“The old lady is in her bedroom. He tied her up. I cut her loose but she’s scared of me.”
No wonder. Big Mike was six-foot-six of armed, bloodied, tattooed muscle. His shrunken t-shirt was too tight over his torso, riding higher on his arms, exposing yet more tattooed muscle. He make a Viking marauder look like a girly cheerleader. And she was a sick, sick, sick girl because she found him hot. H. O. T. But now was not the time for inappropriate lust.
She looked down at the TDR biker, his eyes shut, his body crumpled against the wall. “We should tie him up,” she said.
“No point,” Big Mike said. “He’s dead.”
Minnie sat down abruptly, the hard floor jarring her bones. The room seemed to recede. She felt a big hand on her neck, forcing her head between her legs.
“Breathe,” Big Mike instructed from somewhere far above her.
She breathed deeply, in and out. Again. And again. The room steadied. She had killed a man. She grappled with the size of that thought but had to find something smaller to focus on. There was no way she was going to convince anyone she could look after herself in this city, after this.
“He was going for a gun. You did good,” Big Mike said gently. His anger was gone, his eyes were worried.
She nodded. “I’m fine. Help me up. Mrs Previn must be going out of her mind with worry.” Her life had just changed forever. She’d handle that later.
He lifted her to her feet. His hand came under her chin and gently tilted her face up. “Okay?” he said.
She nodded. “Mrs Previn needs me.”
He looked at her a moment longer, nodded and turned away. He bent and picked the TDR biker up.
“Wha… what are you doing?” Minnie watched Big Mike drape the limp form over his shoulder. The TDR biker’s head and arms flopped against Big Mike’s butt.
“I’m going to stash his body in your apartment so Mrs Previn doesn’t see him. Tell her that he ran away.” Big Mike turned to leave, the body flopping against his back. The TDR biker’s face was upside down and pouchy, framed by lolling arms.
He was more repulsive in death than life; she would never have believed it possible.
Chapter Sixteen
Minnie headed to Mrs Previn’s bedroom to reassure her that she was now perfectly safe, and to give Big Mike time to dispose of the body. She could handle this.
Mrs Previn was sitting very upright on the side of her bed. She pulled her pale yellow, satin, frilled wrap tight around her. Minnie noticed her hands shaking.
“Mrs Previn,” Minnie rushed and gathered her close in a tight hug. “You’re safe. Don’t worry. He’s gone.” Mrs Previn felt so thin and fragile against her. This was all her fault.
Mrs Previn clung to Minnie for a moment and then fended her off. She was made of formidable stuff. “Meeenie! Tchat!” Mrs Previn gave the characteristic throaty sound of disgust she usually reserved for politicians on TV. Her English was perfect and too-formal, until she got to Minnie’s name — Minnie was always Meeenie. “A man comes to my door in the morning, enquires after your whereabouts and when I tell him that you are still away but that I have your cat, he forces his way into my apartment, ties me up and confines me to my bedroom. Meeenie!”
“I’m so sorry. It’s family trouble. My brother is coming to get me, I-“
“I am strong Meeenie, I have survived worse.” Mrs Previn always alluded darkly to Surviving Worse but Minnie never knew what that meant. “I am deeply concerned that your protector looks worse than the offender,” Mrs Previn continued.
Some instinct made her turn to the doorway. Big Mike filled it. He gave her a discreet nod. That meant the body was now safely stored in her apartment. Ugh. She hoped Big Mike hadn’t put the dead TDR biker on her couch. She giggled. Where had that come from? Mrs Previn frowned. Another giggle bubbled up in her throat, but Minnie mumbled an apology and clamped her hand over her mouth. How had her perfect, glossy new life got to the point where she was worrying about a dead man parked on her couch? Or maybe Big Mike had settled him in her iconic Jacobsen 3107 chair? She clamped her hand tighter over her mouth.
“Minnie?” Big Mike said. He held out his hand to her. His face was the usual block of wood but his eyes were kind.
Mrs Previn put her hand on Minnie’s knee. “Who exactly is this ugly, tattooed, bald man?” Mrs Previn said in a stage whisper. “He untied me but he looks as if he belongs on America’s Most Wanted.”
“Ma’am, I can hear you,” Big Mike said gently. He dropped his hand to his side.
