Banged Up

by Jeanne St. James

  Behind the kid, she noticed the business name was also plastered all over the parked delivery van.

  Mace. He must have bought her flowers. How very sweet!

  Colby unlocked the door and swung it partially open, just enough where she could keep her left hand, which held the gun, hidden behind the door.

  “Hello, ma’am,” the kid said. He shoved his clipboard toward her. “I have a delivery of flowers.”

  The young man’s eyes immediate drew to her cleavage, which was slowly being exposed as her robe slipped open. With the clipboard in one hand and the gun in the other, she didn’t have any hands left to close it.

  “Who are they for?” Colby asked. She signed awkwardly on the line next to the address of the house. She had used the doorjamb to hold the clipboard up while she signed. She handed it back to him before pinning the lapels of her robe together tightly with her free hand.

  The kid did a lazy half shrug, his eyes still focused on the point where she was gripping her robe. “There’s no name on the delivery, just this address.”

  Colby looked down. Nope, nothing was showing.

  She waited.

  He stood there, a dumb look on his face while he continued to stare at her, like he was just hoping to catch a glimpse of something.

  She cleared her throat, catching his attention. “The flowers?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Here.” He shoved the wrapped bouquet at her.

  She had to quickly release her robe to grab the flowers, but pressed them against her chest, making a shield from his eyes.

  He stood there for a moment more. Until he got sick of waiting for a tip, she guessed.

  Not that he was going to get one from her since she didn’t carry money in her negligee or robe, of course.

  “Sorry,” she called out as he trooped away mumbling.

  She closed the door and locked it before moving into the kitchen. She dumped her gun on the table and quickly unwrapped the green paper covering the bouquet. A little thrill ran up her spine. She couldn’t believe Mace had bought her flowers!

  As she peeled the paper away, she uncovered beautiful blood-red roses. They smelled delicious. She loved roses: the feel, the scent, the soft, silkiness of their petals.

  Wait! What?

  At first Colby thought she was seeing things. She wasn’t. In the center of the dozen red roses, a single black rose stood out. It was just as gorgeous as the red ones, except it was a deep purplish-black color. And a black rose meant death.

  Why would Mace include a black one? Maybe it was just a mistake made at the florists. She laid the bouquet on the table and dug out the attached card. It read: Thinking about you. Without a signature line.

  Not thinking of you, but thinking about you. That was odd. The card had neither a to nor a from. Not only was it a bit out of the ordinary, the single black rose mixed in was as well.

  Colby heard the front door unlock and open. “Mace?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m in the kitchen.”

  “Good. Did you get coffee started? If not, I brought—” He stepped into the kitchen, his hands full of a pastry bag and a drink carrier with two large disposable cups in it.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “They delivered the flowers.”

  “Uh. Okay.” He dumped the food and drinks on the table and put one of the cups in front of her. “Chai tea.”

  Colby nodded her thanks.

  Mace pulled a chair away from the table and settled into it, stretching his leg out. He looked a bit pained, a white ring circling the press of his lips.

  “Is your leg bothering you?”

  He nodded, kneading his knuckles against his thigh. “A little bit.”

  She had a feeling it was more than a little bit. When he reached for his bottle of pain medication, which was in the middle of the kitchen table, she made a noise. His fingers curled into a fist and he grimaced. But he left the pain pills alone. Not that she enjoyed his suffering. She didn’t. She just didn’t want to see him end up addicted to pain medication.

  He moved away from the pill bottle and brushed his fingers over the petals of the roses instead. “So, what’s up with the roses?”

  “You tell me.”

  He pursed his lips, clearly fighting with himself whether he should take credit for the flowers or not.

  Well, if he had to think about it that hard, he didn’t buy them. “If you didn’t order them, who did?”

  “What does the card say?” She tossed the card at him. He glanced at it and frowned.

  “That’s weird,” he said, after putting the card aside.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Could it be your Martin?”

