A Cut Above

by Ginny Aiken

  “Fun-ny.” I stand. “But, yeah, you do know. Think about it. I have to figure out what’s going on here. And I have to start at the beginning.”

  “I’m shaking in my shoes, having to ask you where you think the beginning might be. But I guess I don’t have a choice. Where exactly do you plan to start?”

  “I suppose you could say the real beginning from my side of this mess was Rodolfo’s visit to the studio. But since he’s out of commission still, we can’t go there. Sure, I went to Colombia after that, but from what the chief just told us, Miss Mona started getting the calls right around the time he came by, well before I left. That’s where I have to start. I have to figure out why Doña Rosario would’ve been calling Miss Mona.”

  “I’m not sure it’s that important. She probably thought Miss Mona would travel to the mines to pick out the stones herself. Doña Rosario was probably keeping track of Miss Mona’s actions, trying to see when she was in the office, and when she finally left for Bogotá.”

  “Well, it’s either that or I get busy tracking down drug scum.”

  He shakes his head. Wiggles a finger in his ear. “Come again?”

  “Come on, Max. Don’t pretend you’re dense. You couldn’t have missed how rotten, slimy, creepy, and disgusting her henchmen are. I’m sure they’re involved with the brother’s dirty drug dealings. So I have to follow the drug scum trail.”

  “Now you’ve really gone off the deep end. We have nothing on the guy who showed up at the hospital. How do you plan to track him down, or anyone from Colombia, for that matter? There’s millions and millions of them out there.”

  “Do I have to figure it all out by myself? What? Are you just the pretty face here?”

  To my horror, a smug, very male smile beams out from every inch of the guy. “The pretty face, huh?”

  My cheeks go from zero to sizzle in no time flat. “Oh, you know what I mean. I’m asking you to come up with an idea. Help me out.”

  “I seem to remember you promising you were going to leave this mess to Chief Clark and his men.”

  “They haven’t done anything. What do you want me to do?” I waggle all ten fingers at him. “Sit on my hands?”

  “Now that you mention it, I’d like you to get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

  “Oh, sure. Like I’m going to fall asleep in the next century.”

  “Maybe not that soon”—he winks—“but a short time after that.”

  I huff out a breath. “I know what you mean, but honestly, Max, you couldn’t possibly expect me to sleep. I’m so worried, and there’s not a single, solitary thing I can do tonight.”

  His arm drops over my shoulders, a warm, solid support. I lean into him. “Come on,” he says. “At least you can lie down for a while on your couch. I’ll hang around until you fall asleep—hey! You never know. It could happen.”

  “And the sun could start revolving around the earth, but I’m not going to hold my breath.”

  I don’t balk, but rather let him lead me to the living room. He settles me on the couch, and to my amazement, he shakes out the soft chenille throw to tuck it around me. As I gape, he grins, then drops a soft kiss on my forehead.

  “Relax. That’s all you have to do. Just relax.”

  Yeah, right. Like I’m about to relax when the man I’ve fallen in love with starts treating me like the most precious of treasures. How ridiculous can my life get? My aunt’s missing, my boss is too, and he goes down the wonder of wonders road.

  But I can’t tell him any of this, and I try to ease into a more comfortable position on the couch. He turns down the overhead light and drops onto the chaise. He stretches out his long legs, crosses his arms, and closes his eyes.

  “Trust him, Andie,” he says. “He loves them as much as you.”

  Another tear rolls down my cheek. I believe; Lord, help my unbelief.

  Hours later, just as a hint of light appears at the horizon, I find myself kneeling on the window bench at the front bay window, staring out at the sleeping world. Tears have been flowing down my cheeks for the last forty minutes as I try to think, try to pray, and accomplish nothing.

  Max, of course, fell asleep the minute he crashed.

  I wish I could have done the same.

  A sob breaks in my throat. “Oh, Lord Jesus . . . have mercy, protect them . . .”

