Yikes.
“He was scary, Cam, I’m not going there,” I assured her.
“God, I hope not,” she said in a way that meant she didn’t believe me. Then again, I’d met her in the middle of my divorce mess so she knew all about Scott, who was hot but who was a complete dick. And she also knew about MM, who was also hot, way hotter than Scott, and was proving to be of the Scott bent, namely a jerk.
“I’ll talk to Leo, see what I can get about your sister,” Cam went on. “The one thing I can say about MM is that he gave you good advice. You need to lay low. Ginger is Ginger and she’s been headin’ down a path that’s leadin’ her to big trouble and seems she found it.” I listened to her take a big breath and I knew what that big breath meant. She had something to say she knew I wouldn’t like. Camille was a straight-talker but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a kind soul. She did. The kindest there was. Therefore when she continued, she did it gently. “I know she’s your sister, girl, but Ginger Kidd, she doesn’t care who she brings down with her and she’ll throw up anyone as a shield to protect her skinny, white ass. She’s in trouble and she gets a hint that she can use you, however she could use you, she’s gonna do it, babe. No hesitation.”
This was definitely true.
“I am, as of this moment, officially disowning her,” I declared.
“Finally,” Cam muttered.
“Call me after you talk to Leo,” I told her.
“Gwen?” she called.
“Yeah, babe,” I replied.
“I’m also gonna talk to him about MM.”
Oh No. Hell no. Dad and Meredith didn’t know about MM. Troy didn’t know about MM. And Leonard Freeman didn’t know about MM. The only people who knew about MM were Camille and Tracy and I’d sworn them to secrecy.
This said a lot about me and how I felt about MM, namely that I was ashamed of what I was doing and also why I was doing it. It more than hinted at desperate and slut, two things no girl should be. Ever. I loved Dad, Meredith, Troy and Leo. I did not want these people to think I was a desperate slut.
“Gwen –” Cam started.
“No, Cam, no. Do not talk to Leo about The Great MM,” I stated firmly.
“Okay, girl, listen to me,” she stated firmly back. “This guy can walk through doors. This guy has the means to investigate you and keep tabs. I know that now so now I know this guy has got to be on the grid and if he’s on the grid, Leo can get a lock on him.”
“Maybe so but I don’t want Leo to get a lock on him.”
“Why?” she asked, beginning to sound impatient. “He investigated you.”
“That may be so too but as of today I am officially disowning my sister and officially ending my screwed up, non-relationship with The Great Mystery Man. It’s over. Totally over.”
Again, silence.
Then, “Seriously?”
“Seriously, Cam!” I cried. “I told you how he spoke to me. I told you what he said about our relationship. He investigated me. He knows everything about me. He says only he gets to end things. He wouldn’t tell me his name. That situation was totally whacked before in a way I didn’t think it could get more whacked and now that it has, wake up call. It’s over.”
Again, silence then, “I hope so, girl. I said it before and I’ll say it again. There are hot guys out there who are not motherfucking assholes. They do not use you to get off. There are men out there who know how to treat a woman right and you’re gonna find one, babe, but the only way you can do that is to scrape off the one who doesn’t treat you right.”
There it was, Camille Antoine, straight-talker. And Camille Antoine, smart girl who had her head screwed on right.
“Well, today has been the day of epiphany. Ginger and The Great MM are history,” I declared grandly.
“Hallelujah,” Cam replied.
Ten minutes later, we hung up. After that, I sat at my table, spooned up dough, ate it and stared at my phone, hoping that I could follow through with my grand statement.
Then I picked up the phone and called Tracy.
Chapter Four
Baseball Bat or Crowbar
I heard the crash and jerked awake, instant adrenalin pumping through my body making my skin and fingers tingle.
Someone was in my house.
I listened and heard not a sound but I knew. I knew.
The Great MM didn’t make noise. Even if I moved something or work was being done on the house, he avoided it and moved silently like he could see any obstacles in the dark.
