T is for Temptation

by Jianne Carlo

“Where’s Tiny?” Tee asked.

  “Glued to the television set in the bedroom. He’s trying to understand ‘the magic tales.’” Alex mimicked quotation marks with his fingers. “He made me show him how to order pizza. The man has also discovered the Internet. Between the TV and the PC, mere mortals don’t stand a chance. At any rate, the pizza’s due any minute.”

  Tee volunteered to organize plates, cutlery, and glasses. As was his wont, her father never ate any food, including pizza, with his hands, and to her surprise, Alex preferred not to as well. Jake insisted on helping. She flipped on the TV while he ferried the dishes from the kitchen to the table, refusing to let her lift anything.

  “Jake, the day before I left for London, I hauled fifty-pound feed bags around. I think I can carry a plate loaded with the weight of a knife and fork.” She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  “Until you see a doctor, why not play it safe?” He stifled a groan, knowing the next nine months would see this scene repeated with more heat on both their parts.

  Tee shrugged, her lips curled into a mutinous sneer, and she gritted out, “I’m not an invalid.”

  He tweaked her nose. “I love it when you’re uppity. Your eyes almost cross, and they spit fire.”

  “They do, you know,” Alex said, butting into their conversation. He sauntered into the kitchen, wearing a smug smirk. “Interesting book you’re reading, sweetheart. So, who gave you this little treatise?”

  Even if the title didn’t grab attention, The Perfect Blow Job’s flaming red cover with an impressively sized canary banana did. Waving it a tich out of reach, he flashed that crooked smile of his, his cobalt eyes devilish and purposeful.

  The tips of Tee’s ears burned bright pink. Rising on tiptoe, she slashed one hand at the book.

  Alex held it above his head.

  “Don’t be a jackass. Give it back,” Jake ordered, arms folded across his chest. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Au contraire, I find the topic enthralling and enticing. And I’d like a copy of my own. Spill it, sweetheart. Where did you get this?”

  “Oh my,” she said and laid a palm over her heart. “Dee sent it to me. When Tony’s secretary resigned, she forwarded a box with his papers. The book was in it.”

  “Now ain’t that a pickle. What did this secretary look like?”

  “Mrs. Doubtfire, but without the charm,” Jake drawled.

  “Why would she have this book then? Tony wasn’t humping her, was he?”

  “Alex,” Jake warned, but a line of dread tightened around his chest, and he scanned the four-by-six hard-covered novel. “He has a point, babe. Isn’t she one of those church ladies? Always going on and on about some do-gooding function?”

  “She’s a member of a charity organization, and, yes, she’s very religious. There’s no way she knew this book was in her possession. She’d have burned it.”

  Flipping through the pages, Alex commented, “When did your Dee send it to you?”

  “It arrived the night I did, via FedEx. I read the first chapter, and there’s nothing remarkable about it. I mean, except for the obvious subject matter.” Every inch of Tee’s skin flamed, and she avoided meeting the men’s eyes. “I can’t think that book is important. How could it be?”

  “I agree with her. I don’t see how a book could be related to anything. It’s a harmless bit of fluff. Give it a rest,” Jake snapped and shut the dishwasher. “Toss the blasted book back where you found it. And if Henry so much as catches a glimpse of it . . .”

  “You know, it’s little facts like this that can make or break a case. Don’t you two watch Monk? Or CSI?”

  Tee rolled her eyes. “Give it up, Alex. Please put the book back where it was.”

  He cut them both a pitying look, mouth pursing, and muttered something under his breath, but disappeared into their bedroom.

  “Shall we?” Jake waved a hand to the living area.

  They found Tiny sprawled on an overstuffed armchair, feet propped on a large square ottoman, one hand behind his head, the other firmly in control of the remote.

  “Do you even know what that’s for?” Alex said as he stomped into the room.

  “’Tis called a remote, pretty boy, or a clicker by those of lesser intelligence. I believe, perchance, you form part of the ignorant masses.” Tiny lifted a superior eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Alex’s honed habit.

  The two men scowled at each other.

  Jake chortled. “Picking up things quickly aren’t we, Tiny?”

