Gone Duck

by L. L. Muir

  “Anybody got some gum?” She flipped her nose with her thumb and sniffed. Yeah, she was badass.

  Cop Dracula held up a handful of paystubs. “Who is Mortimer Coffee?”

  She grinned. “I am.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Macey wasn’t handcuffed, but she was told to sit on a long wooden bench with some pretty gnarly looking characters who could’ve walked off the set of Duck Dynasty. She studied them one glance at a time, to use in a future book.

  She was tempted to ask what they were in for, but she didn’t want to insult them. Maybe they weren’t any more guilty than she was.

  The older man turned to the younger one and said, “You could use a bath.”

  The younger one blushed, glanced at her, and blushed harder.

  “Couldn’t we all?” she said.

  Then she heard it. From across the room. A cop on the phone, turned away from her. The whisper, “More coffee.”

  Or did he mean, Mor Coffee?

  From behind the protective glass came, “Yeah, Mortimer Coffee.”

  Shit.

  Cop Dracula must’ve spilled the beans. For seven years, she’d kept her penname a secret. Of course, the ones who really wanted to find her could do it easily enough, thanks to the internet. But what was not so easy to discover was the fact that Mortimer Coffee was really a woman.

  Damn, damn, damn!

  Cop Dracula had just cost her a chunk of change. Little boys didn’t want to know that their favorite author was a giiiirl.

  This is what she got for not buying her own house. But she kind of liked knowing she wasn’t alone at night, that even though she disliked them, there were kids in beds—thankfully, asleep and silent—but there, just the same. And Hot Neighbor was close enough at hand to come running if she had reason to scream her head off. Besides, Pepperidge Manor was historical and delicious, even if it had been sectioned off into apartments. If she’d known there were secret passages…

  Macey wished she would’ve stumbled across them on her own so she wouldn’t have looked so clueless in front of Cop Dracula.

  Speak of the devil.

  CD—as she preferred to think of him now—started down the hall toward her, serious and stoic. A cop stopped him, spoke in his ear, and made the mistake of touching his suit. Whatever he’d said hadn’t made CD happy either. He turned his cold gaze on her, then reluctantly nodded. The cop turned and grinned at her.

  Macey closed her eyes and sighed. She knew exactly what was coming.

  CD stood back while the officer squatted in front of her and held out a clipboard with a blank notepad attached. The look CD gave her over the cop’s shoulder promised she’d be made to pay for every minute he was forced to wait for her.

  The cop cleared his throat. “Um. Ma’am. I, uh...I have two boys at home who are your biggest fans. I mean your biggest.” He grinned. “I would really be a hero if I took home Mortimer Coffe’s autograph. Would you mind?”

  Macey gave him a big smile. “No problem.” She took the clipboard and a pen from the guy. “Just do me a little favor, would you?”

  “Anything.”

  She glanced at CD. His eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t tell them I’m a girl,” she whispered. “And don’t tell them I was dragged into a police station.” She turned to the men beside her. “No offense.”

  The bearded ones had apparently heard of Mortimer Coffee too. They grinned at her like they’d just hit the jackpot. Maybe they were already planning the blackmail.

  The cop tossed a scowl over his shoulder at CD. “You weren’t really dragged, ma’am, were you?”

  She tapped the pen on her chin and considered the creepy agent for a second. He didn’t seem to care at all what the officer thought about him. Complaining that her rights were violated wouldn’t do any good, but even if it could, she just couldn’t seem to do it in front of a fan. She wouldn’t give the cop any reason to go home and tell his boys that Mortimer Coffee was a vindictive…witch.

  “No. I wasn’t dragged. I was invited. Nicely.”

  CD frowned at his watch. “Come on,” he said and gestured for her to get up, then started to turn to lead her away. But he was stopped by a dozen officers in various uniforms, all lined up like it was a cop-book signing.