  That’s as close as I’ve been able to come to a decent prayer, but I know God knows my heart. I’m sure he knows what I’m feeling, and how much I love those two kooks. I press my forehead against the cool glass and then feel a warm palm gently land in the middle of my back.

  “Scoot over and share,” he whispers.

  I ease closer to the window. He fills the greater part of the seat, then wraps his arms around my waist, clasping his hands over my belly button. With gentle pressure, he draws me near, my back against his chest, our legs extended on the cushion, parallel to each other. I let down my defenses enough to relax a bit, and lean back. It’s amazing how much I’ve come to trust this man.

  “You know you don’t have to fight every battle by yourself, right?”

  I nod. “The Lord’s always with me.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “And he’ll never leave me nor forsake me.”

  “And . . . ?”

  I turn my head to meet his gaze. “And what? What’s on your mind?”

  “That you’re no longer alone, Andie. You’ve got me. You have to let me in. Please join forces with me. We’ve made a pretty decent team before. We need to do the same this time. It’s the only way we’ll succeed.”

  “But I can’t drag you into danger again. It’s bad enough I sent them out to . . . to . . . whatever. I could never live with myself if anything happened to you because of me—”

  “How do you know any of this is happening because of you? Have you given any thought to God here? For real?” “Of course I have. I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  His hand comes up and cups my jaw, his long fingers warm against my cheek. Welcome warmth seeps through me. My heart beats harder and faster. The light in his eyes rivals the brightest star, the fullest moon, the hottest sun.

  “Andie, I love you. Don’t shut me out anymore. I believe God brought me here to put us together. Are you going to keep on fighting him? That’s what you’re doing when you fight me.”

  I love you . . . I love you . . . I love you . . .

  His voice turns to an intimate whisper. “I can’t say I know your prayers. They’re inside you, for you and God to know.

  But what if I’m the answer to those prayers? I know you enough to know you’re not the kind of woman who wants to spend the rest of her life alone.”

  I sit up a fraction. Huh? I blink. Did I just hear what I think I heard? Did I really hear him say he’s the answer to my prayers?

  Max? Answer to my prayers?

  Nuh-uh. No way. He’s just a good-looking stud Miss Mona brought to the S.T.U.D.

  Right?

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  “Boy, you’ve got a swelled head—”

  Then he kisses me.

  Long and hard.

  On the lips.

  Oh my . . .

  1600

  “Dum-de-dummm . . . dum-de-dum-de-dum-dum-de-dummm . . .”

  Those sweet familiar notes sweep through my head as I drown in the tenderness of Max’s kiss. Warmth, comfort, love, and passion—yes, mind-boggling passion—fill me, sweep me away to a world I’ve never visited before. I really am a stranger in the paradise of romance.

  “All lost in a wonderland . . .

  ”

  Max sings the words against my lips, his touch breath-light and more moving than I could have imagined. Oh my. “Am I dreaming?”

  He slides a hand through my short-short hair, then presses me closer to his chest again. “Neither one of us is dreaming. I won’t kid you and say it’s going to be easy, because nothing with you has ever been easy, but I do promise you it’ll never be boring.�
�

  The emotion in my heart expands, spreads, fills every inch of me. I don’t want to presume anything, but this sounds like the real deal to me. Of course, it’s happening at the weirdest time, but, hey! This is me here, after all. You know how things go for me.

  Why should falling in love be any different?

  It’s happened, though, and I guess that’s what counts.

  “Could you cut a guy a break for once?” Max asks.

  I crash down out of my rosy-romance haze. “What do you mean?”

  “It might be a good idea if you told me how you feel about me. I stuck my neck out, told you I love you, and all you’ve said is that I have a swelled head. Am I barking up the wrong tree with you?”

  I shake my head, slowly at first, and then with more oomph. “Nope. You’re not barking up the wrong tree. But I am trying to really believe this is happening, that I’m not imagining things . . . imagining you.”

  He grins—a smug grin, if you ask me. “That kiss didn’t feel like much of an imagination thing to me. Here, let’s try it again, and see if I can convince you.”

