On the Run (Big Mike and Minnie Book 1)

by Kelly, Susan Amanda

  Rocco slapped Big Mike on his shoulder. “Big Mike, let’s talk about it.”

  “Grande latte. Extra hot. Half-soy. Four sugar-free, hazelnut flavor shots,” Minnie said. “Please.”

  “Uh… we have regular coffee,” Rocco offered.

  She scrunched her nose in distaste. “Big Mike, can we stop at a coffee shop on the way to my apartment?” She moved her legs so her skirt shifted a little higher on her thighs. Rocco had moved to the left of Big Mike and was staring at her legs, again.

  “Sure, Minnie,” Big Mike said, giving Rocco a nudge to get him moving, herding him away from her like a Collie with an errant sheep.

  Minnie settled back and opened her Vogue. She smiled. All was going to plan.

  Chapter Ten

  Big Mike took one last look at Minnie before the board room doors closed behind him. He was uneasy letting her out of his sight. Her blonde head was bent over an open magazine. She looked like she was waiting for a dental appointment.

  There was one other man besides Rocco, in the boardroom. Big Mike didn’t know him but he recognized his type. Ex-military. He looked incapable of slouching. Rocco introduced him as Ben Jones. Firm handshake. Dark hair, and dark, watchful eyes. Taller than average height but still much shorter than himself. He wouldn’t turn his back on this man.

  The boardroom was functional and hi-tech. A solid wooden table that could seat twenty-five people dominated the room. Large monitors covered the interior wall. The exterior wall was glass. Big Mike wandered over to it. Heights never bothered him. The streets immediately around the building were quiet because it was a Saturday morning. During the week, those same streets would be beetling with cars and people. How had Minnie known he hated cities?

  Rocco spoke, “This could be your view.”

  “The building is well-fortified,” Big Mike said. “Any reason for that?”

  Rocco smiled. “I remember how you never miss anything. Take a seat.”

  Rocco hadn’t answered his question. Big Mike took a seat exactly halfway down the table. He angled his chair towards Rocco. Ben Jones sat to the right of Rocco. His righthand man?

  “What’s the job, Rocco?” Big Mike said.

  “I’m starting a new division. Vitruvius Specialist Security Solutions.”

  “Vitruvius is a private military company, not a private security company. Do you want to start guarding malls?” Big Mike said. As a private military company, Vitruvius offered most of the services of an independent army, internationally. The only exception was that they couldn’t put private soldiers into battle in a war zone — they would be considered unlawful combatants under international law.

  Rocco spoke, “I’m hiring specialists to provide boutique services. Those services would fall somewhere in that zone between the police and the military.”

  “Like?”

  Rocco shrugged. “We’re not limiting the scope. Hostage negotiation. Counter-terrorism consultancy. Theft prevention. Personal protection. Threat evaluation. Surveillance.”

  “Who’s the customer? The rich?”

  “I never turn money away, but we don’t need it. We will be fully funded by the rest of Vitruvius.”

  Which meant near-unlimited funding.

  “You can choose your own projects,” Rocco said.

  That was tempting. “I came here intending to say no,” Big Mike said.

  Rocco named a figure that made him blink. “That’s your salary without bonuses. If you don’t like the city, we’ll find you a place to live outside of it.”

  “You don’t have any questions for me?” Big Mike said.

  “I know everything I need to know about you,” Rocco said. “You’d be a valuable addition to the team.”

  Big Mike weighed the offer. His mind wandered off task onto Minnie. He dragged it back to Rocco’s offer. The whole set-up was strange. No clearly identified services, no clearly identified customer and no need to make a profit. The building was fortified. Most troubling of all, were the rumors about Rocco’s paranoia. Years ago, he would have been able to ask his friend about the whispers, but that time was long gone.

  “I don’t need to hear your answer now,” Rocco said and stood. “Go away and think about it.”

  Rocco had sensed he was heading towards a no and had tried to forestall it. Big Mike got to his feet. “Thanks, but no-thanks,” he said. He shook hands with both men.