  The Duck boys grinned at her for the next hour. Macey assumed the officer in charge of their own case was either delayed elsewhere or standing in line for her autograph. They all looked a little disappointed when she declined to have her picture taken. Then she reminded everyone of the secret they needed to keep. But even though they were cops, she didn’t trust them to keep their mouths shut any better than CD had. There were too many cell phones casually aimed in her direction. Her secret would be out before the week was over.

  When CD finally pushed his way through the little crowd and offered her his arm, she was almost relieved. He led her to an elevator, up to the third floor, then to an ominous looking room with a one-way mirror on the wall to her left. The room wasn’t nearly as clean as those on TV.

  He reached below the table and flipped a switch. She had no way of knowing if he’d turned something on or off.

  She sat in the designated bad-guy seat and waved at the mirror just in case something was going to hit the internet. If Mortimer Coffee was going to be outed as a female, she needed to be charming.

  The guys in cheap suits filed in and moved to each side of the mirror. Behind them came yet another grinning cop with a tray of waters, sodas, and a paper plate piled with donuts. The one on top was covered with pink sprinkles like a little crown meant for her. From beneath the tray, he slid a fresh notepad, then looked surprised to find it there.

  “Well, as long as I’m here,” he said.

  She laughed and held out a hand. “Do you have a pen?”

  He searched his pockets. His eyes widened.

  “That’s okay. He has one.” She turned her open hand toward CD.

  He clicked his fingers and a cheap suit stepped forward and handed him a pen. CD passed it to her. His face was a mask of polite plaster, but the nervous glances the cheap suits sent his way from time to time made her uneasy. Pissing this guy off would be a mistake.

  “My kids are Jayden and Hallie,” the cop informed her.

  She asked how the names were spelled, then started her scribbling. “Listen, officer,” she said. “Could you spread the word that Mortimer Coffee has left the building? We’ve got some business to take care of so I can get home.”

  “Wow. You live here? In Salt Lake?”

  “No. Just staying with a friend for a few days.” She handed him the notepad. “Tell your kids I said thanks for reading.”

  The guy started backing toward the door like she was the Queen of England or something. “I will. I will. And I’ll tell everybody you’re gone. You won’t be interrupted.”

  “Thank you, Officer,” CD said. He opened the buttons on his coat and lowered himself into the chair across from her. “We’ll count on it.”

  She bit her lip and waited.

  “Who is this friend you are staying with?” he asked casually.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t let them know I live here. They’ll be bringing their kids by, flying kites past my house, hoping for a peek at the crazy writer lady.”

  He nodded. Hopefully that meant he believed her. “Where did you first meet your neighbor?”

  “Look,” she said, “I don’t know anything about the guy in the rear apartment. We never talk. I’m a recluse for the most part. I’m working all the time. I don’t socialize with the rest of the house. I don’t barbeque. When any of the neighbors knock on my door, I usually ignore them. I’m that antisocial.”

  He smirked. “Then perhaps you can tell me why he had this hanging on his fridge?” He tossed a card onto the table. A thank you note, addressed to Neighbor Dude.

  She didn’t need to read it. She knew what it said. But CD picked it up and read it anyway.

  “‘Dear Neighbor Dude. Thank you for
sacrificing your whole day for me. You really helped me out of a jam. You have a talent for doing me. Maybe I’ll ask again. Signed, Crazy Chick Next Door.’” He tossed the card back on the table. “Sounds like you did more than barbeque together.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I realize it sounds bad, but I’d already written it and it was my last thank you note.”

  “You send thank you notes to all your…dates?”

  Macey took a deep breath and tried to let it out slowly. If the guy was determined to find her guilty of something, she was going to have to watch her step.

  “I do school visits.” She shrugged. “You know, go around to schools and talk about being a writer and let kids ask questions about my books. But I can’t go as me, or they’ll know I’m a woman. So I always hire a guy to do me. To play me.”

  She could feel herself blushing and it pissed her off. Her mind usually didn’t dive into the gutter. She blamed it on present company.

