In a Fix

by Linda Grimes

  “I’m happy to meet you, too, Mrs. Perkins,” I said.

  “Please, cal me Hilda.”

  “And you must cal me Maria. My husband is Gianpaolo.”

  “You may cal me Johnny, if you like.” He gave Hilda a dazzling smile, one that bordered on being a little too friendly.

  I don’t know why that should irk me so much, but it did. “You must forgive my husband, Hilda. He is an incurable flirt. If he

  gives you any trouble, just tel me, and I wil—how do you Americans say it?—neuter him.”

  Her smile froze, and I could tel she was torn between welcoming us with open arms and sending us on our way before she

  even let us in the door. Her need for help must have won out, because she lapsed into a weak laugh and said, “Oh, you are so

  funny! I can tel you’re going to be good company around here.” She didn’t look quite as thriled as when she first saw us, though,

  so maybe she wouldn’t be too sorry to see us leave after al.

  Hilda guided us into the kitchen, and explained our duties over iced tea and sandwiches while continuing to dodge Mark’s

  attempts to flirt with her. I decided to give her a raise. When I could afford it.

  After our business was concluded, Mark went to fetch our bags while Hilda showed me to our room. Cal me stupid, but it just

  then occurred to me that we’d be sharing a bed. It wasn’t even queen-size—only a double. My stomach did a backflip, and the

  sandwich I’d just eaten almost made a return trip.

  Get a grip, Ciel. Isn’t this what you’ve been dreaming about forever?

  But that was before, back when I knew I didn’t have a snowbal’s chance in hel of it happening. Ever since I kissed him, I was

  wavering. Did I realy want to sleep in the same bed with him? What if he tried something?

  Or what if he didn’t? my shriveled up little ego said.

  I wasn’t sure which would be worse.

  But I have a pretty good idea which would be more fun, my inner slut (who has never had much opportunity to become an

  outer slut) said.

  I was going back and forth with myself, and had about come to the conclusion I should tel Hilda that Gianpaolo snored like a

  buzz saw and ask if we could have separate rooms, when Mark returned. Hilda left as soon as he entered the room. He closed

  the door behind her.

  Gulp. When in doubt, attack.

  “What the hel were you thinking, coming on to Hilda like that? Geez, she’s old enough to be your mother!” I said, quietly but

  forcefuly, fists on ample hips.

  “Jealous, cara mia?”

  “Don’t you cara mia me, you old goat. And I’l thank you not to harass my hired help.”

  He came over to me, close enough to whisper. “Maria. Darling. I’m simply trying to set up a logical escape route for us. If we

  need to stay for a while, I’l behave myself around dear old Hilda. If we need to leave quickly, I’l do something slap-worthy and

  get us fired.”

  Oh. Wel, that sort of made sense, I guess. “What if she doesn’t fire us, huh? What if she decides a fling with the new yardman

  might not be such a bad idea?”

  “If that’s the case, we’l make sure you’re close enough to discover your husband’s indiscretion. You can throw a god-awful fit

  and quit for the two of us. Either way, it works.”

  I nodded grudgingly. “Al right. But just so you know—if you do anything that makes Hilda quit, I’l kil you.”

  He puled me into a bear hug and lifted me off my feet. “That’s what I like about you Mediterranean women. You’re so fiery.”

  He kissed me ful on the mouth, fast and hard, and dropped me on the bed, stunning me into silence. Which was probably his

  intention.

  He dug through his duffel until he found what he was looking for.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, my lips stil tingling.

  “To check the perimeter. Pete wil stick close to the cabin until I get back. I ran into him when I was getting the bags, and told

  him I was additional security you’d hired in the guise of a groundskeeper. Even repeated your asparagus code phrase for him.”

  Was that a wink? From Mark? “He said he’d stay within shouting distance of Mina.”

  I acknowledged the wisdom of his actions with a nod. “How long do you think you’l be?”

  “Couple of hours at least. If I’m not back before bedtime, don’t wait up. Just toss a blanket and pilow on the floor for me; I’l

  be fine.”

