Bare Assets

by M. L. Stephens

  "I don't see any reason why I should." A steely resolve took up immediate residence and as far as he was concerned, meeting her other lover was a non-negotiable proposition. He didn't want to meet the other guy in her life. Dealing with Cutter was tough enough.

  "I think there is," she deadpanned. "He's extremely non-biased in the bedroom so we could invite him to our bed whenever we want to spice things up a bit. He answers the call any time of day or night and not once has he refused to assist me in all things sexual."

  "I don't do threesomes," he said with finality. "I'm grateful for your honesty, though. Just warn me before he visits. Knowing there is someone else is bad enough. I don't think I could stomach seeing you with him, too."

  Realizing that she was pushing him too far, she reached into her nightstand, pulled out her adult novelty toy known as 'Roger the Rabbit' and turned it on. "Dean, meet my other lover. Other lover, meet Dean."

  Hearty laughter filled her ears as Dean reached out his hand, put the tip of the toy in his hand, and as any fine gentleman would do when meeting another, offered up his most cordial make-shift handshake. Turning off the vibration, she joyfully tilted the toy up and down in answer to the formal greeting. Once his laughter finally subsided, he sat up on his knees and held out his hand. Gifting her plastic lover over to her fleshy lover, she cautiously watched as he took the pink and clear novelty toy by the base.

  "Lay down," he commanded with a naughty twinkle in his eye. Turning the vibration back on, he flashed his award winning grin, only this time, bouncing eyebrows were added. "I'm eager to find out just how satisfying you find this other lover to be."

  Chapter 16

  "Every business owner has rivals…"

  ~ Angela

  The hot Texas sun was bearing down, super charging the atmosphere with heated vengeance. Frowning, she reluctantly left the cool interior of her air conditioned car and stepped onto the sizzling asphalt of the parking lot. It had been two weeks since the fire. The fire marshal as well as her insurance company had given her the go ahead the week before to begin repairs and as soon as they had given that, she hadn't wasted any time in scheduling the restoration company and had even spent the past week talking to interior designers.

  Dean had been with her every step of the way. He had been a huge help during the entire process by offering design suggestions, easing her fears, encouraging her through her doubts and at night when they were alone, he shared her bed. The two of them had grown inseparable.

  Cutter had eventually learned to stay out of their way and she had stopped trying to convince him to leave. It was apparent he felt obligated to continue protecting her from whatever monster he thought lived inside of Dean. Until the fire marshal gave his final report, there wasn't any chance of Cutter leaving her alone. If Cutter's presence made her brother feel better, so be it.

  She had finally spoken with her brother about his tumor and after hours of tears shared through the phone, she had promised to visit more often. He had expressed his concerns for her safety and pleaded for her to return home, but after detailed explanations and a good heart to heart, he came to terms with the fact that Dallas was her home. Buddy also revealed the truth about his finances and confessed that he was losing the farm. Without hesitation she wired him the money he needed to save the homestead, leaving her strapped for cash. After explaining the situation to Dean, her knight in shining armor insisted that she take him on as an investor. Once the contract was drawn up, she sighed with minimal reservations and her relationship with Dean went to the next level. He was no longer just her boyfriend. He was now her business partner.

  It still didn't seem real. The fire, Cutter, a new boyfriend who had swept her off her feet, her brother's tumor, saving the homestead, the restoration and remodel and taking on an investor all within two weeks was mind boggling, but Angela Fletcher refused to give up. Thanks to the supportive arms of her new lover, she was finding the strength and the courage to keep her life in order. Without him, she might have tucked tail and run back to the quiet life of Arkansas.

  Lifting a hand to her brow in order to shield her eyes from the sun, she glanced at the building and bee-lined in the direction of the restoration team's supervisor. The middle aged man was expertly directing his crew as they traipsed in and out of the club. Their professionalism was a huge relief. Bare Assets was her baby and she needed the restoration to flow smoothly so she could begin the remodel. Before reaching her destination, the sound of a man's authoritative voice grabbed her attention, causing her to turn around.

