Moment of Weakness

by KG MacGregor

  Marleigh seemed to sense her dilemma and loosened her shirt, revealing sumptuous oval breasts, white against her tanned neck and chest. And pink pebbled peaks.

  “God, you’re gorgeous.” She crushed Marleigh with a deep, heated kiss, shuddering as soft hands slid inside her waistband to clutch her hips. This part of her had been dormant too long.

  * * *

  Marleigh couldn’t believe she’d all but confessed her love. Yet from the moment Zann had responded to her flirtations after the parade, she’d known this was a woman who could make her forget everyone else.

  Zann’s forehead wrinkled with the strain of sliding her left hand across Marleigh’s stomach. “I might not be as good at this as I used to be.”

  “You’re with me now. This time was always going to be different.” With a heave, she urged Zann onto her back and straddled her waist. “I am of the opinion, Captain Zann, that we both have on far too many clothes.”

  She pushed the polo shirt over Zann’s head and fell forward into a kiss, holding back just enough brain cells to determine if there was a clasp on her sports bra. There was, and when she felt the release, she pulled it away and sat up again to see Zann’s firm breasts, rounded like the muscles that curled over her shoulders. Mesmerizing.

  Before she could move to caress them, Zann yanked at her shirt, snapping the last button that held it closed. She shrugged free, consciously drawing her shoulders back to lift her breasts.

  “God, you’re gorgeous.” Zann hissed with pleasure as she stroked one and squeezed its nipple.

  Marleigh collapsed again, fusing their skin as she slid her forearms underneath Zann’s back. This time she led their kiss, nuzzling with her cheek and concentrating on the hand that now massaged her hip. Her mind broke down the physical sensations—the texture of their tongues, the warm, purposeful melding of their feminine selves—all while dancing between her own desire and the certainty that Zann wanted her just as much.

  Sliding one hand between them, she worked the fasteners on Zann’s pants and raised herself as they were pushed away, along with a slim-fitting pair of ladies’ boxer briefs. Before she had a chance to explore the naked skin, she felt the tug at her own shorts and hurriedly shook them to the floor.

  Continuing their kiss, she caressed Zann with her body, centering her thoughts on the tingling friction caused by thighs that tightened and relaxed as they rocked together. The rhythm was a secret language all their own. With a subtle shift of her weight, she lowered her lips to feast on a nipple, its rubbery stiffness stabbing at her teeth. Such a gorgeous body, sleek and firm with womanly grace.

  Zann arched upward, her mouth gaping as her head lolled back. “God, I want you.”

  Marleigh abandoned all pretense of control as she slid her hand through the slickness and massaged her core. Every surge was answered with a whimper or moan, until the sounds ran together in a cry of release.

  * * *

  The ceiling fan whipped cool air around the room. Zann hadn’t noticed it the night before as they’d tangled atop the sweaty sheets. But then she might not have noticed a four-alarm fire. Three hours of lovemaking, wrestling for control with a woman who seemed bound and determined to make her forget there ever was anyone else. And to make her forget there was any part of her that was less than whole—Marleigh had taken her hand and held it inside her. “Feel what you did to me.”

  Except now she couldn’t sense her hand at all…because Marleigh’s head rested on her shoulder and had cut off the blood flow. She jiggled her arm until it was free, a move that caused Marleigh to roll away.

  “Mmm…what time is it?”

  “Your clock says five fifty-six,” Zann answered in her croaky morning voice. She spooned against the warm body and made a show of sniffing Marleigh’s bare shoulder. “You smell like sex. It’s coming out of your pores. Everyone you get close to today will know what you did last night.”

  Marleigh’s shoulders began to shake with silent laughter.

  “If I were you I’d call in sick.”

  “Wish I could but someone has to go speak truth to power.”

  Zann took a moment to appreciate how comfortable she was. Not just physically, though it was hard to beat being wrapped around a lithe naked body after the kind of night they’d had. The most striking sensation was freedom, so unusual that her subconscious habitually prodded her to check herself, the way she might grope about if she’d suddenly stopped carrying a pack or a wallet. At every impulse she was reassured that no one cared where she was, who she was with or what she’d done. And she was no longer subject to a command structure that ruled her conduct out of bounds.

