by Sam Cheever
Of course they were running for their lives. She guessed some men wouldn't be able to think about romance under that kind of duress. But she'd never met one of them. The men she'd met and dated would have been able to think about “romance” with their heads nearly severed from their bodies.
Alastair took a deep breath, pulling the citrus sweet smell of her shampoo into his nose and savoring it like a fine Cabernet. He was becoming incredibly addicted to his curvy little white knight and it was all he could do to keep from throwing her back on the couch and having his way with her. But she was an emotional wreck and he wasn't at all sure she would be up for it. Even if she was interested in him ... and he wasn't at all sure that she was. She certainly hadn't done anything to show she was interested.
And she'd had lots of opportunities.
Sighing, he laid his head on top of hers and breathed in the incredible, sweet smell of sexy woman, enjoying the way she'd allowed herself to mold against his side on the over-soft, musty smelling couch. Before he knew what he was doing his lips touched her hair.
He kissed the soft, fragrant strands and closed his eyes.
She moved and his eyes shot open, finding her beautiful hazel gaze just inches from his own. They stared at each other across the short distance for a moment and then, in unspoken agreement, moved to cut the distance between their hungry lips.
The kiss started out soft and sweet, but quickly grew in intensity as they poured every emotion shared over the last several, stress filled days into it. Angie moaned against his mouth and her hands came up to run through the soft red bristles of his hair.
Alastair reached around her and grabbed her hips, pulling her across his lap with a hungry moan. They deepened the kiss until they were nearly panting from the intensity. Alastair's lips left hers and traveled down her chin, her neck, and into the sweet smelling valley above the low neckline of her shirt. His tongue came out to lap gently between her breasts and then rose, leaving a hot, wet trail from her breasts to her ear, where he nibbled gently on a tiny lobe.
Angie gasped as his hand slid up a jeans clad thigh and rested in the juncture between her soft thighs. She felt hot through the thick, unyielding fabric.
He was sliding a warm, insistent hand under her t-shirt when the first crash sounded outside the picture window behind where they sat. They jolted upright and Angie cried out.
They dove to the floor in front of the couch. The carpet under their faces as they huddled together between the couch and the scarred wooden coffee table was dusty smelling and threadbare, rough against his face.
The second crash sounded a little closer and a muffled thumping against the door quickly followed.
Angie grabbed his hand. “What should we do?” She whispered, her eyes raw pools of terror in the dim light.
He squeezed her hand, nuzzling against her hair as he tried to think.
His phone. Percy had given him numbers to call in an emergency.
Alastair arched against the couch behind them to pull his body straight and then dug in the tight pocket of his jeans until he managed to extract his cell phone. He punched a single number and a strange, high pitched male voice answered on the second ring.
"Yeah."
"It's Alastair Honeybun, across the street?"
"What's wrong?” The man's voice jerked and Alastair thought it sounded like he was on the move.
"There's a lot of crashing and thumping outside the door. It sounds like someone's trying to get into the house."
"I'll be right there. Stay in and stay down."
The phone disconnected in Alastair's ear and he dropped it under the coffee table, within reach if he needed it. “The man across the street is on his way."
Angie nodded, burrowing more closely into Alastair's body and shivering violently. “The first lamb to the slaughter.” She murmured.
Alastair chuckled. “You watch too much TV."
Angie just continued to shiver.
Alastair reached over to shut off the TV so they could hear what was going on outside. Silence slid over the small house as they waited for their guard to check out the grounds. Rather than calming them, the dense silence stretched their nerves to the breaking point. So that, when a pounding suddenly sounded on the front door Angie screamed and they jumped to their feet.
The voice from the phone emerged through the door. “It's Philips, from across the street. Everything's clear out here."
Alastair peeked out the nearest window, seeing the dark bulk of a man standing on the rusty front stoop. “Are you sure?"