  Damn. So much for that worry. It was quickly replaced by a new one when I got a closer look at what he’d taken from his

  bag: a gun.

  “Do you think you’l need that?” It was stil hard for me to imagine any real danger here—it had always been a safe haven.

  “Nope.” He patted his lower back, a spot covered by his shirt. “I already have one. This is for you, in case anything comes up

  while I’m out.”

  “But…”

  “But what? You know how to use it.”

  I couldn’t deny that, since he was the one who’d taught me. I could shoot. I even enjoyed target practice. It’s the idea of firing

  at anything alive that gives me the heebie-jeebies.

  “What if Hilda notices it? It would be tough to explain why the new maid packs heat.”

  “Your shirt’s loose enough. Lift it up a little. I’l help you put on the holster.”

  “That’s a holster? It looks like an elastic band.”

  “It’s a bely holster. You can hide your gun under your rather impressive rack.”

  I felt myself starting to blush. “You noticed that, huh?” I said nonchalantly.

  “Hard to miss. Now, stand up and lift your shirt so I can get this on you before I leave.”

  The wide elastic was snug. More than snug. It felt like a damn girdle. “Hey, I do like to breathe, you know.”

  “Sorry. It has to be pretty tight so it won’t slip.” He finished up, then added the gun.

  “You sure that’s real? It looks too cute.”

  “Hey, don’t knock the mouse gun,” he said with an easy laugh that had me wishing we could work together like this al the time.

  It was fun. Relaxed. Wel, as relaxed as you can get while arming yourself against a possible Viking attack.

  “Mouse gun, huh? Yeah, it looks like it might come in handy for hunting rodents.”

  “Don’t let its appearance fool you—it’l get the job done with people. Especialy at close range, which is the only place you’d

  need a gun. If you’re far enough away, either run or hide.”

  I have no moral objection to either of those things. “Gotcha,” I said. “Run. Hide.”

  He lifted my chin and looked into my eyes with Gianpaolo’s soulful brown ones. “But if you have to use the gun, shoot to kil.

  Understand?”

  I swalowed. “Uh-huh.”

  “I mean it, Ciel. No fucking around—you aim like I taught you, and you fire.”

  I saluted. “Yes, sir!”

  He shut his eyes briefly, his equivalent of an eye rol. “Just stay close to the cabin. Check on Mina. I’l be back as soon as I

  can.”

  Chapter 12

  The gazebo had a gorgeous view of the lake, but Mina, parked at the table in its center, appeared oblivious to the beauty

  surrounding her. A thermos of something was at hand—milky, unsweetened coffee, if she was staying true to her dossier—and a

  bunch of magazines were laid open in front of her. As I got closer I could see they were al wedding-related—Bride, Modern

  Bride, The Knot—you name it. She had a notebook and pen, and was furiously taking notes. Gave me a twinge to see how much

  faith she had in my abilities.

  I approached slowly, giving her ample warning of my presen
ce. “Helo. I’m Maria Rossi, Hilda’s new assistant. You must be

  Miss Worthington.”

  She nodded, wedding-dream glow spiling from every invisible pore. “Yes, I’m Mina. Hilda told me you were coming. I’m sure

  you’l love working here. It’s a fantastic place,” she said.

  “I can see that. Peaceful as wel as beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely. I’m thinking I may need to see about finding a place here myself after…” She glanced at the array of magazines

  and blushed.

  “You’re planning your wedding—but how wonderful!”

  Stil looking embarrassed, she said, “Wel, it’s not exactly official yet, so don’t let the cat out of the bag. Let’s just say I’m

  daydreaming a little.”

  A little? Looked more like a ful-scale battle plan. But as long as she was keeping herself happy—and busy—it was al good

  for me.

  “Then I’l leave you to your dreams. It was nice to meet you.”

  “Please stay. Would you like some coffee? Hilda always packs an extra cup, in case she can make time to join me, but it

  doesn’t look like she’s coming today.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that.” I sat on the bench across the table from her. “So, have you chosen a dress yet?”

