A Melody for James (Christian Suspense)

by Hallee Bridgeman

  He followed the direction of her gaze and spotted a man walking toward her — a very, very angry looking man. James deduced that this man was the fool of a fiancé who had been left at the alter over entertaining a mistress on his wedding day.

  Acting on impulse, James found himself crossing the taxi lane and walking toward the couple. He hadn't heard the conversation but he could see the threatening body language and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. He stepped forward to stand close beside the singing heiress. As casually as he could manage, he slipped an arm around her waist. "There you are, darling." He made sure to speak loud enough for the fool to overhear.

  ¯¯¯¯

  MELODY tensed up when she felt the warm go around her waist. Her eyes shot up as she recognized the stranger from Newark. She removed her sunglasses and looked back at Richard. The expressions on Richard's face baffled her. She first saw utter shock, then pure hatred, then finally — and most surprising of all — fear bordering on panic.

  Richard nodded at the man but his eyes remained locked on Melody's face. "What are you doing with him?"

  Melody felt her layover friend's strong arm supporting her and found a sudden sense of courage. She slipped her sunglasses back on and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. "None of your business. And … I have nothing more to say to you." Smiling up at her knight in shining armor she said, "Shall we go, darling?"

  "Of course." He gestured toward a taxi. "Your chariot awaits."

  As she put her purse over her shoulder, Richard grabbed her arm and gave her a shake. "I'm not letting you go anywhere with him. You're coming with me and we're going to talk." He tried to pull her away.

  "Let go of my arm, Richard. You lost the right to touch me or talk to me weeks ago."

  "You have some serious explaining to do." Richard tightened his grip, forcing a gasp out her.

  The handsome stranger stepped closer to the slightly smaller man and spoke very quietly to prevent any of the travelers around them from overhearing. "If you enjoy the use of that hand, and I'm guessing you do, I suggest you release the lady."

  Richard sized him up and apparently concluded that he meant what he said. He let go of Melody's arm. To Melody he said, "What's this clown been telling you? Whatever he said, you know it's a lie. You can be sure of that."

  "The only liar here is you," Melody said, somewhat surprised at how calm her voice sounded.

  Her new friend turned and guided her to the waiting cab, placing his body between her and Richard. As James held the door open for Melody, Richard spoke up again.

  "This isn't over," he called out.

  The man paused and looked back. "No, I suspect not."

  ¯¯¯¯

  MELODY felt the shaking increase until her whole body quaked. Adrenaline. Fear. Terror. Why was she suddenly terrified of Richard, the man with whom she'd intended to spend the rest of her life on earth? But, on an instinctive level, she now felt terrified of him.

  She didn't object when the man from the airport got into the cab with her. And when he put his arm across the back of the seat, she scooted closer to him. She rubbed her arm where Richard had gripped her, knowing without a doubt she'd have finger and thumb sized bruises there tomorrow.

  A shudder went through her so strongly that her teeth rattled. When his arm went all the way around her, she snuggled closer to him, needing to feel his warmth, wanting to feel safe.

  "Thank you," she murmured.

  "It was nothing," he assured quietly.

  The cab driver looked at them in his rear view mirror. "Where to, folks?"

  Melody spoke up. "Stop at the first place you see that serves waffles." She looked up at her handsome rescuer. "I'm starving."

  He smiled down at her. "Great idea. But you know it won't be a minute until we stumble upon such an establishment here in Atlanta."

  "I've been craving cheese grits for a week," Melody confessed. "No one told me they eat beans for breakfast in England. Who eats beans? For breakfast, I mean?"

  James laughed. "I hope you at least tried some of the puddings."

  Melody studied him, trying to determine if he was being serious or if he really had a perfectly deadpan sense of humor. "Well, when I found out what was in them, I thought I would rather die than put it in my mouth."

  James laughed again. When was the last time he had laughed? "Now you're just being mean."

  She could see her reflection in his glasses. "You never told me your name."

  He grinned. "Neither did you."

  She smiled back at his grinning face, enjoying his teasing tone. "You first."

  "How about just first names and we can guess last names," he teased.

  She grinned at his challenge. "Okay. You still go first."

  He chuckled then lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. "James. My first name is James."

  Her smile grew, feeling the whisper of a touch of his fingers against her skin long after his hand was gone. "Well, you are an international traveler recently returned from England. And you are obviously very smart and a bit of a hero type the way you rescued me back at the airport. I'd have to say your last name is … Bond."

  Now he laughed in earnest. "Bond? James Bond? You couldn't get more original than that?"

  She batted her eyelashes just as innocently as she possibly could and uttered with a syrupy southern drawl, "I take it you've been accused of being a spy before, Mr. Bond."

  James couldn't hide his lingering smile. "And you, my singing heiress? Your first name please?"

  "Well, Mr. Bond, my first name is Melody."

  "Melody. Now, I have to say, that is a perfectly appropriate name for a singing heiress recently from Julliard."

  Melody nodded. "I didn't get much mileage out of it. They actually expected me to sing and stuff."