“He isn’t ugly,” Minnie said in rush. Yes, his features were blunt-hewn but there was something solid and reassuring about his face. And he had kind eyes.
Mrs Previn continued, “Meenie, you will come with me to stay with my Leonard until your brother arrives.” Leonard was her son. Mrs Previn wanted Minnie to marry Leonard. On paper, Leonard was the perfect partner for Minnie.
“Ma’am, Minnie will be coming with me,” Big Mike said.
“Tchat! Is he one of your boyfriends, Meeenie?” Mrs Previn’s face would have inverted with disapproval if it were physically possible.
Big Mike crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. His shrunken t-shirt was a second skin. His face was impassive but Minnie felt his sharpened attention. “One of her boyfriends? How many does she have?”
“None,” Minnie said to him. A year in New York as a target for every merchant banker and stockbroker who wanted a trophy girlfriend — she was the dating equivalent of a twelve-point buck — but she was still single. Why is that, Minnie?
“My Leonard has a good job, Meeenie. You know he has just been promoted to Financial Director.”
“I’m unemployed,“ Big Mike said cheerfully.
Mrs Previn pressed on. “My Leonard has a beautiful home.”
“I haven’t lived in the same place for more than eight months in the last decade.” This was in response to Mrs Previn’s statement but he was looking at Minnie.
“My Leonard cooks. His roast chicken is better than mine,” Mrs Previn said.
Minnie looked at Big Mike, like a sports fan at a tennis match.
“I can field dress a squirrel and cook it outdoors. Two, if I have a date.” He ran his hand over his bald head.
Mrs Previn went for the jugular. “My Leonard dresses nicely and he does not mark his skin.”
Minnie’s head swung back to Big Mike. He paused as if hunting for a rebuttal but then he shrugged, “I got nothin’. Tattooed at seventeen. None since then.”
Leonard was a successful, handsome, stable businessman with a great career and a wonderful family. Big Mike was… Big Mike. By comparison, Leonard was as inviting as cooling bath water. But she should want Leonard.
Because nobody wanted biker trash wearing the Delilah’s Intrigue showpiece Dream Bustier. They wouldn’t want a girl who turned her head when a Hog roared down the street, who drank beer, who snorted when she laughed, and who had won a competition in a biker bar at sixteen for the filthiest joke of the night. It involved a goat, a sinking ship and a ship’s captain…
Minnie pulled Mrs Previn into a careful hug. “Mrs Previn, I have to go. We’ll send someone to fix your door straight away.” Mrs Previn held her tight for a moment and then released her, her face sad.
“Tchat!”
Minnie walked over to Big Mike. “Let’s go,” she said.
He looked down at her. “Are you all right?” he asked softly, just for her ears. His hand reached up to cup her cheek.
She caught it and pushed it down. “I’m fine,” she said.
Chapter Seventeen
The dead body was rolled in her blue-and-white duvet. Big Mike had dumped it in the middle of her sitting-room. Boots was curled up on it.
“Darling,” Minnie cooed and snatched up her cat. She must have dived straight through the cat flap after she fled Mrs Previn’s apartment.
Big Mike loomed over her. She tried to sidestep him but he moved with her. Boots hissed at him. Bootsie had
an unforgiving nature.
“Minnie, you jumped off the balcony to escape from your apartment.” He ran his hand over his bald head. “What the hell were you thinking? I looked over the edge of that balcony and I couldn’t see if your body was lying in the alley below. I was on my way downstairs to see if you were dead in the alley, when I heard you scream.”
“I’m not going home with Crash,” she said. Some of her desperation was in her voice.
“Minnie, I’m not the enemy,” he said softly. “I need you to promise me you won’t run from me, again.”
She opened her mouth to tell him what he wanted to hear, but he held up his hand.
“Don’t lie to me, Minnie.”
The empty promise she had been about to deliver, died on her lips.
“Your fashion show is real important to you. I get that. You can stay and do it. I’ll keep you safe until it’s over,” he said.
“What about your job in Washington?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t made any decisions yet.”
“And after the show?”
“You go home with your family. It’s the safest place for you.” His jaw was set.
“They won’t let me come back,” she said.
“It’s the safest place for you, short-term,” he said.
