Protecting Rayne

by Emily Bishop

  When I look at the mirror, I can barely see Savannah Brown, only Sabrina James. The new Sabrina James. Still, I can’t be sure any of Vince’s peons won’t recognize me. For all I know, they can detect my scent like hounds.

  Finally, my eyes rest on someone – a man in his forties with sunglasses, a beard and a leather jacket, standing beside the nachos stand across me. He’s suspicious, all right. Worse, I can’t see exactly where he’s looking but his head is turned in my direction and he isn’t moving so he might be staring at me.

  Oh, shit.

  Quickly, I grab my things, slinging my canvas bag over my shoulder and towing my suitcase on wheels behind me as I make my hasty retreat.

  I know I may just be acting paranoid. That man might not have been staring at me at all. He might have been staring at someone behind me. Or he might have been staring at me but for a different reason – maybe I look like someone he knows or maybe he just likes the way I look, you know, checking me out.

  Even so, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

  See, that’s what happens when someone breaks your trust. You lose trust in everyone. You go from trusting to paranoid. There’s no in between.

  Passing by a garbage can, I throw my cup away. As I do, I glance behind me, my heart pounding in fear when I see that man a few feet behind me.

  He’s following me?

  No.

  I take my sunglasses, which are clipped to the neckline of my shirt, and put them on before walking faster, my sneakers squeaking on the freshly mopped tiles while heels clack and strollers roll on by.

  Is he still following me?

  I don’t know. I don’t want to know. I just walk faster.

  Eventually, I spot the sign to the women’s room. I make a beeline for it, like someone lost at sea who has just found an island.

  Come on.

  Down the last stretch, I glance back. I don’t know why. My head just turned on its own.

  He’s gone. No sign of him.

  So, he wasn’t following me?

  Well, that’s a relief. That’s…

  I don’t finish my thoughts, my breath knocked out of me as I slam against a wall and trip back.

  At least, I thought at first it was a wall but as I look up from where I’ve fallen on the floor, my sunglasses having slid down the bridge of my nose, I realize that it was a person I bumped into.

  A man.

  A hulk of a man.

  “Are you all right?” he asks in a deep, coarse voice, like some rock star from a bygone age.

  He is wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, but he might as well be in one of those elastic weightlifting suits. His clothes do nothing to hide the bulge of his chest, the firm contours of his abdomen, the size of his ripped thighs, or the curves and dips of his huge arms. He’s big, all right, but he doesn’t scare me like Vince’s thugs. In fact, his form reminds me of a gladiator in an arena, an ancient warrior, the kind who could win one battle with a swing of his sword.

  Even his face looks like that of a Roman statue. Above his aquiline nose are deep-set, startling blue eyes with thick, long lashes. Just now, those eyes are trained on mine with sympathy. His lips curve slightly upwards, as if to stifle a full-blown smile. His upper-lip is almost non-existent on top of his sultry lower lip.

  Wow. A breathtaking masterpiece. Not the kind you’d like to mount on a wall but the kind you’d like to mount just the same.

  The statue moves to offer me a hand.

  No, not a statue. A man.

  “I said, are you all right?” he asks again.

  “Y-yes,” I say, grabbing his hand.

  I’d like to say I picked myself up but he did. Something in his grip tells me he can carry me like I weigh nothing.

  Carry me.

  Suddenly, my mind paints an image of him lifting me in his arms the way Superman lifts Lois Lane in the comic books. My heart skips a beat, my body already imagining his strength, his warmth…

  “I’m so sorry about that,” he says.

  “No, it’s fine.” I push my sunglasses to the top of my head as I gather my bearings, wiping the imaginary drool from the corner of my mouth and the imaginary dust from my knees. “It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “Neither was I. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yup,” I say more confidently.

  Apart from the fact that I feel like a battering ram made of rubber that just bounced off an iron castle gate, I’m fine. No bruises or anything.

