Gone Duck

by L. L. Muir

  Joseph perked up. “You need a spy?”

  Shawn glared at the boy until he stopped smiling. “What I need is a…” Shawn ran to the door and picked through the backpacks. He returned with the radio he’d taken off one of Lacrosse’s guys in the basement of Pepperidge House. “You know, this probably won’t work. I’ve been turning it on now and then, but I get nothing. On the other hand, if they’re in the building, they’re in range.” His hand dropped away from the controls. “He knows I have it. He won’t be dumb enough to use the same channel.”

  It was almost cute the way he tried not to get his hopes up.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “Turn it on and see.”

  He nodded and gave her a smile before turning the little knob on top.

  A man’s loud voice chatted away, but Macey couldn’t tell what he was talking about. And it wasn’t the voice she was expecting.

  “That’s not him,” she said.

  “You talking about the scary dude?” Joseph sat with his elbows on his knees, his butt still on the coffee table. “’Cause he’s gone.”

  “Joseph,” Macey whined, but told herself it was only because it was one o’clock in the morning and she was tired. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “You didn’t give me a chance. You told me to come tell you when it was all over. And he left right after he made that guy piss himself. I came right up.”

  Macey took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m going to need that uniform back.” When the kid’s lower lip came out, she continued. “But on the bright side, if you’re not on the team, you won’t end up dead, right?”

  The kid nodded half-heartedly, as if surviving to have a full life was lousy compensation for having his spy license revoked.

  Shawn was suddenly standing in front of her. The distant light of a desk lamp lit his chest from the side and cast half his face in shadow. It painted a picture far sexier than her imagination could have conjured, and she thought a glass of cold water, thrown in her face, might be the only thing to stop her from staring.

  “Don’t tell me,” she joked. “You’re trying to bore a hole into my brain with your laser eyesight.”

  His nostrils flared. “Macey.” His tone was a warning.

  “What?”

  “We can’t just let him go.”

  “Bullshit.” Only Morty used the word, typically. But the sick sensation in the pit of her stomach said that Morty had gone to bed, and she was on her own. Hopefully, a little strong language would be a hint to Shawn that he shouldn’t be teasing her while an innocent teenager waited to hear whether or not he was being kidnapped.

  Shawn was incredulous. “You think we should just trust a chatty kid with our lives?”

  Macey threw her hands up. “Yes. I do. Because really, what’s the alternative? We take him with us?”

  “Hell, yeah!” Joseph jumped to his feet.

  Shawn pointed the gun at him. “Sit.”

  The kid bit his lip and tried to look demoralized again, but it wasn’t working. His eyebrows kept jumping up his forehead.

  “We can’t take him with us,” Shawn said, like it was the stupidest suggestion he’d ever heard.

  “Then let’s put him back on the payroll. Pay him to keep his mouth shut.”

  Shawn gave her a look she didn’t like. “It’s not that simple…” It was a look that suggested she accept the fact the kid had to die. But that was the stupidest suggestion she’d ever heard.

  She shook her head, stood, and hurried around him to stand between him and Joseph. She didn’t even want Shawn to look at the kid anymore.

  “Of course it’s that simple,” she said, her voice much calmer than she felt. “You give him a wad of cash. You ask him nicely to keep our secret no matter how much money he could make selling us out, or how great fifteen minutes of fame would be. You open the door. And you send him back.”

  Joseph chimed in. “You don’t need to pay me—”

  “Shut up,” she and Shawn said in unison.

  Shawn gave her the pity face. “Macey. Honey. We can’t.”

  She stepped forward, put her hands on Shawn’s chest, then pushed him away and turned back to Joseph. Taking the tall boy by the hand, she pulled him to his feet, then dragged him to the door. From the pocket of her cut-offs she pulled out all the cash she had left. Then she crammed the bills into his hand and grabbed onto his head. Her fingers twisted in his hair and his eyes widened, along with his grin.

