Addicted To Him (Man Season)

by McClung, Mila

  She looked at him; he was still lying on the big black canopy bed, his arms stretched towards her, his azure eyes glowing with a banked heat.

  “All right, but no hanky panky. They might show up any minute.”

  She was wearing one of his dress shirts and a pair of his running shorts. The red dress had been cast into the trash bin in the bathroom.

  “You look sexy in my clothes. But then you look sexy in anything, and without anything, too. I’m hungry.”

  “I told you, no hanky panky.”

  “No, I mean, for food. I think I skipped dinner … and lunch … and breakfast.”

  “My God! Why didn’t you say something? I’ll run downstairs and cook us dinner, if you think you’ll be able to keep it in your stomach?”

  “I’ll try. But let me come with you.”

  He sat up but she settled him down with a kiss.

  “You need rest. Close your eyes and dream of a time when you’re clean and healthy; a time when we can be together on an island somewhere, alone.”

  “Sounds like heaven. I’ve often thought about buying an island.”

  “A whole island? You can do that?”

  “Sure. I’ve seen some in the Florida Keys that go for less than two million!”

  “Oh, and I guess that’s chump change for you?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  Tegan rolled her eyes; he laughed and smacked her bottom playfully as she skidded off the bed.

  “Anything in particular you want to eat?”

  He grinned.

  “Besides me, that is.”

  “Nothing too fancy. How about one of your famous omelets?”

  “Will do! I’ll bring it up on a tray, like Digby.”

  “If he doesn’t watch out, you might be stealing his job.”

  “Ha! I don’t think he needs to worry about that! I do wonder what’s taking them so long.”

  “Traffic, probably. It is a Friday night in LA.”

  “Yeah. Well, hold on. I’ll be back soon!”

  Their eyes met for a moment, clung to each other. She had a split second feeling of dread, almost didn’t go out the door. Then she cast it off as foolish jitters and hurried down the stairs.

  Thankfully she had been paying attention when Digby made her breakfast so it was easy finding dishes and skillets and such. She glanced out the windows, noticed a dark menacing storm building over the sea. Lightning sliced the skies, sending chills up her spine. She used to fear storms as a child, always ran to her dad, crying. He’d pick her up and cradle her in his strong arms, and tell her nothing could harm her as long as he was around.

  “I wish you were here now, Daddy,” she whispered to the sky. “I could use a bit of cradling.”

  She thought she heard a car pull up outside but when she looked the driveway was still bare. Where were her mother and Digby?

  Tegan whipped up two omelets; sliced some sourdough bread she found in the pantry and arranged everything on two plates that she set on a silver tray. Then she added a small pitcher of milk and some cups. She paused, nodding, slipped out the glass-paneled door to snip a couple of flowers from the windblown garden.

  The storm was bounding towards the shore, sounding like a herd of vengeful buffalo stampeding across the horizon. Tegan thought she heard voices rising above the din. Something was going on upstairs. Fleet’s oval window was open, the drapes dancing wildly in the breeze.

  She left the tray on the kitchen table, crept like a thief up the staircase and tip toed to Fleet’s door. It was slightly ajar; inside she could see Fleet standing by the open window. Maybe he’d opened it on purpose, hoping she would hear their voices and realize that he was in trouble. Three other men were in the room. Two looked like agents from The Matrix in their black suits and sunglasses. The third was a tall, gaunt man with unflinching black eyes and an air of entitlement about him.

  “I told you, Fleet, you’re too ill to remain here. The best thing we can do is to take you to my retreat. Escort him, men, would you please!”

  “The hell they will!” Fleet shouted. “I know you two! You work in security at the studio! Moonlighting are you, guys?”

  They didn’t answer.

  “I’m not going with you, Ned. It’s your fault I’m hooked on those drugs! I was thinking of having you investigated, to see if I’m your only victim!”

  “I don’t have victims, son. I only give people the drugs to help them.”

  “You’re delusional if you believe that! And I am not leaving this house until Digby gets back!”