  “I don’t need an answer now. The offer is an open one. Your hotel room is booked for the weekend. You might as well stay and watch a show. You never know, you might find a reason to stay in New York,” Rocco said.

  “I doubt it,” Big Mike said.

  “Call me if you need anything. Tickets to a show, a game. Anything,” Rocco said.

  Rocco pushed the boardroom doors wide open. Big Mike checked to see that Minnie was where she was supposed to be. Her blonde head was still bent over an open magazine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rocco said farewell to the beautiful Minnie Coolidge and activated the elevator so she and Big Mike could leave. He returned to the boardroom. Ben Jones had switched on the monitors mounted on the wall. They showed the interior of an elevator — Big Mike and Minnie were in it.

  Ben Jones whistled, low and appreciative. “She’s not with him, is she? She’s gorgeous.”

  Rocco positioned himself in front of the screens, his hands clasped behind his back. Big Mike was holding up his leather jacket behind Minnie so she could put her arms into it. She thrust her arms into the jacket and wrapped it tight around herself. Big Mike lifted her hair away from the collar. His hand lingered momentarily, letting the golden strands fall through his splayed fingers.

  “You didn’t take the job, did you?” she turned to look at Big Mike. He dropped his hands to his side. The woman’s voice emerged from invisible speakers.

  Big Mike shrugged. “I didn’t understand what they were offering me.”

  The blonde frowned. “That makes no sense, Sasquatch.”

  Ben Jones laughed. “Sasquatch? She’s not with him, for sure.”

  “He’s supposed to be protecting her for one day until her brother gets here,” Rocco said to Ben Jones, keeping his eyes fixed on the couple.

  The woman continued, “So how long will you be in town?”

  “I’ll head out as soon as your brother arrives,” Big Mike said. “Washington D.C.”

  “She’s Crash Coolidge’s sister,” Rocco said in response to Ben Jones’ unspoken question.

  Ben Jones winced.

  The couple stood side by side, staring at the elevator doors, waiting for them to open.

  “Don’t forget you promised me a cup of coffee on the way to my apartment,” Minnie Coolidge said.

  Big Mike nodded.

  Rocco switched off the monitors. Ben Jones came to stand beside him and spoke. “Offer him more money. Or shares-“

  Rocco shook his head. “He isn’t interested in our money.”

  “Tell him the truth about the unit.”

  “It’s too soon. Even I can hear how crazy I sound,” Rocco said. “But, we might have something he needs besides money.”

  “What?” Ben Jones said.

  “Resources. We can help him keep her safe.”

  “He’s capable of doing that by himself,” Ben Jones said. “Did you see the size of that fucker! He looks like he could run straight through a brick wall and not feel it.”

  “If the situation escalates, he might need my help.” Rocco stared out of the floor-to-ceiling windows but he wasn’t seeing the city spreading out from his tower. “That’s the first step in a partnership. Jones, find out everything you can about TDR and the Coolidges. Everything.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Minnie made the cab stop a block short of her apartment, outside the coffee shop from which she often bought a green tea half-soy latte.

  “Wait here. Reserve us an outside table,” she said to Big Mike. The wind picked up a plastic bag and floated it past their ankles.

>   “It’s freezing. There’s nobody else here,” he pointed out. The three cafe tables outside the coffee shop were empty. “Are you planning on running out the back entrance, Minnie?”

  Yes. “It’s a popular spot — it fills up quickly,” she mumbled. The deserted sidewalk and tables gave lie to her words.

  Inside, she claimed she had to use the restroom. But Big Mike followed her and checked inside the restroom first. He took up a position right outside the door, spread his legs and crossed his arms.

  “If you lurk outside the ladies’ restroom,” Minnie said, “people will think you’re a pervert.”

  He rested one shoulder against the wall. Minnie slammed the door on his annoying, outwardly impassive face. She took her time using the facilities. Once she was done, she put the toilet lid down and hopped up on it. There was a single window above the toilet big enough to squeeze through. Minnie got her fingernails under it and tugged. It had been painted shut years ago. One of her nails broke off. She cursed.

  “Everything all right in there?” Big Mike tapped on the door.

