Speak Easy Speak Danger

by Sharon G Clark

  Fiona’s heart pounded so forcefully in her chest, she felt sure it would burst through her ribs at any moment. Her senses heightened, she prayed her heartbeat didn’t announce her arrival before she was prepared to face Thomas—possibly Warren, too.

  On the landing to the second floor, Fiona stopped and listened. She expected to be accosted or shot at any moment. Nothing. What the hell were they waiting for? She presented an easy target.

  On her left, Fiona heard multiple voices of the telephone operators as they went about their business dispensing callers, making transfers, and talking amongst themselves between duties. Ahead, the same sense of someone’s presence. Were her fear and tension making her hear what may not be there? Fiona didn’t have to question herself any longer. The rapid movement shifted the air in front of her. A hand clamped over her mouth as she felt cold metal pressed to her temple, tension and excitement vibrated through the body of the man behind her. Recognition struck her, but Fiona couldn’t place him immediately. Until the whisper in her ear.

  “Payback time and no Jo.” Thomas Gendry. If he was here, Warren must have Margaret and Adam. “Let’s go,” Thomas said, his voice harsh in her ear. He all but dragged her up another flight of stairs, the hand clamped across her mouth painfully, the barrel of the gun bruised as it bit into her flesh. Thomas, apparently reaching his goal, relinquished his hold as he shoved Fiona to the floor. A few feet ahead, Fiona heard Margaret whisper her name, fear, and a hint of relief in the tone. “Here she is,” Thomas said, “let’s get on with it.”

  “Not so fast,” Warren’s voice sounded off to her right.

  “You promised—”

  “Shut up,” Warren ordered. Fiona knew when Warren moved from his position, not just from his heavy footfalls, but from his hate as it rippled in the air between them. With the none too gentle prompt from his foot into her hip, Warren said, “About six-feet at ten o’clock.” Fiona wasted no time making her way in that direction, crawled on hands and knees, and uncaring of the picture she presented. “And nothing stupid, or you’ll all get it.”

  “What the hell’s that about?” Thomas asked.

  “Shut the hell up.” Warren must know about her permanent blindness.

  Adam and Margaret’s hands each touched and tugged her closer. “Are you okay?” Margaret asked. She cupped a cheek in her gentle appraisal. Adam remained silent, but he mirrored a touch to her cheek, his fear and concern telegraphed in small fingers.

  Fiona found Adam’s face with one hand, drew him closer, and placed a kiss to his forehead. Then Fiona did the same to Margaret. Behind her, Fiona heard Thomas mumble, “I’m gonna be sick.” Had the situation been less life-threatening, Fiona would have given them a reason to be sickened by kissing Margaret fully and passionately, if this were a goodbye. These men were already on the brink of violence, and she wouldn’t add to the volatility. “Did they hurt you?” she asked.

  Adam shuffled close to her ear and whispered, “A mean man hit Auntie Margaret.”

  The heat of her rage filled Fiona. Before this was done, Warren would pay for that. Margaret must have sensed her furor. “I’m fine,” Margaret said. “It’s what they plan next that has me worried.”

  Fiona worried too. She suspected Warren had no intention of letting them live, although she was curious how he intended to deal with their bodies. He could shoot them, and probably would. He was a coward at heart, and guns expedited his cause. The telephone operators were a floor below. They would be witnesses to any sounds of gunfire. The scheduled time for business close time over, so any scuffling should be suspect. Why hadn’t someone been alerted already?

  “What now, Warren?”

  Thomas snickered. “You get to show me how tough you are, all dressed and acting like a man.”

  “What of the people downstairs?” she asked.

  Warren said, “Had them lock themselves in the room for their safety. I told them I had reason to believe the killer had broken in and hidden away up here. I, of course, as a duty-bound police officer, would do whatever necessary to apprehend the foul criminal.” Foul criminal, she thought. It sounded like a case of pot and kettle, both being black and not recognizing the same.

  So, any noise they made was already explained away. The people below believe themselves safe and part of Warren doing his civic duty. “I suppose you enlisted the help of the rich bully by agreeing to let Thomas prove—or try to prove—his manhood?”