  Then she kissed him. It was fast and unpleasant, but when she released him, there may as well have been stars and exclamation points circling around his head. The grin was still there. His eyes had lost their focus.

  “Please,” she said in a breathy voice. “Joseph, please. Keep our secret.” She crooked her finger at him and he leaned close again, ready for a second round. But she turned her head at the last second and put her mouth next to his ear. “And one day, when this is all over, I’ll tell the world you were my hero.”

  Joseph took a deep, audible breath and nodded.

  She opened the door and pushed him into the corridor. “Don’t forget to go back to work,” she said, and blew him a kiss.

  When she closed the door and turned, Shawn was standing right behind her. He reached around her for the doorknob, but she blocked him with her body and put the flat of her hands against the door.

  “Move,” he growled.

  “Don’t harm that boy. It’s my fault he recognized me. And if someone’s going to pay for that mistake, it’s going to be me.”

  His brows came together in a faint frown. “Tell me something. Just who are you, right this minute? Hmm?”

  She shook her head, confused, suspecting it was a trick question. “I’m just me.”

  His frown smoothed away. “Exactly. And don’t you forget it.” He pushed her out of the way with no effort at all. Then he opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind him.

  “Nooo!” She lunged for the handle and it turned easily. By the time she got into the hallway, Shawn was already at the elevators, holding his gun behind his back, facing a shaking concierge. “If you harm that child,” she whispered to herself, “I will never forgive you.”

  Then she remembered the conversation over dinner. He’d been waiting for forgiveness, hoping for redemption, and so happy when she’d let him off the hook. He’d been so happy, in fact, he’d kissed her and swept her off her feet.

  Well, damn. Now she knew that it wasn’t her that turned him on. It had only been adrenaline, a little euphoria. But now she also knew that Shawn Parker wasn’t going to harm that innocent kid.

  She stepped back into the room and flipped the bar latch to block the door open in case Shawn the Saint didn’t have a key on his barely-clad body. Then she went to bed.

  ***

  The next few days passed uneventfully.

  Macey refrained from calling the concierge desk late at night, and to help keep her curiosity at bay, or maybe to punish her, Shawn plugged the big TV back in and they watched the evening news together in the living room each night.

  The Mortimer Coffee story had run its course for the most part, but nearly every newscast included an update. Authorities were still looking for the children’s writer, wanted for questioning in the murder of her neighbor, Shawn Mortenson. And though they were focusing their search in the Spokane area, the hunt was going on nationwide. Shawn said he wasn't going to relax until they had a sighting somewhere on the coast, which would hopefully draw Lacrosse away.

  He stopped warning Dorothy Jean and her not to get comfortable because, well, it was too late.

  Dorothy Jean didn't wake up screaming in the night anymore. She didn't sleepwalk. She didn't forget who they were, but she tended to go to bed early, so that might explain it. Or maybe that microchip in her head was keeping her short term memory from shorting out.

  The possibility of Dorothy Jean lounging on the couch next to her with world-changing technology lodged in her skull made Macey feel antsy as hell. If t
hey were back in the mid 1900’s and she was sitting next to the cure for polio, she sure wouldn't have been able to sit still either.

  But Shawn always shut her down when she brought up the topic. He was always using Dorothy Jean's tender feelings as an excuse to skirt the subject. But Dorothy Jean was a tough old bird. And one of these days, she was going to want to discuss it herself.

  Then it hit her.

  Shawn didn't want to talk about WHOSO or the micro-chip because it might warm up the old memory cells in Dorothy Jean's brain. She might remember his participation in her kidnapping. And Shawn, being Shawn, wouldn't be able to handle it if Dorothy Jean couldn't forgive him. He treated her like his own grandma. Always helping her put her feet up. Always making her tea. Whatever Dorothy Jean chose for dinner, they had for dinner. Whichever movie she wanted to watch, they watched.

  Macey wasn't bitter, though. And she wasn't jealous. But the routine was getting old.

