Security Risk

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  “Is this okay?” Ridge asks. His progress stops while he waits for my answer.

  I choke out a raspy yes and he starts again.

  It’s been months since I’ve been touched this way. His hands, chest, and mouth are soft, yet demanding. He takes everything I give and then asks for more. My bra is pushed up uncovering both breasts still hidden behind the fabric. Ridge takes one in his large hand and squeezes until my back arches. His mouth lowers over a perk nipple and he licks through the thin fabric of my dress.

  “Oh god.” I push against him, bringing myself closer. My body lacks physical touch and I crave more contact. He sucks and I tremble against him, the pressure almost painful from my sensitivity.

  His leg vibrates against my knee, but I refuse to acknowledge it. I’ll pretend he’s overly happy to see me.

  “Shit. I need to check my phone.” Ridge reaches into his pocket bumping my knee so I slide off him. “Don’t. Move.” He punctuates each word until I’m settled back over his thighs.

  “This better be fucking good, Bennett.”

  The voice on the other end of the phone rattles on for a minute, but I can’t make out any of the words. By the way Ridge’s body tenses during the call, it’s not good news.

  “No, I’m glad you called. I’ll be right there.” Ridge hangs up the phone with a slide of his finger and tosses it on the couch next to us.

  “You need to go?” This time he lets me stand and back away from the couch as I reposition my clothing

  “I’m sorry, babe. One of the cons we’ve tracked for the last week made a move today. It’s time to send someone in and finish the job. I’ll make tonight up to you.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll find something to eat here.”

  He walks me to the door and leans against the frame in one of those sexy guy poses. One hand is raised propping himself higher. He’s clueless to how hot it makes him. “I want you at my house on Sunday.”

  “Your house?”

  “Yeah, the one right next to yours.” His index finger trails down my jaw stopping at the base of my lips. “It’s my week to host the family BBQ and I want you there.”

  “Family BBQ? With like… your family?” My stomach clenches at the thought.

  He laughs, but I don’t find it funny at all. “Yup, and a few guys from work. Plus, we can’t have sex until you’ve eaten my pasta salad.”

  “What?” Is this a new euphemism they use in Maine?

  “It’s a deal breaker.”

  “For sex?”

  One long kiss passes between us before Ridge makes his way out the door without answering my question. He walks to his truck and drives down our short street before he turns. I go inside when I lose sight of him around the corner. Pasta salad? The question lingers as I close the door behind me.

  My move to Pelican Bay was to bring me peace and alone time. Allow me the chance to reflect and get my shit together. Between Katy, Anessa, and Ridge everything is spinning on its axis. I have no control over my situation. And holy hell I wasn’t planning to get attached to people so quickly. Definitely not a muscled hottie with a secret job.

  Without dinner plans there’s no reason for me to hang around in a dress with my bra unhooked. I switch out the dress for a long sleeve shirt and my favorite pair of fleece pajama pants. With the soft inner lining and large ice cream cones covering the outside, they’re my go-to pants when I need a pick me up. I need one tonight.

  And a television. I could use a decent TV. Aunt Gertie didn’t see the importance of television, but if I don’t get to watch Dean Winchester kill something at least once a month I go through withdrawals.

  The icy breeze from the refrigerator chills my face while I stare at the contents. It’s no longer empty, but it might as well be. There’s nothing in here I want to eat for dinner. This would be a takeout night in Oklahoma. I don’t miss the people, but I wouldn’t cry over more delivery options within a reasonable drive. Hasn’t anyone here heard of delivery?

  I snatch a small bag of baby carrots, dismayed at how dried out they are, the color more white than orange. Katy needs a reminder to close the bag before throwing them back on the shelf. A fist bangs on the door breaking my internal debate of whether I should find a bowl or eat the dehydrated veggies right from the bag.

  The knock decides for me, and I peek out the front window with my bagged dinner in one hand. A tall guy dressed in dark washed jeans and a black fleece jacket leans against the siding, a dark colored SUV running in the driveway.

  Tall guys in dark clothes would normally go on my “do not open the door” list, but I’ve never seen him before today. It’s safe to say he’s not from Mario and he’s seen me considering I wasn’t discreet about pulling back the curtain to peek outside.

  “I’m Bennett. The boss man sent me.” He holds up a red and white pizza box next to my spot at the window.

  He’s either telling the truth, or he’s the nicest robber in Pelican Bay. I open the door and he steps inside, the pizza box held out in front of him.

  “The boss man?” I ask taking the box from him when he pushes it at me.

  “Oh, Ridge. The meeting will last all night, and he said you’d be hungry.”

  That’s sweet. “Thanks.” I put the large box on the kitchen island, Bennett right behind me.

  He’s as tall as Ridge, but not quite as well built even from under his fleece. His body doesn’t take up more space in my small kitchen than your average guy. His dark brown hair, almost black, brings out his bright green eyes. There’s a layer of scruff covering the lower portion of his face. He’d be binging my hot guy radar if I wasn’t already highly attached to the man he calls the boss man.