  "Ms. Fletcher?" Gray, thinning hair that might normally be appreciated by a younger woman only as a sign of aging, enhanced the features of the tall, trim fire marshal and made this man sexually appealing. Though she was most likely young enough to be his daughter, she found him attractive in every possible way. Not that she would act on it.

  Since the conversation with Dean a week before, she had officially removed herself from the list of eligible one night stands. Still, admiring another person's attractiveness was harmless and this man ranked high on her sex appeal chart.

  Locking an unreadable business expression onto her face, she met him half way and firmly shook his hand. With eager intent, she asked the question looming in her mind. "What did you find out?"

  "We've talked to all of your employees along with as many of the regular customers that we could contact. We also pulled the security video that you have in front to the club, as well as the ones from your office, the kitchen and the store room. I'm guessing that not many of your employees were aware of the security cameras?"

  "As far as I know, they weren't. I keep the recording equipment locked in the closet in my office and I'm the only one with a key."

  "It was clever of you to install that added security feature and even more of an advantage that you kept it hidden from the staff. If all businesses had such devices, situations such as yours would make my job more effortless."

  "You say that as if there was suspicious activity on the videos," she inquired, lifting an arched brow.

  "As a matter of fact, there was. I would like to show you the footage from that night to get your input."

  "Of course. My office was damaged when the sprinkler system went off, but as you know, the surveillance equipment wasn't harmed since it was shelved inside the locked closet. Since the video was recorded on disk, I hope you brought your computer. Mine was ruined."

  "Preparing for of all contingencies is part of my job, Ms. Fletcher," he replied.

  "Touché," she nodded, following him to his SUV.

  Wiping beads of sweat from her forehead, she decided to invite him inside rather than stand in the sweltering heat. "I would be willing to bet money that we hit a high temperature today," she remarked.

  "You would probably win such a bet. I heard on the radio while driving over that we're expected to top the previous record of 113 degrees set back in 1980."

  "That's insane," she said with a sigh as she wiped at her brow again. The sticky substance leaking from the pores in her skin was beginning to soak into her clothes, which in effect plastered them to her sweaty body. With a slight tug of her fingers, she pried the damp tee from her torso, pulling and pushing it forward and back in order to fan herself. "What do you say we take this conversation inside?" she asked as he reached into his vehicle to retrieve a bagged laptop.

  "That's a splendid idea. This heat is just too much," he offered, trusting that the interior of the club was at least a few degrees cooler than the parking lot. Closing the door to the city-issued automobile, he hit the lock button on his key fob, swung the computer bag across his shoulder and followed the business owner inside.

  The amount of people coming in and out of the building wasn't surprising considering the amount of water damage. The two of them had to step aside for several workers as they carried out damaged materials.

  Leading him to the alcohol storage room, Angela unlocked it, flipped on the light and invited him inside. "This isn't the
ideal meeting place, but it's away from the view of prying eyes. I hope you don't mind."

  "Not at all," he answered as she slid a chair over to him

  Sliding another chair next to his, she waited as he booted up his laptop. The anxiety welling up inside of her was enough to keep her from making idle conversation. She imagined that he wouldn't be reviewing the video with her unless he had found suspicious activity which could only mean that the arsonist might possibly be revealed to her shortly. What if it was someone she knew? What if it was one of her employees or clients? Fear grabbed a strong hold and set up fort, causing her insides to twist in protest. Bile began to rise in the back of her throat as she apprehensively waited to see what had brought the fire marshal to her club.

  "After carefully analyzing the data with our forensics team and with the use of dogs that are trained to sniff out accelerants, we were able to identify that a hydrogen peroxide based bomb was used to create an explosion inside of your freezer. Thankfully, the thickness of your unit was able to contain the small explosion and no one was hurt. One of the hinges was damaged due to the force of the contained explosion but because the bomb was placed centrally towards the back of the freezer on the upper most shelves, it blew out of the top of the walk-in rather than through the sides or door."