  “’Tis marvelous easy with your amazing tools, especially this font of information, your Lord Internet.”

  Alex broke into loud guffaws, interrupting Tiny’s weighty pronouncement. “You lout. The Internet is a system, not a person. It resides on machines.”

  “Really?” Tiny’s wheat eyebrow lifted again. “Perchance you can give me the exact location?”

  Flummoxed, Alex surveyed the others.

  “I,” he snarled and then asked, “Anyone know if there is an actual location?”

  Jake shrugged.

  Tee shook her head.

  “Well, then, my point precisely. However, after much contemplation and perusal, I have come to the conclusion your Lord Internet’s electronic library is possibly the greatest source of information and the most absurd source of trivial nonsense.”

  At once Alex issued a torrent of reasons Tiny couldn’t begin to comprehend the Internet, modern communications, or technological innovation. Tiny’s response, delivered in the toddler-correcting tone of an experienced parent, fueled Alex’s temper.

  The doorbell rang.

  Some snarled comment had Tiny springing to his feet and jabbing a thick finger at Alex’s chest.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Jake jumped between the two men as their voices escalated to barked shouts, and a slew of expletives wagered for dominance in the testosterone-tinged atmosphere.

  The doorbell rang once more, a long, exasperated buzz.

  Henry appeared, surveyed the macho face-off, and Jake, the referee, rolled his eyes, and ambled to the suite’s entrance. He slipped off the door chain and cut a glance over his shoulder. “It’s the pizza, honey. Can you get my wallet? It’s in my bedroom.”

  The door slammed open, propelling him into the wall.

  Three men rushed into the room, all wearing the uniforms of Luciano’s Pizzeria.

  “Jake, Alex, watch out!”

  Green-and-white boxes clattered to the floor, their lids opening as containers flipped and spun. Grease, tomato sauce, and pie slices skittered along the hardwood flooring. The smell of garlic and dough careened around the room.

  A strapping man held the door away from the wall and slammed it into Henry again.

  He slid down the length of the doorframe, his eyes open, but dazed.

  Tiny’s hand went to his waist, grasping for his sword. He swore lustily when he snatched at air.

  Jake clenched his fists, his only thought to protect Tee. He took stock of the scene playing out before him and scrutinized each actor.

  Alex’s gaze went to his Land’s End jacket, which lay on the sofa’s ridged back. The last time they discussed the Beretta, Alex indicated he had it in the side pocket of said jacket.

  Jake remembered the trunk in the zippered pouch of the ski coat spread across the top of the armchair adjacent to the fireplace. He calculated the odds of reaching it and running to get Tee; infinity to none.

  “Hell of a way to meet again, partner.”

  The blood drained from Jake’s extremities. He shifted his head and met the glacial hazel eyes of Tony Trent.

  Four other men flanked him, two on each side. Three carried machine guns, the other a handgun.

  Trent flicked a pistol with his thumb and forefinger, the movements deliberate, studied.

  “Dad, are you all right?” Tee ran over to her father and slid her arm between his back and the wall. “Let’s get you to the sofa.”

  One
of the men standing by the door set a cold metal pistol at her temple.

  Tee stilled. She glared at Tony. “Tell him to back off.”

  “Still the dutiful daughter, are we?” He sneered and waved his gun. “Let her be.”

  “Why are you here?” Jake’s belligerent shout worked, and Tony’s attention swung to him.

  “You’re the only ones who know I’m still alive.”

  “Wrong, but then you were never known for your genius.”

  “Hit him.” Tony waved his black gun at the thugs.

  Three moved towards Jake, the other remained at Tony’s side. All of them had olive complexions, dark eyes, raven hair, and defensemen builds, standing well over six feet.

  Two men held Jake by his arms; another one punched him once, twice, three times in the gut.

  Tee flinched with each blow.

  Jake took the punches until she finished helping her father over to the sofa. As soon as Henry sat, he lashed out at the lout in front of him, twisting in the hold of the other two, and side kicking the other in the groin.

  The man roared in a language Jake couldn’t identify and sank to his knees. He hit the floor and rolled to one side, curling into a ball, swearing like a wounded marine.

  The other two men recovered swiftly and grabbed Jake, each holding one arm.

