Matt broke down and started to cry. He was completely confused.
“Listen to me, darling,” Charlene pleaded. “It’s not worth it. Love is not meant to happen through killing people. Come home and talk to me. Let Shelley go. She doesn’t want to hurt you.”
“I can’t. She’s ruined everything and wants to take all that I have.”
Matt threw the phone across the room. However, it did not get damaged or go off. Charlene was left hanging on the other side of the line.
“Matt? Matt? Are you there? Talk to me… Don’t kill her. I love you and want to see you again. Answer me, Matt…”
At that moment, Sherriff Riley burst into the room at lightning speed and shot Matt in the leg. Matt fell over and released his grasp on Shelley. The officer accompanying the Sherriff darted towards where Matt was and grabbed the knife. He turned Matt over and handcuffed him immediately. Brad ran and picked up Shelley. The sound of the Sherriff’s pistol had woken her up. She came to, but was still weak and confused. Shelley saw Brad’s face, smiled and lost consciousness. Brad panicked.
“Oh, God. Shelley… Shelley… Wake up, honey.”
Brad was in tears. He thought he had lost Shelley forever. The Sherriff reassured him that Shelley would be fine.
“Don’t worry, son,” said Sherriff Riley. “She’ll be fine. She’s just had too much to cope with in the last twenty-four hours. Get her to Dr. Johnson’s clinic right away. I’ll call him and let him know that you’re on the way. Meanwhile, we’ll clean up the mess here and touch base at my office tomorrow morning.”
Brad picked up Shelley and carried her in his arms all the way to his car. He put her in the back seat and drove flat out to Dr. Johnson’s clinic. He wasn’t just worried about Shelley; Brad had concerns for the baby, too.
Brad found Dr. Johnson waiting at the door of the clinic. He had arrived there just before they did. Brad carried Shelley inside and placed her on the examination table.
“Matt abducted her…” he started to explain.
“Don’t worry, Brad, I know the whole story,” said Dr. Johnson. “The Sherriff informed me. What we need to do is wake her up. I’ll put the drip on. You give her some smelling salts and she’ll come round.”
Dr. Johnson gave Brad the smelling salts as he administered the drip. Shelley was very weak after the ordeal. Brad gave Shelley the smelling salts and she woke up in a few seconds. Brad was relieved.
Shelley asked, “Where am I? What happened?”
Dr. Johnson answered first. “Take it easy, Shelley. You’ve been through a lot lately and you dozed off a little.”
“You’re fine,” said Brad, taking Dr. Johnson’s cue. “Just tired. That’s all.”
After an hour, Shelley was strong enough to leave the hospital. She was still a little shaky on her feet and the doctor gave her some painkillers to ease the sores and headache, as well as some supplements to get her strength back after being manhandled by Matt. He had dropped her when he was shot and Shelley had bumped her head on the floor as she fell from his grasp.
“Make sure you get enough rest,” Dr. Johnson said. “The baby is fine, but no work for a week. This young man here can take care of all the chores in the house.”
Brad smiled. He was only glad to keep Shelley off her feet for a while. Shelley could not talk much yet. Her mind was still groggy because of the strong painkiller injections that Dr. Johnson had given her in addition to the oral medication that she would have to take for a week.
“How much will it be, doctor?” asked Brad.
“For such a lovely couple, nothing.”
Brad laughed and thanked the doctor profusely for his kindness. He took Shelley home, tucked her in bed, and lay beside her.
It was the end of a weeklong ordeal. Brad’s news story was now ready to be written. Brad woke up later than usual for a Monday, happier than ever. Shelley was still asleep and he let her lay there. Brad went into the kitchen and prepared breakfast. He knew Shelley had not had anything to eat for almost a day and this was not good for her.
Brad brought the breakfast to bed and nudged Shelley. She responded with a huge smile on her face. Brad had not seen Shelley this happy before. He served her breakfast and they stayed in bed the whole morning, recollecting the events of the past week. After a few days, Shelley was back on her feet, too impatient to wait a week. Brad complained, but Shelley would have none of it.