  In fact, everything was getting old.

  The best hotel room in the best hotel, in the refreshing, rain-washed city of Spokane was getting old. The big tub in the master bathroom didn't make up for being unable to go to the pool. The photo tour on the Davenport channel only served to remind her she wasn’t allowed to go wandering about. No trip to the antique silver drinking fountain. No browsing through the shops.

  And since they were constantly trying to avoid each other, she wasn't going to count it as a win that she was playing house with a hot, handsome man.

  Limbo.

  That's where they were. Her career. Her future. Her hopes for ever going home again. And her relationship with Neighbor Dude. All in Limbo.

  And something had to give.

  That night, Macey jammed the dark wig onto her head and insisted that, just for a wild and crazy change, Shawn should allow her to push the cart into the hallway.

  He looked at her like she'd lost her mind. “You want to what?”

  “You heard me. I want to roll the cart of dirty, stinky dishes out into the hallway tonight.”

  She felt like her eyes had widened just a little past normal, because Shawn backed away from her. So she took a deep breath and blinked a few times.

  “I'm sorry,” he said. “Do you need to get out of the suite so badly—”

  “Yes! Yes, I do.” She looked at Dorothy Jean for support but the woman just shrugged. “I'm sure DJ's dying to have a change of scenery too.”

  “I'm fine,” the woman said with a finger stuck in her mouth, trying to get to something caught in her back teeth.

  “You're right,” he said. “We need to get out, get a breath of fresh air.” He got up from his chair. “We'll have to work a little on disguises first.”

  “It's raining,” Dorothy Jean said. “I don't want to go out. I'm going to bed.”

  “That's all right. You don't have to go anywhere, honey.” He glanced at Macey and expected her, like always, to cave to what Dorothy Jean wanted. But this time, she wasn't going to do it.

  “I agree,” Macey said. “She shouldn't have to go anywhere if she doesn't feel up to it.”

  Shawn nodded, appeased.

  “You just stay here and babysit each other and I'll go out for a couple hours. I'll wear the wig—”

  “You're not going alone.”

  Dorothy Jean stood and waved her hands at them, as if she was announcing she didn’t want any part of their argument, even though they were talking about her. If she had just gone along with Macey’s suggestion, they wouldn’t be arguing in the first place. But she toddled to the bedroom and closed the door with a snap.

  Coward.

  Macey headed after her.

  “Aren’t you going to take the cart into the hallway?” Shawn called after her.

  “Nope. Go ahead and knock yourself out.”

  “Macey,” he said, like he thought she was being childish. But he hadn’t seen nothin’ yet.

  She turned the knob, glad it wasn’t locked, then she looked back at him. “It’s simple. Alone or not, I'm going out. And Dorothy Jean can't be left on her own.”

  “Right. So we have a problem.”

  “No, we don't. I'm leaving. You’ll just have to babysit.” She gave him one of his you’re-just-going-to-have-to-accept-it looks, then turned away from those folded, bulging arms that tempted her to stick around and find a way to get them around her again. But it wasn’t as if she’d never have another chance. If Shawn’s money held out, they might be cooped up together for weeks.

  She went to the closet and took out the gray slacks and a crisply ironed button-up with gray and Nile blue stripes. She would have looked much nicer with a pair of interesting heels, but the running shoes would have to do. Besides, in the slim chance she might have to flee from the cops, the Nikes were the smart choice.

  If she hurried, she might be able to see the famous carousel before it was too dark. Then she figured it would probably be lit at night anyway. She thought about taking a gondola ride over the falls, too, but the idea of sitting in a cramped space with strangers didn’t appeal when what she craved were wide, open spaces. She also wanted to see the giant Radio Flyer wagon in the park with a slide for a handle. Even if she had no interest in sliding on it, she thought it might be something she could put in a Keefer book.

  If she ever wrote another one…

  She shook off the blanket of sadness that tried to settle around her shoulders and put the worries over her career back in the Limbo Box.