  “Let me get that.” He kneels down to pick up the canvas bag I don’t even remember dropping.

  “No, it’s okay.” I kneel as well, trying not to get into a head butt with him, which I imagine would feel worse, as I pick up the spilled contents of my bag. “I…”

  Just then, I hear a scream.

  I turn my head and I find an old lady standing a few feet away with her face pale, one hand clasped over her mouth and the other to her chest as she looks down at the floor.

  Is she having a heart attack or something?

  At first, I’m confused, but as I follow her gaze, I see the plastic, hairy-legged spider on the floor and I realize what’s going on.

  “Shit.”

  I run toward it, picking it up.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her, holding it up. “It’s just a toy that must have catapulted out of my bag when I fell…”

  She reels back, her eyes wide at the sight of it. She was about to fall, too, but thankfully, Achilles – I mean the stranger I just bumped into –caught her.

  At the same time, a mall cop rushes over.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I’m so sorry. I…”

  “Just put that away, okay?” the cop tells me, eyeing the toy still in my hand.

  “Right.” I put it in my pocket.

  “Are you okay, ma’am?” the cop asks the old woman as he gets her from Achilles. “Do you need a doctor? Is there someone here with you?”

  “I’m fine,” she says weakly. “I’m just a little startled.” She looks at me. “You shouldn’t be carrying those things around.”

  “Sorry,” I say again, bowing my head slightly.

  “It was my fault, actually,” Achilles says, opening his wallet to take out a twenty-dollar bill. “Please buy yourself some medicine or a drink or ice cream, anything to make you feel better.”

  She nods, taking the bill, and the cop ushers her away.

  I heave a sigh of relief, then turn to the man next to me. “Thank you. You shouldn’t have done that, though.”

  “It was my fault,” he repeats.

  So, he’s strong but he has a noble heart. He’s more of a knight then?

  “Here.” He gives me the handle of my suitcase and my canvas bag.

  “Thanks.” I take them and put the toy spider that was in my pocket at the bottom of the canvas bag where it won’t escape again.

  “You don’t have more of those, do you?” he asks.

  “Actually, I do.” I sling the canvas bag over my shoulder. “They’re presents.”

  “Presents?”

  “For a little boy I’m going to meet for the first time.”

  “Oh.” He scratches the back of his head. “You know what? I don’t think you should give a boy those. You’ve seen the effect they have, right? Those are just trouble in a boy’s hands. Take it from me.”

  “Right.” Why didn’t I think of that?

  “Besides, they prefer the real thing.”

  “Of course they do.” I pull the bag strap further up my shoulder. “Thanks for the tip. I guess I’ll think of something else to give.”

  “Yeah, you do that.” He crosses his arms over his chest, making it look even bigger. “Just don’t buy anything noisy or flashy, you know, the battery-operated ones with lights and sounds. The kids love them but they drive some parents crazy and the batteries run out overnight. Oh, and maybe not Lego, unless the kid is twelve or older or super organized. The parts tend to get lost easily until you fi
nd them stuck to the sole of your foot.”

  He points to his foot with a grimace.

  I chuckle at his expression. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I haven’t felt this comfortable around a man since I escaped from Vince, much less a stranger.

  “And one more thing.”

  “Yup?”

  “Would you like some coffee?” he asks. “Or are you in a rush to meet this boy you’re meeting for the first time? He’s not twenty-five, is he?”

  I chuckle again, shaking my head. “No.”

  He lifts his hands. “No coffee or no…?”

  “He’s not twenty-five. He’s much, much younger.”

  “Oh. He’s twenty-four.”

  I pout. “Very funny.”

  He’s hot, funny, kind, and charming. He isn’t wearing a wedding ring, either, so he must be single. And did I say he’s hot? In short, he’s everything I want in a man.

  Hold it. It’s too soon to go down that lane, sweetheart.

  Shit. What am I thinking? I’m still recovering from falling for a man I thought had all those qualities and here I go again, losing my footing.

