“Yeah,” Joe said, nodding, “it was my father’s company that made it. I had no hand in that.”
Randy canted her head to the side, knowing there was more to the story than that, but not wanting to pry too much. She was still curious about how his parents died, but was afraid to ask, thinking that if Joe wanted to talk about it, he would.
They lingered over dessert and coffee, talking about books and music.
“Well, if my parents had their way, I’d never have heard rock music,” Joe said, his tone bemused. “My mother never could stand it,” he said, shaking his head. “Used to call it shrieking and gadding about.”
Randy laughed softly. “It sounds like she was a bit more refined than you.”
“She was incredible,” Joe said, his eyes shining at the memory of his mother.
Randy put her hand on his, looking into his eyes. “Tell me about her,” she said gently.
Joe looked at her for a long moment, then expelled his breath slowly, shaking his head in wonder. “She had this way about her,” he began, smiling fondly, “even in furs, jewels, and designer dresses, she’d sit down and doctor a cut I managed to get out on my horse.”
“You ride horses?” she asked, surprised at that.
“I did back home,” he said, “we had a stable full of stallions and mares, Arabians, Lipizzaner’s, Tennessee Walking horse, then there was mine.”
“What was yours?” Randy asked, enchanted suddenly.
“I had a Friesian, Satan,” he said, grinning. “Named him myself. He was eighteen hands high.”
“How big is that?” Randy asked.
“Well, a hand is four inches, and you measure from their hooves to their withers, so he was six feet at the withers.”
“The withers is which part?” she asked, intrigued about this side of him.
“The withers is where the neck and shoulder muscles unite, so basically the top of his shoulders was almost as tall as me.”
“Wow,” Randy said, widening her eyes, “what color was he?”
“All Friesians are black,” he said, smiling.
“They are?” Randy asked surprised again.
“Yeah,” Joe said, chuckling. It was strange to him talking about home this much.
He hadn’t talked to anyone about England this much, not even with Rick. It was actually rather nice.
Later, Randy was thrilled to find out that Joe had made arrangements with a staff member at the hotel, to be allowed into the restricted areas of the hotel. Only people staying at the hotel were to be on the second, third and fourth floors. But it was Randy that was able to tell Joe about the hotel.
“The haunted room is on the third floor,” she told him in a conspiratorial whisper as she got into the old-fashioned elevator.
“Haunted room?” Joe asked, leaning against the side of the rod-iron elevator door.
“Yeah,” Randy said, her eyes lighting up, “this hotel is haunted. Haven’t you heard of it before?”
“Not the part about being haunted, no,” Joe said, wondering if she was putting him on.
“No? Well, one of the stories is that a woman killed herself in one of the rooms, back in … oh I think it was the 1800s or so. Anyway, the hotel management didn’t want people to know about such a scandalous event and so they put her body in a closet …” She was watching Joe to see if he was reacting properly to what she was telling him. He was. “Well, her blood seeped out all over the floor of the closet and sunk in. Years later, they expanded the hotel and made that particular closet into a room. And even to this day, every time they replace the carpet, this strange brown stain comes up through the rug. The stain looks like old blood.” She shuddered theatrically then and Joe smiled
“Blood stain, huh?” he said, giving her a disbelieving look.
“Yeah!” she said, laughing. “I swear to God!”
“But why are we going up there? We won’t be able to go into the room …”
“No, but the whole floor is supposed to be haunted too.”
“I see,” he said, as the elevator stopped.
“Come on,” she said, smiling at him. As they walked down the dim corridors, Randy took his hand in her excitement at showing him these new things. “You see how the doorways are different sizes, and how the halls change from wide to narrow?” she said pointing to another corridor as they passed.
“Yeah …” he said. He was becoming quite interested in the hotel’s history listening to how excited Randy was about being there.
“Well that’s because they didn’t have any blueprints when they built the hotel, they just started at one end and worked from there.” Joe noticed that she was still holding his hand, but he didn’t mind. It was actually nice being there with her.
At one point, they stopped to look at a print that hung on one of the corridor walls. Randy turned to continue down the hall, but Joe pulled her back. He pulled her against him, and, looking down at her smiling, he leaned down and kissed her. Her hands touched his chest tentatively. He took her hands in his and held them as he kissed her. When their lips parted, she looked up at him wide-eyed, but smiling shyly.
Randy’s heart was beating a mile a minute. She’d never been kissed like that before. He had a way of making her feel special. She knew she was being far too dreamy about this entire thing, but fireworks had gone off in her head when his lips had touched hers; more had jolted through her when he’d taken her hands. The kiss hadn’t been sloppy and lustful like the kisses she’d received from the few men she’d gone out with. It had been sweet, soft, and with just a hint of passion. She felt that unfamiliar fluttering in her stomach, the fluttering she’d read had everything to do with desire. And God knew she desired Joe. He’d done nothing but fan it since he’d met her. Randy had no idea if that was intentional or not.
Later they ended up sitting down in the hotel’s twenty-four hour deli, talking and just enjoying the evening. Randy was fascinated by everything about him. He’d grown up in London high society, yet he was a police officer in America, in a gang task force no less. It was an odd, but interesting combination.
