by SP Durnin
"Alright," Laurel squared her shoulders and opened the door, "but you've got to give me something to work with."
"He's got a tattoo on his right shoulder." Kat followed her out into the hall, grinning wickedly. "Allen has one of a skydiver somewhere, but he said he'd get arrested if he showed it to me in public."
"He sounds strange," Laurel said. They headed for the bar to grab drinks Kat had ordered prior to their head-shed in the ladies room. "What else can you give me?"
Kat rolled her eyes. "He's only had a couple of Guinness and now asked for a Jameson's."
Laurel smiled. "Really? An educated pallet and not just looking to quaff down tons of camel piss then. That means he's not a big drinker. Which also means he's got good self-control and some restraint." Maybe Jake wasn't your run-of-the-mill guy after all. "What else?"
"Well," Kat mused thoughtfully. "He's not into threesomes..."
* * *
"Have you heard anything today about an explosion, maybe a chemical spill or something locally?"
Allen gave Jake a raised eyebrow. "That's an odd question. Why?"
Jake scratched his chin. "I've been seeing a lot of emergency vehicles racing around. Didn't you notice on the way here we stopped twice to let ambulances pass?"
"Not until you just mentioned it," Al admitted. "No, haven't heard a thing. Then again, I was either in the riggers loft or jumping out of a plane for most of the day. I haven't really been monitoring the media."
The writer shrugged. "Maybe it's just me being paranoid, but I have this weird feeling. Like I'm overlooking something."
He was staring at his glass when Allen looked past him, so he missed the look of realization, and the following smile, which vanished as soon as it appeared.
"I wouldn't be at all surprised if you were," Allen said casually.
"Thanks. I needed that."
"Hey, guys. Miss me?" Kat slid Allen his Guinness and plunked down beside him.
"Not at all," he said. That earned him a smile and a playful poke in the stomach. "Ouch. We're talking about the number of emergency vehicles Jake's been seeing today. Seems the crazies are all out and about. And here it's not even a full moon yet."
"We were almost run off the road this afternoon by a cop car," Kat said, with a frown that dissipated when Allen put his arm across the back of her chair. "You're right. Seems like there have been a lot around today."
Kat shook the feeling off and pointed at Jake. "Anyway! I didn't forget your drink. I just didn't have enough hands."
"Okay," Jake said, clearly confused by the sudden change of topic.
Why does Allen look like he's laughing at me? he thought.
"So I brought some help," Kat said, smiling widely.
"Did someone here order a Jameson's?"
Jake turned in his chair to find the stunning redhead who'd been singing earlier standing there, hip cocked, displaying a lop-sided, half-smile, holding a glass of Irish whiskey in each hand.
He knew he was totally out of his depth just then, because the first thing that came to mind was Kreeeee-ga! Tarzan want!, instead of just, Hi or Thanks for the drink.
Across the room this woman had been enough to not only hold his attention, but to grab it, shake it, and make it sit up saying, Hell-o, nurse! Up close, freckles jumping, green eyes dancing, she was a knockout. It was all he could do to raise a finger in acknowledgment. Her half-smile turned into the real thing as she placed one of the drinks on the table, eyes holding his, for which he was extremely grateful. It kept him from committing the ultimate social faux pas—looking down the V-neck of her tight shirt as she leaned across to place the glass before him.
Then it hit him. He looked across the table at Kat. She was grinning like a mischievous pixy. "Your roommate?" he asked.
She nodded and leaned against Allen with an unapologetic smile. "Jacob O'Connor, let me introduce you to my roomie and best friend in the whole world, Laurel St. Clair. Laurel, this is Jake. Writer, lover of Celtic ballads, Knight of the Realm, et cetera."
Jake glared at Allen because his friend couldn't pull off looking innocent if his life depended on it. He was currently trying to not look guilty. "You didn't."
"She clouded my mind with her ninja tricks and forced it out of me." Al said, spreading his arms. "You were sitting right there when I told her, away with the fairies."
