by Brooke Moss
Hunter chuckled as he nodded. "Yeah, it's a curse to have long legs at times. They were nice when I ran track in high school though. A long stride is helpful in that circumstance."
He watched her as she sipped from her glass then shook her head when the waiter offered a refill. When they were alone again, she turned those gorgeous storm-hued eyes back to him, and he again felt the tug to know her better. She was fascinating, and he loved how her lips moved when she asked a question. Every nuance from the way her face lit up when she talked about something that interested her to the manner of her body language when she felt completely comfortable. He was so enamored by her; he almost missed her next question.
"I bet being a former track star comes in handy in running down criminals." She canted her head to the side slightly as she leaned in. "I had a roommate that loved to watch that Cops show. She said it was her favorite part when the officers chased the bad guys and tackled them to the ground."
Hunter laughed which got quite a few looks from their fellow diners. "I suppose it does help, some. I think I've only had to run down a half a dozen or so since joining the force. Luckily for me, I caught them quickly. I'm good for short sprints, not so much for the long chase. I had a little accident the summer between my junior and senior years in high school which petty much put the kibosh on my dreams to become an Olympic class runner."
When Harmony pushed back in surprise, her knee caught the underside of the table. With a hiss, she rubbed her leg as she asked, "You wanted to be an Olympic class runner? That's amazing. What happened?"
With his fork, Hunter shoved the remains of his dinner around the plate and studied the resulting lines and squiggles. "Yeah, I wanted to be in the Olympics. I made the junior team in 2005 when I was barely fourteen. It was held in New Orleans." He tossed his fork down and leaned back. "I participated in the 200, 800 and the team relay. I got two silvers, and the team got a bronze. My folks in Hattiesburg still have my medals on display in the hallway." He chuckled. "Damn, but I was an arrogant little shit. I thought I was invincible and a hotshot runner. It all came too easy for me, you see. Everything. The family had money, and I'm an only child so, yeah, I got everything I wanted. New clothes? Check. Latest games? Check. Christ, my dad gave me a brand new sports car for my sixteenth birthday. I didn't even have a license yet, but that didn't stop him. A 2007 Mazda Miata MX-5 two-door convertible in copper red with a manual transmission including overdrive, 2.0-liter engine that torqued out to about 150 at 5000 rpm. Beautiful bucket seats and spoiler on the back."
He stopped and smiled at the memory of his first car. She had been gorgeous and more vehicle than a sixteen-year-old could handle. Sure, it made him the big man on campus at school and everyone wanted to be his friend. He nodded his head slowly. She'd been a dream to drive, and the older version of himself missed her.
He shook himself and straightened in his seat. "I wasn't supposed to drive it without supervision, but that didn't matter to me. I knew everything and went and did as I wanted. If Dad tried to ground me, I'd just sneak out and go anyway. He took the keys away from me once, but I had extra sets made in advance and hid them. Mom was on my side, though. She told him to let me enjoy my teenage years. She doted on me and spoiled me rotten." He balled his fist and hit his knee. "Geeze, I was sixteen years old!" He threw his napkin on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. "Young, dumb and full of myself."
Harmony scooted over closer to him and placed her hand on his thigh. Her gentle warmth soothed him. He didn't like talking about that time in his life, but for some reason, he wanted her to know. He needed her to understand he wasn't that person any longer. It was important to him she recognized how he’d changed.
Grasping her hand in his, he squeezed gently.
"I snuck out of the house one Friday and met up with a bunch of kids outside of town. We pulled the cars up into a circle, turned the lights on and cranked up the jam. Somebody brought the booze and the next thing I know, I'm doing donuts in the field with Rihanna's Shut Up, and Drive screaming through the speakers. To this day, hearing the song reminds me of that night. I was so wasted I didn't even know what happened. One minute I'm on top of the world and the next I'm in the worse freaking pain of my life. My friend, TJ told me I rolled the car and wrapped it around a tree. I broke two ribs, had a concussion and tore every freaking ligament in my right knee. Showing off just to prove how stupid I was and I kissed away my dream. I never competed again."
Hunter gave her a weak smile. "The fall from grace did me good though. I learned a valuable lesson about hubris and humility. When I finally got back to school, I wasn't a popular jock anymore. All my so-called friends dumped me except for TJ. My senior year didn't go as I’d planned at all, but it forced me to concentrate on my grades. TJ wanted to be a cop so when he applied, I followed along. I guess a little of that competitive spirit continues because while he's happy staying in the ranks, I wanted to be more. So, I worked my butt off, and here I am, one of the youngest investigators in the department. This case is only my third since getting my promotion and my first homicide."
"Wow," Harmony breathed in awe. "You're amazing."
"Not as much as you," he replied and slid his free hand to cup her cheek. "You’re beautiful, Harmony."
She blushed again and looked down at the table. "Thank you," she whispered.
He could tell she wasn't comfortable with praise, but she was getting better at accepting it from him. It made him happy to see her coming out of her shell a little at a time.