  "A bomb? Are you sure? How does that explain the fire?" she asked, puzzled by what she was being told.

  "Because our dogs indicated gasoline, we believe the suspect coated the ceiling of the unit. Once the homemade bomb exploded through the top of the freezer, there was an electrical arc caused from the walk-in unit's incoming power supply. The gasoline ignited and spread to the ceiling tiles. Fortunately, the sprinkler system contained the blaze before it was able to rage out of control.

  Whoever did this went out of their way so as not to cause physical harm to the employees in the kitchen or to cause massive amounts of damage to your building. This appears to be the work of someone who took the well-being of the staff, the customers and the building into consideration. We find that odd, considering they went through with the actual crime of creating, planting and detonating a bomb. Can you think of anyone who would benefit from shutting you down?"

  Carefully pondering the fire marshal's statement, Angie shook her head. "I can't think of anyone who would want to shut me down. I don't have any enemies that I know of."

  "None at all? You don't have business rivals, disgruntled employees or a customer who might have exhibited signs of discord with you or your staff?"

  "Every business owner has rivals and I don't pretend to think that I haven't upset a few employees or customers. No one is perfect," she stated. "But to be upset enough to do detonate a bomb inside of my club? No way." Leaning forward, she placed her arms on her knees and bowed her head while searching her racing mind for anything that might help.

  "Your staff members mentioned that a rival has been actively trying to persuade you to sell him your club."

  Twisting her head to look at him, she sat up. "Mr. Benson? Sure, he's made numerous offers and he makes my skin crawl each time, but not even a prick like John Benson would resort to violence. Would he?"

  "I wanted to get your side of things before revealing more, but after our initial investigation, we feel we have enough to make an arrest."

  "What? You arrested Mr. Benson?" she asked, horrified by the idea that another business owner would resort to such an anus crime.

  "No. We haven't arrested Mr. Benson as of yet, though that may change. Our arrest will be highly dependent on what you view in the video."

  "Who is your suspect?"

  "First, let me show you the video. I need you to tell me if you can identify him," he said. With the push of a laptop button, the image of her club flashed onto his computer screen. With another click, the surveillance footage began to play.

  Leaning in for the horror film of a lifetime, Angie watched the video that had been taken by the kitchen's cameras. Her cook was joking and laughing with the dishwasher while the two of them worked. Not unusual, she thought. Crossing her mental fingers for good luck, she hoped that her kitchen staff wasn't responsible. Without blinking, she watched as the two stepped out the back door, propped it open and took an apparent smoke break. The time stamp on the video read 12:35 AM. She couldn't be sure, but that would have been approximately two hours after Mr. Benson had tried to pay her a visit. With the kitchen's back door still propped open, a man slipped from the store room containing the kitchen's cleaning supplies.

  "I don't believe it," she moaned. In a state of utter confusion, her eyes watered as a familiar face bolted for the freezer. With assumed bomb in hand and a container filled with what she assumed was the gasoline he walked inside, closing the door behind him. Two minutes later, he slipped back out and casually strolled out of the kitchen toward the club. Without commenting, the fire marshal fast forwarded the video, stopping it just before 1 AM. The explosion was sudden and loud, making her curious as to why she hadn't heard it. She watched as her cook's knees collapsed with fright and the dishwasher jumped out of his skin. Seconds later, the two fled out the back door.

  "This video taken by your parking lot camera shows our suspect sitting in his vehicle until the explosion and then he drives away immediately afterwards."

  The arsonist's car was unfamiliar, but the man driving it was. "I've seen enough," she whispered. Stomach acid aggressively churned, threatening to relocate to the liquor room's floor. The smell of alcohol, stale cigarettes and smoke from the fire assailed her senses, causing her to gag on her disbelief. Jumping up from her chair, she dashed toward the door. The room was stifling. She was barely able to push it open before the pulverized remnants of her lunch violently exited her digestive system and splashed across the floor. Her body lurched rebelliously until there wasn't an ounce of material left for her to offer to the pool of grossness which had collected at her feet.