  “Who else knows?”

  “We’ve informed the relevant authorities.”

  Splotchy beet stains washed Tony’s face, and he flipped the pistol so it pointed at Tee, stepped forward, and jammed the barrel against her temple.

  “I believe you have something of mine, Wife. I want it back now.”

  “I threw out everything that belonged to you.”

  “Ah, yes. Our wedding picture’s gone missing, last time I checked. Where is it?” Tony tapped the gun against Tee’s temple, and she winced.

  “Interpol took it,” Jake said. “They found the information about the account taped to the back of the picture. They decoded it. As we speak, the account’s being cleared.”

  “And I can tell you exactly what they found. A paltry three mil. No other hooks, no other evidence. A solid dead end.”

  “You wanted them to find that account,” Alex stated.

  “Bingo, lawyer boy. I hear, Wife, you received a FedEx delivery a few nights ago.”

  He, Tee, and Alex exchanged swift glances, and a yawning apprehension made Jake’s jaw drop. Blast, blast, blast, The Perfect Blow Job, book.

  “Get the book, partner. I’m counting to ten, and then I start shooting. Joints first.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  The two men restraining Jake dropped their hold on him. He pivoted and marched into the bedroom. Spotting the book on the bedside table, Jake grabbed it and flipped pages. Chapter thirteen’s pages clumped together, and a swift separation showed they consisted of a series of numbers and letters. A listing of what looked to be over fifty separate bank accounts.

  Tapping the book against a palm, Jake strode back into the living area. He waved the PBJ book. “Your partners know about this?”

  “I look like a fool? Graziella and her brother are my fall guys for the money, and all they know about is the three mil account. Constantine will wind up killing them and learn nothing, and all that money will never be found. When Constantine’s bosses realize he can’t find the money, they’ll kill him.”

  “The only way you’ll get away with it is by killing all of us,” Alex said his tone grim.

  “And the problem is, lawyer boy?”

  “You won’t get away with it.”

  Jake caught the wince in Alex’s tone.

  “Pitiful, lawyer boy, pitiful. Get him,” Tony ordered and jerked his head at the front door.

  Surprised by this antic, Jake almost missed Tiny’s awkward trip over the ottoman. The move brought him within inches of the armchair and the trunk.

  One thug strode forward, pointed the gun at Tiny, and waved him closer to the fireplace.

  The lout guarding Alex swiveled, jog-walked to the door, and opened it. A sixth thug entered, shoving Inspector Flood, gagged and tied, in front of him.

  Pinballs hit the jackpot and Jake stifled a groan. Tony had planned it well, wrapping up all the loose ends. Inspector Flood would be the fall guy for their murders, but he’d end up dead too. And with Graziella, Tony, and Constantine all taken out by their criminal counterparts, while there might be an investigation, it wouldn’t go anywhere.

  Jake tried not to look at the pistol pointed against Tee’s temples. Think, think, the trunk, Tiny had to get to the trunk. The odds weren’t good; seven armed men against four with no weapons.

  Tony sauntered to stand directly in front of Jake. “Is that all?” He waved his weapon under Jake’s nose. “That miniscule problem has already been resolved.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Trent,” Alex sneered. “Even if you kill us, you’ll never get out of the UK.”

  A forceful backhand connected, snapping Alex’s head to one side, and he stumbled, falling onto the sofa’s side.

  Distraction.

  “You think those Afghan drug lords will ever give up looking for their money? They’ll hunt you down like the parasitic coward you are. There isn’t a spot on this earth where you’ll be safe.”

  “Cut it, Mathews. You’re so pathetic.”

  “At least I can get it up with your wife.”

  Tony’s complexion darkened, and his rusty eyebrows crashed together. He stepped forward and then halted, jaw clenched, knuckles whitening around the handle of the black pistol.

  During those hair-on-the-neck-raising breaths, Jake tensed, ready to pounce.

  Behind Tony, Alex’s fingers edged towards the Land’s End jacket.

  All of the thugs focused on Tony, taut bow-string postures waiting for a command.

  Out of the corner of one eye, Jake caught Tiny’s eye-blurring, mercurial stride to the front of the armchair. He snatched one sleeve of the ski jacket and stilled all movement when one of the thugs glanced in his direction.