  Marleigh rolled over to face her. A night’s rest had rounded her lips and relaxed the lines in her forehead. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Life.”

  “A little more specific.”

  “I was thinking how long it’s been since I felt totally relaxed with a woman. Probably never. There’s always been this little voice in my head telling me to watch out, that somebody might catch me and blow my whole career.”

  “Because you’re gay? I thought that was all wiped out when they got rid of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Or did that not apply to the Marines?”

  “It was never as simple as they made it sound. The repeal made it okay to say you were gay, but you still weren’t supposed to have gay sex. The Marine Corps considered it unnatural carnal copulation.”

  “Say that again. I love it when you talk dirty.”

  Zann murmured it several times until they both were giggling and groping one another under the sheet. Just as their touches turned intimate, the sharp beep of the alarm interrupted their play.

  “Damn, time for the real world,” Marleigh said, sighing as she extricated her limbs. “By the way, if you think after last night that you’re going to sign up with Hell Dog and go back to Afghanistan, I’ve got news for you. It’s not happening, Captain Zann. I’m not letting you go.”

  There was a weightiness to her voice that Zann couldn’t dismiss. “Going to stop me, are you?”

  “What would it take?” Her playfulness was gone, in its place a sober plea.

  “Marleigh, I…”

  “You said you woke up every day thinking about how the Marines had taken away the life you wanted. Did you think about it today?”

  She’d thought of only one thing, the woman in her arms. “No.”

  “Then stay here and give it a chance. Give us a chance. I’m willing to bet there’s something a whole lot more important than being a soldier.” She knelt across the bed and delivered a soft kiss. “Could be this is the life you were meant to live.”

  Chapter Eight

  Present Day

  The gunshots in the outer room were followed by women’s screams—Bridget and Fran—and a high-pitched male voice yelling sharply, “Lock the door, David! No one comes, no one leaves.” The accent and pronunciation—Dah-vee—were French-Canadian like Bridget’s boyfriend, but Marleigh knew Luc’s voice and that wasn’t it.

  She instinctively started for the hallway, only to be yanked back. With a finger to her lips, Zann commanded her stillness.

  “Ancil? What the hell’s going on?” The pleading voice belonged to Bridget. Marleigh recognized the name as one of Luc’s Canadian friends, a business associate. She’d met Ancil a couple of weekends ago when he showed up at Bridget’s apartment looking for Luc.

  “What is going on is that your boyfriend does not have the decency to return my calls. I thought if I came here, I might get his attention.”

  Still gripping her bicep, Zann steered her abruptly to the counter and checked the cabinets down the line. When she began emptying the contents of the largest one—jumbo packs of hand towels and toilet paper, which she stacked on the counter—it became clear she intended for them to hide inside.

  Marleigh went first, scooting all the way back and pulling her knees to her chest to make room. Once Zann got into position beside her, she held the cabinet do
or with her fingertips so it wouldn’t bang as it closed.

  The phone on Fran’s desk let out a shrill ring.

  “Leave it!” Ancil barked. “All of you, move over here and get on the floor! No cell phones.” His voice grew loud as he approached the break room, and then faded as he walked away. Only a thin wall separated the cabinet from the lobby, allowing them to hear every word. “And if you know what is good for you, you will keep your hands where my friends here can see them.”

  Friends…how many were there? Marleigh couldn’t believe this was happening. Luc was a nice guy, a businessman. How had he gotten mixed up with a bunch of ruffians?

  “That gun isn’t necessary.” It was Clay, emerging from his office to inject calm. “The man you’re looking for obviously isn’t here, so it doesn’t serve any purpose to threaten us.”

  “It serves my purpose perfectly,” Ancil said, his tone sarcastic and sinister. “Luc Michaux has something that belongs to me—something worth a considerable amount of money—and I am here to collect it.”