It was midnight before Joe took her home.
“Is Darrell going to give you a lot of grief about this?” Joe asked as he walked her to her front door.
Randy shrugged, smiling, having enjoyed herself far too much to worry about that right then.
“Probably will,” she told him, “but I don’t care.”
Joe looked down at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. Sliding his hands around her waist, he leaned down to kiss her goodnight.
It took every ounce of self-control Randy had to keep from sighing. She didn’t want the evening to end.
When their lips parted, Joe gave her a pointed look and touched her cheek. “If he gives you too much grief, you call me, okay?”
Randy smiled, warmed by his concern. “Okay, I will.”
Joe smiled in response. “See you Monday?”
Randy nodded, biting her lip shyly.
Joe got back in his car drove away after seeing that she was safely inside. He thought about her all the way home, still smiling to himself when he walked into his house. It had been a wonderful night.
****
Things between Rick and Midnight escalated to a boiling point the next evening. Everything started out great; he went over to see her and drop off some paperwork. Midnight was reading reports in her bedroom as usual. She let him in the house through her intercom and security system and he wandered back to her room, knowing where she’d be. He watched her reading for a while, then leaned over and touched her under the chin so she’d look up at him. When she did, he smiled, and leaned in to kiss her. As usual, his kiss got both of them going, and they were in a heated embrace in moments.
Midnight pulled away first. “Rick, I have about three reports I need to finish reading tonight. I can’t do this right now, okay?” Her voice was breathless from the kiss, but it was serious.
“You work entirely too hard,”
Rick chided, sliding his hand back around to her neck to pull her close again. His lips covered hers once more.
She pushed him back again, shaking her head, and smiling. “I need to work, go away.”
“You need to learn to relax, is what you need to do babe,” Rick said reproachfully.
This time as he leaned in, he slid his hands under her shirt, kissing her deeply as he caressed her skin. Midnight shuddered at the feel of his hands on her, and found herself wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him back. What is it about this guy? she asked herself.
Rick reached down between them, and pushed the reports off the bed and pulled her down to lay under him. His lips never left hers. He was unbuttoning her shirt when Midnight pulled back again.
“Rick,” she began, her tone sharper now. “I told you, I have work to do.”
“Yeah,” he replied, “and I told you that you work too hard.”
With that said, he went back to kissing her again, and again Midnight lost herself in the sensation of his hands on her skin. She was fully ready to give in when the phone rang.
“Don’t answer it,” Rick said, his lips still covering hers. But the sound of the phone had snapped her out of her languor and she reached for it. “Damn it!” he snapped. “I said don’t answer it!” He grabbed both of her wrists to keep her from disobeying him, raised them above her head, and continued to kiss her. Midnight pulled away from him, narrowing her eyes as she looked up at him.
“Let go of my wrists,” she said, passion still coloring her voice, but she definitely meant it.
“No,” he responded simply, kissing her again.
He kept his body was over hers, holding her captive, since he outweighed her by about forty pounds. She wrenched her face away from him again, this time anger blazing in her eyes.
“Let go, Rick. I’m serious,” she said.
“What the fuck is with you?” Rick asked angrily, but he didn’t move, nor did he release her wrists.
“What’s with me is that I want you to let go!” she raged back at him.
Rick checked his hands holding her wrists. He knew he wasn’t touching the cut. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, concerned.
“No,” she retorted, “I’m just telling you to let me the fuck go!”
He shook his head. “No.”
Now it was becoming a battle of wills and Midnight had no intention of losing. She wrenched her wrists from his grasp and cried out in pain, she had forgotten in her anger and desperation to be released about her injured arm. But it was too late to worry about that now. With surprising force she not only freed her hands, but shoved him off of her too. He stood up and she leapt to her feet on the other side of the bed.
Her eyes were almost wild with anger. “Get out,” she bit out, her chest heaving with the adrenaline surging through her.
When he didn’t move she picked up her baton. She held it in a threatening position, not breaking eye contact. Her intentions were clear as day. He stared back at her for a minute, then, shaking his head, he walked out of the room and left.
Midnight stood shaking uncontrollably. When he left she sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall trying to get her breathing under control. Her arm was throbbing painfully. She picked up her phone and dialed Joe’s number. It was too late to be calling him, but she needed to hear his voice.
“’Lo,” Joe answered sounding distracted. He’d been reading a report of his own at that point.
She was silent for a second, then she said, “Joe, it’s me.”
Her voice was weaker than normal putting Joe on alert instantly. “Night, what’s wrong?”
She was silent again. She knew she couldn’t explain it to him and she really didn’t want to try.
“Midnight?” Joe asked, terrified that something had happened to her.
“Joe, it’s okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called, I’m just feeling a little weird right now. I’m okay.”
“Do you need me there?” Joe asked.
“No, I’m fine, Joe, go back to what you were doing, I’m sorry.” She hung up. She lay back down on the bed and stared into the darkness, her mind whirling in a thousand different directions, but it kept coming back to a certain Richard Debenshire. She finally fell asleep two hours later.