  Colby sighed. “He’s not my Martin. Anyway, I doubt he’d be sending me flowers.”

  “Why?”

  “He just wouldn’t. Maybe this is some sort of joke.”

  “An expensive joke.” He took a long swig of his coffee.

  She wrapped her brain around a more puzzling thought. “Hold on. How do we even know these were meant for me? The delivery guy just said they were for this address. Maybe they were sent to you.”

  He choked and wiped his mouth with his hand. “No one knows I’m home except for you and my boss.”

  “And your physical therapist.”

  “Yeah, but—” He pushed away from the table and grabbed the phone which hung on the wall. “We can solve this easily enough. What was the name of the florist?”

  She gave the information to him, but there wasn’t a phone number on the card, so Mace called 411.

  A few minutes later he hung up. “Well, that was pointless.” His attempt to not sound frustrated didn’t go unnoticed. He sank back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

  “Sounded like it.” She popped the lid off her tea and sniffed at it. The soft aroma of spices tickled her nose. She took a tentative sip. It tasted sweet and creamy and oh so good. Maybe it would calm her nerves.

  “Whoever bought the bouquet paid in cash. They have no record of who sent it and who the intended recipient was. Fuck.” He dragged his hand through his hair again.

  She was tempted to smooth it down for him. “Hey, it’s just flowers.” Though she wanted to believe him, she had this niggling feeling there was more to it. The people who knew she was staying at this house were limited and Mace could say the same.

  “Look, no point in worrying about it, I guess.” He didn’t sound so convinced. He pushed the pastry bag toward her. “I brought breakfast. Croissants and a couple of danishes.”

  She gave the bag of food a look of distaste. She didn’t know if she could eat now.

  What was once the pleasant scent of the roses, now turned her stomach.

  Chapter Nine

  Colby spread her legs and slowed her breathing. Mace reached around her to steady her arms, leaning into her back. His breath tickled the hair by her ear. “Steady, steady. Okay, squeeze.”

  The gunshot made Colby flinch, but her shot was dead-on.

  “Ouch.” Mace groaned, looking at the target. He pressed the button and the paper target glided toward them. “You were supposed to go for center mass.”

  She grinned. “Close enough. I got him where I want him.”

  Mace stuck his pinky through the hole in the target and wiggled it. “Yeah, right in the crotch. Sorry, buddy, there’ll be no more lil’ baby targets running around. She just neutered you.”

  With a laugh, she said, “Put another one out there.”

  He clipped a new target on, then pressed the button to send the silhouette out into the range. “Okay, this time…”

  “This time, I can do it myself.”

  Mace lifted his hands in surrender and backed off. “Fine. Whatever. I only wanted to help.”

  “Mace, I wouldn’t own a gun without knowing how to shoot it.”

  She barely caught the roll of his eyes. “Do you know what this world is filled with? People who buy firearms and can’t—”

&
nbsp; Colby gave him a quick elbow to the stomach. “Don’t group me with them.”

  “All right, show me what you can do, Miss Biochemist.” He brushed a kiss along her temple before backing off.

  “That’s Ms. Biochemist to you.” She flashed him a big smile before turning to concentrate on her target. She supported her trigger hand and carefully took aim. Inhale, exhale all the air out; steady. She kept an even pressure on the trigger and squeezed. The sound of the shot made her flinch again but when she opened her eyes, she had once again hit her target.

  “Nice. I want to see that again. But faster. Who is going to give you time to aim and shoot? A bad guy,” Mace pointed to the target, “isn’t going to wait around for you to shoot him. He’s either going to be running at you, running away from you or blowing your head off.”

  Colby smiled wickedly. “Shut up and put your ear protection back on.” He slid his hearing protectors back over his ears as she raised her Glock again. She called the body parts off as she aimed. “Head … heart … lung … trigger arm … groin … leg…” Every bullet met its mark, one after the other, in quick succession. When the target was nothing but a tattered piece of paper, she slipped the clip out and double-checked the chamber was empty. “He isn’t going anywhere,” she stated.