  “The old fool is actually out on a date with Miss St. Clair’s mother! I have to say, the charms of the two ladies escape me, but then I’m not sleeping with them, am I? I wish you wouldn’t make this into an awkward situation, but apparently you are determined to do so. There are only two options now, Fleet. You either come with us to my private rehab center, or we have your little Miss Flower Girl arrested for … prostitution, maybe? That’s as good a charge as any.”

  “You have no evidence. The cops aren’t as dumb as you think.”

  “We can make evidence, Fleet. Anybody can, if they think things through.”

  “Bastard!”

  “Now, now, no name-calling, son.”

  “I am not your son!”

  He lunged at Ned Grant, began pummeling him with terse, angry fists. The security men stepped in, grabbed both his arms, and dragged him, kicking, to the bed.

  “First, name-calling, then brutality … you are very ungrateful. And I was going to save you from addiction. But never mind. It suits my plans better to have you die of an overdose! Jock, hand me the pills.”

  “If you kill me, you won’t get one penny of my dough! It’s tied up in legal loopholes that you can never break through!”

  “If that’s true I’ll have to come up with some different options.”

  One of the men had released Fleet’s arm, and removed a prescription bottle from his pocket with a gloved hand. Ned Grant shook his head; he replaced the bottle.

  Fleet used the distraction to sock the other man in the throat, causing him to let him go and fall to the floor, gasping for air.

  Tegan had been trying to plan an escape throughout the conversation but she was only one person, without a weapon. What could she do to set Fleet free? She was going to call the police but her cell phone was in the bedroom. And she’d noticed there seemed to be no landlines in the house at all.

  The storm hit like a bomb; ear-numbing rain beat upon the roof, made hearing impossible. Then the lights went out. Tegan stumbled blindly in the hallway.

  “Get him!” she heard Grant yell. There were scuffling noises, groans and smacks and curses.

  “Fleet!” she screamed, unable to stand the confusion a second longer. She felt a presence behind her, turned just as lightning struck outside – Ned Grant stood before her with a fireplace poker in his hand. It came down, struck her sharply. She lost consciousness.

  When Tegan woke the smell of burning wood inflamed her nostrils. She opened her eyes, realized she was engulfed in flames. She found her way into the bedroom, searched every inch for signs of Fleet but he wasn’t there. The lights came back on, reaffirming that he was gone. There was blood on the bed sheets.

  “Oh my God, if they killed him …” The thought was unimaginable. She swept it from her mind.

  Then she remembered seeing a phone in the panic room. She made her way carefully down the stairs and then to the spiral staircase to the indoor pool, and below, to Fleet’s secret room. The house was being slowly eaten by the fire. She couldn’t be certain that Ned Grant and his goons had set it – it might have been the lightning. But no matter how it happened; Fleet’s home was being consumed, and destroyed. Tegan had to phone someone and get out of there fast, before it took her with it!

  “Mom, hello? Please, are you there?”

  “Yes, baby! I’m here. What’s wrong? Is he worse?”

  “He’s not here! They took him. And the house is on fire! Wher
e are you?”

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying. I’m sorry it’s taking us so long. I’ve been trying to find a doctor who would write me a prescription for the drug that will help Fleet ease out of the addiction but no one will do it! He’s going to have to see one of them first.”

  “But he can’t! They’ve taken him! And the house is burning! I’ve got to get out! Are you coming for me?”

  “We’re right down the road! Oh, God, I see the flames! Digby, hurry! We’ll be there soon, Tegan! Run outside!”

  She didn’t wait for goodbyes, but burst out of the room like a world class sprinter, taking the stairs to the garage and flinging her body out the side door. Sirens were competing with the storm for noise levels; fire trucks and ambulances arriving in pairs.

  Tegan stood in the rain, watching as they began to try to save the old house – she knew it was a futile effort.

  “Anyone left inside?” a firefighter asked her.

  “No, I couldn’t find him. If he was there I’d know it. But he isn’t. They took him.”

  He looked at her like she was crazy, wrapped her in an extra fireman’s jacket and led her to shelter.

