Never Tempt Danger

by Denise Robbins

  “Shit!” He ploughed his fingers through his hair. Every door or drawer hung open, held by a single hinge.

  Turning, he made a beeline for the stairs and the bedrooms. At the top of the oak plank steps, towels and toiletries from the linen closet and bathroom spotted the hall as if in a breadcrumb trail leading to the bedrooms. He went right and checked the room he knew used to be Maureen’s childhood bedroom. Part of him wanted to smile at the sight of the ruffled purple curtains that still draped across her windows. The other part of him cursed whoever had ripped and torn at the bedding and destroyed the young girl’s knick-knacks.

  Lucas left that room and stomped toward the other end of the hall. Once again, he confronted destruction and useless overkill. The paisley spread that he once shared with Gilly lay tattered next to the bed. Her clothes blanketed the wood floor thanks to someone dumping every dresser drawer and breaking a few of them.

  Dropping his weapon to his side, Luke scanned the room one more time then bent down to pick up a towel that lay in a heap near the torn spread. He could smell that damned lavender soap she used. Wadding the towel up to toss it aside, his hand felt dampness. The cloth was still wet.

  “Holy shit!” The bottom of his stomach dropped to his knees and he felt lightheaded. Had Maureen been home when someone searched her house? Had they kidnapped her?

  He bolted from the room, slid down the banister, and ran out the front door. His heart caught up with him when he reached the detached garage and flung the side door open with enough force to have it bang against the wall and slam back into him.

  “Screw you,” he swore at the door and moved into the two-stall dwelling.

  Gilly’s old, blue Nova was not in its spot. He blew out a sigh of relief. If her car wasn’t there then Maureen had to have gotten away before someone showed up. Right? Or whoever searched her house had stolen her car with Gilly in it? In fact, he thought, as he perused the garage, it didn’t look as if whoever searched the house had bothered with the garage.

  The second stall still held a canvas-covered vehicle. His fingers itched to tear the tarp off and take a peek. Taking a firm hold of the material, he gave it one strong yank and the cloth lifted up and away from the 1966 green Mustang convertible.

  “You haven’t touched it.” He shook his head. “What a shame.”

  Another day, another time, and he would have run his hands across the steel of the old girl, but not now. Quickly, he covered her back up and walked out to his car.

  From his glove compartment, he fished out his cell phone and hit speed dial. When Mickey answered, he spoke without preamble. “Someone searched her place.”

  “Shit!”

  “My sentiments exactly. Gilly’s car is gone so my guess is if she was here, she made it out before they got to her.”

  “You think she had been there? Why?”

  “There was a wet towel on the bedroom floor. I doubt any thief or murderer stopped for a quick shower. I’m guessing Gilly came home, cleaned up, and high-tailed it back out again.”

  “To where?” Mickey growled into the phone.

  “I don’t know yet. I’m going back inside and do my own snooping around then go from there.”

  “Call me when you know something.” The phone went dead in his ear.

  Lucas tucked the phone into his pocket and took the porch steps two at a time. Standing at the threshold, he contemplated where to start looking for a clue to Maureen’s whereabouts. He decided to start in the kitchen.

  Picking his way past the broken furniture, lamps, and glass, he went to the back of the house. He recalled that most people kept reminders for themselves like grocery lists and errands that need to be completed and such on a pad in the kitchen. Maybe she wrote something down in there.

  He gave a low whistle as he looked at the disaster and tunneled his fingers through his hair. How the hell was he going to find anything in here? With a shrug, he looked for a needle in a haystack.

  Twenty minutes later, he quit sifting through the strewn papers and cookware, and got up off his knees. Wiping his hands together and across the front of his jeans, flour dust flew up, and he declared that room searched. Next best place was the bedroom.

  In Gilly’s bedroom, he searched the contents of displaced drawers, the same drawers he was certain whoever had been there before had done and probably never found anything. What did he expect from someone so secretive? The question made him grind his back teeth and old feelings surfaced.

  “How could someone who professed to love you keep a secret from you? Can you tell me that, Maureen?” He voiced his question to the sage green walls of her bedroom.

  It wasn’t even a small thing like the number of people she had sex with before they were lovers or how her IQ was way above average. No, Gilly’s secret was one that rocked his world and everything he believed in. Maybe if she had shared it with him early on in their relationship, but again, no. She waited until he fell head over heels in love with her.

  “Damn it, Gilly, why?”

  Lucas scratched at his head and scolded himself. Stop reliving and debating it. It was over. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. There was no time for this. He had to focus on finding her. Dropping to the foot of the bed, his elbows on his knees, he glanced around the room.

  “Where are you?”

  As if in answer to his question, his gaze landed on a cracked photo sneaking out from under a pile of clothes. He reached out, fingered a pair of sheer, green panties, and touched them remembering the day he gave them to Maureen. He had gone out for lunch, passed by this little boutique and spied them in the display window. All he could think of was how they matched her deep sea green eyes.

  That evening when they were home, they enjoyed a nice dinner. When they stood at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes, he reached into his pocket and tugged the barely-there material out.