Brad and Shelley discussed the future. He decided to be a part of the baby’s life if Shelley was willing. She obliged. Brad invited her to stay with him in Detroit, and Shelley wanted to join him soon, but she would need to plan her relocation first. With the baby on the way, resources were needed. They agreed she would stay in Savannah long enough until she found a job in Detroit. There were many automotive plants that could give her a job there.
Matt was arrested and charged with attempted murder and abduction. He was jailed for ten years without parole.
Book 8: Stranger in Our Midst
Summary
After the untimely demise of both her parents, young and beautiful Helen Benson comes under the care and tutelage of her uncle, Wilson Elliot, who runs a fashionable hotel in the city. But unrest is boiling over in the heart of the country, and Helen is about to become inexplicably involved. As it turns out, Wilson Elliot is more than a simple hotel owner—he’s an undercover agent for the state, and there’s about to be a rebel uprising. And while Helen is determined to stay out of politics, she never anticipated Rodney Gray, nor that she would fall in love with him when he stumbles, bleeding and broken from a violent encounter with the rebels, into the hotel.
In the process of nursing the fugitive back to health, Helen’s heart runs away from her and latches on to Mr. Gray, surrendering her life, soul, and chastity to him. But to protect the man she loves, she must set off on a dangerous mission, one that could not only endanger Rodney’s secret, but also her life.
Chapter 1
The young man was a mysterious fugitive from the chilly night outside, and when Helen Benson saw him across the crowded, noisy room, their eyes met in one of those rare and strangely meaningful locking of glances which lingers long.
The large room in her uncle’s hotel, in a somewhat fashionable section just off Orr’s Hill Street, was almost big enough to be called a dance floor. Wilson Elliot, her uncle, was proud of his hotel, of his standing in the port city, and of his home. He was never prouder of his self-made position than when he hosted the Port City Young Men’s Soccer Association for its annual get together.
It was one such occasion, that night, a whirl of high fashion dresses and a dazzle of stiff necked shirt-fronts, in which the Port City shipping men and their families came together for social enjoyment. A four piece band played. Older couples danced a slightly out-of-date waltz; the young ones straightened their cravats and ties and eyed the young girls, while the girls tried to look demure and uninterested. In the bar in a quiet corner, the elders guzzled hot spirits and carried on conversations with a view to future profits.
But the young man was not part of the glittering and lighthearted occasion. He was standing by the door, and he had certainly just entered; for, curiously, he was wearing street clothes. He looked like an intruder, one who had arrived somehow in the midst of the get together without formality, and who must have avoided the waiters to appear in outdoor garb.
He was lean and tall, and his handsome face had a strained, slightly shocked expression. His cap was under his right arm, and his left arm was pulled stiffly across his body and was gripped just above the wrist by his right hand. The young man’s hair was tousled, and he had the look of one who had just come through a taxing experience. His clothing was not in keeping with a social event, but rather that of a respectable but modest man.
Perhaps it was because he was so obviously an outsider and because of her own measure of loneliness that their eyes met. The way he gripped his left arm indicated that he was hurt; yet only Hel
en, amidst all the music and chatter of the room, seemed to notice.
She excused herself from the company of young men gathered about her and, with gently swaying hips, crossed to the man by the door.
She smiled to cover the shock she felt at seeing, now that she was closer to him, how fevered his eyes were.
“Can I help you, sir?” she asked. “You appear to be newly arrived.”
“Thank you. I have gatecrashed in here, I’m afraid, but I must see Mr. Elliot urgently…and discreetly,” he said quietly. His tone, thought Helen, was slightly strange. “I’ve been looking about for him, and believe I see him over there, busy with his guests.”
The young man suddenly winced and tightened his grip on his left arm. It was then that Helen noticed a thin trickle of blood issuing from under his cuff and along the back of his left hand.
“You’re hurt!” she gasped.