  When Callie and Digby drove up Tegan ran to her mother’s arms and bawled like a child.

  “He’s gone! I couldn’t help him!”

  “You mean he’s dead?”

  “No, Digby, they took him! Ned Grant and his goons!”

  “But where?”

  “Grant said something about a retreat. Do you know where that is?”

  “No, but I will bloody well find out!”

  She nodded at his determination then began to swoon.

  “Tegan, your head! It’s bleeding! What happened?”

  “Ned Grant hit me. I guess he thought he could kill me with one bump. But I’ve got a hard head, right, Mom? You always told me that!”

  “Yes, I did, darling. Tegan!”

  Tegan had fallen to the wet ground. Digby picked her up; carried her to the Rolls Royce. It struck her that his arms were strong enough to be cradled in – might even be as strong as her dad’s - then she fainted.

  Morning brought unwelcome sunshine and a sick, empty feeling to the pit of Tegan’s stomach. She was lying in a fresh-scented hospital bed, wearing a blue-print gown, her hair smoothed away from her face by a big bandage encircling her head; there was an IV stuck in her wrist. The sky outside the open curtains was brilliantly blue and unclouded.

  “Fleet? How will I find you now?”

  Her tears came sporadically, probably because she didn’t have much liquid left in her. Still they were miserable, stinging tears, redding her eyes and nose and tasting of salt and smoke.

  “Ah, there’s our girl!” a friendly voice exclaimed. Digby and Callie entered the room with a huge bouquet of flowers.

  “Mom, Digby! Did you find him?”

  “We’re still looking, darling. The thing is …”

  “What? Has he been hurt?”

  “No, but he released a statement to the press, saying he was going to a rehab, and was handing over his company to Ned Grant!”

  “Impossible! Grant is making him say that! Unless he killed him and is pretending he’s still alive!”

  “No, it’s all over the news.”

  Callie turned the TV on and found a 24 hour news station. A glamorous female reporter with a snarky attitude was talking in front of a picture of Fleet. Then a video of Fleet appeared.

  “It couldn’t be! Turn it up, Mom.”

  She did. Fleet was sitting at a desk, dressed in a suit, looking tired but beautiful; there was a fierce, hard gleam in his eyes as he read a prepared statement.

  “I have made the choice to enter rehab, in a place I will not disclose. My uncle, Doctor Ned Grant, will take over my duties at Westcott Limited, for an extended period. I …” he hesitated, coughing, sipped some water and continued: “I want to thank everyone who has been concerned about me, especially after my house burned down last night. A bolt of lightning set it ablaze and the old house couldn’t survive the flames. I’m glad no one was injured or killed in the fire …” he paused again then added, “I also want to thank one special person for the rose petals, and the chump change. You know who you are.”

  “What was that last bit, I wonder?” Digby said as he set the bouquet in a vase.

  “It was for me! He’s telling me something!”

  “What on Earth does it mean?” Callie asked.

  “I can tell you about one part of it!” another voice declared. Kenny Randall flew into the room like a whirlwind, carrying another bouquet of flowers. “I found rose petals all over my shop floor! Know anything about that, Tegan?”

  “Well, yes, but I don’t think I should go into details now. He mentioned the rose petals so I’d know he was thinking of me. But how did he know I survived the fire?”

  “It was on the news, too. That’s how I knew to come here. Fill me in, girl! What has been going on?”

  “Later, Kenny.”

  “Tegan, what about the chump change? What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure, Mom. Oh, I know! We were talking about going away to an island someday. He mentioned you could buy one in the Florida Keys for under two million dollars, and I said that was chump change for him! Do you think that’s where he is?”

  “Westcott Limited owns properties all over the world,” Digby sighed, “but I’m not privy to their whereabouts. And I can’t get any satisfactory answers from the people at the studio. They either don’t know anything, or they’re being paid handsomely to lie! I believe it’s the first option. Fleet surrounded himself with good people. They’re likely being duped by Ned Grant.”

  “Well, can’t we find some way to make Grant tell where Fleet is? Some legal way?”