  “I got you a surprise.”

  When she looked at him over soapy water, her eyes alight with glee, he could not help but smile back at her. He held up the flimsy undies and dangled them in front of her face. Her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment as she snatched them from his fingers.

  “A surprise for me or you?” she asked kissing him firmly on the mouth and splashing him with dishwater.

  He chuckled. “Okay, both of us. I like the way they match your gorgeous eyes.”

  Maureen snaked her arms around his neck, wriggled against him, and then sauntered away, holding the panties behind her as she walked. Over her shoulder, she winked at him, and gave her flaming hair a saucy little toss.

  By the time his big head caught up with his little head, she had made it to the bedroom, had the green lace on, and was waiting for him so she could model them.

  Lucas shook his head, shoved the sweet memory of making love to Maureen after stripping the panties back off her, and picked up the broken picture frame.

  “I’ll be damned.” The answer to his question stared back at him in the face of Gilly’s grandfather. If she turned to anyone, it would be Frank Gillman. Slapping the frame against his palm in success, he got to his feet. He set the picture on the bed then took off, down the stairs, and out to his car.

  It wasn’t until he reached for the Mustang’s door handle that he realized he still had the green panties bunched in his hand. He looked up, considered going back inside and putting them where they belonged. Not wanting to waste anymore time, he nixed the idea, and pocketed the lace. He hopped into the car, shoved the key in the ignition and started her up.

  He was off to see an old man who probably hated his guts. “Oh, joy.”

  FOUR

  Knowing her grandfather would harass her and ask questions about her unplanned visit, Maureen did everything she could to make her raccoon eyes and the worried crease between her eyebrows disappear. Using her rearview mirror, she plastered concealer under her eyes and kept pushing up on the irritating wrinkle as she drove.

  “Damn.” She would never get away with
it.

  She pulled up into the driveway, cut the engine on her Nova, and poked at the groove on her forehead one more time. Lifting up the handle, she shoved the door open with her foot, and reached across the seat. Taking the white box, Maureen stepped out of the car and into sunlight.

  One hand cupped over her face, she glanced around the yard. Flowers bloomed in varying colors in all the little places her grandfather had planted. She wished she had inherited his green thumb. Instead, she had inherited her father’s knack for computers and electronics.

  “Yeah, look how well that’s working for you,” she muttered as she strode toward the back of her grandfather’s house.

  Sure enough, there Frank Gillman sat with his back to her. On his deck in a white wooden rocker, he made himself. Maureen had to smile at the vision. In spite of the summer heat, her grandfather sat in the bright sun without the cover of at least a hat, dressed in yellow, knee-length shorts, a white T-shirt, dark socks and a pair of flip-flops. The thought of him retiring to Florida crossed her mind and squeezed her heart.

  “You going to stand there gawking all day, or are you going to come give your grandfather a hug?”

  With a shake of her head, she started toward him. He always could sense her coming. At the top of the five steps, Maureen set the white box on a small table that held a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses and bent to give her grandfather a kiss on the cheek.

  “Hi, pops.”

  He patted the white bench seat next to his rocker with a wrinkled and arthritis stricken hand. She sat and offered her grandfather a smile.

  “Your flowers are gorgeous. Can I hire you as my gardener?”

  “Mm. I love my lilies.” He turned his green eyes on her, and Maureen felt his narrow eyed inspection. “To what do I owe your visit?”

  “Oh.” She stood and reached for the box. “I brought you your favorite cookies.”

  “Irish Lace?”

  “Yes.” She opened the box and set it on his lap. He took one out and bit in.

  “You certainly do know how to butter up an old man, Gilly.”

  Maureen gave him her best wounded-look, but knew he didn’t buy the act when he snorted and set the uneaten cookie on the table along with the box. Damn.

  He sat forward in his rocker, took one of her hands in his, and pinned her with wise green eyes flanked by crow’s feet. “Garinion.”

  Not fair. Whenever he called her granddaughter in his native language, something he did so rarely, but when he did, it always made her feel loved and a part of him. Now, it brought tears to the back of her eyes. She could not let him sway her. She could not tell him what was happening until she knew herself, until she knew he would be safe.

  “Garinion, you going to volunteer to tell me what you’re really doing here or do I have to drag it out of you?” he asked in a low, raspy voice.

  “Besides wanting to share a box of cookies with you, I came to pick up my robot.”

  He blinked several times, obviously not expecting that.

  Well, it was true. She came to pick up her robot and check up on him before she disappeared for a while. He did not need to know that part of it.

  “Your robot.” He patted her hand and using the arms of his chair, pushed himself to his feet. “You and your gadgets.” He started down the steps.

  “Pops. I can get it.” Her grandfather waved a hand in the air. “Wait for me.” She rushed to take his arm that wasn’t holding the handrail.

  “I believe it is still in the workshop.”

  When they reached the last stair and stepped onto grass, Maureen still kept her arm entangled with her grandfather’s, to offer support without it appearing to do so. Behind the house sat two buildings. The first was an old but well-maintained greenhouse that Pops used to grow his flowers year round. The second structure was seldom used since her father had passed on years ago. Ever since then, the only time she had brought herself to enter her father’s beloved workshop was when she first came up with the idea for her robot and built a prototype.