Jake stood up and took Laurel's hand in his own. She kept her nails short and paint free, which he liked. He'd never been one for women who resembled Freddy Kruger. Her handshake was firm and her palm callused. For some reason her touch set off an explosion of pins-and-needles all the way to his shoulder.
"Pleasure. I've heard absolutely nothing about you," he said, giving her a smile and Kat a wry look, "but your performance spoke volumes."
Laurel willed her stomach to stop trembling.
Kat hadn't done him justice at all. Truth be told, Jake wasn't cover-model handsome, but he was definitely easy on the eyes. His own were the color of skies Laurel only saw in memories of her childhood. His chin was firm, almost pointed, but not blocky. His nose, which had been broken at some point, gave him the predatory look of a bird of prey. He kept his hair short. It did seem to stick out at odd angles but looked naturally haphazard, as opposed to styled within an inch of its life. Her palms itched with the urge to run her fingers through it. His chest didn't have the bulging 'roid-rage size common to bodybuilders, but he looked as if he did a lot of strength training. Lean, corded muscle rippled down his arm as he released her hand.
"It's nice to meet you, Jake," Laurel said. Forcing down her growing nervousness was no easy task, but over the last couple of years she and stage fright had become old friends. "What would you like to know?"
He looked at her thoughtfully for a few moments, and then smiled widely. "Tell me everything."
He held the chair for her as she sat, which earned him points. It had been a quite a while since Laurel had seen a man do that. Feminism aside, it was nice to have someone treat her like a woman and not a piece of meat. She'd always been jealous of older ladies whose husbands took their coats and pushed in their chairs for them. The way those couples looked at each other across a table or just on a bench in the park... She wanted that.
"Tell me everything," Jake repeated.
"That could take a while." Laurel brushed the stray lock out of her eyes yet again. She leaned on the table, clasping her left elbow with her opposite hand while arching her back for a moment before resting her chin on her palm and giving him a raised eyebrow.
Jake watched her in silence. He didn't so much as glance at her cleavage, because he couldn't move. Habitual movements on her part made it really difficult for him to breathe for a minute.
Damn it, you moron! His back-brain screamed at him, like the old sergeant in charge of the brick during his time with the SAS had on occasion. Pull yourself together! Do not let this woman slip away! You. Will. Fucking. Regret it!
He took a sip of his drink and looked Laurel squarely in the eyes. "I've got lots of time."
Allen leaned closer to Kat and she turned an ear, allowing him to speak softly, so as not to interrupt Jake and Laurel.
"You're evil. I like that."
Kat looked at their friends.
"Nah," she turned to face Allen, "I'm just really, really good."
* * *
Tracy Dixon had lots of company now.
Her pervy neighbor, in typical Alpha male fashion, had talked himself into believing that he would be able to live out the fantasy of two hot girls doing a guy who just showed up randomly at the door.
He'd knocked and, since Carly had left the door ajar when she'd arrived, it swung open. Taking that as an invitation, he'd moved through the flat to the bedroom door where he heard moaning.
Twenty minutes later, Nathan arrived after becoming bored waiting for Carly in his BMW.
Over the next hour, two more of the building tenants noticed the open door and decided to see if someone needed help.
Next wa
s the owner of Darryl's Pawn and Pay. He thought he heard crying.
Then a coed from OSU on a tennis scholarship. She heard moaning and was sure someone was injured.
* * *
The powers-that-be were taking notice as well.
The numbers of attacks locally were rising. Authorities couldn't explain where the raving loons were coming from.
News stations were calling it civil unrest in the face of an increasingly uncaring and disconnected bureaucracy.
The higher-ups longed for stiffer censorship legislation...
Chapter Four
Jake was keyed up.
He sat in the Witch's Brew Coffee Shop, energized beyond all hope of sleep after dropping Laurel back at the apartment she shared with Kat. It had been obvious that Allen and the lovely Asian had no intentions of heading home when the four left Bueno Dave's, somewhere around midnight. So Laurel had tossed her truck's keys to Kat—as her roommate all but threw Allen on its hood and kissed him hard enough to curl his hair—then Jake had given her a lift home.