  Get a grip, Sabrina.

  “Um. Actually…”

  “No coffee?” He turns his head to one side.

  “Sorry. I…”

  “Allergic to coffee? Because that’s something I’ve never heard before.”

  I shake my head. “No. It’s just…” I glance at my watch. “Oh, shit.”

  “You know, it doesn’t have to be coffee. It could be tea or…”

  “Sorry,” I tell him, adjusting the strap of my bag. “I have to go.”

  “Or nothing. That’s fine.”

  “I’m really sorry but I have to get to work.” I turn around and start running off.

  Shit. How did time fly so fast? Didn’t it stop when I met that hunk?

  “Need a ride?” he calls after me.

  “No, thanks.”

  “I thought you were going to meet that boy?”

  “Yup. That, too.”

  “When do you get off work?”

  Seriously, is he still talking?

  “Never,” I tell him, scurrying off.

  Thankfully, that succeeds in shutting him up and shaking him off. I can’t shake off the thought of him, though, as I get into a cab, grinning as I remember his smile.

  Sabrina…

  I know, I know. I’m just daydreaming. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again.

  Too bad.

  Hide-And-Seek

  Randall

  Damn, that felt good.

  As I sit in the corner of the coffee shop with my hand wrapped around the sleeve of my cup, I can still feel my nerves buzzing, the experience of meeting that woman with the bugs still fresh in my memory, the fruity scent of her shampoo still in my nostrils.

  The woman with the bugs, huh?

  I suppress a laugh. No. I can do better than that.

  The woman with the mysterious, mesmerizing black eyes that I couldn’t look away from. The woman with the hair that reminds me of autumn leaves, so soft I want to rake it with my fingers and feel it against my cheek. The woman with the lips the shade of a watermelon, that bow-shaped upper lip so full and luscious I want to bite on it. The woman with the smell of summer and the laugh that brings me right back to my childhood. The woman with the lean arms and legs that I want wrapped around me, with the tiny waist I feel I can put my hands around, with those hips that I want to grip carefully as I thrust into her young – twenty-something? –body.

  Whoa.

  I’ve never wanted a woman like this before. I’ve wanted women, yes, but usually after they’ve flirted with me, teased me. This woman hasn’t even done anything. All she did was fall, scare an old lady and laugh. Yet I want her so bad my body is getting all worked up, heat rising up my spine and pooling in my crotch, making something else want to rise.

  Fuck.

  I take a sip of my coffee, hoping that the coffee will calm me down.

  Not likely.

  Why didn’t I ask for her name? I should have done that before asking her to join me for coffee. Why didn’t I go after her instead of just watching her run away?

  Because I’m not used to chasing after women, damn it. Even my wife, Dinah, just fell into my arms.

  I wonder if there’s a chance I’ll ever see her again.

  Never.

  I sigh. I guess she’s the one who got away.

  I take another sip of my coffee, trying not to think of her, whatever her name is. Suddenly, my phone rings.

  At first, I think it must be Tess, calling to remind me that the new nanny will be arriving at the mansion any minute or of something else work-related even though it’s her day off. She takes work seriously like that. As I take my phone out of my pocket, though, I see the name of Mrs. Wilson, my housekeeper, on the screen. Finally, she’s learned to use a cell phone, though the fact that she’s gone through the trouble of calling me even though she hates cell phones means there must be an emergency.

  Fuck.

  “Hello.” I press the phone against my ear.

  “Mr. Brewster?” I immediately hear the concern in her voice.

  “Yes, Mrs. Wilson. It’s me. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s David.”

  I tense, several scenarios going through my mind, none of them good. Does he have a fever? Did he run away? Did he eat something he shouldn’t have? Did he fall down the stairs? Did he slip in the bathroom and hit his head? Did he burn the house down?

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “What happened to David?”

  “He’s… missing.”