  From his yellow shorts, her granddad fished out a set of keys. When his hand shook trying to shove the key in the lock, Maureen offered to do it for him. “Let me.”

  “Such a dear.”

  She opened the frosted, glass-paned door and a rush of warm, stale air hit her face. She sniffed the icky air and turned to Pops. “Maybe you should wait here.”

  “Nonsense.” The feisty old man pushed past her and into the small building cluttered with wooden workbenches and boxes of electronic equipment and material.

  As she stepped into the room, a sense of calm came over her. It was as if her father were still there in his dungarees and safety goggles waiting to show her how to solder something onto a circuit board or program on a computer. She could almost smell her father’s Irish Spring soap. She missed him.

  “He misses you too.”

  Maureen whipped her head around to see her grandfather leaning against a bench, smiling at her. Reading her mind.

  “Don’t do that.” Pops shook his full head of gray hair at her and looked hurt by her words. She had to be careful, close out her feelings, and prevent him from seeing.

  “Your little toy is in a box over here.”

  “It’s not a toy,” she grumbled and walked to where he pointed a crooked finger. Squatting in front of the crate, she took a screwdriver that sat on the shelf behind her, and slipped it between the seal and popped it open with a cork popping sound. She lifted the lid and stared in amazement at the meticulously packed ‘little toy’. Inside the wooden crate, her robot sat shrouded in a sea of green, Irish linen. Closing her eyes, she thanked her lucky stars for her Daideo.

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Her eyes popped open and she sent him a narrow-eyed gaze. “Cut it out.” He lowered his head and she bit her tongue, sorry for having hurt his feelings. “I’m sorry.”

  He turned and headed toward the door. Maureen quickly put the lid back on the crate and hurried to catch up with him, shutting the door behind her. With the box under one arm, she captured her grandfather’s arm in the other. “I am sorry,” she said softly.

  Pops stopped walking and extricated his arm from hers. Cupping her cheeks in his large but fragile hands, he gazed into her face. She felt such warmth and love emanate from him and into her, offering her a strength she needed, but had not asked for. She swallowed the lump of emotions that threatened to choke her.

  “A Ghrá.” The term of endearment rolled off his Irish tongue and tugged at her. He pushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Someday, my love, you will accept who you are, not run from it. You have a gift.”

  Curse. Maureen let her eyelids drop, using them as shields from his prying eyes and mind. She could not let him in, not let him know the danger she was in, or where she was going. When she felt his warm thin lips press against her forehead, she opened her eyes and returned the smile he gave her.

  Wrapping an arm over her shoulders, he hugged her to him as they walked back to the deck. “Come. You will share the cookies and lemonade and be on your way with your toy.”

  “Po-o-ops,” she whined teasingly and he winked at her.

  When she handed her grandfather a refill on his lemonade, he did not take it. He sat there with his mouth agape, staring.

  “What is it?” she asked worried.

  “The ring.”

  “Huh?”

  “The ring. Are you engaged?”

  Maureen twisted her hand to look and almost dropped the glass when she realized what he referred to, but Pops took it from her in time. The ring was still on her finger. Dazed, she stared at the diamond. Her heart pounded for freedom inside her chest. Jimmy’s smile flashed in her mind as he slid the ring on her finger. Then the explosion that ripped him from her life.

  “Gilly.”

  “No.” She blinked, putting shutters on the memory. “No, Pops, I’m not engaged.” With shaky fingers, she removed the ring from her hand and stuffed it into her pocket.
“It’s not real, just something to use to keep the men at bay.”

  Skepticism was written on his face, but he inclined his head and let the subject drop. Maureen returned to pouring a glass of lemonade for herself. She managed to maintain her composure after that and shared the cookies with her granddad just as she had when she was a young girl and would go to his house after school and tell him all about her day.

  In the middle of her third cookie, her gut told her it was time to leave. Danger was coming. Getting to her feet, she announced, “I have to go.”

  She stuffed the rest of the cookie into her mouth, chewed quickly then drained the glass of lemonade. Grabbing the robot, she gave her grandfather a kiss and headed out. Pops followed her, reaching the car as she shut the crate in the trunk. She hurried to block his view of the bullet hole in her bumper but it was too late.

  “What the hell is that, little girl? Is that a bullet hole?” He aimed a finger at the silver bumper. She opened her mouth to lie but he interrupted her. “Do not tell me it is nothing. Do I look senile to you?”

  Maureen worried her lower lip. “No, Pops, you are not senile.” She wished.

  When she rounded the Nova to the driver’s side, he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “What is going on? Who shot at you?”

  “I don’t have any answers for you.”

  “Don’t have any or won’t give any?” He planted gnarled fists on his hips.

  “Don’t have any. Look, Pops, all I know is that I’ve got to get this DARPA contract back on schedule.” She knew a little more but nothing that would make her grandfather feel better so why share it. “That’s why I need my toy.”