  James held out his right hand and she placed her fingertips in his palm. He very intentionally kept his grip gentle, tender. "It's really nice to formally meet you, Melody," he said, grinning a heart-stopping grin. Still holding her hand he said, "And of course, your full name is Melody …" And in the most unexpected turn of events she could have imagined, his next words came out in a deep Scottish brogue, "Moneypenny."

  It took a heartbeat or two to sink in, then she laughed until she thought she might hurt her insides.

  They shared breakfast and talked. They had more coffee, and talked. They called for a cab that took them back to the off property long term parking lot and collected Melody's car and they talked the entire ride.

  She battled the traffic into downtown Atlanta and took James to his hotel and they talked about absolutely nothing serious. They talked about how Atlanta had changed so drastically during the course of their lifetimes and speculated about future changes. They ate lunch together in the restaurant of the lobby of the hotel and talked some more.

  All the while they laughed and teased and flirted. They talked about Angela and the dreams he once had for his marriage. They discussed the hopes and dreams he had for his company. They addressed the subject of music and Melody's favorite composers. They debated about Atlanta and college and football and London. They talked about how James had lived in the hotel for six months, and didn't want to move forward or move on.

  Until now.

  Late afternoon, James walked Melody to her car in the garage of the hotel. She leaned against the driver's door and looked up at him. "I don't want this day to end, James," she confessed.

  "There are more days," he promised. He picked up a strand of her hair and twisted it loosely around his fingers. "Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?"

  Jet lag made her head swim. "What day is tomorrow?"

  James smiled. "Tuesday."

  "Tuesday is weekly dinner with my sister." She ran a finger over the edge of his jacket. "Wednesday is church. You can come with?"

  He shook his head, "Dinner." He insisted.

  "Thursday then?"

  He nodded. "I like Thursday dinners." James leaned forward to k
iss her forehead. Melody closed her eyes and savored the feel of his lips on her skin. "Tell me your number."

  "Let me get something to write it down with."

  He tapped his temple. "I'll remember it."

  "Seriously?"

  He nodded. She recited her number and he released her hair. "I'll call you and see where we can meet Thursday," he said.

  He reached behind her and opened her car door.

  Melody couldn't stop grinning. "I'm looking forward to it."

  As she shut the car door, he tapped the top of her car before stepping aside and letting her drive away.

  She drove as quickly as she could. A song bubbled out of her and she needed to be at her piano, sheet music and blank staff paper in front of her. She had to write it down — the beautiful notes, the joy. She darted around the traffic as efficiently as she could and took every shortcut and back road she knew.

  Thirty minutes later, she pulled up in to her driveway. Just as she turned the key to her car off, her phone announced an incoming text. Her stomach gave an excited little nervous flip.

  Just wanted you to have my number. James

  She took a moment to scold herself for selfishness. How selfish she felt for wallowing in her misery over being jilted by her former fiancé. James was a real man in every possible way she could imagine and James knew about actual misery. How terrible for her to whine and complain about poor little Melly whose fiancé was two-timing her when James would never see his wife again in this world.

  She read his text again. With a grin, she started writing back as she got out of her car.

  Did I thank you for being my knight in shining armor at the airport?

  She felt the silly smile on her face and her fingers paused, wondering what else she should type. She briefly contemplated whether God put them together on that stormy night in Newark so they could help each other heal. If that were the case, she decided that any public or private humiliation she suffered at the hands of a two-timing man would be well worth it if meeting James was the intended outcome.

  She felt grateful to God for many, many things now. She was especially grateful that she wasn't Richard's wife and had the freedom to go to dinner with James this Thursday night. She should write Richard a real thank you card and send a box of chocolates for his mystery girlfriend.

  Thoughts about what dinner might involve filled her mind as she was lifted off the ground and her body slammed hard into her car door — so hard that the door shut and dented. Pain spread from her hip all the way through her chest and sucked the breath right out of her. Then, very strong hands grabbed her from behind and slammed her up against the door again. She heard her car window crack.

  Before she could scream, a fist plowed into the side of her face catching her ear and jawbone, making her go limp, causing her to slump down, nearly unconscious, a loud high pitched whine in her ears and stars swimming before her eyes as the cement of her driveway slammed into her knees. She'd never felt pain like this in her life. It totally consumed and immobilized her.

  Her attacker allowed her to fall to the ground then carefully kicked her twice. With a sickening sense of helplessness, she heard a sound like crunching celery as she felt her ribs snap under his well placed kicks. She felt the pain ripping her apart. Somehow through the daze, she found the strength to start screaming, and began to claw the ground, trying to get away.

  "Don't you ever flaunt a lover in my face again, or else you won't even live long enough to suffer." Richard sneered as he kicked her one more time, this time low in the stomach. She felt the air rush out of her lungs and gaped and gasped for breath. When she finally inhaled, she screamed and sobbed and tried to roll away, but the pain was too great. "That's for all of the trouble you've caused me."

  Melody's phone lay by her head. She clawed at the ground, trying to grab it, but Richard stomped on her hand with his thick boot heel. Her fingers spasmed beneath his heel like impaled worms struggling on fish hooks. "Who are you going to call? Who do you think can save you?"