  Weakened by her stomach's rebellion, and sapped from the ferocious attack against her sanity, she forced air into lungs that wanted to vehemently rebel, which was a real effort. Trying her best not to faint, pass out or any other such characteristic becoming of a weak woman who had just embarrassed herself in front of a practical stranger, she swallowed the bile coating her throat and attempted to restore a semblance of pride. Once she collected her sensibility, Angela Fletcher —aka Angie, aka Ang— wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

  "I take it you recognize him?" It was more of a statement than a question.

  "Yes," she numbly whispered as she continued to make sense of it.

  "I'm sorry for your despair, Ms. Fletcher, but we need a name. An arrest will have to be made." Years on the job had taught him that the person the victim least expected to be an enemy was usually the one to expect.

  Separating one's self from personal betrayal was tough, but she'd done it before…six years ago. Now it was time to do it again. Biting back the tears, she lifted her head and squared sagging shoulders. The chapter in her life which should have been filled with a happy ending had been ripped from her life's story by an act of malice caught on video. Befitting a queen who had just discovered that her king was a traitorous villain, Angela took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. As dignified as possible, she turned to the fire marshal and said, "Mr. Murray is my lover and just recently became an investor in the club."

  The fire marshal's face remained unchanged as he absorbed the statement. Thanks for not gaping with disbelief and looking at me like I'm a complete and total idiot, she thought.

  "And you are one hundred percent positive that he was the man in the video?"

  Doing her best to keep from biting off the head of the messenger, she kept her voice flat. Through slanted eyes, she replied, "Not to sound bitter, but I believe I know the face of my own boyfriend and business partner."

  "I apologize for having to ask these questions, but it is imperative that we establish a positive identification," he said with only a slight amount of compassion in his tone. In his line
of work, he had heard of more vicious attacks against a person, so it wasn't a complete surprise. He had assumed it was an inside job. The remnants of the bomb had revealed a latent fingerprint and now that he had a name to go with the video, it was only a matter of arresting the culprit and comparing the prints.

  "I need you to come to the station to make a formal report. Let me give you a ride there and back," he offered.

  "I would appreciate that," she said, realizing she wasn't in the best frame of mind to navigate traffic. "Give me a few minutes to let the restoration team know that I'm leaving."

  "Sure thing," he replied without emotion.

  Gathering his laptop, he followed her back into the fray of the restoration. He felt remorse over her situation, but also admired her might. Not many people could have dealt with the news as well as she was. With a rigid back and unreadable face, she kept her composure as she went in search of the crew's supervisor. Without outwardly exhibiting signs of what had to have been an emotional punch in the gut, he watched as Ms. Fletcher turned up the professional dial and abruptly informed the man that she was stepping out for a few hours but to call if he had questions. Anyone on the outside looking in would not know the impact of what she was going through. As if she were about to join him for lunch, she turned to him and said, "I'm ready when you are."

  Chapter 17

  I prefer to swallow and chug, not sip." ~ Cutter

  Walking into her bedroom at the end of the day was surreal. Dean's scent assaulted her senses, causing tears of betrayal to well in her eyes. She had managed to turn on the bitch switch in order to deal with the ugliness of filling out the marshal's report, and later busying herself with the remaining day's restoration, but now she was alone.

  Stripping off her clothes, she took a quick shower, slipped on night shorts and a tee and gathered up the clothing she had worn that day. Beating a direct path to the kitchen, she retrieved a garbage bag and promptly stuffed the day's clothing inside, carried them out to the garbage container and tossed them in without a second thought. After that was finished, she stalked back into the house, snatched up the wilting flower bouquet Dean had given her and did the same.