The man turned toward Alastair's voice and lifted a huge hand in greeting. “It was probably just a raccoon. The trash cans have been knocked over. You don't need to come out. Just leave the place locked up tight and call me if you hear anything else."
Angie squeezed up next to Alastair at the window and peered at the dark shape outside.
"Okay, thank you for coming over so fast.” Alastair said.
The bulky shape on the stoop shrugged. “It's my job. Have a good one.” He turned away and headed back across the street, swiveling his head constantly to assess his surroundings.
Angie stepped back away from the window. Suddenly feeling shy. She looked at Alastair's face and saw he was having similar feelings. She knew they'd never be able to recapture the mood so she gave him a sad smile and said, “I'm really tired. I guess I'll just go to bed."
Alastair frowned slightly but nodded. “I'm a little tired too. Sleep tight okay?"
Angie reached up and touched his cheek with a finger. He surprised her by grabbing her hand and placing a soft kiss in the center of her palm. “Night."
She reluctantly took her hand back and headed for the tiny bedroom in the back of the house, which she'd claimed earlier as hers. Suddenly realizing she was tired, probably as the result of the roller coaster ride of emotions she'd experienced since arriving at the safe house, she prepared for bed and slid under the covers gratefully.
She really didn't expect to sleep very well but the events of the previous several days seemed to have caught up with her and she dropped quickly and heavily into sleep.
* * * *
* * * *
Angie awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs. She smiled, wondering where Alastair had managed to scrounge up real food. Sitting up with a yawn, she scented the air for coffee and found it. It smelled suspiciously like the Hazelnut Vanilla blend she used in the shoppe. Her mouth watered at the thought of a real breakfast and she threw the covers back happily.
Realizing that her day had been considerably enhanced just by the idea of breakfast she chuckled. Nothing like facing death on a daily basis to create a sense of joy in the simple pleasures of life.
She headed down the short hallway toward the kitchen and walked through the kitchen door with a broad smile.
The smile died on her lips.
She jerked to a stop and screamed.
* * * *
* * * *
Brita knocked on the heavy, mahogany front door to the Burns residence and looked around at the immaculate grounds and expensive landscaping in the exclusive neighborhood. Obviously the kidnappers had struck the mother lode if money was their ultimate objective. DA Burns and his family were doing very well for themselves.
But for some reason Brita didn't think this was about money. She wasn't sure exactly why she felt that way, it was just instinct. And she'd learned long ago to honor her instincts. They were one of the things that made her a good cop.
She heard precise, rapid footsteps on the other side of the door and turned around, anxious to meet the woman who would marry DA Burns. She wasn't expecting the woman who answered the door.
She was young. Very young. So young that Brita asked her, with a question in her voice, “Mrs. Burns?"
The woman nodded and smiled. “Yes. Can I help you with something?"
Brita pulled out her badge and held it up for the woman to see. “Can I speak with you for a moment please?"
The
smile faded quickly and an appropriately serious expression settled across her rather plain face. “This is about Debra isn't it? Oh my god! She hasn't been killed has she?"
Brita shook her head. “We haven't found Miss Burns yet. I was hoping maybe you could give me some information to help."
The woman nodded and stepped back, allowing Brita to step into a huge foyer with the expected marble on the floors and a sweeping staircase at the back and off to one side.
"I was just making some tea. Would you like some?"
Brita smiled. “That sounds wonderful."
As Brita followed the tall, excessively slim woman toward the back of the huge house she couldn't help wondering at the matchup between her and her gruff, bad tempered, much older husband. She was rarely surprised by people, but the woman she was about to interview was nothing like she had expected. She was young and intelligent, and wasn't especially attractive. Brita was deeply surprised that DA Burns, a man who obviously had a low opinion of women and a huge ego, would be drawn to a strong, intelligent woman who wasn't exactly arm bling.
What she was, Brita quickly discovered, was highly intelligent and brutally direct. Two characteristics which Brita genuinely appreciated, especially in someone she was attempting to interview. Gentle questioning gained Brita the knowledge that Susan Burns had been a junior partner in one of the firms where Burns had been partner before getting into politics. He had apparently been drawn to her brains and honesty.