  Everything happened in less than two inhales.

  Jake went for the gusto.

  “I took your wife’s cherry, boyo. You couldn’t get it up with her, and I popped it. And guess what? I didn’t end up with Vikings. Do you think she’ll let you kill any of us?”

  Tony’s nostrils flared, and he thundered forward, jerking to a halt inches away from Jake.

  “Shouldn’t have done that, partner. Now, I’ll let you have the pleasure of watching me kill her.”

  “You forget the Vikings? Tee’s a witch, Tony. You’re dead meat.”

  Tony backhanded him across the face using the butt of the gun, Jake twisted away at the last second, but the weapon made contact anyway.

  Jake fell against the wall and grinned through a split lip and the drops of blood flecking the corner of his mouth. Before he could issue another taunt, Jake caught a glimpse of Tee’s tight features, and the white-hot temper that flared in those amber eyes.

  Now positioned behind Tony, she snatched up a rectangular crystal ashtray, leapt onto the coffee table, and hit Tony in the back of his head. She raised the glass above her head, both hands gripping the ashtray’s edges edges.

  “Blast it, Tee,” the shout erupted from Jake’s lips.

  Alerted, Tony twisted in her direction, and the blow glanced off his temple.

  Alex yanked the Beretta out of the jacket’s pocket.

  Tiny wrenched the trunk out of the ski coat’s inside pouch.

  A shot rang out.

  Jake sprang to his feet.

  Tee leapfrogged onto Tony’s back.

  Alex long-jumped to Tony’s side.

  Tiny did a flying Superman dive, arms outstretched at ninety-degree angles, and everyone collided under the force of his propulsion.

  The combined force sent Tony crashing into the side of the sofa. His knees buckled, and he collapsed on top of Henry’s legs.

  Tony’s hired thugs joined the melee. Feet and arms tangled i
nto a Rugby scrum.

  Another shot rang out.

  The noise reverberated.

  The acrid smell of sulfur tickled Jake’s nose, and the trunk’s familiar, sooty fog inhibited his vision and corrupted all other senses.

  Tiny had opened the trunk.

  The warrior was the first to recover and he bounded to his feet, bellowing, “Laird, Stephen, lads, to me!”

  Fierce war cries punctuated the silence of BrodickCastle’s great hall. The sound of men unsheathing their swords drowned out shouted war cries.

  Tee fought the arms crossed under her chest, which dragged her sideways.

  “It’s me, Tee, Jake,” he whispered in her ear.

  She relaxed against him. “I can’t breathe. There’s something squishing my chest.”

  Jake’s horror mounted as her bright, sparkling eyes dimmed, and dampness seeped through her sweater, coating his fingers. He drew his hand away and stared at the vulgar ruby stain on his palm in numb terror.

  “Tee,” Jake shook her, oblivious to the frantic, tussling men surrounding them. He scooped her into his arms, sat up, and used his legs to lever them out of target range of the battling men.

  Horror and every protective instinct kicked in. He shielded Tee with his body and waited for the inevitable outcome of the battle. Even with modern guns, the thugs and Tony proved no match for sixteenth-century warriors wielding primitive claymores.

  Thirty minutes later, Tiny and his men and Alex had the situation under control.

  Tony sported multiple sword wounds, most of them superficial. Five of his men were injured, two seriously.

  Inspector Flood received a fatal blow in the melee, and two Brodick warriors dragged his body outside.

  Tiny chained all the thugs together. Tony, he tied with ropes, but left him in the middle of the hall and allowed his men to prod him with their swords. Cat and mouse play.

  Elaine tended to Henry’s bruised temple.

  In the center of the room, Alex and Tiny argued with Stephen and Kieran over the disposal of the prisoners. All four men gesticulated furiously.

  Jake stood up. Tee had passed out. He’d discovered a bullet hole just under her collarbone. He’d managed to stop the bleeding, but Tee needed immediate medical attention.

  Alex caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. His complexion greened when he saw the bright red splotch on Tee’s sweater. “Crap. Tee’s hurt.” He sprinted across the room. “What happened?”