Not a Moment Too Soon

by Linda O. Johnston

She was obviously being driven nuts by having Hunter so near. And by trying to revise her story for him when she knew how fruitless it was. And by—

  “Have you finished reading it yet?”

  “Almost,” she lied, then focused on the screen once more.

  A minute later, she said, “As far as it goes, it reads all right to me. What do you think?”

  “Did you change the ending?”

  Guiltily she went to the final part of the document and checked. Had she, while in her sleeplike state? “Not yet.” She did, made it end with Andee’s safe return.

  “That’s better.” Hunter’s voice was cooler, as if he was angry he’d had to mention attempting to change the end.

  She said carefully, “Okay. I’ll try to save everything.” She moved her cursor to the icon on the screen, then clicked the left button on the mouse. A tiny hourglass appeared, indicating something was going on. Its disappearance indicated that the computer had done something—or should have. Saved the changes?

  Shauna next clicked the little x at the top right. The file closed. She waited a couple of seconds, then clicked on the icon that appeared to be an open file folder. She scrolled down the menu that appeared and when she reached Andee’s story, she clicked on it.

  The story opened at the beginning. No changes there, but she hadn’t tried to make any.

  Once again, she scrolled through the document—and when she got to the part that started the day after Andee’s disappearance, her mouth opened. “It’s there, Hunter,” she said in wonderment. “What I just wrote about my coming here to help—it was saved in the story.”

  “What about the rest?” Excitement pealed in his deep voice, and Shauna felt his arm go around her shoulder as he bent to read along with her.

  Aware of his nearness, his touch, she continued going through the story. “Yes,” she said slowly. Then, a little louder and faster, she said, “What I wrote about how we both canvassed Margo’s neighborhood, talked to people, then started down the list you made—it’s there, too.”

  “Save it on your disk,” he demanded. His grip on her shoulder grew tighter, and he held her taut against his leg. “I’ll stick it in my computer and print it. Then we’ll have even more proof that your stories can be changed.”

  And then he asked the question she had been dreading—the most important of all. “What about the ending?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s look at it now.”

  She didn’t want to. But neither could she say no. Shauna scrolled to the end.

  It read the same as before she had tried, once more, to change it. The story still ended badly.

  Hunter retracted his arm from her shoulder as if she had suddenly scalded him, and she felt horribly alone once more. Rejected by him—though she knew that was ridiculous. He hadn’t done anything to accept her, so how could he reject her?

  “You changed more stuff that’s real but not important, and it’s still there,” Hunter said. “Why not the ending, too?”

  “I’ve no idea. To me, it seems miraculous that anything’s different.”

  “Some miracle,” Hunter muttered. He strode from the room, leaving Shauna staring, unseeing, at her screen.

  Hunter wondered whether Shauna was still awake. Playing with one of her stories. It had been nearly an hour since he had left her. Most likely she was asleep by now.

  Not him.

  Usually, he liked to work at this time of night. That was why he had his office here, in the corner of his bedroom, so he could get down to business fast, anytime, without disturbing Andee.

  His house was quiet at this hour, if he didn’t think about background sounds like the refrigerator’s motor, the sporadic cars along his street.

  The occasional sweet deep-sleep mumble from his daughter’s room…

  Damn it!

  He stared again at his computer screen, at the Web site he had brought up with a database on unsolved kidnappings in Southern California over the past ten years.

  None resembled Andee’s. Of course.

  Why was he doing this anyway? He knew Simon had already checked this site and others, too, and moved on. His assistant was more skilled at this kind of stuff. All he was doing was driving himself nuts. Battering his tired brain against a solid brick wall.

  He hated not being able to take control—fast. Find a way to communicate with the SOB of a kidnapper, get the damned money to him, get all of them out of this infernal mess.

  Get Andee back.