  "Richard!" She gasped. Her tongue tasted the coppery blood filling her mouth.

  "Oh, does that hurt? Does it hurt? You leave me at the alter and you expect, what exactly?"

  Melody sobbed.

  "Aw. So sad. Maybe your new boyfriend can make you feel better." He ground his heel into her hand and she felt her entire body roll to the left as he used all his weight to crush the radial nerve. "You know something? I should just beat you to death."

  He lifted his foot and she rolled into a ball. Then his heel crushed her phone and he ground it into the pavement before reaching down and picking up the shattered device. "Won't be needing this anymore."

  She gasped as he lifted her head by her hair. She started to scream but he plowed his closed fist into the other side of her head. The force of the punch was so great and sudden that her face bounced off the aluminum tire rim of her car and her head struck the pavement again. She lay abruptly and perfectly still.

  Eyes closed, struggling to breathe, Melody heard the leisurely click of Richard's boots on the driveway as he marched away, heard him slam into his car, heard the squeal of tires. All the while she lay there, the world around her fading into black, then gray, in a daze of pain, disoriented, feeling no warmth on her skin from the dusky sky. Minutes later, she heard a neighbor's surprised cry as total blackness finally overtook her.

  ¯¯¯¯

  CHAPTER 4

  AROMATIC smoke billowed out and flew away into the Georgia breeze as Morgan Hamilton lifted the lid on the grill and stepped back. She placed two thick T-bones next to the foil wrapped vegetables on the grill rack.

  "How do you like your steak?" she asked her dinner date.

  Kurt Lawson took a sip of his iced tea and smiled. "Cooked well on the outside and a nice even medium in the middle," he said. "And thank you again. This is great." He gestured at the goldfish pond.

  Morgan set her fork on top of the clean platter and rubbed her palms on the sides of her khaki skirt. She so wanted to impress Kurt. He'd come to church a few times, always alone, always right as the services started. From her perch in the choir loft, she always saw him come in and sit in the same spot, then leave immediately after. Yesterday morning, she'd paid extra special attention to her outfit, picking a blue dress that matched her eyes, curling her auburn hair so that it looked like she'd spent the day at the beach. Then she skipped choir and waited for him in the narthex.

  Growing up within the social climate of high-end Atlanta society, Morgan had never been shy. When he'd come through those doors at 10:44 that morning, she intercepted him and introduced herself. She'd told him how she'd seen him from the choir loft and had wanted to ask him to dinner.

  He'd seemed surprised, then almost pleased. They sat together for service and he'd invited her to lunch after, but she declined. Instead, she wanted to cook him dinner and have him say it was the best meal he'd had in a long while. She wanted him to walk through her home and admire her decorating style so that she could talk about her interior design business. Something about him… So, she'd invited him to her home the next night for dinner.

  Morgan felt absolutely certain she had created a scandal among the other altos in the church choir. She didn't care a bit.

  "We have a few minutes. Do you want to see?" A wave of her hand invited him to step down off of the deck and onto the river stone walkway. She had personally set every single rock on the path.

  "You have this like a haven," he said. "It even feels cooler."

  "The water, the plants, the shade; it is cooler. I love it." They reached the center of the yard and the stocked pond.

  "Your dad built this neighborhood?"

  Wistful, she thought of her father. "He built hundreds of neighborhoods and had a hand in a good portion of the downtown area. You know how it seems like every street in Atlanta is named either Peachtree or Mason? Well, he's that Mason. He had a vision for the city and the genius to see it come true." She pushed sunglasses on top of he
r head and sat on the little stone bench under the shade of the magnolia tree. "What about your father?"

  Kurt shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. "I don't remember my father. I was literally dropped off on the doorstep of a boys' home when I was four. I don't have any real memories of anything before that. Nothing I can count on, anyway. I remember a swing set that looked like a pirate ship and I remember a bathroom that smelled really bad but I don't remember anything about my parents."

  Morgan gasped and reached out, touching his forearm with her hand. "I'm sorry."

  He just shrugged. "No big deal. I was just a kid. I'm thankful for the home. I didn't have the transient life of foster kids, and my best friend and I relied on each other there. That kind of bond doesn't come from a normal life."

  "What's his name?"

  "James. We're close to the same age, so we roomed together from the first night there. We shared classes in school, a dorm room in college, and now our names are together on our business. He's my big brother."

  With a smile, Morgan stood and gestured back to the deck. She needed to check on her steaks. "What is your business?"

  "Electronics. James is a genius with it. I do the PR work and the admin stuff and handle the legalities. He holes himself up in his lab and invents things, plays with circuit boards, and pops out whenever I need him to have a presence at a meeting. I have to remind him to eat and sleep sometimes."

  "My late husband once dabbled in electronics," she said, wondering at the faux pas of mentioning a late husband on a first date.

  He looked as surprised as he probably should have. "Oh?"

  "Not too seriously. He'd been interested in them, so he invested in a few companies that focused on electronics. But he really just worked the stock market more than anything. Just like his dad expected of him." Morgan still felt a considerable amount of bitterness toward her once father-in-law for the amount of pressure the man had put on her late husband, but she tried to push it back.