A week’s grace was a small compromise but it was better than nothing. If Big Mike agreed to guard her, there was a good chance that Crash would let her stay that extra week. “I’m not sure I’ll be in the show once Graham Fother releases those photographs he took earlier,” she said, lifting Boots so she could bury her face in the comfort of her warm fur.
“If I want to penetrate the north side of a compound, I set an explosion on the south side to draw their attention away.”
She set Boots on the floor. “You’re saying I should create a diversion?”
He nodded. “Other photographs. An announcement, maybe?”
“I could release a full-frontal, nude shot,” she said. He was making a lot of sense.
“No, not that,” he said firmly.
“You’re right, Delilah’s Intrigue wouldn’t like that.” Inspiration struck. Whoa! “Fable has a new single coming out — he’s a publicity hound and he’s totally into me! He keeps sending me flowers.”
He frowned. “Who is Fable?”
“I think you’ve been living under a rock,” she said fondly, patting his chest. “He’s a famous singer.” Her agent could arrange for her to have dinner with Fable, maybe as soon as tonight. There were a few trusted photographers who could take pictures of them to-
Big Mike’s hand trapped and covered her hand. For a moment she felt the heat of his skin through his thin t-shirt and the steady beat of his heart.
She withdrew her hand from under his. “I’ll be keeping my phone and credit card, of course.”
“Crash’s credit card,” he said, but his mild tone indicated he wasn’t really voicing an objection. “Do we have a deal, Minnie?”
“I won’t run for a week,” she said. “Deal.” There would be opportunity to escape from Big Mike and her brother, after the show, in a week.
It seemed only fair to return Big Mike’s credit card and cash.
Chapter Eighteen
Thirty minutes later, the four of them — Minnie, her cat Boots, Big Mike and the dead TDR biker — got into the elevator. Minnie punched the button for the lobby and then retreated to the corner furthest from the body, holding Bootsie’s mauve cat carrier in front of her. Big Mike had the dead, duvet-wrapped biker hoisted over his shoulder and carried her overnight bag in his other hand. His black leather jacket hung open over his torn and shrunken t-shirt. His t-shirt was so tight, the tears had become wide, gaping slashes, revealing the chiseled, tattooed muscle of his torso. Big Mike hadn’t said anything to her about his poorly laundered top, so Minnie pretended to be blithely unaware of his peepshow t-shirt.
Minnie fixed her attention on the number display above the elevator doors. She had conferred with her agent, while packing her clothes, and dinner with Fable was already organized for eight o’clock that night. She was getting her life under control again. The doors started to slide shut-
“Hold the elevator,” a breathless voice sounded from outside.
Big Mike cursed at the same time she did. Minnie dropped Bootsie’s carrier and leapt to the control panel, jabbing the close—the-doors button hard. Bootsie miaowed in protest. The doors were almost shut when the gold tip of an ebony cane appeared in the gap. The doors slid open to reveal Ms Garvin. She was about half Minnie’s height and was always immaculately turned out with white upswept hair and carmine tinted mouth and nails. Today, she was wearing a neat, navy trouser suit with a jaunty, outsized, red peony brooch on the right lapel.
“Sorry, I must have hit the wrong button,” Minnie lied, retreating as Ms Garvin forged inside, tapping her stick on the floor. Minnie scooped up Bootsie’s carrier and went to stand behind Big Mike. She tried to keep her eyes fixed between his shoulder blades and away from the duvet-shrouded shape now only inches from her. She was sure the eye-level round mass under the duvet, was the dead biker’s lolling head.
Big Mike reached forward, her overnight bag swinging in his hand, and punched the ground floor button repeatedly with a knuckle, even though it was already lit. The elevator doors seemed to take a long time to slide shut.
Ms Garvin smiled. “Our Beautiful Minnie! Home again! Lovely. And this is your young man?”
“Ms Garvin, this is Bi-“
“I’m Michael Williams, Ma’am,” Big Mike said, dropping Minnie’s overnight bag on the floor, swinging around and giving Ms Garvin’s outstretched fingers a perfunctory clutch with his left hand. The duvet-clad corpse hit the side of the elevator with a dull thunk.
“What a lovely peony brooch!” Minnie shrieked, to cover up the sound.