  “You bitch,” Thomas said. She shouldn’t provoke him, not with Margaret and Adam as hostages, but angry men made mistakes. Fiona needed every advantage she could get.

  Heavy steps sounded before she was hauled backward and away from her family. “Wait,” Warren bellowed. She felt Margaret reach for her, received the barest brush of her fingertips, and then heard the distinct sound of flesh against flesh before Margaret cried out. “Enough, Thomas,” Warren said.

  Thomas guffawed. “But it’s fun. Besides, it’s really pissing her off.” Fiona didn’t know which her he referred to, but the remark covered either. She couldn’t see Margaret’s face but suspected her equally livid.

  Warren dragged her away from Margaret before he released her. Once again, she felt the cold steel against her temple. “Don’t move.” Fiona didn’t. She needed to get her family out of this but had no idea how to accomplish that end. Wondered, too, if Nicholas saw what transpired and if he now gauged the proper time for his intervention.

  Time to move this along. “All right, Warren. You’ve had your show of power. Let Margaret and Adam go and finish whatever you intend with me. Just know if that little prick hits Margaret again, I will kill him.”

  “Brave talk from a blind woman,” Warren said.

  Fiona grit her teeth. “Stating a fact.”

  “What the hell?” Thomas sounded surprised.

  “It changes nothing,” Warren said.

  “Yeah, blind or not, I’ll kick your sorry ass,” Fiona said.

  “We’ll see. Okay, Thomas, you’re about to get your wish. Over here. No, you stay where you are. Move again, and I’ll shoot the boy.” Fiona’s fury continued to build. He had threatened serious harm to a child. Not any child, but hers. She had to rein in her emotions, or she’d be worthless to properly defend them. Fiona got to her feet, her hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly at her side. “You’re an ass, threatening children.”

  “What? Don’t I get points for letting Ethel’s whelp live? Stupid bitch didn’t even leave me the house in the will. I was supposed to get it and the brat when she changed the will, which she was supposed to do when she dumped the fancy bastard.”

  “Nice to know Nicholas and I had you pegged. You’ll pay for her murder.”

  “Who will tell? No one will believe you.” They hadn’t found any evidence, so he had that matter correct. He would get away with murder. Warren continued. “Better. This is what’s going to happen. For helping me, Thomas gets his chance to beat you up.”

  “I’m supposed to just stand here and take it?” she asked. She may be blind but not entirely defenseless. If either of these men—males—believed Fiona would make this assault on her family easy for them, they were dumber than they looked.

  Warren barked a laugh. “You have a free run to protect yourself as best you can.”

  “Let my family go.”

  “No, I want them to watch. After you’re dead, if these two agree to keep this matter completely secret, they live. Same for you, of course.”

  “And if I kick Thomas’s spoiled ass?”

  “You won’t.” Warren sounded sure of himself. Fiona knew he had no intention of letting any of them live. Warren had too much hate in his blood. She would do everything in her power, until her dying breath, to protect Margaret and Adam. Fiona hoped if that were to be the outcome, she’d do whatever it took to assure both these idiots fell with her. “To give you a little assist,” Warren said, continuing his soliloquy, “the room is large but filled with crates. There
are broken and new telephone switchboard consoles against the walls, too. The center space, where you’re standing, is cleared. Do whatever you need to damage each other, but try not to destroy too much else. An abundance of destroyed items would be hard to explain, even for me in the apprehension of a killer.”

  “You don’t have to worry, Sergeant,” Thomas said. His tone dripped with arrogance. “This will be quick.”

  The first blow was too. Fast. Straight to the jaw. Fiona stumbled to the right as she focused on the sounds around her. Warren hadn't moved, and she figured he probably wouldn't, not until Thomas finished his little display. Thomas, on the other hand, pranced about like the obvious victor. He believed her easy prey. For the moment, Fiona intended to let him believe the notion as he circled her, bouncing foot to foot. He alternated hard, heavy, open-palmed hits to various parts of her body. Thomas became the clever cat as he toyed with the helpless Fiona mouse.

  Fiona bid her time. Listening. Eventually, Warren egged Thomas on. Thomas probably looked for an easy means to bring her down. She listened for any signal from Thomas. She realized he figured she couldn’t defend herself. It didn't take long.