  She poured. “I have it narrowed down to three.” After handing me the cup she turned two of the magazines around so I could

  see better.

  “This one.” She pointed at a simple satin sheath, one that would drape seductively over every curve. “Or this one…” A lacy

  mermaid type, again sure to show off her gorgeous figure. The third was pure Cinderela, huge and floaty. I tried hard to keep the

  appaled look off Maria’s face.

  Mina glanced away, her cheeks turning pink. Guess I hadn’t been entirely successful. “I’m only considering that one for

  nostalgia’s sake. It looks just like the wedding dresses I used to imagine when I was a little girl.”

  Something must be wrong with me, because I never even thought about wedding dresses when I was a girl. Or weddings, for

  that matter. I’ve always had it in the back of my mind that I’d be married some day—in the foggy distant future—but I’ve never

  given much consideration to the details. Maybe I lack the wedding gene.

  “They’re al beautiful. You could carry off any of them,” I said warmly, feigning matronly interest in al things nuptial.

  “Thanks. You’re sweet. I guess I’l just have to figure out which one wil go best with whatever kind of wedding I—wel, we—

  decide on. If he asks, of course.” She knocked on the wooden table.

  “Of course he wil,” I said with an air of old-world mysticism. “Trust me. I know these things.”

  She leaned in eagerly. “Realy? Are you psychic or something?”

  “I wouldn’t say psychic. But I get impressions, and they are rarely wrong. You are giving me a strong impression of wedded

  bliss.” Then, unable to resist playing the clairvoyant, I added, “I see a ring on your finger very soon.”

  She looked at her empty hand, wistful. “I don’t suppose you can see what it looks like?”

  I closed my eyes, picturing the ring that was now sitting in Thomas’s safe at work. “Emerald cut diamond, three to four carats,

  simple platinum setting.”

  Her mouth dropped open a tiny bit. “Wow. That’s a pretty detailed vision. I’l let you know if it comes true.”

  The sound of a motorboat drew my attention to the water, but I tried not to let it worry me unduly. Probably just a lost boater.

  It happened occasionaly—a lot of these properties look alike from out on the lake. They’d pul away once they got close enough

  to see the great big “No Trespassing” sign posted at the end of the dock. And if they didn’t notice that, it looked like Pete was on

  his way to meet and greet them.

  The boat puled up right next to the sign. A man hauled himself out, folowed by another, who tied the boat off in short order.

  The men were big. They were blond. They looked like—

  Shit. Vikings!

  Pete approached them, easygoing. From his gestures I could see he was amiably explaining the no-trespassing policy.

  No, Pete! They are not friendly lost people. Get out your gun!

  As if he’d intercepted my thoughts, one of the blonds shrugged, then casualy reached into his jacket, puled out a gun, and shot

  Pete in the chest. The guard—one of the friendliest guys I had ever met; it was why I hired him, stupid me—fel first to his knees,

  then forward onto his face. The Vikings stepped over him and looked our way.

  My mind rejected what I saw. I couldn’t have been folowed. Nobody knew I was a middle-aged Italian woman—it was

  impossible.

  Regardless of the impossibility factor, my body jumped into action. They must be after Mina. Somehow, someone had figured

  out my nifty client hideaway.

  I grabbed Mina by the arm. Puled her upright and out of the gazebo. “Come on!”

  “What’s going on?” She looked over her shoulder and saw the boat. “Who’re those—”

  “Now!” I yanked for al I was worth—Maria’s heft was worth quite a bit—and got us both speeding toward the cabin.

  Counting the length of the dock, we had a good two-hundred-yard head start, but that would disappear quickly when those long-legged neo-barbarians got it in gear. I had to get Mina hidden, and fast.

  We plowed through the back door into the kitchen. I shoved Mina toward Hilda. “Get her to the attic. And cal an ambulance

  for Pete. Quick!” Though, honestly, I didn’t see how he could stil be alive, not shot at that range. But I couldn’t think about that

  now.