  Too much time was passing. But there wasn’t much Hunter could do at this moment but plan and work on Internet searches. He couldn’t call on neighbors, friends or enemies in the middle of the night and still expect things to stay covert. He’d already applied for loans that would hopefully yield him the full ransom, but now he waited for approvals. Talking to Banger or Tennyson would only keep them from doing something more productive. Like finding Andee.

  He glanced toward the bed. He knew he was exhausted. Maybe he should lie down for five minutes, try to rest.

  Right.

  He turned off the monitor but not the computer. Pulled off some of his clothes. Tugged down the comforter on his bed, shut off the overhead light, tried to settle on his hard mattress. And lay there, eyes open.

  Shauna lay in bed in Hunter’s guest room for the last time.

  She was going home tomorrow.

  That thought should have filled her with relief. She hadn’t wanted to come. She’d known she wouldn’t be able to do what Hunter wanted her to.

  She hadn’t even been able to accomplish what she’d hoped to by coming: find a way to help Hunter live through what was to happen.

  She sighed. Readjusted the pillow beneath her head. Sighed again.

  What good had it done anyone for her to be able to save some changes in her story and not the most important? Why had it happened?

  And what the heck was she going to do back in Oasis while knowing Hunter was facing the most horrible situation anyone could go through? What would she do in Oasis, thinking about him? Wondering about him.

  Wanting him.

  She shifted, uncomfortable in her silky nightgown. She became aware of its stark coolness as it touched her skin in places where Hunter’s caresses once had ignited her.

  Where his hot, surreptitious gazes still did.

  This time, her sigh was sheer frustration. Why did her mind—and all her senses—keep sliding back to Hunter that way?

  As if she didn’t know. That was one thing Hunter and she never argued about, when they were together before. They had shared sex that was the most incredible, sensual, unforgettable—

  And then, lying there alone in the barely comfortable bed, she knew what she had to do. For both of them.

  It wouldn’t solve anything. But, for a short while, it would give them both some solace.

  Hunter’s eyes blinked open as he heard something unfamiliar. Had he actually slept? He lay still, listening, muscles tense.

  His bedroom door was opening.

  He reached beneath his bed to where he always stuffed his Glock after Andee was tucked in and he’d retrieved it from the locked drawer where he kept his weapons, on the off chance he’d need to grab protection quick.

  Like now. Only…L.A. nights were always illuminated by streetlamps, lights from the neighbors, whatever. Even when miniblinds were closed tight, some light always seemed to sneak in.

  As a result, Hunter had no trouble discerning the outline of the person standing in his doorway. A slender silhouette with long, pale hair.

  “Shauna? You all right?” He sat up fast, pulling a sheet over him like some kind of damned prude. He’d kept his boxers on, but it would be embarrassing if she saw what she did to him by appearing unannounced at his bedroom door that way.

  “I’m fine, Hunter,” came her soft reply. “Except—”

  “What?”

  She didn’t answer. He watched her glide across the room in the faint glow from somewhere outside. She
wore a nightgown—blue, maybe? And judging by her bare feet, the soft motion of her breasts beneath the clinging material, little else.

  Talk about his body reacting—

  “What do you want, Shauna?” His voice sounded as if he’d swallowed sand.

  “You,” she whispered, sitting on the edge of his bed so he couldn’t help rolling toward her.

  Hell, he could have helped it—maybe.

  But he didn’t want to.

  Instead, he pulled her roughly into his arms, then rolled on top of her. Felt her ripe curves pillow him, drive him insane.

  His lips crushed downward, finding her mouth. He tasted the toothpaste she must have used that didn’t mask the sweet and subtle flavor that was simply Shauna. He’d recalled it before with the kisses they’d shared. Lord, how he remembered it now, as he thrust his tongue deep and let it sweep her mouth, bringing back memories of other nights they’d been together. Other burning kisses they’d shared.

  Other times his erection had grown so uncomfortable he’d wondered if it could burst from his wanting her so much.