  “So you drew the short straw and had to play delivery guy?” I pop open the box and grab a pepperoni and cheese piece.

  He laughs and his eyes fall on the pizza in my hand like he’s watching me eat the last piece of food on our desert island. Normally I wouldn’t be so forward, but I am starving. “Would you like a piece?”

  “Oh no, it’s fine.” He brushes off my question.

  “Come on, Bennett. I can’t eat the whole thing by myself.” There’s a lot of pizza. I mean I probably could eat the entire thing, but it would take me a few meals and I should probably pretend to be a lady in front of Bennett.

  “You sure?” he hesitates, his hand over a slice.

  “Of course. How did you get it here so fast? I didn’t know we had a pizza place in town.”

  He chews and then answers. “Buddy’s. It’s a biker bar on the outskirts of town. Rowdy place but they have the best pies. We ordered a few boxes.”

  “What else do you do with Ridge? Help him install security systems?”

  “Something like that,” he answers quickly and stuffs more pizza in his mouth.

  I raise an eyebrow and wait. It’s a technique I’ve picked up over the years.

  It works. “We also specialize in fugitive recovery.”

  “You mean like bounty hunters?”

  “We prefer Fugitive Recovery Specialists.”

  “Uh-huh.” I bet they do.

  A phone rings, shattering the momentary silence in the room. It’s not mine. Bennett pulls a shiny silver one from his fleece pocket and flinches at the name of the caller.

  “Yeah.” He stares at me, his face tight in impatience. “Yes, I’m here. Tabitha and I are sharing pizza.”

  Bennett laughs into the phone making me think whoever’s on the other end isn’t as bad as he first expected.

  “I’ve maintained a five-foot distance between us at all times.” He rolls his eyes and smiles at me. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.” He smiles and hangs up slipping the phone back in his pocket. Bennett grabs another slice of pizza and starts the walk to the front door.

  “Do you want to take the leftovers with you?” I ask.

  “No, you keep them.”

  “Well thanks for bringing me dinner… and lunch tomorrow.”

  Bennett stops a step away from the do
or. “He likes you, you know?”

  “Who?”

  “Ridge.” He shakes his head twice like I’m a complete moron. “Lock this when I leave.”

  The door closes behind him and I hurry to twist the deadbolt. Like I need another bossy man telling me what to do. I push back the curtain from the front window as Bennett walks to a black SUV, the nondescript kind you see all over, and pulls out of my driveway.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “You need to download a guy with a British accent for your GPS, Katy. It would make the three-hour drive more interesting,” I say jumping from the big red truck we drove to the auction house in.

  The door behind mine opens, and Anessa falls out the side, catching herself before she face-plants on the loose stone parking lot. “But no less scary.”

  “Why are you two complaining? I got us here in under two-and-a-half hours. That’s a great time.” Katy’s excitement over her driving skills doesn’t work on me. The ride with her was terrifying. From now on, someone else has to drive for these journeys.

  The road trip was Katy’s plan. I volunteered to drive the three of us on our cross-state trek to visit an auction house so Anessa could purchase tables and chairs for the bakery — she’s going for a shabby chic look — but Katy had access to a truck so we could haul it home.

  “One request. Can we agree that if asked, we did not drink coffee and eat McMuffins in Riley’s new truck? He’d have a conniption and I like her.” She pets the top of the hood tenderly like someone would a newborn kitten.

  “When are you going to admit —” I ask about her and Riley when my phone beeps and I pause. They’re awfully close for two people she swears aren’t having sex.

  “You’ll need to answer those calls.”

  I tuck the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. My signal picked up about an hour and a half ago and the notifications have been constant since then. Less from Mario than you’d expect. At least the voicemail is finally full.

  Am I ever going to listen to them?

  No.

  “Okay, ladies.” Katy claps her hands together to get our attention. “I researched this last night. We need to get bidding paddles from the front desk first.”

  The three of us trudge through the dirt field they’ve roped off into a parking lot toward the large red barn in front of us. The big front doors trimmed in white are open a crack to allow people to walk in, but closed enough to keep the chill out. Big white letters having faded over time hang above the barn doors. The letter A is missing, making our destination the Hillsdale uction house. That’s reassuring.

  “You both remember the budget, right?” Anessa stops us.

  “We have a budget?” I peek my head through the doorway to get a look inside, but can only make out vague shapes. The barn stretches back farther than you’d think making it much larger than it looked from the front.

  “Yes. No more than five hundred… total.”

  “Oh well. Why didn’t you tell us it was so much, Anessa, we’ll definitely be able to work within that number.” Katy rolls her eyes and pushes through the opening. “It’s not ideal, but we’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  “Remember cheap chairs and tables. Nothing fancy. We’re going for simple.” Anessa follows behind leaving me.

  I give the parking lot one last glance before I follow both girls into the area marked front desk. It’s a long piece of wood held up with a sawhorse at each end and one in the middle. It fits with the overall aesthetic. The rest of the barn is wall to wall junk. And I mean it… crap. Tables line the side walls. The tops are covered in various small knickknacks and china pieces. The middle of the room is divided into three rows, each piled high with larger items. Chests, dressers, couches, and thankfully tables and chairs take up all the floor space except the thin aisles they’ve kept clear for walking.