There hadn't been any uncomfortable silences between the two of them. With their mutual love for Celtic music and classic punk rock, appreciation for Anime, and the fact both tended to curl up with a book before going to sleep, Jake and the redhead were finding each other more and more attractive.
He was a bit surprised when Laurel invited him up to her place for a drink when he dropped her off. He hadn't wanted to come across as pushy or over-eager, so he held the door for her as she climbed out of his Jeep and was about to say goodnight. He was in the midst of hoping she'd be willing to see him again when Laurel asked if he'd like to come in.
They were walking upstairs to the third floor when Laurel's bravado broke and she stopped. He took another step before her gentle hand on his arm brought him to a halt. Jake moved back down to stand beside her, face carefully blank.
Her expression was one of anxiety, mixed with a healthy amount of fear.
"I can't do this." She hugged her arms around her torso, as if trying to keep herself from flying apart and at him. "It's just that..."
Jake leaned against the wall and put his hands behind his back. "It's okay. Really."
Laurel couldn't meet his eyes. "It's... been a while for me. As much as I love Kat, she's way more casual about...being intimate...than I am."
"It's a 'will you respect me in the morning' thing."
"Yeah. It's not that I don't want to." She looked at him then and Jake saw the heat in her gaze. It made his pants suddenly feel three sizes too small. "God, do I ever want to! I want to shove you to the floor, rip your clothes off, and find out what your skin tastes like."
He swallowed and tried to control his breathing.
She turned her head away. "But..."
He pushed off the wall, stepped close, and put his hand against her cheek. He could see she was afraid. Afraid of what he might do and what he might cause her to do. He moved his hand away reluctantly, took a long slow breath and brought his thoughts back under control.
"Look," he said with a grin, "I'll give you a call. I talked with Kat earlier to confirm, so I've got the number."
"Really? You're not... angry?"
"Angry about you wanting to see me again, before we may or may not end up sleeping together? No!" He gave her a worried frown. "You do want to see me again, don't you?"
Jake's back slammed against the wall as she kissed him. He put his hands on her hips, palms resting feather soft on her waist. Laurel however, pushed both her hands up under his shirt and began moving them across his chest, finally scraping what little fingernails she had down his stomach. He hissed in pleasure and pushed her back gently.
"That's not conducive to me leaving."
"Oops." She didn't look in the least bit sorry. Laurel snuggled against his chest and put her face into his neck. She found his pulse with her lips, felt it race as she gently bit the skin above. He exhaled forcefully, gripped her shoulders, and gritted his teeth against the urge to let his hands go roaming.
"Alright, I'll be good and let you go," she said, drawing her hands out of his shirt. Then she moved her face so close to his that he could feel their lips brush when she spoke. "But you do have to promise to come back."
She kissed him quickly and trotted up the last few steps, keys in hand.
Jake waited until she shut her apartment door before turning down the stairs. As much as he'd come to like Kat over the course of the night, she was only a pretender to the throne. Laurel was the real thing.
Sucker, his back-brain said, disgusted. You just got brushed off at the door. That's pathetic.
"Jake?"
He turned back to see her half-hanging out the door into the landing. One long leg, one firm breast taunt against her shirt from leaning against the frame, one hand that just sent shivers through him, all topped by a lopsided smile.
"I'm closing my shop early tomorrow," she said. "Do you have any plans, say from about noon on?"
He thought about that for roughly a third of a second. "Well I was planning on saving civilization as we know it, then working on a western I need to ghostwrite before too much longer. A picnic lunch with you sounds a lot better though. We can go to the woods, hike the trails. I'll even bring the basket."
Laurel's face lit up. "You're on. And dinner's on me. Italian?"
"Sure. Sounds great."
"Bring something to change into. You can use my bathroom." She smiled. "I'll wear a little black dress."
"I'll buy a tie," Jake said, solemnly.
"Go!"