He did not make a crash. He’d never make a crash.
I turned to reach to the phone and wished I had a weapon. Even a baseball bat. Something that would make me feel less powerless. Less alone. I was happy for the company of an inanimate object if it could inflict injury.
I grabbed the phone and dialed 911.
“Nine, one, one, what’s your emergency?”
“My name is Gwendolyn Kidd,” I whispered. “I live at three, three, two Vine and someone has broken into my house. They’re here, in the house. Send someone. I’m hanging up now and don’t call back. This is not a prank.”
I beeped off the phone, dropped it on the bed and rolled the other way, in the direction of my snow globe. I loved that snow globe. It was a Rosina Wachtmeister snow globe with a happy kitty in it, little flowers dancing around the base and if you turned it over and shook it, glitter danced around the kitty.
And, if I used it to clock someone on the head, they might not be able to rape me.
I snatched it up and ran on tiptoes to the opposite wall where I pressed my shoulder against the wall and stared at the door.
My heart was beating so fast I could hear it in my ears, my entire body was alive and I could feel every inch of it. I was terrified out of my ever-lovin’ mind.
Someone was out there. I couldn’t hear them but I could sense them.
Then I heard them, footfalls in the hall.
Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod.
I tried to remember what the response time was supposed to be for cops. Seven minutes popped into my head even though I didn’t know if that was the right number or the wrong number.
I didn’t have seven minutes. He was close.
I silently inched up the wall toward my door staring at it. It was mostly closed. I’d started doing this in an effort to hear when The Great MM arrived. I didn’t close it all the way, I left it open an inch. It wasn’t a noisy door but it did have a creak.
The Great MM never made it creak.
The first thing I saw was the flashlight, not bright, an LED. Then I saw a shadowed hand, a man’s hand, fingers out, fingertips touching my door, slowly the hand pushed it open.
I stopped breathing. I didn’t want him to hear me breathing. If I damaged my Wachtmeister snow globe bonking him on the head with it I wanted to make it count.
I lifted the snow globe and the door kept opening.
Then I heard sirens.
Thank you, God.
The hand stilled then it disappeared. The footfalls were faster and I heard them hit the stairs, thudding down.
Then I heard nothing.
Then I turned my back to the wall, slid down and cradled my happy kitty snow globe.
* * * * *
I was sitting in my kitchen staring into my living room.
I had both heels to the seat of my chair, my cheek pressed to one of my knees, my arms tight around my calves and my nightgown wrapped around my legs.
I was pretty pleased I’d worn my kickass, mocha colored, soft-knit, short bat-sleeved caftan to bed. Caftans weren’t known to be hot but that one was, mainly because it was uber-clingy in all the right places. That caftan rocked and it was the chosen nightwear for when you suddenly found your home filled with macho cops.
This was what I was staring at. The fact that my home was filled with macho cops. They were moving around in my living room looking at stuff while dipping with spoons into the bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough that I unearthed from the fr
idge for them.
My window by the door was smashed, something I didn’t hear, a lamp in the living room that was under a dust cover was also smashed, what I heard.
Other than that, no damage and the officer who took me through the house was told by me, an authority on the subject, that nothing was missing.
But they didn’t take my statement. Two officers became four, four became six and now there were eight and they told me I had to wait until the detective arrived.
I was not hip on police procedure and I couldn’t say I wasn’t grateful (considering the fact that I was super, double, extra, way freaked out) that they seemed to be taking this seriously and sending a large cadre of officers to stand guard in my living room eating cookie batter and a full-blown detective to talk to me. However, nothing was stolen and although my caller headed straight to the bedroom, and I doubted he was after my Wachtmeister snow globe, it seemed a garden variety break-in that the uniformed officers could cover.
So I figured something was up and I figured that something was named Ginger Kidd.
Suddenly there seemed something interesting happening in the living room, someone had arrived and five seconds later, there he was.
I stared at him.
Seriously, was this a cosmic joke?