  My eyebrows arch. “Missing?”

  ***

  “We thought he was in his room,” Lucy, one of the maids, explains to me as she stands in the middle of the living room with Mrs. Wilson and the other maids, fidgeting nervously with her apron and looking like she’s about to cry. “But when I went to check on him just a few minutes ago, he wasn’t.”

  I know. I checked his bedroom, too, just now, and there’s no sign of him anymore, not even in the closet or in the bathroom.

  Where did David go?

  “Where have you looked?” I ask, touching my chin as I try to think of where he might have gone.

  “I searched the second and third floors,” Amy, another maid, says. “But I didn’t see him.”

  “I looked outside,” Lucy says.

  “He isn’t in the kitchen,” Mrs. Wilson says.

  I sigh. Where can he be?

  “Where’s Zombie?” I ask, hoping that might provide a clue.

  “Sleeping out on the deck,” Mrs. Wilson answers.

  That means he’s no help, then. Usually, Zombie hangs around David, but there are times when Zombie spends time by himself.

  Where can David be?

  I know he can’t have ran away. I checked the recording from the security cameras near the gate first and there was no sign that anyone left the compound. That only leaves one thing – he’s somewhere here, hiding. The problem is the compound is too big. Even the mansion is too big with three floors, lots of rooms, and plenty of hiding places for an eight-year-old boy.

  “That boy.” I run my hands through my hair exasperatedly. “Why is he hiding now?”

  “Probably because the new nanny is coming?” Lucy suggests.

  I frown. Yup. That’s probably it. He knew the new nanny was coming and decided his first prank would be to hide from her. Well, if that’s the case, we’ll just have to find him.

  “Let’s search the house again, top to bottom,” I order.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Make sure you search thoroughly. I’ll search, too. If you find him, you can drag him out of his hiding place and bring him to his bedroom then send someone else to get me or you can just send someone else to get me and I’ll be the one to drag him out.”

  If he’s hiding, it doesn’t only mean he doesn’t want to be found. Likely, he won’t want to come out of hiding ev
en when he’s found so I’ll have to drag him out myself and talk to him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I clasp my hands together. “All right. Let’s go look for him.”

  ***

  “David, you better come out this instant! You’re already in enough trouble as it is!” I shout as I enter one of the guest rooms for the second time.

  I said we’d look for him and find him but it’s already been almost an hour and there’s still no sign of him, which is why I’ve resorted to shouting and threatening. It doesn’t seem to be working, though.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I sigh.

  Why does he have to hide? Doesn’t he know it won’t change anything, solve anything? He’ll still have to meet the new nanny eventually and deal with her. He can’t hide forever.

  Why does he have to cause so much trouble?

  He’s always been like this. When he was a baby, he cried endlessly. When he could crawl, he kept trying to get out of his crib and crawl all over the place, putting whatever he could reach inside his mouth. Then he kept getting into accidents – a bump here, a bruise there, a trip to the emergency room for stitches. Then he became a toddler and he’d constantly run around like a car that never ran out of fuel, like a tornado that knocked everything out of its path. Of course, there were more accidents. Then came the tantrums – the wailing and stomping of feet and throwing toys that lasted for hours. That was replaced by the sulks. And then he just started getting into mischief, whether at school or at home. Just simple pranks, really, usually harmless. Still, he is such a troublemaker.

  Like I told Mrs. Fisher, not having a mother must have something to do with it but sometimes, I wonder if that’s really the reason. Maybe it’s just his personality. Some kids really are difficult, after all. Maybe my kid happened to belong to the bunch. Or maybe I’m being punished for giving my parents such a hard time.

  Whatever the reason, all this troublemaking has to end before it drives me crazy. I was actually hoping the new nanny could help. Of course, she can’t help him unless she meets him and she can’t do that unless he comes out of hiding.

  I look under the bed. Nothing.

  As I lay crouched there, Zombie comes to me, looking at me curiously.