by Destiny Ford
Hawke walked to a refrigerator in the corner of the room. He came back with a cold bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to me. I gulped down the water, inhaling some deep breaths through my nose, and repeated the process until my breathing slowed. Hawke took the water from me and put it on the hardwood floor.
“Have you taken a self-defense class before?” he asked, walking me to a large mat on the floor in the corner of the room.
“In college.”
“Good,” he said. “Show me.”
My eyebrows shot up into my forehead. “Show you what?”
“I’m going to attack you. Defend yourself.”
“No way!” I yelled. “I don’t want to risk hurting you.”
Hawke’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Try,” he drawled in a taunting tone.
“No.”
“Kitty Kate, you need to practice this.”
“I won’t.”
He stood back, put his index finger over his lips, and gave me a measured stare. “Think of it like sex.”
I shook my head in confusion. “I’ve never had sex that required self-defense moves.”
His eyes danced as he lifted one corner of his mouth. “Then you’ve never had good sex.”
And it was at that moment, when I was caught completely off-guard, that he chose to attack. Even though the thought of wrestling Hawke appealed to many of my senses, I refused to fight back and just stood there. With Hawke so close, I could smell his Swagger body wash. I inhaled a deep breath with a smile, waiting for him to give up and stop trying to instigate violence against himself. Instead, with his arms still wrapped around me in a vice grip, he said, “I thought Drake would be pulling out all the moves with you. His reputation in bed will go to hell when people find out you’re having shitty sex.”
In a swift move I brought my arms up, wrapping them around Hawke’s so he had to either break his hold on me, or end up with two broken arms. I pushed him away and spun around, kicked his shin, and punched him in the jaw. “I am NOT sleeping with Dylan Drake!”
Hawke rubbed his jaw and walked off the pain in his leg. “So you were just teasing him with the sexy dress you wore when you showed up for the legislature party as his date.”
I glared at him. “It wasn’t a date,” I explained. “It was reconnaissance. I had to wear the dress to fit in with my surroundings.”
“Whatever you want to call it, Kitty Kate.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. When did you show up? And what were you doing there?”
“I was there all day. I was watching to make sure you were okay. We’re partners, and you’re the only one with boobs; you’re valuable to have around.”
“My boobs are nothing special. If something happens to them you can purchase another set on State Street for an hourly rate.”
“Not like yours.”
“I didn’t know you were there until you sent me the text about my dress. It would have been nice to know you were surveilling me.”
“It was the first time you’d done anything undercover. If you’d known I was there, you would have acted differently.”
I thought about that. He was probably right, especially when it came to being around Drake. Despite my better judgment, I was attracted to both of them and wouldn’t have wanted Hawke to see me acting like a couple with Drake. Knowing about Hawke’s presence too soon could have blown my cover.
“So,” Hawke said, still rubbing his shin, “obviously, you remember how to defend yourself.” He gave me a few more tips on getting out of situations before an attack happens, and showed me how to defend myself if it did. By the time we were done, it was close to ten o’clock. Hawke gave me another bottle of water to drink and drove me back to my house.
He pulled into my driveway. I was about to get out of the car when Hawke grabbed a paper from the backseat. “You need to see this,” he said, turning off the Mustang engine and switching on the interior lights.
I gave him a curious look as I glanced at the paper. It appeared to be some sort of conversation.
* * *
Fordguy18: “Tell her that wasn’t part of the deal.”
Cutiepie94: “You know she doesn’t care what you think.”
Fordguy18: “She used to care. Just because she’s not here right now doesn’t change things. We agreed to do this and we’re following through with the plan.”
Cutiepie94: “Then you’ll have to convince her.”
Fordguy18: “I’ll convince her. One way or another.”
* * *
I finished reading and looked at Hawke. “What is this?”
He leaned his shoulder against the door, turning so he could talk to me more easily. “It’s the text from an instant messaging conversation that took place a week before Chelsea was murdered.”
I stared at him. “How did you get it?”
“From my sources,” he said without apology. “What do you make of it?”
I laughed as I tilted my head back and shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t know the context. It seems kind of threatening, but I don’t know who was talking or who they were talking about.”
Hawke’s gaze was level as he answered, “I have it on good authority they were discussing Chelsea.”
I watched him for a minute wondering who exactly his sources were and how they had a copy of this conversation. Things would be a lot easier if Hawke would just let me in on his part of the investigation. I read the messages again before shaking my head. “It could mean a hundred different things. If it’s about Chelsea, it seems like the girl is defending her and the boy is angry. I don’t know what the part about the plan means.”
Hawke nodded. “That copy is yours.”
“Thanks.” Hawke would never tell me everything he knew about Chelsea’s murder, but the copy of the conversation made me feel like he was at least trying to include me more. “I’ll think about it and look it over. Maybe something will click.”
Hawke nodded again.
“Thanks for spending the day with me and helping me brush up on defending myself.”
“Anytime you want to use the gym, you’re welcome to it.”