Go figure.
Brita accepted the tea, contained within a delicate cup of bone china, and waited for Susan Burns to sit down across from her. Then she pulled out her PDA and prepared to jot down the cryptic notes that helped her track a case. “Mrs. Burns, do you have any idea why your stepdaughter was kidnapped?"
The woman looked momentarily surprised. “Why money of course. As you can see Gregg and I do very well,” She smiled but Brita heard the slight undertone of bitterness in the woman's voice.
Brita immediately tagged her as someone who'd had high ideals about saving the world and raising up all the downtrodden when she'd joined the law firm, and probably now felt as if she'd sold out.
Fascinating.
Brita nodded, “That would seem the obvious reason of course. But I need to look at all the angles."
Susan Burns nodded, sipping her tea. “Of course."
Brita tried another tack. “Had Miss Burns been acting strangely lately? Had she changed her habits? Were there any new people in her life?"
Susan Burns stared at the cup of tea on the table in front of her for a few beats and then shook her head, not meeting Brita's eyes. “Debra has not been easy to live with, Detective Muldane. She and her father didn't ... don't...” sharp hazel eyes swung to Brita's face a bit guiltily, “they don't get along very well."
Brita nodded, making a mental note of the slip. “Had that changed in recent weeks?"
She shook her boy-short, curly brown hair. “It hadn't improved. If anything it might have worsened a bit."
Brita cocked her head. “Why's that?"
Susan Burns took a sip of her tea and gave Brita a strained smile. “She'd begun seeing someone Gregg didn't like. A young man who works for the infamous Mr. Bigg. The boyfriend's name is Brian Davies."
Brita nodded, she jotted the name in her PDA even though she already knew about Mr. Davies. “And her father asked her to stop seeing him?"
Susan Burns snorted. “Gregg doesn't ask, Detective Muldane, he demands.” Then realizing the bitter sound of that statement she smiled as if to soften it. “My husband can be difficult too, I'm afraid, though he means well. He and Debra are just too much alike, they fight like cats and dogs."
"Do you think it's possible that this young man could be behind her kidnapping?"
Susan Burns gave a little start, blinking quickly, as if the thought hadn't occurred to her before that moment. “I suppose it's possible. He does work for a known criminal organization so his character is definitely in question.” She thought for a moment, one long finger tapping at the edge of her tea cup. Then she looked up at Brita. “To tell you the truth, Detective Muldane, I'd be more inclined to believe Debra'd cooked up this kidnapping herself."
Brita's eyes widened. This was something she certainly hadn't expected. “Do you really believe she would be capable of that?"
Susan Burns gave a sad smile. “I'm afraid I do. If it meant making her father miserable."
Brita thought about this. She jotted “fake kidnapping” in her PDA, with several question marks behind it. That would certainly explain why the DA didn't seem concerned. Going with this train of thought she cocked her head at Susan Burns in practiced sympathy. “How is your husband holding up, Mrs. Burns? It must be very difficult for him, having his only child kidnapped."
The woman stared at her tea for a long time, the sharp hazel eyes hidden behind a thick arc of light brown lashes, probably Susan Burns’ most attractive feature. Then she shrugged. “He's coping. He's a very strong man."
A very unsatisfactory response.
"How about you?"
Amazingly, Susan Burns smiled. “Honestly? I'm worried about Debra, of course, but she's a really tough cookie. The kidnappers are probably more worthy of our sympathy.” She chuckled. But then the smile slid from her face and the hazel eyes found Brita's. They were filled with the brutal honesty Brita had expected from the woman. “It's a relief not having the constant bickering and screaming.” Then she shrugged, like she knew the statement made her sound cold and a little selfish, but she was unable or unwilling to avoid the admission.
Brita respected her for that at least.