  The same way it swelled now, thrusting against her from beneath his shorts. Hindered, too, by that damned piece of silk that she wore.

  He reached down, yanked off his covering, felt relieved and frustrated at the same time as he sprang free, pushed against her.

  He grabbed for the edge of her gown and started pulling it up as she squirmed—

  Was he going too fast?

  Had he misread what she wanted?

  Trying to maneuver his words out around his heavy breathing, he said, “Is this okay, Shauna? Is it what you want?”

  He anticipated a no. A wriggling as she tried to move from beneath his body, which had to be damned heavy on top of her slenderness.

  “Yes,” she sighed, sounding as out of breath as him.

  He muttered something—oath and prayer and gratitude all rolled into one—as he slid her gown over her smooth skin, touching it as his hand skimmed her curves.

  She moved to assist him, finally half-sitting so he could pull the thing over her head and off, her hands raised so her breasts were right in front of his mouth.

  Eagerly, hungrily, he sucked one rosy tip as he gently squeezed the other.

  He heard Shauna’s moan, felt her fingers begin to explore his burning flesh. He moved his mouth back up to hers as his hand moved lower.

  When he touched her below, she arched and cried, “Hunter. Please.”

  She didn’t need to ask again. He barely remembered in time that he kept protection in a drawer near his bed. He grabbed it, pulled it on.

  In an instant, he was inside her, and he felt as if heaven had returned.

  Chapter 10

  It was over much too soon. Not that Shauna wasn’t satisfied.

  She lay beside Hunter, her side edged up against his. He breathed heavily. So did she.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His rumbling voice held concern so sweet that it dampened her eyes.

  “No,” she whispered. “It was—I…” Her voice tapered off, for she was uncertain what to say.

  That it had been wonderful? That she had wanted it so much she had ached for needing it, needing him, since the moment she had seen him again?

  How could she, when what had brought them together this time was so terrible?

  “Yeah,” he said, as if she had said something profound that he agreed with.

  She laughed, then grew quiet. “Hunter, I hoped that you and I could part tomorrow as…friends.”

  His laughter was even louder than hers. “I considered that more than friendship.” He sucked in his breath, as if just realizing what he had said. “Not that I think we’re heading for anything serious again, but—”

  “I get it,” she said, and turned so she snuggled closer against him. He moved his arm, and she was glad when it wrapped around her, drawing her even tighter. She rested her head on his shoulder, put her hand in the center of his chest, where the muscles were taut and the skin was damp and roughened by a smattering of hairs. Though it was too dark to see him, she knew they were dark, as black as the hair on his head. Like the coarser hair below.

  Had she made a mistake? Maybe. But she didn’t think so.

  Especially when his breathing quickly grew deeper, steadier, as he fell asleep.

  She’d been one heck of a sleeping pill, she figured. But judging by the circles he’d had beneath his eyes, she doubted he’d slept the night before. She’d noted his computer was still on when she’d stood in the doorway, and she doubted he’d been asleep long when she’d come here tonight. She didn’t think he’d get much rest for a while, even when the ordeal was ended.

  She kept her sorrowful sigh shallow so as not to disturb him. She closed her eyes, hoping that she, too, would sleep.

  Much later, Shauna lay in bed still awake. She couldn’t believe the lovemaking she and Hunter had just shared again. It had been gentle this time. Slow. And so erotic that her skin still hummed from his touch.

  And the rest of her body sang even louder from the way he had felt inside her, the rhythm of him, and of them together.

  But once more, not even Hunter’s deep, even breathing lulled her to sleep.

  Slowly, almost sadly, she disentangled herself from his unconscious embrace and headed for the guest bedroom and her computer.

  She always turned to her computer, and to writing, to distract her from anything, everything, that bothered her.

  She booted up but stayed far from the story about Andee. She wasn’t going to try to change it again. Not now.

