by Alexa Grace
"I know how capable, intelligent, and professional you are and that you'd be the first in line to want to catch these perps. I suggested to the Sheriff that you join the operation."
"You did what?! You volunteered me when you hadn't even discussed it with me? Seriously?"
"Frankie, someone has to stop this bastard. I think he's selling babies to the highest bidder whether they are fit parents or not. I also think either he killed Mandy Morris or he had someone else do it. Mandy lost her parents in a car accident. The only family she had left was an aunt who's a fucking nightmare. She thought her boyfriend loved her, but he was just using her and wanted nothing to do with her when he found out she was pregnant.
She had no one and that's why she hooked up with this adoption agency. They paid for everything associated with her pregnancy so she'd hand over her baby. Then when she realized she couldn't give her baby up, I think they killed her. Help me get justice for Mandy. Please, Frankie."
"Lane, I have a company to run." He sounded so sincere he was starting to get to her. She couldn't tolerate any criminal activity that had to do with victimizing or harming women and children.
"Can't your partner handle things until you return?"
"I don't know. Give me some time to think about it." Did she just say she needed time to think about it? Was she completely out of her mind?
Frankie sat in the center of a circle of women on a room-sized mat. Her students joined her every Tuesday for her self-defense class at the Sheriff's Workout Gym.
"Understand that a stranger will attack a woman who appears vulnerable by the way she walks, jogs, socializes, drinks, and shops. Most attackers make a snap judgment by the way you're carrying yourself as to whether or not you will fight back. In short, he'll attack you if he thinks he'll be successful. One of the things we'll practice in today's class is the 'leave-me-the-hell-alone' body language.” She stood up and demonstrated the body language. “Everyone pick a partner to practice with. Practice the stance while your partner coaches.”
Ted, her partner, entered the room and she walked over to greet him. He was holding his gorilla suit which was full-body protective gear complete with a groin guard. "Are you ready for some punches and kicks?"
"As ready as I'll ever be." Ted turned to the group of women staring at him and looked back at Frankie with uncertainty. "Why do they look like they're going to enjoy this so much?"
Frankie smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and then headed back to her group. "Come back together in our circle. Let's have some Q&A time while Ted gets suited up. What are some of your questions?"
A thin, brunette woman asked, "Is it true that most attacks on women happen outside bars, rock concerts, or parties?"
"It's true that a lot of attacks happen at these places, but in my experiences as a deputy, I found that just as many happen in remote areas such as hiking or jogging paths, parking lots or garages, and empty streets. That is why I advise you to avoid putting yourselves in remote areas where there is no one around to come to your aid if you need it."
Another woman asked, "What if the worst happens and you are the victim of a carjacker?"
"For one thing, you don't consider yourself a victim — ever. Right? My best girlfriend was abducted last year and she did what I'd do if it happened to me. She was scared, but she kept her wits about her. She was driving and knew she was protected by a seat belt as well as an airbag. Her attacker was in the backseat pressing a knife against her throat and wasn’t protected by either. She rammed her SUV into a large tree. The impact sent her attacker flying over the seat into the dash and knocking him unconscious long enough for her to escape."
Ted stepped over to the group dressed in the gorilla suit ready for the group's next exercise. "Okay, group, last week you learned how to make a fist. Let's see your fists, thumb out." She glanced at the outstretched fists. "Looks good. This week, with Ted's help, you're going to get some practice punching and kicking. Ted is wearing a protective body suit complete with a groin guard so don't be afraid to punch or kick him. There is nothing more valuable than practice."
"What about head butts? Can we practice them too?"
"Since we haven't covered how to do the head butt safely, please don't try to do it in this session." Good Lord. Some of these women were out of control. "Please form a line. I'll time you as each of you practices punching and kicking."
Sixty minutes was over in no time and Frankie dismissed her class. She then cleaned up the room while Ted removed the protective suit.
"Ted, are you up for sparring a bit?"
"Sure."
They circled each other on the mat until Frankie twirled a 360, kicking Ted and knocking him flat on his back.
"Shit, Frankie, where'd you get that move?"
"It's new." Frankie offered her hand to pull him to his feet. She and Ted circled again, each trying to predict the other's move.
Using the same move that Frankie had used on Jerry Richards, Ted grabbed Frankie's thumb bending back her wrist just enough to cause pain but not enough to break it. He then jerked her arm behind her back and dropped her to the ground. Still gripping her arm, he pushed his knee into her back to hold her in place.
Lane was stressed and needed to punch something or someone so he headed for the Sheriff's Workout Gym to lift weights and use the punching bag. He pulled into the parking lot outside and noticed Frankie's car. He trained here at least twice a week and had never seen her around here so he was a little curious. He peered into a couple of rooms but didn't see her.