  Hilda was a gem. She didn’t question me further, just grabbed the confused Mina and puled her down the hal toward the

  smalest bedroom. The attic stairs were accessible through the closet there.

  As soon as they were out of sight, I dropped Maria’s aura and caled up Mina’s. Except for the clothes, I was identical to her

  current appearance, and I was banking on the Vikings not having gotten a good look at which of us was wearing what when we

  took off from the gazebo. Once they saw Mina heading away from the cabin they’d be unlikely to stick around to make a

  thorough search for anyone else.

  I went back out the same door I’d just entered. They were closing in fast. After making sure they got a good look at my new

  face, I took off toward the trees, reaching for the gun now flopping around in the much looser bely holster, praying I could switch

  off the safety while on the move. If luck was on my side, I’d make it to the woods before I had to shoot them. Maybe Mark could

  have the bodies taken care of quickly, so we wouldn’t have to traumatize Mina and Hilda any more than necessary. I just hoped I

  could bring myself to pul the trigger when the time came.

  An image of Pete—good-hearted, reliable, friendly Pete—hitting the dock after the Viking shot him reran itself in my head. I

  decided puling the trigger wouldn’t be a problem.

  Didn’t matter. Luck was not on my side. I was sacked like a rookie quarterback before I got the gun disentangled from the

  holster. I grunted and tried to kick my legs, but they were plastered to the ground by two hundred–odd pounds of Scandinavian

  he-flesh, his head planted on my posterior.

  When you can’t fight, holer long and loud. That, I decided, was my brand-new philosophy. “Who the HELL are you? What’s

  going ON here? Do you have any idea how much TROUBLE you’re going to be in when the police get here?”

  I was flipped over onto my back. The second Viking—the one who wasn’t stil wrapped around my legs—clapped a hand
/>   over my mouth.

  “I suggest you remain quiet.” Yep. Accent.

  “Mmmphh,” I continued, to no effect. So I squeezed my tongue out between my teeth and tickled his palm with it (bleah—

  engine oil), which startled him into easing the pressure just enough for me to bite him. Hard.

  “Ouch!” He jerked his hand away. “You bitch. Don’t you know the human mouth has more germs than a toilet seat? You could

  give me an infection.”

  I pushed up to a sitting position, spitting to rid myself of the rusty taste of his blood. “So sorry. What was I thinking?” Then I

  gulped in a huge breath and roared, “ HE-E-E-LP!”

  The hand came back, harder. This time he knelt behind me, and clamped my nostrils shut with his other hand. Oh, shit—I

  couldn’t breathe. The son of a bitch was going to suffocate me.

  Chapter 13

  I woke up in a smal, dark, musty-smeling place. I was tied up and gagged, and had one hel of a headache. The gun was gone.

  No surprise there. Near as I could tel, I was stil Mina. An aura tends to hold through sleep, unconsciousness, or whatever, until

  an adaptor makes a conscious decision to drop it. I wiggled my shoulders back and forth as much as possible, gauging the

  boobage. Yep, plenty there. Definitely stil Mina.

  On the plus side, I wasn’t dead. Unless God had a realy warped sense of humor.

  I was lying on something soft—some sort of fur, judging by the ticklish feeling on the back of my neck. That might account for

  the aroma, too. Were the Vikings smuggling bearskins? Or maybe it was beaver skins. I wrinkled my nose. Whatever they were,

  they didn’t seem to be overly processed.

  There was a humming noise in the background. Sounded like an engine of some sort. Had the Vikings taken me back to their

  boat? But it didn’t realy feel like we were on the water.

  A sudden dip in the floor beneath me, folowed fast by a rise, jostled me over onto my side. Turbulence. Shit. I was on a plane.

  Tied up, gagged, stuffed in a smal compartment, and on a fucking airplane. I tried realy hard not to think about my

  claustrophobia. Fat lot of good that did me.

  I sucked in air through my nose at an increasing pace, the musky fur adding to my sudden queasiness. Crap. It would not be a