  He was nearly finished with his second rotation around her when Fiona heard it. The short puff of air, not quite a snort, which stated his superiority in the battle he believed already won. Thomas paused, shifted body weight to the balls of his feet, and swung with his right arm.

  Fiona dodged the blow, twisted her body right, and rammed an elbow into his abdomen. Bending forward, to protect his stomach, she assumed, Thomas wouldn't see the same elbow slammed down toward his back. Thomas dropped to a knee. Fiona wrapped an arm around his neck, as Thomas simultaneously wrapped one around her leg. Both fell to the floor, each losing their holds. Fiona knew she couldn't stay in that indefensible position, rolled away, and regained her feet.

  A crashing roar sounded from outside and vibrated the building.

  Thomas paused, and Fiona used the opportunity to sidle closer while she launched a punch to the general vicinity of Thomas’s face. Her blow landed on the side of his head. She felt him turn in her direction. Fiona responded with an immediate left swing, and then a right. Both blows landed. She repeated until she realized he had moved out of reach.

  Thomas launched himself at her. Fiona twisted, reached out her arm to wrap around his neck again, but the back of her head and upper right shoulder exploded in pain. Fiona vaguely heard Margaret’s shouted warning as dizziness consumed her. She tried to get her bearings but could barely keep herself from dropping to the floor, waves of nausea consumed her. Fiona was losing the battle to maintain her awareness. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t gauge where Thomas was within the room. Where was Warren?

  The weight of her failure to protect her family nearly suffocated Fiona. Then she heard running footfalls and another scream from Margaret. Finally, came another darkness, different from her blindness, as she felt herself falling. Falling.

  Chapter Thirty

  The rain kept most of the shoppers from the town, which didn’t bother Jo. She and Tessa talked about what Warren had done to Fiona, but they avoided physical contact with one another and kept verbal communication strictly to business. Devious as Warren was, Jo didn’t want to be caught doing more. She and Tessa were cautious, but one could never tell.

  The floor beneath her vibrated before a loud roar came from outside. The noise pulled Jo’s thought back to the present. The windowpanes shuddered in their frames in response. Rushing out the shop door, Jo glanced around for a reason behind the noise. Tessa rushed toward her position from inside the shop. One man was walking down the sidewalk, head bowed beneath his hat, collar turned up against the sudden onslaught of rain.

  Then Jo saw it. A wall of water rushed down toward them from the top of the street. Jo hollered for the man to hurry toward them, but he ignored her, lost in his panic. Jo raced into the shop, grabbed Tessa and hauled her toward the back of the shop. Tessa strained against her for a moment, yelling above the roar. “What’s happening?”

  “Flood,” Jo hollered back. She tightened her grip. Behind her, the shop’s front window shattered into pieces, raining glass into the wall of water and sludge rushing in, the sharp pieces sliced into exposed flesh. Nearly to the stairs, Jo gave another pull on Tessa, only to have her feet knocked from under her.

  Tessa screamed, and Jo labored to maintain her grip. She regarded the water that rushed into the store was pulling at everything into its wake, and the water level rose too quickly. Tessa became heavier in her grip, and Jo tightened her hold, worried how much longer she could maintain it. Her clothes were heavy from saturation. Jo wrenched Tessa closer. It was apparent to Jo that Tessa’s dress had become so waterlogged, the floodwaters would soon drag her under.

  At the bottom of the staircase, Jo wrapped her legs around the newel post base of the staircase and, once anchored, yanked frantically at Tessa’s skirt.

  After a quick flash of panic, Tessa realized Jo’s intentions and aided her in the garment’s removal. Once the soaked material was freed and sunk into the rapid swirls of cold, muddied water, Tessa grabbed a baluster and latched on with both hands. Even in her panicked state, she looked into Jo’s eyes. “If you wanted my clothes off, you had only to ask,” Tessa said, teeth chattering through her teasing.

  Jo smiled, then kissed Tessa’s nose. “Put your arms around my neck and wrap your legs around my waist.” Tessa did as she asked, then buried her face in Jo’s neck. Using the handrail, Jo pulled herself up the stairwell, feet unable to maintain footing on the tread because of the rising water. One thing Jo appreciated is the water made Tessa more buoyant.