  “This whole place is primitive,” Katy says, stopping in the middle of the walkway. Anessa and I both stop quickly almost running into her back.

  There are people everywhere. If they aren’t standing in the aisles looking at things, they walk through the piles of rubble, pick up an item, hold it to the light, then put it back down again. The noise from hundreds of conversations bounces off the barn amplifying the sounds. It’s enough you can’t have a normal conversation with the person next to you. Instead we’re forced to shout when we stop at the corner of one long row.

  Anessa turns back from where she’d been chatting with one of the “front desk workers.” She hands each of us a small rectangle of laminated paper.

  “These are our paddles?” It’s smaller than a credit card and flimsy even with the lamination. I flip the card over to see the number 2405 written in thick black ink. My lips pucker in my disappointment. I’d envisioned an actual paddle like they use in movies at high price auction houses. The uction house probably doesn’t get the same clientele as Sotheby’s. And we’re definitely not Sotheby’s material.

  Katy pats me on the back. “You’ll be okay. We’ll bring our own paddles next time.”

  “Focus.” Anessa holds open a hand drawn map. Five lines represent the different rows, chicken scratch writing over each one. “I got the scoop. The auction will start in about five minutes and they’ll run five at one time.”

  “Five actions at one time?” The noise level is high enough. How will we ever hear anything?

  “Yes. They start at the beginning of each row and work their way down until everything is gone.”

  Katy holds up her bidding card to gather our attention. “There are three of us. How are we going to break it up so we don’t miss anything?”

  Anessa smooths the map on her pant leg, the pencil smearing. “They’re numbered. I’ll stand between rows one and two. Katy you stand at three, but watch two and four if you can.” She points to each row on the map as she talks. “Tabitha, you take the last row five, but keep your eye out on four too. If you see anything on the tables that might be cute decoration wise, go ahead and bid.”

  “You mean like throw pillows?” I laugh at her furrowed brow expression over my joke.

  “Only cute ones… and don’t pay a lot. Remember the — “

  Anessa is cut off by a screech. We look up expecting a giant speaker, but instead at the start of row one a short man in overalls sets up a stepladder. He climbs two steps and then places a small speaker attached to a megaphone on it. Four more screechy sounds from electronical interference explode at the same time and I whip around. Four more people dressed oddly similar climb identical stepladders at the start of each row. Five simultaneous auctions that involve megaphones… wonderful.

  “Places, ladies. It’s show time.” Katy’s voice ratchets up, full of excitement.

  **

  Two hours of auctions later my feet are fucking killing me. Who knew standing around not moving could be so tiring. I bid on lots of items, but of course with the budget Anessa put in place and not knowing what the other girls are spending I’ve kept my bids low and haven’t won much. I’ve taken one small round table and a stool to the truck. The total collection of items in the backend is growing with each trip.

  The small round table won’t hold much more than a single plate and a cup of coffee, but I won it for five dollars. You can’t pass up a table for five dollars. Katy gave me a big thumbs up when the auction was called in my favor. From the way she continues to bounce around on her feet, her number in the air, shouting out random amounts of money, I’d say she’s enjoying this.

  “Five-minute break!” The man in charge of my row of auctions yells into his megaphone. Because the fact he’s speaking into a megaphone wasn’t enough.

  The group of people I’m standing with break apart. Most of them are men who file to other rows still bidding on items.

  I stretch out my neck and spot a restroom sign five feet ahead of me on this side of the barn. The little blue lady wearing her triangle dress beckons. There are groups of bidders crowding the walkways, and I maneuver around them as my need to pee increas
es.

  The bathroom sign points to a tiny dark hallway, the random light set every few feet not enough to brighten the area. I follow the path to the end and pull open the female door. We’ve been walking around on a dirt floor all morning so the tiled bathroom with multiple stalls and two rows of clean sinks is unexpected.

  I finish washing my hands, choosing to skip the drying phase since they only have those loud air dryers. My ears enjoyed being in a room away from the constant megaphone noise. With a shake of my hands I push open the door with my hip and step back into the dark hallway.

  Someone grabs me, their fingers digging into the soft skin of my upper arm. I’m jerked to the left. I let out a scream but am silenced by a hand covering my mouth, so it’s more of a muffled splattering of words. The metal of the exit door at the end of the hallway clatters and the sun blinds me as I’m tugged outside. My back hits the hard side of the barn, the wood scraping against my back through the fleece jacket I put on this morning.

  “Keep your fucking mouth shut, Tabby.” Benny uses the hand over my mouth to slam my head against the barn and locks another around my neck. “This will be nice and easy if you cooperate.”

  My eyes widen, but I can’t speak past his hand. I try to push out from the wall, but he tightens his hold until I stand still.

  “Your time is almost over. Mario’s impatient and none of us want to see the boss upset. Do we?”

  I shake my head, trying to breathe through my nose. The hand covering my nose smells of stale cigarettes. The zipper at the top of my jacket cuts into my throat.