“It’s nothing. Please don’t alarm yourself.” He leaned forward a little, and again Helen had the feeling that there was a rapport between them. “Do you think you could be good enough to quietly tell Mr. Elliot that I’m here?” he asked. “I have no right to be here, and I’m certainly not fit to be seen in such company.”
Another wince rippled across his face, and Helen guessed that he was in pain but was trying to put up an unconcerned front for her benefit.
“I’ll bring him to you. I’m his niece, by the way. My name is Helen Benson.”
The young man bowed slightly. “I’m honored to make your acquaintance, Ma’am.” The strange accent was rather more marked. “I am Rodney Gray, from…” He checked himself noticeably, but quickly added “from quite some distance away.”
Helen made her way through the active crowd to where her uncle—stocky, dynamic, and with an abundance of gray side-whiskers—was engaged in a conversation with three of his guests about the trouble they had with the rebels for the past year. The trio of guests gave Helen a bow as she came among them, each of them thinking what a fine, young woman she was, with her light complexion and her stunning blue eyes, complementing her beautiful hair, which was dressed in a series of attractive ringlets. Old Elliot was a bachelor, but the relationship between himself and his sister’s daughter, who was entrusted to him when she was a child, was almost that of father and daughter.
Helen excused her intrusion, and drew her uncle quietly to a side. “There’s a young man here to see you, Uncle Elliot…over there, by the door. I think he’d prefer to talk to you in private.”
Her uncle looked across to the door. He gasped and murmured, shocked: “My God, it’s young Gray! What’s he doing here? And what’s wrong with him? He looks kind of drawn.”
He hastened across the room, with Helen following behind as quickly as her wide-framed skirt would allow.
At the door, Helen saw intense concern in her uncle’s face as he whispered to the young man: “Mr. Gray, what’s brought you here? And what’s the trouble?”
“I’m sorry to crash in on you like this, Mr. Elliot,” gasped Rodney Gray. “I’ve brought the plans, and wanted to get them to you as soon as possible. But I ran into trouble on the way here. I suspected that they’ve been watching my house for days, and I’m afraid I wasn’t cautious enough.”
“You mean those rebels hired by Kaplan?” inquired Elliot.
The injured man nodded.
“Say no more, just yet,” cautioned Elliot. “Let me get you upstairs to my room first. I can give you some attention, and we can talk privately. Are the plans safe?”
“Yes, safely buttoned up inside my shirt.”
“Good!” breathed Elliot. He turned to his niece. “Helen, mingle with the guests for a minute or two. Make sure that everyone is contented, and then quietly slip upstairs. We might need your help.” He opened the door, and assisted the young man out of the room.
Helen moved among the guests, exchanging pleasantries and all the time thinking about the mystery which lurked on the edge of her uncle’s life in the world of business, where he was a considerable luminary. She had known for months that the mystery was there, and she knew it was certainly connected with the fight with the rebels.
Powerful men in the port city were known to be involved in terrorist activities benefiting either the rebels, led by Kaplan, or the state. But it was risky business, and it was no part of a correct young woman’s duty to make inquiries into such things. She knew now, however, that the mystery had intruded itself into the very home she shared with her uncle.
From time to time, she heard rumors about what some of the port city men were up to: that they were involved with the supplying of arms to the rebels, who had few arms and munitions. An open secret in the city.
Helen viewed it with near-disgust, for the rebels. But she was a girl, and her opinions did not matter in a society dedicated to the manful business of making hard money.
Helen saw that the liquor was flowing well, and the party was progressing under its own volition; then she made a quick exit and slipped upstairs to her uncle’s room.
There, she found her uncle looking critically at the forearm of the young man who was sitting on the bed. His outer clothes lay on the bed, together with a large, flat envelope, which Helen guessed contained the plans to which her uncle had referred. Rodney Gray had rolled up his left shirt-sleeve to reveal a gash in his arm with blood crusted around it. His face looked even more white and drawn now.
“I don’t like the look of it,” rumbled Elliot. “It’s my belief that you should be examined by a surgeon.”