As she left, she couldn't help wondering if the girl's real mother would support the new Mrs. Burns’ read on young Miss Burns. It should be an interesting interview to say the least.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eight
A huge man stood across the kitchen, a knife in his hand. Angie looked frantically for something she could use as a weapon against the intruder. He held up his empty hand and she jumped, thinking he meant to grab her. In a blind panic, she reached for one of the lightweight kitchen chairs at the table and lifted it over her head, fully intending to fling it across the room and make a run for it.
The chair came out of her hands as she swung it over her head. She stopped screaming and looked up in surprise. The chair was dangling over her head, a large hand holding it there.
Alastair smiled at the man across the room. “Hey bro."
The big man with the knife smiled back. “It's been a while since I had to fend off a hysterical female wielding a chair.” He set the knife down on the counter.
That was when Angie's nose registered the smell of cooking peppers and onions, overlaid by the sweet smell of cinnamon. Her face reddened. The man with the knife, whom she now realized had to be Alastair's brother, given the reddish-blond hair and deep resemblance, grinned at her. “I come in peace. In fact, I came to make breakfast. South of the border omelet."
Alastair set the chair back under the table and crossed the room, taking the big man into a manly type hug, with lots of back slapping. “We were just talking about you."
The big blond man turned to Angie. “Good things I hope.” He narrowed light blue-grey eyes at Angie. She quickly made note of the excessive musculature, the military buzz, and the controlled way he held himself and made a good guess.
"Clovis?"
He smiled, “Ma'am, yes ma'am."
She nodded and dropped into the chair in front of her, her hands still shaking. “Sorry. I didn't know you were coming. You surprised me."
He shook his head, clapping Alastair on the shoulder. “Never apologize for taking decisive action, little lady. I'm glad to see Stair's in good hands."
Alastair plucked a sizzling chunk of bacon from the frying pan. “Ha, ha. What are you doing here anyway?"
Clovis shrugged and turned back to his cooking. Angie noticed he was a couple of inches shorter than Alistair, and
probably a couple of inches wider. It was all muscle. “Percy thought you might need some rations. I signed up for breakfast."
Alastair opened the refrigerator and made a happy noise when he spotted three icy glasses of orange juice. He handed one to Angie and sipped his gratefully. Sitting down next to her at the table he grinned. “Clovis makes the best breakfast I've ever eaten.
Angie couldn't help smiling, “Better than yours?” She didn't believe it.
Alastair didn't even hesitate. “Absolutely. After all, his name's weirder than mine and he doesn't shop. He's got further to go with the ladies."
Angie laughed.
Clovis turned and gave his brother his best drill instructor look. “Some of us have more manly attributes to attract women. We don't count on girly things like shopping and cooking."
Alastair raised an eyebrow meaningfully. Clovis flung out a big, square hand. “Breakfast doesn't count. That's a manly meal."
Angie grinned. She decided she liked Clovis Honeybun. Suddenly she was anxious to meet all the Honeybun boys. They were certainly easy on the eyes and very entertaining from what she'd seen so far.
Clovis efficiently compiled his south of the border omelets, slid a hefty portion of sweet onion laced hash browns onto each plate, and then placed three plates on the table. He went over to the oven and reached inside to pull out something else before sitting down with them. Angie decided the mound of yummy looking stuff on the plate was probably the source of the wonderful cinnamon smell she'd noticed.
Clovis placed a warm plate full of home-made cinnamon rolls in the middle of the table.
"Oh hell no.” Alastair said with a wide smile. Then he helped himself to three of them.
Angie eagerly slid a hot cinnamon roll onto her plate and cut off a small piece, blowing on it to cool it before dropping it into her mouth. The tender, sweet dough melted against her tongue like butter. Cinnamon burst happily against her palate, accompanied by just the right amount of sweetness from the sugar. She closed her eyes and moaned. “Ohmygod! This is the best thing I've ever tasted.” She opened her eyes and smiled at Clovis. “Marry me!"