  “Damn right he’s not.” He shook his head. “Okay, we don’t need to waste any more time here at the range. Let’s go home, you’re getting me hard.” He chuckled and took off his shooting glasses. “Wow, a woman who can shoot and who’s good in bed. How lucky can I get?”

  “Don’t push your luck.” Colby popped out her orange earplugs and put the gun away in its case. “Wait a minute, just good?”

  He reached around her to snap the case shut, then snagged her wrists before she could pull away. He yanked her arms above her head, and with his hips he maneuvered her against the concrete wall of the shooting booth. He let her feel how much he wanted her.

  She glanced quickly to the opening of the booth. Anyone could pass by at any moment. “Mace, someone is going to see us.”

  “Maybe.”

  She should be embarrassed at the thought of being caught. Mace pinned her against the wall and thrust against her. But she wasn’t. The possibility of someone seeing them excited her.

  He nuzzled up her neck before moving up to ear. He whispered, “I could fuck you right here.” He kissed her, slanting his lips over hers and burying his tongue in her mouth. He tasted so good. He shifted both her wrists to one hand. Drawing his fingers over her breasts, he brushed over her nipples. “Are you still sore?” he asked against her lips, referring to her tender backside, a result from their afternoon delight at the house the day before.

  “A little.” She was, more than a little, but it had been worth it—even if she had suffered with a case of discord for a little while afterward. She ended up telling herself to just live for the moment, to just enjoy what Mace offered. Even if it only lasted for a little while.

  Mace was not offering, but taking it upon himself to pop open the top of her jeans.

  He unzipped them completely, giving his hand enough room to plunge underneath her panties and right into her pussy. Colby gasped at the sudden invasion of his fingers, but tilted her hips to give him better access.

  He stroked and tweaked her, playing along her moist labia, inserting a couple fingers before moving on to her clit. Where he started the pattern over again. When she started to cry out, he placed his lips over hers and caught it, muffling it. He kissed her deeply while he played with her, breaking away only to say, “This is my thank you for yesterday.”

  He curled his fingers inside her and found her sweet spot, taunting and teasing it. He added his thumb into the mix, pressing and flicking her clit. She could take no more. She thrust her hips against his hand one last time, gasping and groaning into his mouth. He only released her, her pussy, her mouth and her wrists, when she quieted.

  He brushed a light kiss against her lips. “Damn, I’ll have to thank you more often.”

  Colby pulled herself together while he gathered their equipment. It took her a few minutes to be able to move away from the wall and stand on her own. She had to be wearing the dumbest smile on her face.

  On their way out of the gun club, Colby said, “I’ve got to stop and check on the contractor, do you mind?”

  Their feet crunched along the graveled lot, and she took note of the cars parked around her. There were at least a dozen. How could they have gone undetected? Maybe they hadn’t. She had been so caught up in the pleasure there could have been a huge audience and she wouldn’t have even known. Or cared at that moment.

  “No.” He unlocked the truck and opened the door for her. “I want to meet him anyway.”

  She gave him a funny look. What was with the sudden testosterone surge? “What for?”

  “Why not? I can’t meet the man who’s doing the majority of the work on your house?”

  “Well, I didn’t think you were so interested in my house. I know how atrocious you think it is.” She climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Maybe I just want to meet my competition. I know how much a man with a paint brush excites you.”

  Only you, she thought. She tried not to laugh out loud. Wait until he meets the contractor.

  When they drove up to the house a crew of men was busy at work on the porch.

  Colby’s eyes widened. She hardly waited for Mace to stop the truck before leaping out.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” he called out.

  “My porch! They’re working on my porch!” She smiled at him through the windshield, and laughed. She practically ran up to the front steps. The hammering was loud and glorious. She loved it. The sound of those busy, busy hands pleased her.