In my doorway stood a man, a tall man and there was nothing “ish” about how tall he was. He was just, plain tall. He also had dark brown hair, dark brown eyes and a square jaw. His hair was thick and curled a little around his neck and the collar of his leather jacket. His eyes were soulful. His jaw was strong. He was wearing a chocolate brown turtleneck under his dark brown leather jacket, jeans, a great belt, boots and a badge hung on that great belt. I had no doubt he was on the cover of the Men of the Denver Police Department calendar and I was going out first thing tomorrow to buy one.
Why was this happening? Why? What did I do? Not even a day and three hot guys, all three I couldn’t have. One was scary and was the head honcho of a possibly felonious but definitely antisocial motorcycle club, so he was out. One was scary and mysterious and a jerk, so he was out. And this one was not scary, he was gorgeous but he was also the detective assigned to my case which meant he was probably not allowed to fraternize with a victim, namely me, and therefore he was out.
I didn’t lift my cheek from my knee and he didn’t tear his eyes from me as he walked into the kitchen, grabbed a chair, twisted it around to face me, not too close, not too far away, and sat down. With his eyes still on me, he leaned forward, elbows to knees.
“Gwendolyn Kidd?” he asked in a nice, smooth, deep voice.
I nodded against my knee.
“I’m Detective Mitch Lawson.”
Detective Mitch Lawson. Yowza. Great name.
I kept my cheek to my knee when I told him quietly, “That’s the perfect name for a cop.”
His brows went up slightly. This was not what he was expecting. He was probably expecting a “Hi”, or a “Thank you for coming” or a “God, you’re hot”.
“It is?” he asked.
“Mitch,” I whispered. “Strong, the last three consonants that is, but not in a harsh way, in a soft way. And when you’re with someone you care about and you’re close and they say something you can’t hear, you don’t say, ‘What?’ you say, ‘Mm?’ real soft. Put that and the last together, soft and strong, things a cop needs to be… Mitch.”
He stared at me.
I kept babbling. “And Lawson, goes without saying, Law… son. Son of the law.” I pulled in a breath through my nose and then whispered, “Perfect.”
He stared at me some more.
Then he said, “Gwendolyn sounds like a song.”
Uh… nice.
I so totally loved my name.
“A short one,” I replied.
“But a pretty one,” he returned.
Uh… nice.
I smiled at him and Detective Mitch Lawson smiled back at me.
Yowza!
Then suddenly his neck twisted so he could look over his shoulder, his torso went straight and he stood, still looking behind him.
My eyes went there and I kept my cheek to my knee even as my heart skipped a beat.
The Great MM was standing there.
He wasn’t in a fabulous chocolate brown turtleneck, leather jacket and jeans. He was wearing what he was wearing earlier, a skintight, navy, long-sleeved t-shirt that delineated every carved muscle in his chest, shoulders and arms; army green cargo pants and boots. He was also wearing an unhappy expression and his eyes were locked on Detective Mitch Lawson.
Then his eyes moved to me and about a nanosecond later he moved to me, all masculine grace, a big cat on the prowl, fascinating.
My eyes moved with him but my cheek didn’t leave my knee as he got close then bent over me, lifting his hand. I didn’t know what to expect so I braced until I felt his fingers at my temple. They trailed lightly along my hairline, down, behind my ear and I closed my eyes as he slid the hair off my neck. Then his warm hand curled there.
Then I heard him ask softly, “You okay, baby?”
Baby?
My eyes opened and slid to see him bent close to my face.
“Fine,” I told him.
“You don’t look fine,” he noted.
“Well, I am,” I returned.
“Then why are you curled into a protective ball?” he asked.
This was a good question.
I shrugged.
“Heard she was yours,” Lawson noted, MM straightened and turned to him and I was so surprised at this comment, for a variety of reasons, that my head came up so I could put my chin to the space between my knees.
“She’s mine,” MM confirmed decisively.
“I’m not his,” I denied probably not decisively.