  Before I can answer, he swoops down. This kiss is the stuff of fireworks, John Phillip Sousa marches, and breath-stealing passion.

  Max . . . Max . . . Max . . .

  When he moves away just a fraction, I blink. “Wow!” I blush when I realize how close to a croak the word sounds. Time to clear the throat. “I don’t have anywhere near that much imagination, Max. I might have to start pinching myself just to make sure I haven’t dreamed it, but, yeah. It sure felt real.”

  “That’s a start.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “I’ve been trying to catch your attention for a while now. You haven’t made it easy.”

  “Once burned, twice shy—it’s a cliché, but totally true.” “Tell you what. I don’t want to hear about the idiot who burned you, but I’m glad he was that stupid. He left you free for me to find.”

  “I’m glad you found me.”

  “Or that God crashed us together.”

  I curl into his chest, warm and solid and broad. I breathe in the faintest hint of his woodsy aftershave, and nod a response to his goofy comment. I wish I could surrender to the moment, to the awesomeness of falling in love, to the enormous gift God’s given us, but I can’t stop thinking of Aunt Weeby and Miss Mona.

  Just the thought of the Duo makes me groan. “You know we’re in trouble, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just think what Aunt Weeby and Miss Mona are going to say when they figure out . . . well, when they realize we’re . . . umm . . .”

  “In love?”

  “Yes . . .”

  The rumble of his laugh reverberates against my ear. “They’re going to take credit for it, of course. I can just hear them too.”

  “Wish I really could hear them.”

  “Me too.”

  We fall silent for a while again. The rise and fall of Max’s breathing under my cheek soothes my frazzled nerves. Just as I’m about to—finally—doze off, though, he sighs.

  “I’d just as soon stay like this than do anything else, but I really need a shower, a shave, and clean clothes. Something tells me we’re going to have to deal with more meetings with the chief, and I know you’re going to cook up more of those ideas of yours for us.”

  “I don’t have any ideas right now.” I reluctantly rise. “But you’re right. I need a shower too. And I have to prepare myself for what I’m sure’s going to be another tough day.”

  He stretches, reaches almost to the ceiling, and then heads for the front door. “I’ll see you later. At the studio?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Just remember”—he turns to face me again—“I love you. You’re not alone anymore.”

  The warmth in my chest spreads and turns to a blush on my cheeks. I give him a tentative smile. “I . . . I love you too.”

  Then, without another word or kiss or hug, he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

  I stand and stare, stunned by the night’s events. My emotions have been riding a rollercoaster, and I’m breathless from the adrenaline rush.

  “Lord, did you really send Max?”

  My deep breath does little to settle nerves—what am I talking about? To settle me.

  Could Max really be the answer to some of my prayers?

  Scenes from the past year click through my thoughts. Little by little they drop to form a mosaic picture of Max. His patience with me, his caring for Aunt Weeby and Miss Mona, his willingness to learn, his determination to protect me . . . Rats.

  “It sure does look like you did, Lord. So what’s next?”

  Because of the S.T.U.D.’s rotating schedule of shows, ours today is slotted from ten to noon. By the time we’re done,

  I know what I’m doing next. If Max wants to join me—you know, in that partnership he keeps bringing up—I’ll be more than happy to have him. If, on the other hand, he’s going to be a wet blanket and get in my way, then he’s going to have to be happy sitting at home, twiddling his thumbs, and waiting for me to find the Duo.

  When the studio lights go off, I turn in my swivel chair, ready to do battle. His grin catches me by surprise.

  “Whatever you’re up to,” he says, “I’m in. That look on your face means trouble, and I know you too well by now to let you go barging blindly into danger.”

  “Oh, right. By that line of logic, you’re going to join me so we can both go barging blindly into danger.”

  “No, I’m coming so I can be the voice of reason.”