He mourned the loss of her hand when she let it go to pick up her ringing cell from the tabletop. "Hello?"
He watched the smile on her face morph into a frown. "No, I don't have them." She lifted her face in alarm and looked at Hunter. "Sure, I'll be right home." He didn't know what was going on, but he knew their date was over. Standing, he picked up his card from the tray and slid it into his wallet. Taking Harmony's elbow, he ushered her out the door before she finished her conversation.
"Aunt Jolly's asthma is acting up, and she left her inhaler at the restaurant. Uncle Mickey asked me to go by and pick it up, but I don't have my keys with me. I'm sorry for cutting our date short, but I need to get home so he can get it. He doesn't want her to be alone during an attack."
"It's fine, Harmony. Come on. Let's get you back to your car." He escorted her to the parking garage. Hunter opened the door for her, and once she was settled, he closed it. She rolled the window down, and he propped his arms on the door.
"Thank you for tonight. I had a great time." Her smile was like flipping on a thousand watt bulb.
He ran a finger along the side of her jaw. "So did I. Maybe the next time we can go to my place and you'll let me make you dinner. I happen to make one of the best omelets in town."
She shivered slightly from his tender touch but didn't draw back. In fact, she leaned toward him slightly.
"Omelets? Isn't that for breakfast?"
He chuckled softly. Cupping her jaw in his fingers, he held her as his lips searched out hers, feathering a tender kiss on their plump softness. Her breath stopped, and her eyes widened as he whispered to her, "It can be. The when of that will always be up to you, Pix."
"Oh."
Hunter loved the flustered look on her face and the way her eyes told every emotion she was feeling. He knew without a shadow of a doubt, her heart rate was going a hundred miles an hour. The old Hunter would have found her reaction to him as a stroke to his overly inflated ego. Now, however, he found it endearing. The fact he could affect her so profoundly made him want to be worthy of her adoration and damned, if he wouldn't do anything in his power to make it happen. He had dated, a lot, but with Harmony he was a different man, a better man.
Taking a step back, Hunter tapped on the roof of her car. "Be safe; I'll call you tomorrow, yeah?"
"Yeah okay, Hunter. Talk to you tomorrow."
He smiled as he watched her leave. With a toss of his keys into the air, he hurried to his car with a
light step and grin on his face. Harmony Tailor may not know it yet, but she would be his. Tonight he realized something important. Somewhere along the way, she had captured more than just his attention.
She would be his because he already was hers.
***
From the front seat of the pale blue seventy-nine Buick, two sets of eyes watched the couple say their good nights and part ways. Dropping easily into their shared language, the driver, Tomas, lifted his chin toward the car as the headlights came on.
"Which do we follow?"
Even though Tomas was fluent in English, his partner, Matais, knew only a few simple phrases and words. That is, if he talked at all.
Lifting his hand, Matais, pointed to the car containing the girl and dismissed the man as he jogged to a second vehicle parked on the second floor of the garage. "Her."
Tomas grunted his agreement and started the car. He waited until the tiny beauty with short brown hair passed them before pulling out of his parking space. He followed her at a distance, careful to not gather any attention as she led them into the quiet neighborhood where she lived.
Tomas pulled the car into the lot of a small daycare down the street and parked. Turning off the lights, the two settled in to watch as the woman exited her car and went inside. Within moments, the old man exited, got into his truck and left. He returned shortly carrying a small bag. For a moment, Tomas wondered if that bag contained what they were looking for but quickly dismissed the notion. It was too small. Hours later, after the lights had turned off in the house, the two crept to her car, opened the door and searched it thoroughly. Next, they turned their attention to the truck. Nothing. Not finding what they were looking for, they returned to their own vehicle and left.
Tomas knew his friend was getting impatient. He could tell by the way a muscle in Matais' jaw jumped that he was close to the edge. It wouldn't be much longer and he would snap. Tomas hoped he wouldn't be near when that happened. When Matais lost control, people lost their lives and that was one thing that Tomas never wanted to part with.
CHAPTER 8
Monday morning found Hunter at the scene of another homicide. This one wasn’t as gruesome as Grace Billups’, but he attacked it in the same single-minded manner. He stood on the side watching as Judd closed up the body bag of their twenty-seven-year-old victim. As the door opened, he heard the muted sobs of the man's family as they tried to come to terms with what they had witnessed earlier this morning. The murderer, the man's girlfriend, sat stonily in the back of a marked car. She had uttered only one phrase to the police since it happened: "I told him he wasn't gonna break up with me." Hunter shook his head. People were crazy. Some days it amazed him the human race had survived thus far.
By the time everything was processed, it was almost noon. The low rumble and growl in his stomach reminded him it had been several hours since the breakfast burrito and coffee he'd grabbed on the way to work this morning. Sitting in his car, he took a moment to check his messages and emails. There was nothing out of the ordinary except for one email titled "Antique Store Report." Hunter had forgotten he had asked for a copy of the report from Harmony's family's break-in last week. Even though it was not a part of his jurisdiction or even one of his cases, he wanted to be informed if there were any changes.