He got to the next room just in time to see a man straddling Frankie on the mat. He dropped his gym bag and flew into the room, slamming into Ted and throwing him several feet away. He pinned Ted to the mat so fast it knocked the wind out of him and made speaking impossible. Lane was about to give Ted a black eye he'd never forget when he heard Frankie scream.
"Damn it, Lane. What in the hell are you doing to Ted? Are you completely crazy?"
He looked back at the man beneath him and recognized Frankie's partner, Ted. "I don't give a shit who he is. No one's going to hurt you."
"Don't hit him. He wasn't hurting me. We were sparring. We do it all the time. Let him get up!" shouted Frankie. "I’ll give you two seconds to get off Ted before you get a demonstration of my martial arts skills up close and personal.”
Lane slowly got up and offered a hand to Ted, who jumped to his feet and got in position to take him on.
Frankie placed herself between them. "Ted, please let it go. Take off. I'll see you tomorrow."
Ted turned back as he walked away. "See you tomorrow, Frankie. Fuck you, Hansen."
"Lane, what gave you the idea I needed you or anyone else to protect me? For Christ's sake, I'm a former deputy. I got the same training you did. What the hell were you thinking?"
Shit. This was a hell of a time to tick Frankie off. Not when he wanted her to go undercover with him. It was just when he got to the door and saw Frankie with a man on top of her, he went crazy.
"I'm sorry, Frankie," he said as she grabbed her gym bag and rushed out of the room. Okay, so he was only sorry he'd made her angry again. If he ever witnessed anyone messing with her in the future, he'd do the same thing.
Friday had been a crap day and it wasn't getting any better. Lane thought a beer or two would relax him before he headed home. He had a case that held more questions than answers and was proving to be the hardest jigsaw puzzle ever.
Stopping at the new Club Hoosier bar outside of town had been a mistake. What was he thinking? He sat at the bar straining to hear the rerun of a Pacers game on ESPN playing on the large flat screen TV. In the other room, a deejay was playing loud — make that deafening — dance music that echoed through the bar and made hearing the details of the game impossible. He swore the bass grew louder with each song, matching beat for beat with the pounding in his head. Combine that with the rowdiness of customers and the result was a headache the size of Indianapolis. He checked the other guys at the bar
to see if they were annoyed about the volume of the music, but one glance told him they were focused more on hot women in the bar than the game.
He slipped a twenty out of his wallet and was about to hail a bartender when someone tapped him on the back. He turned just as Michael Brandt took the barstool next to him.
"Watching the game?" he asked as he looked for the bartender.
"I gave up. What brings you here?" It was unusual to see Michael out and about by himself. Whenever he saw Michael, Anne was not far away or vice versa. He envied the closeness they had, the way they enjoyed being with each other. He wanted that someday. He wanted that with Frankie — if he could ever win her back.
"Anne's a huge Lady Gaga fan. She and Frankie went to her concert tonight."
"No kidding. Lady Gaga?"
"Oh, yeah. In fact, one of the first times I saw Anne was in a convenience store. She was wearing this glittering Lady Gaga tank top with shorts and we literally bumped into each other, sending her groceries all over the floor."
The bartender appeared and Michael ordered a Coors. Lane decided to stay awhile and nurse his beer.
"Your boss told me about the undercover operation. Are you sure you want to do it with Frankie?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I want to bust the sick freak I think murdered Mandy Morris. In addition, there's a good chance he's selling babies. Who knows what else he's doing. He's going down."
"But are you sure you want to go undercover with Frankie?"
"Why not? She's excellent at what she does and she has done undercover before." A better question was why wouldn’t he want to go undercover with Frankie?
"I didn't think you and Frankie were on the best of terms."
"Why do you say that?"
"I heard you dumped her after a one-night stand when she was recovering from the bullet wound you gave her."
"Shit. I was so fucking stupid." This was an understatement. It was the worst mistake he’d ever made.
"I'd say. I'd think you'd be afraid to do that to a former Army sharpshooter. I mean you'd already shot her. Wasn't that enough?"
Lane grunted and took a gulp of his beer and seriously thought of ordering another one.
"You're damned lucky she didn't kick your ass or shoot you. She's got a wicked temper."
"I think I'd feel better about it if she did. I made a mistake. A big mistake. And I want her back."
"Good luck with that." Michael chuckled until he glanced at Lane and saw the miserable expression on his face.
"How did you know about it?" Lane asked.
"Frankie is at the house a lot and I overheard her tell Anne. If I were you, I'd steer clear. I know it happened months ago, but she is still pissed about what happened between you two."
"Yeah, I know she is."
"Are you sure you want to do this undercover thing with her? Isn't there anyone else who could do it?"
"No. She hasn't agreed to do it yet. She told Tim she wants to think about it. If she does it, we'll both have to commit to put our past behind us and act like professionals."
"And you think that's possible. Do you believe in the tooth fairy, too?"