"Going!" He jogged down the stairs and out the door.
The Beast came to life on the first try, as usual. Jake checked for traffic and saw Laurel watching him. Her backlit silhouette pressed one hand against the third-story window as he pulled away.
You were saying? He thought smugly towards the vaults of his mind.
Oh, shut up, was the reply.
Hours later, images of the long line of Laurels body framed by her doorway taunted him, making sleep impossible. That's why he was so very awake, sitting in a twenty-four hour coffee shop at four-thirty in the morning. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, so he'd headed for blessed caffeine. The battered hard-back composition book he kept under his driver's seat accompanied Jake into Witch's Brew, where he ordered a mug of smoky liquid goodness and took a seat at the counter.
About an hour later, a pair of cops strode in. Not a strange occurrence for a coffee/doughnut shop, but Jake noticed the younger of the two had the shakes.
The older one ordered a triple and sat down one stool away. The man's thinning hair convinced Jake to add another decade to his age as the younger asked for a double half-caff espresso. That caused his partner to look at Jake with a long-suffering expression.
Jake grinned and took another sip of caffeine. "Rough night, officers?"
"You don't know the half of it, the older one said, bringing his cup to his lips. He, like Jake, didn't mess around with foam or whipped cream; he just stirred in a pack of sugar and called it good.
The younger one nodded, eyes on his drink.
"What happened?" Jake said, suddenly interested. It took a lot to rattle a cop in a city full of everything from blow-snorting lawyers to gangbanging.
"Police business," the younger said.
The veteran gave him a thoughtful look. "I know you?"
"Maybe," Jake admitted. "I wrote a piece on the Party Boy Rapist a year back."
"Wrote my ass; I remember you. I'm Parker. That's Goodman." The younger cop tipped his cup as the older offered his hand to Jake. "Lots of people been wanting to thank you. We still get the calls."
Jake gripped his hand, shrugging. "Right place, wrong time. Besides, I just write the story."
"Before you started, Goodman," Parker told him. "Probably heard about him though. The bastard killed seven girls before he was caught. Got the needle this past April."
Goodman frowned. "So?"
"So," Parker mimicked. "Mr. Bashfu
l here caught the guy. Came in. Tried to tell one of the detectives there was a pattern after we found the sixth."
The cop's eyes were far away for a moment.
"That was a bad one... said the guy was targeting girls by their horoscopes. Lead detective on the case had him thrown off the precinct floor. Ended up hanging around dark alleys for... almost a month?"
Jake nodded.
"After another victim, we hit pay-dirt. The little bastard had just grabbed number eight off Hudson. Was all set to drag her off somewhere, do her, and then kill her too. This genius," he jerked a thumb at Jake, "went at him. Beat the living hell outta him. Got stabbed good for his trouble, but Mr. Party Boy ended up getting the stick with a mouthful of dentures and a permanent limp."
Parker gave him a speculative look. "You heal up alright?"
"Yeah. Nothing Dr. Jameson's and about two dozen stitches couldn't take care of."
The veteran chuckled, sipping at his coffee.
Jake pursed his lips. "Sorry about the trouble I caused. I couldn't get anyone to listen to me. Thanks for not pressing charges, by the way."
Parker displayed a vicious grin. "Why would we? Anonymous Samaritan is kinda a tough name to get on a warrant."
Goodman looked a little less standoffish now.
"Wish tonight was only as bad as that."
His partner bristled. "Damn it, Parker, you could…"
"What? Get arrested? Lose my pension? Christ, be better than what's coming." Parker turned to Jake. "You got anybody you care about, kid?"
Jake was a little nervous after a question like that. "A couple people."
"Get them away from the city. Tonight."
Goodman looked beaten; he was resting his face in his hands leaning on the counter.
"Get them out," Parker told him. "Get them… shit, I don't know. Head for the middle of nowhere. Canada or the Rockies. Hell, head for fuckin' Mars if you can get there."
That's done it. Jake thought. I am officially freaked the fuck out now.