“And the gun range in your mountain?” I teased.
The side of his mouth twitched into the alluring half smile he used so much he should probably patent it. “When you’re ready to learn, I’ll be happy to teach you everything I know.”
My stomach fluttered. It felt like our conversation had just shifted from guns to sex. They were both equally scary and either way, I knew Hawke had more experience. The thing that unnerved me was how quickly I’d thought of taking him up on the offer. I guess that answered his earlier question about deal breakers—there weren’t any.
I didn’t respond to Hawke’s suggestive offer and instead just smiled as I got out of the car. I was about to shut the door when Hawke leaned over, reaching across the seat. “Don’t forget your can of Mace,” he said, holding it out to me.
Hawke waited while I unlocked the front door. Between the Mace and my renewed sense of strength, I walked into my house ready to take on anything—even Amber Kane.
When I got up to make coffee the next day, I realized all I had were some left over grounds and a filter. I found enough quarters and dimes in my change jar for a McDonald’s combo meal with coffee. I decided I deserved it for not killing Amber. I got some breakfast and brought it home to enjoy my greasy egg sandwich and hash brown in privacy.
Eating the heart clogging food made me feel guilty, so I decided to go for a run to redeem myself. I put on some soccer shorts and a tank top, grabbed my iPod, tied my running shoes, and took off out the door, my house key secured in a lock box under the porch railing.
I ran down the street, winding my way through neighborhoods. I passed the fair grounds and police department, and jogged by the hospital and high school. A few blocks from my house, I noticed Mrs. Pool happily planting flowers in her front yard. She was seriously committed to be gardening this early. She
waved as I passed and I smiled, waving back. When I got home, I unlocked the door and went inside to shower. By the time I was out, it was late morning. I pulled on black capri pants and a sea green tee shirt, and swiped on eye shadow, mascara, and rose pink lipstick. I picked up my bag on the way out the back door. My Jeep was still in the garage where I hoped it had stayed safe from any new vandalism.
I walked out to my garage, but stopped when I saw Hawke’s Mustang blocking the driveway. Hawke was leaning against the car wearing a dark red shirt that could barely accommodate his bulging arms. He also had on blue jeans and black combat boots. The boots had gone out of fashion in the nineties, but in Hawke’s life, combat boots seemed to be standard—and unlike most people, he looked like he’d been in combat, so he could pull them off.
I started toward Hawke when I realized his car door was open. Hawke was talking to someone sitting inside. I squinted, seeing the unmistakable outline of my dad’s broad shoulders and pepper colored hair.
I approached them. “Good morning.”
“Morning yourself,” Hawke smiled. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer.”
“I was in the shower.”
Hawke’s eyes darkened. I knew how he would have responded if my dad hadn’t been there. Speaking of my dad, I shouldn’t ignore him. “Hi, Dad. When did you get here?”
“Ten or fifteen minutes ago,” he said, getting out of the car and giving it a covetous look. “I’ve been talking to Hawke. Isn’t his car great?”
“Yeah, it is. Did he give you a ride in it?”
My dad nodded. “Around the block. The engine just purrs.”
“I’d describe it as more of a roar,” I said. Hawke smiled again.
“You’ve been in it?” my dad asked.
“A few times.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrugged. “I guess it slipped my mind. Usually when I’m at your house it’s to deal with another one of Mom’s Catasophies.”
“Catasophie?” my dad asked.
“You haven’t heard that before?” He shook his head. “How is that possible? It’s the nickname people around town use for Mom.”
He laughed, but stopped short, pointing at me. “Don’t tell her that. She’ll be madder than a wet hen, and you know how she gets when she’s mad. That look in her eyes is evil.”
I couldn’t agree more. When she got that look, worse things than normal happened. “I won’t say anything.” I glanced from my dad to Hawke. “So, was there something you both needed?”
My dad answered first. “You know the other night when we were talking about the Bradfords?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the information on Brian. It was a big help. I asked Julia some questions about it.”
My dad’s forehead creased in worry. “When did you talk to her?”
“Yesterday morning, why?”
“Last night your mom and I came home from dinner and saw Brian carrying a bunch of luggage to his Range Rover. At first we thought he was just going on a business trip, but it looked like he was carrying his whole closet outside.”
“That’s really weird. I wonder what happened.”
“I’m not sure, but I can say this: I’ve never heard Julia Bradford lose her temper, but she was yelling like a banshee at Brian last night. It didn’t go on for very long because she noticed some of the neighbors staring, but she wasn’t happy.”
I shook my head, trying to figure out what might have gone wrong. She didn’t seem thrilled when Hawke and I were there yesterday, but she was still trying to make sense of her daughter’s death; I wouldn’t expect her to be happy. “We just asked her questions about Brian’s business and the contract he was working on. I don’t know why that would have made her so upset.”
“Maybe the questions made her think about it more,” Hawke said. “Maybe she realized how mad she was that Brian hadn’t been there for her. He was obviously more concerned about his business deal than the death of his daughter.”