  “I’ve been working on that all morning. So far it’s a dead end.”

  “I can’t sit around here, not knowing. I’m leaving for the Keys, tonight!”

  “You will not! The doctor said they’re keeping you over the weekend for observation. That was a nasty bump on your head.”

  “Why can’t I file charges against Ned Grant for hitting me?”

  “We tried that, too. He has an alibi, placing him a hundred miles away at the time of the fire.”

  “That is nuts! How do the cops explain my being in Fleet’s house?”

  “They thought you were there illegally. But Ned Grant went to bat for you, said you were delivering flowers for a party, but he gave you the wrong date.”

  “Oh, isn’t he sweet! Damn him! So where was my delivery van?”

  “He must have supplied one. It was parked by the beach. Once he gave the cops a fairly reasonable explanation, they moved on. Case closed.”

  “God, Mom, what can I do now?”

  “Rest up all weekend. Digby and I will fly down to the Keys, and look around. When you get your discharge, you can join us.”

  “You’d do that? You really believe what I’ve said?”

  “Of course, darling! We never doubted you.”

  “Hum, I was thinking of taking a mini vacation this week,” Kenny smiled. “Maybe I’ll escort you down to the Keys when they release you from the hospital.”

  “You’re all taking a terrible chance! Ned Grant is a tricky bastard. I don’t think he’d stop at anything to get what he wants!”

  “Well, we’ll just have to be trickier than him, to make sure that doesn’t happen!”

  “I’m kind of amazed at you all! Who knew I was surrounded by daredevils?”

  “Good souls rise to the occasion when danger strikes. I learned that from my folks back in England … certainly got them through the war.”

  “Yeah, and I learned it on the playground at PS #8 in Brooklyn Heights!” Kenny smiled.

  “We’re all here for you, Tegan. All you have to do is gain your strength back. We may have a hard battle ahead!”

  After they left, Tegan watched the video of Fleet every time the news channel aired it. It made her feel better t
o be able to see him. She wondered how Grant and his creeps had overpowered Fleet, and what they threatened him with to force him to make that false statement. She clung to his eyes, watched his mouth, his expression, his gaze. He seemed so angry underneath the public reserve. She feared for his safety if they couldn’t find him in time. And she feared what he might do to Ned Grant if he saw an opportunity.

  “Hold on, Fleet!” she whispered to the video. “I’ll be there, soon!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The sun was gentle, the ocean swaying; hypnotizing Tegan as she settled into her room at the private house Digby had rented for the four of them. If only she could have visited the Florida Keys on a happier journey. It was a magical place! There were sand and surf and palm trees galore; with the sweetest, warm breezes flowing through the open floor-to-ceiling windows of the old, restored house. She breathed deeply, imagined Fleet lying with her on the fluffed up mattress of the mahogany four poster bed. “God, I hope he’s all right!” she screamed in her head. “He must be! I would feel it if he were dead, I know I would!”

  “Maybe you can share some good times with Fleet down here one day,” Callie encouraged her as she helped her unpack.

  “I hope so. Have you found out anything? Anything at all?”

  “Like I told you on the phone, Digby hired a young woman out of San Francisco, named Ryder Dane, to do some discreet snooping. So far she’s found that Fleet’s private jet arrived in Marathon Saturday afternoon. She’s still trying to discover where the passengers were taken. We must have a little patience, darling!”

  “Oh, I know, but I’m so afraid they’ll hurt him once they get control of his money! They might be torturing him even now, to make him sign it over!”

  “He’s strong, you’ve said he is.”

  “But he’s in withdrawal! Unless they strung him out on the drugs. Grant wanted to give him an overdose. Mom, I’m so worried!”

  Callie hugged her. “I know you are, Tegan. So is Digby. He loves that young man like his own son. I think he feels guilty because he wasn’t there at the house when those men showed up.”

  “I’m glad he wasn’t. They might’ve tried to kill him, too! This intrigue is so bizarre! I feel like we’re caught up in the plot of some old Bogart movie! Ned Grant is the ultimate villain!”