  Instead, she would work again on the story she had started out to write for little Bobby, the child who had begged her for a story about his dog the next time she read aloud to the children at Fantasy Fare. She had named that file “Duke’s Story”—and it had, instead, turned into what she had written about Andee. Now, she began a new file: “A Tale of Duke.”

  Once upon a time, there was a little boy…

  Shauna opened her eyes and shook her head. She hadn’t been able to sleep, but she had gone into one of her trances. Once upon a time no longer faced her on the computer screen.

  It was one of those stories.

  Bracing herself, apprehensive and trembling, she began to read.

  Tears flowed down her cheeks, wetting a smile as wide as her face would allow, as sad as all the irony in the world.

  This story, too, was about Hunter. And her.

  As all her stories flowed from someone’s emotions, this one must have sprung from her own, for it was a love story. In the man’s point of view—rife with her own wishful thinking.

  About two people who’d loved and lost and met once again.

  And despite all the odds against them, including a terrible situation that brought them back together, their love was renewed, right along with their passion.

  This chronicle, unlike “Duke’s Story” about Andee Strahm’s kidnapping, had a happy ending.

  Sobbing quietly in her realization that this tale, at least, could never come true, she closed the file without saving it.

  Of course she knew better, for when she opened it again, it was still there.

  When she returned home, she would print it out. Copy it onto one of the disks on which she now saved all of the stories about Hunter that she had written over the years.

  It was a love story. With a happy ending.

  Between Hunter and her.

  She read it over two more times before closing the file for the night and heading back to Hunter’s bed. And his arms.

  For now.

  For these moments, unlike the story, would be ephemeral.

  And she wanted to create as many new memories as she could.

  Since much too soon, the ending of her other story would occur. And that would be the ending, too, of whatever it was she now shared with Hunter.

  The phone rang.

  Hunter was instantly awake. Not surprising.

  What was surprising was the feel
of Shauna’s body on top of him as she instinctively reached over him for the phone.

  “I’ll get it,” he told her in amusement. Her closed eyes shot open, and she appeared shocked to see him there.

  But only for a second, as the feeling of flesh on flesh obviously sank into her consciousness, and she wriggled a little on top of him before rolling off.

  An anticipatory smile on his face, he answered the phone.

  “Strahm here.”

  “Hunter, it’s Simon. Turn on the TV—any channel with news.”

  Hunter didn’t ask why. He hung up fast, reached for the remote control beside his bed. He had a television on a stand near the bathroom door across the room. He turned it on.

  “What’s going on?” Shauna asked. He didn’t look at her but turned up the volume as he found a local show.

  “Police have not yet corroborated it,” intoned a solemn, suited male announcer, “but a five-year-old child has apparently been abducted from her mother’s home in the north of the San Fernando Valley. Neighbors have confirmed that the child’s mother searched for her two days ago, then later appeared to recant the story of the child’s disappearance.”

  “Damn,” Hunter said. “I know it’s already ‘tomorrow,’ but I’d hoped we’d have till later in the day before Banger stopped being able to hold back the news.”

  “They haven’t named names.” Shauna’s tone was quiet and quivering. “Maybe the kidnapper will assume it’s another incident.”

  “Yeah, and maybe I’ll tiptoe back into the past couple of days and see just who grabbed my daughter. Oh, yeah, sorry. I forgot—you might actually believe someone could do something like that, with your superpowers, Shauna the Story-maker.”

  “That’s not fair, Hunter,” she replied quietly.

  “You’re right. But what is fair?” Hell, this wasn’t her fault. But she was the nearest person he could lash out at. Because he was damned afraid now for his daughter’s life.

  He still didn’t have any clothes on. Didn’t care, right then, if he mooned the woman who’d shared the stars with him last night. He got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, the phone receiver still in his hand.

  He pressed in some numbers. The voice that answered didn’t sound the least tired. Hunter wondered what shift Banger was on. Voices sounded in the background. He obviously was on duty.