  I bite my tongue—hard—so as to not spout off something I might regret. I swallow. Two deep, heartfelt gulps of air later, I square my shoulders. “Okay, then. You’ll be happy to know I’m only going to Miss Mona’s office. If I don’t find anything of any value there, then we’ll hit her house.”

  “Do you have a key to get in?”

  “No. But she keeps an extra one under the most revolting plastic dog . . . umm . . . dropping out in the backyard.”

  Max howls. “That’s so Miss Mona.”

  “Worse. Where do you think she got it?”

  He shakes his head in helpless humor.

  “Aunt Weeby gave it to her for her birthday a few years back.”

  His chuckles die off. “We’re going to find them. We have to. There’s no other choice.”

  A sob hitches its way up my throat. “I just hope we’re in time. Let’s go hit her office.”

  “Let me stop in my dressing room first. I don’t want to go off Duo-hunting in a suit.”

  Even though I’m impatient to get on with it, his words make me take a step back. “You’ve got a point. I’ll meet you at Miss Mona’s office in ten.”

  By the time I get there, he’s inside, hands in his jeans pockets, turning slowly, staring at the bookcases, the file cabinets, the enormous desk with its multiple drawers. “Where do we start?”

  I look around, and the sheer volume of stuff in the office threatens to overwhelm me. But I can’t let that kind of roadblock get to me. Miss Mona and Aunt Weeby come first.

  “Tell you what. Since you’re taller than I am, how about you go through those bookshelves? I’ll hit the desk. And then maybe we can do the file cabinets together.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” At the set of shelves closest to the door, he stops and turns. “Mind telling me what we’re looking for?”

  “Hmm . . . I’m not sure. If I knew, I’d tell you. Since I don’t, you’re just going to have to wing it. The best I can do is tell you we’re looking for something that doesn’t quite . . . oh, I don’t know. Fit, maybe?”

  “Oh man, am I in trouble here. That actually made sense.”

  A rush of daring overtakes me. “See what love can do to a man?”

  He laughs and heads for the nearest bookshelf. “That’s a subject for later, Andie. And we’ll have that talk too, the one about later. I promise.”

  Blushing, I slide behind the desk and sit in the massive leather
desk chair. I may talk a mean streak, but I don’t have a clue what I’m looking for. Something that doesn’t fit? Good grief.

  The top center drawer seems like a good place to start.

  But aside from a beautiful collection of true fountain pens and their accompanying rainbow of ink bottles, there’s nothing there. So it’s on to the right-side stack of drawers for me. And then I hit my first snag. It’s locked. I don’t have that key. Or a fake dog plop under which to find it.

  But I do have Max.

  Who does the deed with his magic metal gizmos, and within minutes, I’m rifling through contracts, employment records, banking statements, all kinds of information I don’t feel right looking at. “I can’t believe I’ve become such a sleaze, going through her stuff like this.”

  “You want to join me over here and leave the desk for Chief Clark?”

  “Not on your life. I don’t know how long it’ll be before he gets here. I don’t want to wait any longer than I have to.”

  After I’ve plowed through the right side and find nothing unusual or interesting—about the emeralds, Colombia, or Creepella—I hit the left-side stack. With the same frustrating results.

  “How’s it going?” I ask Max once I’m done.

  “Aside from dueling massive collections of books—gemology and historical romance novels—I haven’t found anything too—”

  I wait. Count to ten. “Well? Too what?”

  “Hmm . . . this might be something.”

  I fly to his side. “What did you find?”

  He pats a group of tall, slim, leather-bound books with gold writing on the spines. “There’s something about these books . . . something about them rings a bell with me, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Did you know she keeps all her school yearbooks here in the office?”

  “Oh, those. Yeah. You know Miss Mona. She’s very loving, and sentimental to the max—no pun intended. Every so often she hauls them out and tells me stories from when she was in school. She went to some snooty boarding place.”

  “I’ll bet those stories are pretty funny.”

  “Trust me. They are.”

  “But they’ll have to wait. We have to find her and Aunt Weeby first.”