  “Do you know those people?” Zann asked, her voice barely audible.

  “Ancil somebody…he’s one of Luc’s friends from Montreal.”

  A second man shouted, “He said no phones, bitch! Touch it again and you’re dead. Now get out here.” Unlike Ancil, this man’s accent was American.

  Marleigh whispered, “He must be yelling at Tammy. She was in her office.”

  “Shh…let’s get the lay of the land and I’ll figure out what to do.” Zann clung to her still, as though issuing commands through her wrist. She’d slipped seamlessly into what Marleigh thought of as her command mode, honed in the Marines. Cool and collected, confident in her ability to handle whatever obstacle she faced.

  Out in the lobby, Clay asserted himself again in his usual no-nonsense style. “This is ridiculous. I’m calling the police. You need to—”

  Two more gunshots sparked an eerie echo.

  Marleigh flinched in terror, squeezing her eyes tightly to shut out a vision of Clay being shot. The sound of raining debris filled her with relief—the gunman had fired again into the ceiling.

  Ancil spoke as calmly as if he were ordering lunch, “You will not be calling the police. You will be sitting on the floor with the others, or my next bullet will go into this lovely young lady’s head. Comprenez-vous?”

  “Oh my God, Zann. He’s going to kill somebody.”

  “Shh.” Zann touched a finger to her cheek, likely meant for her lips.

  There were sounds of scraping chairs and shuffling feet. When the rustling quieted, she pictured her friends now huddled on the floor in front of Fran’s tall counter.

  The phone sounded again, four rings before it kicked to voice mail.

  What would people think if no one answered the phones at their office? Would someone come to help? Marleigh shook off a terrifying vision of one of their customers getting shot as they tried to enter the building.

  “While you make yourselves comfortable, Bridget is going to call her boyfriend. She will tell him that stealing from me was a very big mistake.” Stealing? Luc was a day trader. “And if he does not come to this office immediately and make this right, he will be making a much bigger one.”

  “He can’t come, Ancil. He’s in New York meeting with clients. I don’t even know when he’s supposed to get home. He’s been there for the last three days.”

  Had Luc talked Ancil into a shady investment that didn’t pan out? Whatever it was, threatening Bridget and the others wouldn’t get him what he wanted as long as Luc was out of reach. And that made the situation dangerous.

  With a snide edge to his voice, Ancil replied, “Oh, fair Bridget. I am so sorry to be the one to break this very sad news to you. Your lover lies to you. Let me guess…you believe he is a stockbroker, or some other such thing you find respectable. He is not, though I have observed that he likes to dress the part. I have taken notice of his fine clothes and expensive sports car. And he is not in New York today. For your sake—and for that of your friends, of course—let us hope he is closer. Much closer.”

  “Get him on the phone!” This was now a third voice, cracking and shrill as though it belonged to a much younger man.

  As quietly as she could, Marleigh shifted inside the cabinet to straighten out one of her cramping legs. Zann was hunched across from her with her knees tucked beneath her. The space was so small their breath warmed the air.

  “He’s not picking up,” Bridget said plaintively.

  “Leave him a message.”

  “Luc, it’s me. I need you to call me back as soon as you—”

  “Tell him what I said,” Ancil said icily.

  With a shaky voice, she continued. “Luc, Ancil is here at the newspaper office…with two of his friends. He says you stole something from him and he wants you to bring it to him here. Luc, they have guns and they’re—”

  “Give it to me!” There was a pause as the phone changed hands. “Did you hear that, Luc? You have two choices, both very simple. Either bring my delivery or bring seven million in cash to your girlfriend’s office. Surely you understand what I would do for that amount of money. You have thirty minutes before bad things begin to happen to these innocent people, these victims of your foolishness. Do not think you can ignore me, Luc. People here will pay the price, and then I will come for you.”

  Marleigh had a vague idea of street prices from the reporting she’d done on the drug epidemic. Seven million dollars was a lot of meth or heroin, a truckload even. Unless it was heroin laced with fentanyl or carfentanil—trafficked under street names like China White or Serial Killer—considered by some to be the deadliest of street drugs. Luc could easily smuggle seven million in spiked heroin in the trunk of his car. He and Ancil, both of them chic and refined, fit the profile of those who moved drugs but stayed above the fray.