  Another burst of fast-moving water slammed into them, and Jo clasped tighter to the handrail. Tessa followed suit with her legs, locked them tighter around Jo’s waist. Jo’s arms were tiring, holding them through the rising and rushing waters. Her hands were numb from the cold water. Jo didn’t know how much longer she could keep her grip.

  Alarm filled her when her feet lost purchase on the tread. The water pulled violently. The onslaught slammed her head into the wooden rail and forced Tessa below the water. Stunned, but making her fingers continue the hand-over-hand motion, Jo managed to reach a step above the current water level.

  Tessa gasped and sputtered for air as Jo brought them to lay sprawled across several stair treads, bodies shaking from cold and fear.

  Jo’s fingers and palms were red from strain and exertion. The floodwater wasn’t going any higher, thankfully. “You okay?” she asked when Tessa got her breath back to a normal rhythm. Tessa nodded in a feeble motion. “Let’s get you upstairs and into some dry clothes.”

  Another nod from Tessa, then Tessa’s eyes widened. Jo glanced around to identify the cause of Tessa’s alarm, but the motion made her dizzy. “You’ve cut your forehead,” Tessa said. Tessa got to her feet and yanked on Jo’s shirt to get her to follow. “We need to clean and dress the wound.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, even as pain filtered through her head. With slow, deliberate steps, Jo followed Tessa the remainder of the way upstairs. Tessa appeared to have recovered from their ordeal quickly now that she had a purpose. The last few steps sapped Jo’s residual strength. It felt like an eternity passed before the apartment doorway opened before her.

  Tessa rushed around the kitchen, collected items and deposited them on the table. Jo only vaguely aware, her focus locked on the pale flesh freed from the garment. Tessa, Jo noted with appreciation and remembrance, had long, beautiful legs.

  “Stop grinning like you’ve gone mad and get over here.”

  Jo followed the request, but with less grace than usual. She felt too lightheaded and unsteady to continue her leering. Her body came down from her adrenaline rush, and the pounding in her head became more noticeable. As did the awareness of the warmth that dripped down the side of her face. Jo brushed blood away with the palm of her hand, and absently wiped the blood on her water-soaked coveralls.
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  “Stop that,” Tessa said as she rushed to Jo with the washcloth in her hand. Tessa wrapped an arm around Jo’s waist as she pressed the cloth to Jo’s forehead. “You need to sit down before you fall down.” Jo complied and giggled when she realized the command left Tessa’s pale legs and cotton clad hips on display before her. “What is so funny?” Tessa asked.

  “Not funny,” Jo said. “Happy.” She reached a hand to caress the hip closest to her. “You’re beautiful.” Jo could get away with her behavior since there was no way Warren would interrupt for a while.

  Tessa stilled. Her voice deepened as she said, “And you’re concussed. You banged your head pretty good. It has you off balance and out of sorts.” Tessa centered her attention on her ministrations to Jo’s wound.

  Jo, however, focused on her hand where it rested on Tessa’s hip. Why were things in life so hard? These feelings she had for Tessa were what was significant. She simply wanted to love and be loved. Not only by her family but by this woman. Her Tessa.

  She abhorred Warren’s hatred, because if forced them to remain or appear to stay apart. How long before the strain of the charade worked for real? Jo wanted to do right by Fiona, keep her out of harm’s way. And this time, it was in the form of Warren instead of Jimmy. She couldn’t stop Jimmy Bennett from what he had done, to Fiona and Lorraine, now dead, and probably a host of other women. If it hadn’t been for her attraction to Tessa, Fiona would have never been noticed by Warren. Jo was entirely at fault. She brought her family into Sergeant Langford’s view.

  Guilt tore at part of her soul. The other part of her soul couldn’t accept blame for following her heart. She loved Tessa. Jo knew with the certainty of her heartbeat, and she couldn’t walk away from her. Heck, just overtly avoiding and keeping to a minimal contact had been torturous. How could she give Tessa up completely and survive?

  Lost in thought, Jo hadn’t realized Tessa moved until she asked, “What is wrong?” Jo blinked rapidly to focus on the brown eyes that stared at her with concern and love. Tessa had shifted to her knees, her hands clasping Jo’s.