“You don’t recognize it, Minnie? Darling girl, you gave it to me. From your Vogue shoot. She’s so generous. A good girl, as kind as she is beautiful,” Ms Garvin said, aiming the latter at Big Mike. “A keeper.” He kept his eyes trained on the number display, watching it count down.
Minnie didn’t remember the brooch — she gave most of her booty from her photo shoots away to her neighbors.
Minnie blinked, hardly believing her eyes. A lifeless arm was now hanging out of the bottom of the duvet. She instantly pressed herself up against Big Mike’s back. He jumped like a startled bobcat. The dead hand was sandwiched between their bodies, clutching at his buttocks. Dear God, he thinks I’m groping him. She slid her arm around his waist to stop him bolting like a skittish virgin.
“Big Mike appreciates me,” Minnie purred.
“Lovely. Enjoy each other.” Ms Garvin leaned heavily on her stick, “Look at those muscled haunches. Your young man must be a jackhammer in bed!”
What was she supposed to do? Disagree? Agree? Big Mike’s buttocks were the male flesh equivalent of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel but this was a conversational cliff. She darted a look up at the back of Big Mike’s head. His ears were reddening. There was no point protesting that he wasn’t her boyfriend because she was glued to him and he was holding a pile of her bedding. Her overnight bag was resting at his feet. She couldn’t allow Ms Garvin to speculate about the contents of that duvet. “Yessirree. A jackhammer!” Minnie whooped and leaned back far enough so the dead hand was hidden but she could swat Big Mike hard on his butt.
To his credit, he remained immobile, his eyes fixed on the number display. Ms Garvin giggled. Mercifully, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Ms Garvin trotted out, adding a cheery farewell over her shoulder, “And remember to wrap the rascal! Use protection. No glove, no love!”
Danger averted! Minnie picked up Bootsie’s carrier and followed Ms Garvin. She had to get away from that body. Big Mike blocked her exit. The body bounced off the side of the elevator with a dull boing.
“Relax. I wasn’t copping a feel. His arm fell out,” Minnie said.
“Pity,” he s
aid or at least that was what she thought he said. Was it a pity she hadn’t groped him or a pity that the arm fell out?
“How can you be so careless with a dead person? It’s disrespectful. Try and treat him like… like an easily-bruised peach.” She pushed past him to exit the elevator. She heard another muffled boing behind her.
Big Mike caught up with her in the parking lot. The errant arm had been stuffed back into the duvet. Big Mike spoke, “The old lady — does she have dementia?”
“What? Ms Garvin? Dementia? Oh no. Much worse. She’s a retired sex therapist,” Minnie slowed so he could walk beside her. “Mrs Previn — you met her — is a retired cook and gives people recipes, Mr Maynard — he’s my neighbor on the other side — is a retired economist and hands out investment advice. Ms Garvin gives me… um… tips. Diagrams.” Minnie hadn’t had the chance to use them, yet. She found herself wondering if they would work with someone as tall as Big Mike—
“Is everyone here retired?” The sun shone down on them, making his bald pate gleam.
“I’m the only resident under sixty-five. It’s the reason Crash and Daddy picked this apartment building. Nice and quiet and safe.” Except for the odd crazed biker trying to kidnap you.
“Your family chooses where you live?” He frowned but kept pace with her quickening steps.
“You’re shocked?” She snorted. “You were holding me prisoner until my brother arrived, Michael Williams. How are you any different to them?”
Chapter Nineteen
Big Mike stopped beside a large black van. It had darkly tinted windows. While she had packed her clothing, Big Mike had made a call to Rocco, explained the situation and had asked to borrow a vehicle. Minnie had been impressed with how few questions Rocco had asked. And hey presto, here was the van, exactly as ordered! It took her longer to get Chinese delivered.
The plan was to drive outside the city, find a piece of deserted woodland and bury the dead biker. Big Mike opened the rear doors. The van had been left unlocked. Big Mike tossed the duvet-wrapped body inside. It landed with a solid thud next to a shovel and three large tubs of lime. Minnie pressed her hand against her stomach. She was a Coolidge and the sight of a well-wrapped, dead body alongside the supplies necessary to dispose of that body, should not nauseate her. But watching Big Mike throw two limp bodies into the back of two different vans, in the span of one day, was too much for any girl.
On the Run (Big Mike and Minnie Book 1) Page 6