“No!” protested the injured man. “Too much might be brought to light. We have to keep things as quiet as possible.” He looked suddenly at Helen with a hint of suspicion.
“Don’t worry about my niece. She’s a good girl, and can keep her mouth shut,” said Elliot. At that moment, Helen had the chilling feeling that she had become part of a conspiracy.
“Okay, but no surgeon, the fewer people know about my presence the better,” the young man said, having second thoughts about his decision.
“Well! As you please, but at least let my niece have a look at the injury and put a proper dressing on, before it gets infected,” Elliot said turning towards his niece. “Helen, my dear, just take a look and see what you could do for the young man, while I get back to the party before they miss me.”
Helen saw that the wound was essentially a grove in the flesh. It had bled profusely, but the bleeding had now ceased. She had the impression that the injury might only be a flesh wound; that the bone was untouched, but the quantity of blood made the wound appear worse than it was.
Chapter 2
Rodney Gray shuddered suddenly, and Helen realized how distinctly lonely he appeared. She quickly went into her uncle’s dressing-room off the bedroom, and returned with a large glass of brandy. The young man was shivering slightly, and from her rudimentary knowledge of nursing, she remembered that he ought to be kept warm against the encroachment of shock. “My apologies, sir. My uncle should have given you this before,” she said. “Perhaps he’s still rather nonplussed by your arrival here and forgetting to show you proper hospitality,” Helen said while she busied herself dressing the young man’s injury.
Gritting his teeth, Gray let the crouching young girl administer the necessary treatment. At one stage, as she applied some salve to disinfect the wound, it really did hurt Gray; involuntarily he put his hand around the girl and grabbed her butt. He clenched her soft rounded buttocks, and Helen gasped. She could have made a fuss, of course. Secretly, she was enjoying the sensation of being forced against her will. When she really thought about it, she knew that was Gray’s appeal. Even if he’d never figured it all out, he must sense it, part of her secretly thrilled to his crudity.
A kind of romance seemed to be building deep inside the young girl’s heart. In fact, Helen had a sudden impulse to wrap her lips around his fantastically soft mouth, but she put it down. It wouldn’t suit the style of a well brought up girl.
Helen had a clear picture in her mind of how she’d look, as if she’d been able to watch herself in a mirror. She was a woman of medium height, flat-stomached, and sparely built except for her breasts. She had a pair of apples, she knew, which almost looked awesome on her slim body. Her hips were rounded and womanly. Her body looked slimly unused. She enjoyed the satiny white look of her skin in contrast to Gray’s.
Helen’s eyes widened as she felt his hand gripping her butt cheeks. She couldn’t believe the sensations it gave her, a tingling sort of pain that faded into warm spreading pleasure. Helen blinked, and came back to the present. Her face reddened as she realized where she was and what she was doing, and how crouched over, her ample apples poised close to his face while she breathed quickly in remembered ecstasy.
Gray looked at her curiously. “Are you sick? Is all this blood making you sick?”
“Uh…oh, no, sir, not really. Just had a little pain in my tummy, but it’s gone already. I guess I must be hungry,” she told him.
“Let’s eat, then. Your uncle is in the main hall already.” The young man wondered if he should help her up, but was relieved to see her smile and rise and look normal again. There were so many things about women he didn’t understand. Even though he was a matured war veteran and considered himself almost an adult who knew something of the world, he had trouble figuring out what being in the presence of a beautiful appealing woman meant. Was it some kind of romance that seemed to creep into his being, he wondered.
Helen made arrangements for them to dine in the confines of her uncle’s room. She found it easy to drift again into her reverie. Her uncle kept the guests entertained downstairs. Gray seemed lost in a dream of his own. Helen was able to guess pretty accurately where his thoughts were, and they weren’t too different from her own.
Of course, while they wanted to be together as a young couple, neither she nor Gray had quite this degree of togetherness in mind. With the ease of long experience, Gray and Helen separated and became involved in conversation which had no particular interest to either as a sensible part of his mind warned him. But her spare little figure and perky breasts excited him tremendously.
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