  “Go away,” she yelled. “I’m in the middle of a bowel movement.” She wanted to beat her hands on the window, with frustration. It had probably been screwed shut on the outside. Big Mike was going to hand her over to her brother in a few hours. And then he was leaving town. Without a backward look.

  She hopped lightly off the toilet and flushed it.

  Minnie turned the taps on and washed her hands vigorously. Her reflection, in the washstand mirror, was a depressing sight. She was hideous — barely a six out of ten. No moisturizer, not enough sleep, and high winds had turned her skin ruddy and her hair into a disordered thatch. She did not look like an almost-supermodel. And she wasn’t going to get the chance to become a supermodel if she didn’t shake Big Mike off. If she was trying so hard to escape him, why did she feel so ruffled at the thought of him walking away from her, without a backward look, a few hours from now? Maybe because she had sat in Rocco’s waiting-room, toying with the idea of fooling around with Big Mike. He looked like a biker and had a biker ‘tude without being a biker. Yum.

  She turned off the taps and opened the door. “I need more fibre in my diet,” she announced to Big Mike and a startled stranger who was passing behind him.

  Big Mike quirked an eyebrow. She glanced back over her shoulder. There were two footprints imprinted on the top of the closed toilet lid. He had seen them.

  They stood in line to order their drinks. Big Mike was a looming presence beside her.

  When he took her hand, his touch was surprisingly gentle, almost tender. He was rubbing the tip of his finger over her ragged, torn nail. “Crash never knows when he’s beaten either,” he said. His tone was admiring.

  He lifted her hand to his mouth. Minnie held her breath. His lips brushed her fingers. She melted inside. If he had this effect on her, just by kissing her fingers what would happen if he kissed her lips? His mouth engulfed her index finger, a warm, wet slide. Minnie’s teeth closed on her bottom lip to stop the moan that rose from deep in her throat. Then he bit down on her torn nail. Eh?

  He dropped her hand back to her side, pulling the tiny piece of fingernail from his mouth and brushing his fingers against his jeans.

  “What are you having?” a chirpy voice asked from behind her. They were at the front of the line and she hadn’t even noticed. She turned. A smiling, pony-tailed barista was waiting for her order.

  Minnie gathered her scattered wits. She didn’t really want a drink. She had engineered this side trip to give herself an opportunity to escape but Big Mike was too vigilant. They were only a block from her apartment. He’d probably let his guard down in her apartment but it was so small there was no way she could escape unnoticed unless she somehow distracted him… Whoa! A brilliant idea had popped into her head.

  She happily ordered a large hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and sprinkles and waited for Big Mike to pay for it. He ordered black coffee for himself.

  “Do you want something else with that?” He had turned towards her so he didn’t notice the young barista’s eyes lingering on the muscled, tattooed arm he had braced on the counter.

  “No. This is breakfast,” Minnie said, frowning at the barista.

  Big Mike added a sandwich to the order. “You can’t live on chocolate.”

  “I’m a model. I hoard calories and spend them like a miser.”

  “You just ordered hot chocolate with cream and sprinkles.”

  “A rare treat,” she said. She never drank hot chocolate. No, the hot chocolate was for him. He was going to be wearing it shortly. She was going to stumble and pour it over him. He would have to take some time to clean himself up in her apartment and she would then be able to escape.

  Outside, feeling cheerier, Minnie wove between the tables.

  “Minerva,” a voice yelled. She turned. A man came at her, his hands outstretched, holding something. She barely had time to recoil when she was swept behind a big, male body. Big Mike’s big, male body. There was a split-second tussle and the man was facedown on the ground with Big Mike’s knee in his back. Big Mike’s sandwich lay on the ground, in a puddle of coffee, near his empty cup.

  “Minnie, get back inside the coffee shop,” Big Mike said. He pulled one of the man’s arms out straight and high above his back, locking it in some kind of fancy judo hold. The man on the ground gibbered.

  This was eerily like the situation in the parking lot, earlier in the day, except… the man on the ground was wearing an expensive, charcoal winter coat. She was sure the coat was from Fendi’s recent show. Minnie frowned. Unless TDR was attracting a better class of biker, this man was not a member of the outlaw motorcycle club.

