but couldn’t explain why. And then he apologised for tormenting me.”

  “You have a very kind brother.” Kitt said, reading Reed’s Right. I’ll just pull something out of my arse reply.

  “My brother’s a priest who believes confession is good for the soul. When I go, I’m taking the dog with me, Kitt.”

  You’ve 1 hour to be a colorectal magician, he wrote, and looked up from the screen. “Sorry?”

  “Felix. He’s coming with me.” She turned and gazed at the pretty little face of the animal. “Yes, you are coming with me, little man,” she murmured as if the dog were a baby.

  “He’s not yours, Mae.” Kitt sent the message.

  “I have to take him with me.”

  “But he’s not your dog.”

  Mae sighed. Felix rested his head
in her hand as she massaged his ears. “If I leave, and you die for real this time, what will I have left? I’m taking the dog.”

  “I’m not going to die.”

  She watched Felix hop back into the passenger seat and curl up once more before she set her eyes on Kitt. “The belief you have in yourself is astonishing.”

  His mouth quirked. “Someone has to believe in me.” He opened the car door a little wider between them. “Come around this side and kiss me again.”

  “No.”

  “You denied me scrambled eggs, don’t deny me a kiss too.”

  “I did not deny you scrambled eggs.”

  “You let that gluttonous Irishman with the atrocious dress sense and ghastly hair eat them all. That is the same as denying me scrambled eggs. Come here.” He tucked his mobile in his jacket pocket and put on the cowboy hat.

  “I think you have an ulterior motive.”

  “Yes.”

  She stayed where she was.

  “Here’s my ulterior motive.” He had a quick glance out the barred glass that framed the curving house. “Give or take thirty seconds Taittinger will be at the door, and you’re buttoned up all wrong.”

  She looked down at herself. “Right. You were worried my new employer might see my diddies. How gallant of you.”

  “Have you another employer see your...assets, Mrs Valentine?”

  “Assets?” Mae slanted her head, one eye squinting.

  “Diddies?”

  “Besides you, no.”

  “Well, which of us do you prefer?”

  She re-did the buttons. “You mean which one of you I’d rather have see my breasts?”

  “I meant which one of us do you prefer as an employer, me or Taittinger?”

  “Well...” she pretended to think about it, “...Taittinger’s never feigned death.”

  “I bet he never proposed marriage either.”

  “You’re quite proud of that, aren’t you?”

  “I have an idea,” his eyes wandered over her breasts. “Unbutton that again.”

  “You are joking.”

  Kitt inclined his head. “You see it all the time in spy films, a henchman distracted by pretty diddies. I’m clearly distracted by them.”

  “You told me spy films were full of shite. Taittinger’s not a henchman, he’s the villain—Jaysus, just look at his house.”

  “Yes. I suppose you are correct. Honesty is the best policy.” The mobile buzzed in his pocket.

  Mae sat on the edge of the driver’s seat, sideways, legs crossed. She blew out a puff air as a blast of wintry air rushed in.

  “Valentine?” Taittinger called out.

  “Over here, Dr Jools.”

  Taittinger’s boots shuffled across the concrete and around the tractor. “Oh, hey, Somerset.” He removed his glasses and polished off the fog that coated them when he’d come indoors. “Glad to see you’ve made yourself at home. Know you’re welcome.”

  “Very kind of you, Tatts. Thank you.” Kitt touched the brim of his cowboy hat.

  Taittinger glanced at Mae. “You doing all right, Valentine?”

  “I’m coping, Dr Jools.”

  “Good. Good.” Taittinger laughed weakly and pushed his glasses up his nose. “That deer was rough stuff. Hector’s sending some boys over to take care of it all. You right to see to whatever they need, Valentine?”

  “Of course,” she said, eyes flicking to Kitt. “That’s my job, sir.”

  “Thank you.” With a sigh, he leaned against a hot-pink side panel and gave the convertible an affectionate pat. “Well, Somerset, what do you think of her?”

  “Mate, I love her.” Kitt said, eyes on Mae. She had one hand on the wheel and one on the dog.

  Taittinger replaced his spectacles and ignored his dog the same way the dog ignored him. “I know the colour sucks, but the rest of her is pretty sweet.”

  Mae turned and gave Felix a scratch under the chin. “You’re such a good boy,” she cooed.

  Kitt refrained from rolling his eyes and shifted to stand across from Taittinger. “Yes, the car is sweet, but I’m more interested in what’s beneath it.”

  “She was once powder blue and, the pink aside, she’s about as original as they come. Dash is original, the upholstery is original, the chrome is original, hell, even the engine is original. When I found the car, there were a couple of dried-out dead snakes in the cowl, the things could have been windshield vipers.” Taittinger began to open the bonnet. “Have a look.”

  “I’m more interested in what’s beneath the car.”

  “Yeah, but, it’s original.” Taittinger scratched his chin, eyes travelling over the car. “The exhaust is shitty, but the V8’s in decent shape... Oh.” His brow furrowed. “You moved the Sunbeam.” He fumbled into the pocket of his quilted winter vest and pulled out something shiny and made of metal.