  “I hire them to play the role of Mortimer Coffee.” She wished she’d said it right the first time. “I stand behind a curtain with a headset and tell the guy what to say. That way, he doesn’t have to know all the answers. I can just hire a model in whichever state I’m in. I had a model lined up for a local school visit and he backed out at the last minute. Neighbor Dude”—she was careful not to call him Hot Neighbor—“was home that day and available. So he did it. We didn’t even ride together. He just met me there. He was really good. I didn’t even need to prompt him with the answers because he knew the books. He’d actually read them. I was flattered and I was grateful. And I didn’t want to wait another week before I sent him a thank you note.”

  “Why another week?”

  She took a deep, cleansing breath and told herself it didn’t matter what this man thought about her personally. He only had to realize she had no part of whatever trouble Hot Neighbor was into. Surely he’d realize it in a minute or two.

  “Unless I’m on a book tour, I only leave the house a couple times a month, okay?”

  CD smiled. Not like he was laughing at her, but like he was a little too pleased with her answer.

  “That is interesting, Miss McDaniels.” He pointed to the note card. “Because it seems our boy here did exactly the same.”

  Only left a couple of times a month?

  She shook her head. “Wait a minute. That’s news to me. Interesting even. But that doesn’t mean we know each other. I call him Neighbor Dude, for hellsakes.”

  “And the convenient secret passage from his apartment into yours?”

  She frowned and forced the image of that trap door out of her mind. “You said that before, but you never let me get a look at it. All I saw was my bookcase wall with a fridge-sized hole blown through it.”

  “My man says the explosion was an attempt to hide the passage…and a few other things our boy probably didn’t want us to know.”

  She shook her head slowly first, then faster. “Seriously, whatever he was into, I don’t really want to know about it.” Mostly because her imagination would run wild with it, like it did with everything else. Once you let your imagination run wild—intentionally, and for years—it was pretty hard to rein it back in. It was one of the reasons she didn’t want to sleep alone in her own house.

  The guy pulled out his phone and answered it with a “What?” as he stepped into the hall.

  She hadn’t heard it ring or vibrate. Maybe he was pretending too. Did she dare ask for a better look at his badge? But then again, the local boys seemed to think he was legit.

  Both cheap suits stared her down, probably trying to make her cower and confess, but she didn’t have anything to confess about. Well, except that trap door in her closet. Macey ignored them while trying to look bored and innocent for whoever was on the other side of the mirror. She resisted the urge to trim her fingernails with her teeth. Two minutes later, CD was back. He was cheerful again.

  “You don’t want to know what he was into? Are you sure?” He pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her, then leaned forward. “Because, as it turns out, Neighbor Dude was pretty into you. He had cameras and microphones throughout your apartment. For some reason, your boyfriend doesn’t trust you much.”

  The idea of being spied on made her physically ill. She could feel her stomach turning.

  “I’m going to be sick,” she whispered.

  CD got up and left. He returned quickly with a black trash can lined with an empty clear bag in it. He put it on the table, but he didn’t sit down again. Probably because he was worried she might blow chunks in his direction.

  “You do look green.” He pushed the can closer to her.

  Her head was swimming. CD wasn’t in any hurry to believe her, so the room already felt like a jail cell. But if he did release her, where could she go? There was a hole in the side of her home. There was a hole in the floor of it, too. And just where had those cameras been aimed?

  “The cameras,” she blurted between little panicked breaths. “Where?”

  He tilted his head and leered at her, enjoying her anxiety. “Your cell phone. Your landline. The answering machine was rigged to record on a second machine in his apartment. A camera in your office, aimed at your screen. One aimed at your couch. Another at your door. Another in your bedroom. Nothing but a microphone in the lavatory, you’ll no doubt be relieved to hear.”

  She pulled the trash can close, hugged it. “I will never be able to pee again. Anywhere. I will die of a ruptured bladder. Why would he want to hear anything happening in the bathroom?!”