  “I said. Get. Inside. The Coffee Shop. Now!”

  Minnie scurried past them, past the camera, toward the coffee-

  Camera.

  An expensive Nikon camera lay half under one of the tables.

  Minnie turned back and bent to get a closer look at the prone man. His face was squished up against the sidewalk and was beet red, but he was familiar. Oh no.

  Big Mike yelled at her to get inside the coffee shop. His language was blue.

  “Big Mike, I know this man! Let him up. Let him up. It’s Graham Fother. Omigid, Graham, are you all right?”

  She slapped at Big Mike’s broad shoulders, trying to push him off the prone man. “He’s a photographer. He’s an icon! Get off him,” she hissed.

  Big Mike dropped Graham’s arm and stood. Graham just lay there, groaning. “Pick him up,” Minnie instructed. Big Mike reached down and hauled the man to his feet by the back of his coat. Minnie winced. It was a crime against fashion to treat a Fendi coat that way. Graham swayed on his feet. His fine, blonde hair, usually set in a comb-over, was standing erect around his head as if he had been electrocuted. Graham Fother was an iconic street photographer who wielded a terrible power. This man took pictures of her that made her look like a goddess. He could just as easily make her appear a worn, old hag. “Graham, darling, I am so, so, so very sorry.” She straightened the lapels of his coat and brushed dirt off his front. Graham’s mouth moved, his jowls quivering, but no sound emerged. He was in shock.

  “Put him on a chair,” she instructed Big Mike. She pulled out a seat from a table. “Here. This one.” She tried to pat Graham’s blond comb-over back in place. That seemed to bring the man around. His eyes focused and his jowls started to quiver anew. “Forgive him,” Minnie said quickly before Graham could work up a head of steam. “He’s my security guard and he has no idea who you are.”

  “He treated me like a… like a paparazzo,” Graham sputtered.

  “Dreadful, I know. But he knows nothing about fashion. Look at his clothes.” She gestured at Big Mike’s biker-casual look. “His look is so nineties,” she said. But hot.

  Graham’s mouth curled into a sneer as his eyes swept over Big Mike. Big Mike was standing as if carved from stone. Apologize, she mouthed at him.

&nb
sp; Big Mike crossed his arms. That eyebrow of his moved a fraction of an inch.

  Please, Minnie mouthed and slapped her hands together, soundlessly, like a performing seal.

  “I’m sorry,” Big Mike addressed Graham. “But you shouldn’t charge at people like that.”

  What kind of apology was that? “He’s pursuing his art,” Minnie snapped. “Graham, I insist that you send me your dry-cleaning bill.” She picked his camera up. Thank heavens, it wasn’t visibly damaged.

  Graham rubbed his shoulder and rolled it backwards and forwards. He looked from Big Mike to Minnie. She could practically see the outrage building in him like a head of steam. “La Belle et la Bete,” he said, spraying some spittle on the hard T sound. Beauty and the Beast.

  Minnie pasted a smile on her face. “Is your camera all right? Why not try a test shot. Perhaps one of me, in the sun? I can take off this leather jacket.” Minnie handed him his camera. Graham took it, but with his other hand, he was trying to dislodge a pink object from his lapel. It wouldn’t budge. It was bubblegum, Minnie realized with horror.

  Graham frowned down at his lapel. He drew in a deep breath. This was clearly the final straw. “Non!” Graham Fother said and stormed away from them, down the street.

  Minnie watched him go. It was like watching her career dreams recede on an ebb tide. She wanted to call the tide back in but knew it was futile. “You! What were you thinking?” Minnie turned on Big Mike instead.

  “I was protecting you from what looked like an attack.”

  “Graham Fother will ruin me,” she said. How could she ram the enormity of what had just happened into his large, bald head?

  “How?”

  “He’ll take terrible pictures of me and make up unflattering captions.” She had a social media following of ten million people. She controlled her public image — the steady stream of news snippets and photographs of her — very carefully. Ten million followers could quickly turn into ten followers. “The only mercy is that he didn’t get a picture of me looking like this, wearing your jacket.”