San Diego, California, 1979
Jack Chevalier was not a happy man. He’d just gotten a call from the principal telling him that his fifteen-year-old son, Thomas, was getting into fights and cutting class. Having had his current bender interrupted once too often lately, Jack Chevalier decided to play the father for a little while. He walked up to Thomas’s bedroom door and without knocking walked in. Thomas was sitting on his bed, reading a magazine. He looked up when his door opened, assuming it would be his older sister, Midnight. He was surprised to see his father standing in the doorway. Jack stepped into the room, looking down at his son.
“We need to talk, young man,” Jack said, his voice just slightly louder than necessary, indicating to Thomas that he was loaded, more than likely on cocaine.
“What about?” Thomas replied, his tone insolent. He already knew what Jack wanted to talk about, but he didn’t think his alcoholic, coke-head father had any right to play holier than thou.
“About you cutting class and getting into fights,” Jack snapped, irritated by the look of impertinence on his son’s face. When Thomas didn’t reply, he got angrier. “What have you got to say for yourself?” Jack asked hotly.
“I cut class and get into fights,” Thomas replied sarcastically.
“You little son of a bitch!” Jack barked as he lashed out with his fist, catching Thomas totally off guard and striking him on the side of the face. Before Thomas could recover to defend himself, Jack jumped on the bed, his fist raised to hit his son again. Jack didn’t see the copper blond flash that tackled him, knocking him to the floor.
With surprising agility, Midnight got to her feet, standing over her father. She was panting with the adrenaline that was surging through her veins, and her gold-green eyes blazed with anger. Jack went to grab her feet out from under her, but Midnight was faster. Using a booted foot, she shoved him away from her, and jumped over him. She moved to the other side of the bed, her eyes on Thomas.
Thomas had watched in stunned silence. His eyes followed his sister as she moved close to him, looking down. She reached out touching the already darkening bruise on his cheek.
Jack Chevalier stood up then, his eyes looking daggers at his daughter, but Midnight was not intimidated. She gave him a lethal look of her own, pointing to Thomas’s cheek.
“If you ever hit him again,” she said, her tone deadly low with menace, “I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Don’t talk to me like that you little slut,” Jack said, his face a mask of disgust as he took a step toward her.
Midnight didn’t back away as he expected. She dropped one foot behind her in a fighter’s stance, her hands dangling at her sides, her fingers working, as if itching to hurt him. She was challenging her own father. Jack stared at her as if suddenly trying to discern who she was. Indeed, he was trying to assimilate this young woman with the “little girl” he had known years before. After a long tense minute, Jack Chevalier shook his head, walked past his children and out of the room.
****
Monday, Joe picked Randy up for work. When she got in, he smiled at her.
“How’d the weekend go?” he asked, putting the car into gear and turning out of the cul de sac.
“Darrell wouldn’t talk to me all weekend,” she said casually. She clearly wasn’t too put out by it.
“Probably good,” Joe said, grinning.
“So how was your weekend?” she asked.
“Long,” he said, a smile still on his lips. Then he looked over at her. “I missed you,” he said, surprising himself.
“You did?” she asked, thrilled that he’d just said what she’d been thinking.
Joe nodded, looking a bit chagrined. Randy noticed the look b
ut didn’t push it any further. Still, she was happy that he’d missed her.
That day at the office, things were hectic. They were planning a raid on a house that they suspected was the residence of many members of the Scorpions. They had traced some information they had gotten on Robert Bondy through the California Law Enforcement Telecommunications System known as CLETS. It was a system used by law enforcement to track information on felons and known criminals including things like warrants, restraining orders; it was linked to many law enforcement databases, including federal agencies such as the FBI.
Randy helped by typing up warrants and Joe stood behind her as she worked on the computer in Midnight’s office.
“Yeah, that’s good,” he was saying.
He put his hands on the back of her chair and she could tell how tense he was without even looking. The raid would take place in about two hours if everything went well. “Print it,” he said briskly, but he smiled at her when she looked up.
Midnight walked into the office. “Are we a go?” she asked looking at Joe. Joe nodded.
“I still think you should sit this one out, Night,” Joe said, gesturing to her bandaged arm.
“Hey, I talked to the doc and he said there was no tendon damage so I can shoot fine. Besides, I tested it this morning at the range. I’m fine, Sinclair.” There was no anger in her voice, although her words, like Joe’s were brisk. “I’m going on this one.”
What she didn’t say was that her arm had hurt like crazy at the range that morning, but she was still right on target.
They looked at each other for a minute. Joe was obviously debating arguing further with her, but he could see by the look in her eyes that she was determined. He decided that at least he’d be there this time.
Rick walked in; he and Midnight exchanged an almost hostile look. It didn’t miss Joe and he wondered if it had anything to do with the strange phone call he had received from Midnight the night before. He wasn’t sure what had happened to make Midnight look at Rick that way, though he did notice that Rick didn’t seem bothered by it. Joe shrugged to himself; there were more important things to worry about. But he would definitely talk to Midnight later.
Building Empires (MidKnight Blue Book 1) Page 14