  It was going to be an excellent evening. Fresh air. Fresh vistas. And a chance to pretend she hadn’t a care in the world. Just for a few hours.

  Shawn knocked on the adjoining door, then let himself in. She was just finishing her make-up and since she didn't have any jewelry, she planned to stop and buy the first cute pair of earrings she could get her hands on.

  “I need some money,” she said, not looking at him. “I gave Joseph the last of what I had.”

  When he didn't say anything, she turned to look at him, to gauge his mood. His hand was out and a couple of hundreds were wedged between two of his fingers. He'd been a step ahead of her.

  She slid the bills out and folded them into her pocket. “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome.” He looked at her clothes, then her face. “You look nice.”

  “Thank you.” She ignored his clean, tight shirt. Was he getting ready to go with her? Or was he trying to tempt her to stick around and pet his muscles?

  “Do you know where you'll go?”

  She shrugged. “Riverside is in walking distance, right?”

  “Right.” He dropped his chin but lifted his eyes. “You know what to do if someone recognizes you?”

  She nodded. “Run like hell and then wait at the carousel for you to come find me.”

  “And if you get caught by police?”

  “Go to the police station and wait for Duck Dynasty Dude to come save me?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “It's a start. But the point is to not allow Lacrosse to take you. Fight like hell. Whatever you have to do. Whoever you have to hurt. If Lacrosse gets you in a car, you're as good as dead.”

  She nodded. “Got it.”

  He frowned at the floor, and when he didn't say anything else, she turned back to fix that stupid dark curl near her temple.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I'm going.”

  He held up his hands and backed away. “I was just asking. If you take a taxi back, be careful not to choose anyone too…convenient.”

  “I'm going to go out this door,” she called after him.

  “Fine,” he said, like it didn't matter to him what she did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Macey stood in front of the elevator doors, waiting for them to open, and tried not to imagine Shawn staring out the peep hole at her, which she knew he was. After a few minutes, she lost her control. She faced the main door to the Governor’s Suite and stuck out her tongue—just as the elevator opened. She step
ped back and an older couple got off. Either the woman's eyebrows had been penciled on too high, or she'd seen Macey's tongue.

  Macey stepped into the empty box and pushed the lobby button and heard the man chuckle just before the doors closed. She took the first deep breath of air that hadn’t come from the Davenport's seventh floor. It had a wonderful taste to it.

  She'd intended to spend a few hours simply being Macey McDaniels, average human. But before anyone ever joined her on the elevator, she realized that wasn't possible. On the fifth floor, the doors opened and she was suddenly Macey McDaniels, paranoid super-agent rookie.

  She kept her eyes on the ground to evade any elevator cameras. She avoided eye contact with the woman who got on. And when the elevator stopped on the fourth floor and a man joined them, she looked away from him and pulled a hand up to shield her face, then played with her hair until the doors opened on the main floor. In spite of the man insisting she exit before him, she shook her head and waited for everyone to get off before she did. Then she hurried off to the side to avoid the people getting on.

  She was exhausted, and she still had the massive lobby to cross and six blocks to walk!

  She headed for the revolving doors, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. With a two-story ceiling, she imagined people looking down on her, wondering who she was and why she didn’t look up to appreciate all the incredible medallions and intricate carvings that made the hotel the only one of its kind in the world. Of course she wanted to; she’d read enough about them that she wished to take it all in. But the only thing she got a look at, because she didn’t have to look up to see it, was the grand fountain in the center.

  Hello fountain. Goodbye, fountain.

  She couldn’t slow down. She couldn’t pause. She just needed to get to those revolving doors and get out. The evening air on the other side of the glass looked as inviting as water to a fish and she adjusted her speed to hit the middle of an opening…

  “Ma'am?” the doorman called from the right.

  She ignored him.

  “Ma'am?” he said even louder. “Hold on just one minute.”