  “Goodness me.” Kitt regarded the small, semi-automatic pistol pointed squarely at his chest.

  Mae got out of the car, hands on her hips as if she were an unamused Irish nanny, and everything went arsewise.

  She stepped in front of the naughty boy with the lethal device in his hand, and Kitt uttered filthy words under his breath.

  Chapter 13

  “Dr Jools,” Mae said evenly, “what are ya doin’?”

  “I’m protecting myself from a thief.” Taittinger coughed.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “A man can be as ridiculous as he wants when he has a gun, Mrs Valentine.” Kitt said, voice full of warning and irritation, every trace of the Australian accent he’d employed gone. “I suggest you get out of the way before he does something as ridiculous as you standing in front of a handgun pointing at your chest.”

  With a huff, Mae squinted and turned to glare at Kitt. While the expression he returned remained unperturbed, his eyes were cold and hard, tinged with a note of astonishment and a very clear question asking what the feck she thought she was doing. She swivelled back to Taittinger and huffed again. “The man may be a drunk, but he’s not about to steal your car. Now, put that thing down.”

  Taittinger went very still for a second. Then his jaw worked back and forth as he sawed his bottom teeth across his top lip.

  With a shrug, Kitt smiled broadly, a lethal gleam in his stony blue eyes.

  “A standoff. Really.” Mae exhaled and faced Taittinger. Improvise, she had to improvise because it was that or Kitt would wind up with a bullet lodged in his flesh. Or she would. “This is all a bit stupid, but it doesn’t mean you do something stupid,” she said, emphasising that key pronoun so that Kitt knew she meant him.

  If she’d had access to a toilet brush, a vacuum cleaner, or a wedge of cheese, Mae would have used them, but the only thing in her pocket was a mobile and the keys to a hot-pink car. She drew forth the phone and held it in her outstretched hand. “Dr Jools, be reasonable. Be the smart man I know you are. Let the authorities handle this. Put down the gun. Better still. Give it to me. Let’s trade. The phone for the gun. You ring the police.”

  Taittinger shook his head. Self-loathing mixed with hostility on his face. “Idiot! Idiot! I should have known better. It happened at a party Ziffler gave ten years ago, right under his nose. All the wine in one place. Judith said I was being foolish not having better secur—Judith. Shit, Judith.”

  Kitt crossed his arms. “I’ll be honest, Tatts. I don’t like wine; it gives me a ferocious headache, but we both know your wine tasting isn’t why we’re in this quandary, don’t we?” Air stirred around Mae’s legs as he took a step sideways.

  “Ah-ah-ah.” Taittinger straightened the gun that had begun to sag in his quivering grip, training it on Kitt.

  “Would you like to talk about Judith?”

  The younger man’s face twisted into an ugly snarl. “That soulless bitch doesn’t get that she can’t just have whatever bottle she wants as a reward for being philanthropic. That’s not how this works. You’re her client, aren’t you? The Jefferson. Yeah, I should have k
nown. The three of you played me.”

  Elbows out, hands still on hips, Mae stepped back in front of Kitt. “Put down the gun and take the phone, Dr Jools,” she said. Sweating, Taittinger was sweating. Perspiration gleamed on his forehead. In a second or two, beads would drip down his face. She had him. “Here.” She thrust the phone forward. “I’ll dial nine-one-one for you.” She tapped the screen, two beeps audible, and suddenly she stumbled sideways. The phone hit the rubber mat, her arse hit the open car door, slamming it, startling Felix. The dog sat up and let out a sharp bark.

  “I apologise for the roughness, Mrs Valentine.” Mae glared at Kitt and he, standing no less than sixty centimetres from Taittinger, ignored her.

  “You picked a hell of a time to play chicken.” Taittinger adjusted his grip and raised the weapon to Kitt’s face. “Do you want to die?”

  “No, do you?”

  After a swallow, Taittinger gave a thin, wavering laugh. “You’ve got some big balls.” He lowered the pistol to chest height and held it, both hands shaking.

  Arms crossed, Kitt closed the gap, the semi-automatic pistol pressed over his heart. “Go on. Shoot me. Then shoot Mrs Valentine and your dog while you’re at it.”

  “Shoot the dog? What the feck’s the matter with you?” Mae shouted.

  Kitt’s smiled widened. “You know something? My hangover’s finally gone.”

  “Shut up,” Taittinger hissed through his teeth, sweat trickled from behind an ear and he ground the nose of the weapon into Kitt’s chest, muttering, “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

  Kitt’s hand flashed. Metal klunked against the side of Taittinger’s skull, his glasses flying off. He let out a whoop of pain, clutched his head, and fell to his knees, blood flowing between his fingers.

  Amid Taittinger’s swearing and moaning, Mae’s hammering heart passed down her gullet and back into her chest. She glowered at Kitt, shouting, “You feckin’ mad bastard!”