  There was a whimper that sounded like Tammy. “This doesn’t have anything to do with us. Why can’t you just let us go? We won’t tell—”

  “Shut up!” The younger voice again, accompanied by a flurry of motion.

  “Ow!” Tammy shrieked, apparently having suffered a kick or a shove.

  “Leave her alone, you animal!” Clay yelled amidst a shuffling of feet.

  Another shot rang out, followed by screams and shouts of disbelief. “Oh my God, you shot him!”

  “Scotty!” Ancil’s voice was sharp and scolding.

  “You saw him, Ancil. He took a swing at me,” the young man whined. His name and accent suggested he, like David, was American. A couple of hapless locals doing dirty work for a drug dealer from Montreal.

  “He’s bleeding,” Fran said. “We have to call an ambulance.”

  “No. He was a fool and he paid the price,” Ancil said coldly. “There will be no more stupidity, no more heroes. Your only hero today is Luc Michaux—he is the only one who can save you. David, find something to tie these people up so Scotty will not be tempted to shoot them.”

  Marleigh’s heart pounded as footsteps sounded in the break room. Even in the dark, she knew Zann was coiled to attack if David discovered them.

  He ransacked the room, banging drawers and cabinets. The drawer above their head slid out, enabling a glimpse of his gloved hands as he rummaged inside and seized a roll of duct tape.

  * * *

  “This has to be about drugs,” Zann whispered. Few things were worth that much money. Plus there was Ancil’s lack of concern that Luc would simply pick up the message from Bridget and call the police. Luc was in too deep to implicate himself. He had double-crossed Ancil, absconding with either a shipment of drugs or the money from its sale. Worse, he probably had a three-day head start.

  Marleigh spoke softly, “Zann, you have to call the cops. They shot Clay.”

  “My phone’s in my coat pocket.” She gently cracked the door, confirming they were alone in the room. By her estimation, it would take about forty seconds to fetch the phone and return safely to the cabinet. She could do that. As l
ong as their captors were busy tying everyone up, they weren’t likely to pass by the doorway.

  This moment was also their best window for escape, she realized. All they had to do was get to the back exit. Nothing mattered more than getting Marleigh to safety.

  “Marleigh, we should sneak over by the door. I’ll create some kind of distraction and you run for it. Get out the back and go for help.”

  “We can’t,” she whispered. “Fran keeps the back gate locked except on trash days. The keys are in her desk.”

  The area behind the building was enclosed in a tall chain-link fence that provided added security from break-ins. If someone chased Marleigh out the back, she’d surely be caught before she could clear the fence.

  “Okay, I’ll go for my phone. But you stay right here if I get caught. Not a sound. I mean it.” She closed the cabinet behind her to preserve Marleigh’s cover and crept toward where her coat hung on the chair.

  “Call him again,” Ancil said sharply, sounding dangerously close to the hallway.

  Phone in hand, Zann took a quick moment to check a drawer by the sink, hoping to find something she could use as a weapon. Other than a smattering of plastic utensils, the only item was a manual can opener, its cutting wheel grimy with dried food.

  Marleigh tucked her knees again to make room for her return. “Did you hear what Bridget just said? Luc’s phone went straight to voice mail this time. That means he probably turned it off.”

  “It also means he got the message. Maybe he’s bringing back whatever he took.” Zann knew the odds of that were low, that he’d probably turned off his phone so Bridget couldn’t track him. She looked up a text number for the Colfax Police Department and, as calmly as she could, tapped out a series of messages.

  911 emergency

  3 gunmen at messenger office

  1 hostage shot needs doc

  i am zann redeker hiding in back room w marleigh anderhall

  In only seconds, her phone chimed with a reply, a sound that seemed as loud as a trumpet blast. She fumbled for the mute button and strained to listen for footsteps coming back their way.