Lawson was looking at MM but when I spoke his eyes cut to me. He stared at me what seemed intently for a few beats then one side of his mouth twitched and he looked to the floor a second before he looked back at me.
“I need to ask you a few questions,” he said quietly. “You up for that?”
MM moved to my side, right to my side, in a way where his lower side pressed down my upper side and his hand didn’t leave my neck but it slid to the back.
“Ask,” he ordered shortly, answering for me, Lawson looked at him then sat again.
I lifted my chin from my knees but MM’s hand on my neck didn’t move. His position seemed to be possessive, an indication to Lawson he was claiming me. But that hand… that hand seemed to be supportive, an indication he was worried about my state of mind and, furthermore, he cared.
Now, what did I do with that?
I focused on Lawson and not MM and saw he was leaning forward on his knees again.
“Tell me what happened,” he said gently.
I sucked in breath. Then I said, “I heard a crash, it woke me up and I knew, I knew like you know when you have a bad dream and you jerk awake and your body is all tingly and you just know, you know someone is in the room to hack you up and you can’t get rid of that feeling, you know what I mean?” I paused and he nodded. “I knew like that someone was in my house but I knew it was for real.” He nodded again and I kept talking. “So, I called 911 but not before I thought I needed a baseball bat. But, while I was waiting for you, I decided I didn’t want a baseball bat, I want a crowbar. A baseball bat has more surface area so the force of the blow would be disbursed. A crowbar would work better. What do you think?”
MM’s fingers tightened on my neck but Lawson, clearly not following my ramblings, asked, “What do I think?”
“Baseball bat or crowbar? Which one would you want if you were in a scary situation?”
He paused a second, his eyes holding mine, before he answered softly, “Gwendolyn, I own a gun.”
Jeez. Of course. He owned a gun. He could shoot a bad guy. He didn’t need a baseball bat.
A gun would be handy but I wasn’t sure I was ready for a gun.
“Oh yeah,” I whispered, “right.�
�
He smiled a small smile and prompted, “So you called 911…”
“Yes, then I grabbed my snow globe because that was all I had,” I told him and his brows drew together.
“The one in the living room?”
I had carried my happy kitty down when I went to greet the police. The officer who took me on a tour of my house eventually had to pry it from my hands and set it aside.
“The one in the living room,” I answered.
“It’s normally on Gwen’s nightstand,” MM added and Lawson’s eyes lifted to him even though he didn’t move his head but I twisted my neck to look up at him.
There it was. Proof. He could totally see in the dark.
“You noticed that?” I asked and MM’s black eyes tipped down to me as his fingers gave my neck another squeeze.
“Don’t miss much, babe.”
Hmm. I suspected as much but, even so, I didn’t think this was good news.
“Unh-hunh,” I muttered.
“Gwendolyn,” Lawson called and I looked back at him. “What happened after you grabbed the snow globe?”
“I walked to the wall and pressed against it, stared at the door and waited. I saw the flashlight first then I saw the hand pushing open my door really slowly.” I stopped because MM’s fingers tightened, this wasn’t a squeeze, this was something else and his fingers didn’t loosen. I had to admit even though I didn’t want to that that strong pressure felt good. “He got it open a foot, maybe more and then there were sirens and he took off. I heard him running down the stairs.”
“Him?” Lawson asked.
“It was a man’s hand,” I told him. “White, um… Caucasian.” I used television show cop speak.
“A man’s hand,” Lawson repeated.
“Um… yeah,” I confirmed.
“You’re sure it was a man’s hand?” Lawson asked and I locked eyes with him.
Then I said softly, “It wasn’t Ginger.”
Another squeeze of the fingers from MM but this time they relaxed.
Lawson sat back and studied me.
“Your sister?” he asked.
“I know she’s in trouble. Bad trouble. And I know that’s why you’re here and eight uniform cops are here for what is normally not likely a priority, all hands on deck call.”
Mystery Man Page 4