I tapped my finger against my purse as I thought about Hawke’s theory. “I’ve talked to Julia a few times. It seems like it would take a lot to get her mad enough to yell at someone in front of the whole neighborhood.”
“I don’t know what happened, but I thought I should tell you,” my dad said. “Maybe it will help with your story.” He got out of Hawke’s Mustang and ran his eyes over it, the longing evident on his face. “If you ever want to sell it, you better call me first.” He extended his hand to Hawke. “It was good to meet you.”
Hawke smiled. “You too, Damon. Maybe we need to build you one of your own.”
My dad beamed as he turned and gave me a hug. “Have a good day, sweetie.”
“You too, Dad.”
He walked to his car parked in front of my house, waving as he drove away.
“I didn’t know you restored this yourself,” I said to Hawke. The information made me look at the car with a whole new layer of admiration.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Hawke nodded. “I have no doubt you’ve heard all kinds of things.”
“I’m a reporter. Getting information is kind of my specialty.”
He cocked his head, pushing his chin out. “And what have you found out about me so far?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I tried to sound coy even though aside from my Google search, I didn’t really know anything. After a few seconds I looked up and saw that he was patiently watching me. “What are you doing here this morning?”
“Checking on you.”
I did a little twirl for him. “I’m fine, see.”
His eyes darkened as he slowly moved them over my body, and then met my gaze. “I would have seen a lot more if your dad hadn’t shown up.”
I watched him, my lips curling up slightly. “You’re pretty confident.”
He gave a single nod of his head.
“What makes you think I’d just let you take me?” I asked.
“What have you done to indicate you wouldn’t?”
Huh. He had me there, and he knew it. I wrinkled my nose and his sly smile grew into a seductive one. I knew I needed to change the subject before we really did end up back in the house. That would be bad for many reasons; number one being that I hadn’t had sex in so long I didn’t know where my diaphragm was and I hadn’t been out of town recently to buy condoms. Like my mom had warned, a single girl buying condoms in Branson would be another scandal. It makes me grateful I have final approval for newspaper stories so my relationship activities don’t end up plastered all over the pages of the Tribune.
Then again, Hawke probably had plenty of protection. I bet if I opened his glove compartment, he’d be stocked like a convenience store on prom night.
“So, uh . . . what are you doing today?” I asked.
“I was planning to spend the day with you.” He gave me another look that seemed to say his plans had nothing to do with Chelsea’s investigation. “But now I have some things I need to look into.”
I nodded, a brief flutter of relief coursing through me. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you later?”
He opened his mouth slightly, running his tongue along his teeth. “Uh huh.” He didn’t move. I was expecting sexy Hawke to get in his sexy car and drive away, but he didn’t even twitch. “It’s Friday night.”
“Yeah,” I said slowly, trying to figure out what he was getting at.
“You have plans.”
I shook my head, thinking it was a question. “Not that I know of.”
“No,” he said. “I’m telling you. You have plans.”
“Are we going on a stakeout? Or is this your way of asking me out on a date?”
“I’m not asking.”
I blinked. “Why do I keep spending time with arrogant idiots who think they can tell me what to do?”
He smiled slowly, watching me from under his brow. “I’m only telling you what you want to do anyway but won’t initiate on yo
ur own, Kitty Kate.”
I stared at him for a minute and unconsciously licked my lips. “What are we doing tonight?” I asked, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering down toward places I hadn’t noticed for a while.
Hawke just smiled and got in his car. He didn’t break eye contact with me until he had to look for traffic before pulling into the street.
As he drove away, I stood there stunned, completely unable to move. I was pretty sure I’d just agreed to have sex with Hawke, and I was positive it would be the best sex of my life—and the most terrifying.
Aside from thinking it was lucky I’d remembered to shave this morning, the only other thought running through my head was holy shit.
When I got to work, Spence wasn’t there. One of the part-time employees, a cheerful girl still in high school, was sitting at the front desk, reading. “Hi, Stacy.”
“Hi!” she called back with a toothy smile. Her perky attitude is a personality staple for most Branson women. I find it hard to tolerate. Like, don’t they ever get PMS or just have a day when they want to rage against the world? Why are they so damn likeable all the time?
I sat at my desk, going through the edits Spence had given me on the cow crash article and the dog bite story. They didn’t take long since most of the notes were jokes from Spence about my mom. When I finished the revisions, I opened the layout program and put the articles in. I couldn’t help but laugh at the pictures from the cow crash. I even used a diagram to show where the cow had hit and how its hooves had come through the window. I knew my mom would cut the pictures out to put on her fridge. The photos were going to be legendary.
I did the layout for the other articles I had. Between text and ads, it didn’t take long to fill the paper up. I even had articles left over that I’d have to push to next week. It wasn’t a big deal; it just usually didn’t happen that way. It seemed like we were always scrambling to find stories to fill the pages. During times like that, Spence often joked he should just send me out with a camera to follow my mom around.