  “People take their phones in the lavatory all the time. He obviously didn’t want to miss a call. From whom were you expecting a call, Miss McDaniels?”

  She took a deep breath that tasted like plastic sack. “I don’t get calls. My agent. My editor. Sometimes my lawyer, Jeffrey.”

  The last name got CD’s attention. In fact, he looked like he might need the trash can more than she did.

  When she realized why, her panic receded and she smiled sweetly. “I would like to speak to my lawyer now. In fact, I recall telling you while we were still at my house that I wanted to talk to my lawyer.” She tapped a finger against her lips. “Do you think one of those officers would mind bringing me a phone?”

  CD’s nostrils flared. He stared at the floor for a minute, biting his lip. Finally, he spoke. “You are free to go, naturally. But I am concerned for your safety.” He looked up then, the lack of emotion on his face contradicting the sincerity of his words. “Your boyfriend is a mad man who used explosives to hurt you, which makes it a federal matter, so you must have federal protection. My men will escort you to a safe place. I shall send some of your clothes after they have been thoroughly searched, of course.”

  The last thing she wanted was for this creepy agent to be digging through her underwear, trying to decide what color to pack. Ew.

  “He’s not after me, so I don’t need protection,” she said. “And I want my phone call.” The fact was, she would rather be locked up than leave with this guy or his thugs. She had a feeling no one would hear from her again if she did. And she definitely couldn’t go home; they knew where she lived—in an apartment with man-sized holes everywhere.

  CD’s eyes wrinkled in that weird smile again. “I’m afraid I cannot allow that. Your boyfriend might have your lawyer’s line tapped. He might learn where you are.” He shook his head. “Far too dangerous. But if it’s any consolation, I promise to ask no more questions of you.”

  He waved two fingers and the cheap suits advanced on her. All she could think to do was to hold onto the bottom of her chair like a stubborn child. She didn’t care what they thought of her, she wasn’t going to go willingly. She wasn’t going to give control of her life over to a man who couldn’t smile right.

  They lifted her and the chair lifted with her. Then they just waited until she got tired of holding it under her butt. Her awkward hold failed and the aluminum legs clanged against the floor, but the sound absorbed into
the walls. She could probably scream and no one outside the room would hear her.

  They carried her toward the door, uncaring if she walked or not. She would have liked to keep her legs folded beneath her to make their job as hard as possible, but her muscles were not equal to her need for defiance. A sit-up girl, she was not. At the door, she looked over her shoulder at the mirror, sensing someone was there, watching.

  Help me, she mouthed. CD laughed and followed them out.

  There was another cop at the elevator who happened to have a pen and paper. The cheap suits had no choice but to let go of her then.

  An elevator opened and CD got on it without them. “Bring her along. I’ll meet you there,” he said, and the doors closed.

  She carefully penned a nice long note to the cop’s son while she tried to think of a way to get arrested. If she reached up and slapped the cop, that would be assault, but she couldn’t make herself do it. Even though he was grinning at her like he’d forgive her for just about anything, it wouldn’t do her reputation any good. But what was one cop’s feelings and her reputation compared with her life? And she really did believe she was in that kind of danger!

  She handed the pen and autograph over, then reared back to deliver a good whack, but the cheap suit with dark hair grabbed her fist and forced her arm to her side. He gave her upper arm a painful squeeze that took her breath away.

  “Ow!” She gave him a horrified look.

  The cop took a step forward. The other cheap suit put a hand on his shoulder.

  “She hurt her ankle earlier tonight. We’re just helping her to her car,” he said.

  The cop looked back at her with pity. Behind his back, the cheap suit gestured toward the cop, then ran a finger under his chin. The message was clear. If she opened her mouth again, he’d kill whoever he had to.

  Was he just exaggerating? Was he kidding?

  She looked him straight in the eye. He gave his head a slight shake, as if he knew just what she was thinking. Her stomach dropped, like she was headed up the first hill of a roller coaster. As the seconds ticked by, she could feel the danger nearing.