  “Hi, Ben!” she yelled over the racket.

  The older man turned to give Colby a slight wave. “Hello, Ms. Parks. Things are going real good here.”

  Colby was so excited she hopped in place and wrung her hands together. She was doing the happy dance. “I see! You’ve got almost all the floorboards replaced.” She probably looked like a crazy loon, but she didn’t care.

  “Yep, soon you’ll be able to paint.”

  Music to her ears. Colby heard a groan behind her. But not to someone else’s apparently. “Did I hear the ‘P’ word again?”

  She turned and trotted up to Mace. “Hurry up, Mace! Look how far they’ve got.” She grabbed his arm, tugging hard.

  Mace slowly trudged up the overgrown walkway in mock misery. “I see. That’s nice.”

  She tugged harder on his arm, to pick up his pace. “Ben, this is Mace Walker. Mace, this is Ben Fine, he’s my contractor.”

  “Oh, hell, I just thought he was collecting scrap wood for his fireplace.” Mace turned to eye up the gray-haired man. “Hello, Ben.”

  Ben had deep creases surrounding his eyes and mouth; his skin was weathered from age and years of working in the sun. Colby watched Mace’s expression relax, almost as if he was relieved. Why he would find her contractor a threat was a mystery to her.

  Mace extended his hand and the older man shook it firmly while returning his hello.

  “Is the bedroom finished yet?”

  The hammering stopped dead, and the crew’s heads, all five of them, spun in unison to look over at Colby. Her face burned hot and she turned on Mace. “Stop it,” she whispered fiercely.

  “What? I was just asking a question.” He smirked, draping an arm around her hips and drawing her to him.

  Colby jerked away impatiently. Men!

  Deciding to ignore him and his childishness, she wandered around the outside of the raised porch, eyeing all the new repairs. The crew had replaced broken spindles and rotted posts. The floorboards would eventually all be new. The steps still needed repair, but it looked like they would be finished by tomorrow. She hugged herself, hardly able to contain her delight at the progress, and thought about how it was going to look with a fresh coat of paint. And the new porch swing she wanted. Oh, God, s
oon. Soon. She’ll be swinging on her own porch, with a glass of lemonade, reading a novel and listening to the birds chirping, and the…

  A hand on her shoulder startled her. “Come back from wherever you are,” came the low murmur next to her ear.

  Colby blinked twice, coming back to reality, and turned to look at the man next to her. Where did he fit in the picture? “Oh, I was just doing a little imagining.” Did he fit into the picture?

  “Yeah, I could see that. You went off to Never Never Land.”

  “Mace, you just don’t understand. This house is everything to me. It is me.”

  Mace laid an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I believe it. Now, how soon do we need to start painting?”

  ———

  Mace wandered around the back of the old house. Colby was still talking excitedly to Ben in the front, so he decided to get a little work done. He had borrowed a carpenter pencil and measuring tape from one of the men and snagged a scrap of paper out of his truck. He needed to measure the rear entryway to the kitchen since Colby wanted to order a new storm door.

  As he climbed the two wooden steps to the small covered entrance, he paused.

  Something wasn’t right. Instinctively, he froze, searching his surroundings. Muddy footprints came from the overgrown bushes to the left of the house. Not from the right, where the driveway was. And the empty paint cans he had stacked in a corner of the porch were scattered. The knocked-over cans he could attribute to a curious, wild animal.

  But the footprints were definitely human. And fresh.

  He would have to ask the crew whether any of them had been doing some exploring of their own. But a niggling feeling at the back of his neck told him something was off.

  He was letting his past experience overrun him. It could have been just a teenager looking for an empty house to party in.

  Just like it was kid’s prank calling the house.

  He finally moved, opening the outer storm door to inspect the inner wooden door carefully. He looked closely at the small rectangular windowpanes. There was no doubt there was a handprint on one of them. Like someone had been peering in the back door, looking for something or someone.