Opening the report, he scanned through it noting there were no new leads. The small safe from Mickey's office had been found in an abandoned motel room by the interstate. He frowned when he read nothing was missing except for five thousand dollars in cash. Even an antique collection of old coins was still inside their individual containers. Of course, the room had been wiped clean of any prints and the man who had rented it turned out to be a work of fiction. He paid in cash, kept his head down, and nobody could give a good description. What they did have was all over the board. He was of average height. He was tall. He had blond hair. He was bald. The back of his arm had a tattoo. There were no identifying marks. It sounded like the man was adept at using disguises.
Hunter was about to close the report when he noticed a final notation at the bottom. Other than the cash, nothing of value had been taken. However, the perpetrator had taken the time to smash anything mechanical in the shop. Clocks, toys and even a few music boxes had been destroyed. He frowned. It sounded familiar - too familiar. Here was a break-in with only readily available cash taken yet other valuables left behind. The fact he had taken the time to destroy things reminded him of Grace Billups’ collection room. Something in his gut told him the two were related.
"That singing bird box. Harmony said she found a key inside. What do you want to bet that's what they were looking for? It's the only thing which makes sense," he murmured to himself.
Grabbing his phone, Hunter pressed the number for Harmony's cell. When she didn't pick up, he remembered she often wouldn’t hear it ring if she was in the middle of a project, so he called the shop. It rang several times with no answer. Odd. He knew they were open. Hanging up, he called again. It went unanswered. The third time, Harmony answered after three rings.
"Mickey's Treasures, Antiquities, and Estates."
"Hey Harmony, it's me. I want to take another look at that box of Grace Billups’. I'm on my way now. Afterward, I thought we could go next door and grab a..."
"No, I'm sorry Mr. Marrakesh, Mickey isn't in right now. Can I take a message?"
Hunter stopped dead in his tracks. Mr. Marrakesh? Mickey? Something was off here. Marrakesh? The place reminded him of the conversation they had after the movie. His entire body went cold.
"Harmony, is someone there?"
"Yes, I'm sure he can help you with the appraisal." Her voice was steady, but now he knew something was wrong, Hunter heard the slight tremor in it. He threw his car into gear. Turning on his lights, he sped back toward town.
"Good girl. How many are there?"
"One moment. Let me get a pencil to write this down."
"All right, there's one there with you. Does he have a gun?"
"Yes, go ahead, I'm ready."
Hunter's foot pressed down on the gas. He had to get back to town immediately.
"Is Jolly at the diner?"
"Uh huh, I've got it."
"Is Mickey there with you?"
"No, I'm sorry; I don't know when he will be back. He had to run a quick errand. I'll give him your message through."
"Stay calm, sweetheart. I'm on my way."
"If I had to guess, I'd say maybe another one hour at the most." She hesitated. "He forgot his key to the lockbox at home. Thank you for calling, Goodbye." The line clicked and went dead.
Hunter thought about the strange final sentences. She had said another one hour instead of just another hour. Another one. She was telling him there were two involved. Then there was a slight inflection on the word home. One was keeping an eye on her at the shop while the second was with Mickey at his house, but why? The final pieces clicked into place. He had been right. There was a connection between Grace Billups' murder and the break-in. He called the city police, telling the dispatcher in precise words what was going on and to send help to Mickey's house. Turning off the flashing light, Hunter pulled into a parking spot on the busy midday street two doors down from Mickey's shop. City dispatch had told him to wait for backup but he couldn't. That was his Harmony being held in the shop, and he wasn't about to stand by and wait.
He did, however, take a moment to study the door. The ancient air conditioner spat out drops of water onto the sidewalk. As he watched a few drops fall to splash into a tiny pool etched out of the concrete over decades, he contemplated the best course of action. He noticed the sign had been turned to close and realized it would probably be locked. Maybe there was a rear entrance through the alleyway in the back. He hoped he had read Harmony's clues correctly and there were only one man left inside with her.
The door in front of him opened and three businessmen exited Jolly's diner. Wasn't there an access door between the two businesses? That could be his ticket inside. Walkin
g into the busy restaurant, he showed his badge to one of the waitresses. "Is Jolly here?"
The woman, a middle-aged brunette wearing jeans and a logo t-shirt glanced at the credentials. "She had to go pick up our produce order for tomorrow. Is there something I can help you with?"
Hunter let out a relieved breath. At least Jolly was out of the way and safe for the moment. "Where is the passage between here and the antique store next door?"
The waitress frowned but took him toward the back where the bathrooms were. A third door at the end of the hall gave him access to a storage room stacked with dry goods and industrial cans of foods. She pointed to a rectangle on the other side. "It's there."
He nodded, pulled his service piece and flipped the safety. Glancing at the nametag pinned to her shirt he told her, "All right, Lydia, I need you to do something for me. I need you to quietly, without starting a riot, ask everyone to please leave the building. Usher them out through the far entrance, go to the left and around the corner. Don't let them go toward the antique store. Can you do that?"