Frankie parked the car in the only space available outside the popular bar and joined Anne on the sidewalk, handing her a bag of Lady Gaga concert t-shirts she'd purchased. She glanced at Anne's sequined pink four-inch heels that matched her equally sequined flared pink tank and sighed. Why a pregnant woman would wear those shoes was beyond her and she had hovered over Anne every time she moved an inch all night for fear that she'd fall. When they entered the bar, she was relieved to see Michael. She was passing the baton. He could play helicopter and hover over Anne for the rest of the night.
They’d had an amazing time at the concert and were sorry when it ended. Frankie had played the latest Lady Gaga CD all the way back and was looking forward to relaxing with Anne and Michael before she headed home. Besides, she and Anne had a major craving for non-alcoholic strawberry daiquiris, hot artichoke dip with chips, and then maybe a scrumptious slice of Godiva chocolate cheesecake.
They spotted Michael at the bar talking to someone so they waded through the crowd to get to him. As they approached him, Frankie noticed the "someone" was Lane Hansen and her heart slammed against her chest so hard she nearly stumbled. Her gaze locked with Lane’s and a spark of heat flashed between them.
Being within a city block of Lane Hansen was an extremely bad idea. She should turn around and walk right out of this bar and go straight home. But she didn't.
Michael pulled Anne into his arms and kissed her as she gushed about the concert. He then hailed a waitress who found them a booth. Michael took one look at Frankie who was pretending not to gaze at Lane; and one look at Lane who was trying not to stare at Frankie and made a decision. It was a decision that would probably earn him a kick under the table later from his wife, but he ran with it.
"Lane, we've got a booth. Come join us for some junk food and a couple of beers."
As they headed to the booth, Frankie walked in front of Lane so he gave her a once-over. She wore a snug white knit cami under a short black leather jacket, along with black jeggings tucked into black boots with four-inch heels. At five feet ten inches, with big, brown eyes and full sensuous lips, she looked sizzling hot, and every man in the place was fixated on her. A blast of lust hit him so hard it was a wonder he could even walk.
As the evening progressed, Lane watched Frankie drink strawberry daiquiris and shared her hot artichoke dip and chips. When it came time to share the Godiva chocolate cheesecake, he and Michael passed while Frankie and Anne devoured the dessert. They talked non-stop about the concert and Lane began to relax and actually enjoy himself because Frankie was. She animatedly told stories and she laughed. And when she did, it was one of the most delightful things he'd ever heard or seen. Her entire face lit up when she laughed and the sound of it was so contagious, you had to laugh, too. Anne sent Michael to the deejay with requests for Lady Gaga songs a couple of times. When they played, she and Frankie sang along and danced — more like wiggled — in their seats as he and Michael watched with enjoyment. In their line of work finding justice for victims, day in and day out; it felt good to be around happy people for a change.
It was amazing to be sitting this close to Frankie period. The booth was small so she was pressed up against him and he could feel her heat through his jeans. Her scent of fresh flowers and woman was making him a little crazy.
It seemed Michael had a song request of his own. As the deejay played "Lady in Red", he helped Anne slide out of the booth and led her to the dance floor.
Lane immediately saw the opportunity he'd been waiting for, but there was just one thing wrong with the plan. It was the dancing part. It wasn't that he was a bad at dancing, he sucked at it. He was six feet five inches and 230 pounds of solid muscle and putting himself on the dance floor with others was as dangerous as having a rhino in a china shop. Accidentally crushing the delicate bones in his partner's feet was not his idea of a good time.
But he glanced at Frankie and realized he wanted to hold her close to him, more than he'd wanted anything in a long, long time. This slow dance was not an opportunity he was going to pass up — two left feet or not.
He didn't have to be psychic to know that Frankie would refuse to dance with him and that underneath all that laughter; she was still pissed at him. So he slid out of the booth and pulled her with him.
"What are you doing?" He'd yanked her so hard out of the booth that she gasped as she slammed against him.
"It's not what I'm doing. It's what we're doing."
"What?!"
He led her onto the dance floor and wrapped his arms around her waist. He thought about the toes of her boots and prayed he wouldn't step on them.
"This is my favorite song and I really want to dance to it."
"'Lady in Red' is your favorite song? Why don’t I believe that?"
He couldn't think of a good response so he tucked her head against his ches
t and tightened his grip on her waist. He liked the way her four inch heels brought her to his chin and he didn't have to bend much to hold her. Her soft curves molded to the contours of his lean body as he slowly and carefully moved her around the dance floor.
Frankie was feeling the buzz from the second strawberry daiquiri that she shouldn't have drunk, because she didn't drink alcohol. She also shouldn’t be dancing with Lane even though she loved the way his hard, muscled arms wrapped perfectly around her body had her pulse racing. He held her hand gently against his chest and she could feel the hard, rapid beating of his heart. Dancing with him shouldn't feel this good. Her internal alarm went off. She remembered how hurt she had been when she'd awakened that morning and found he was gone without a word. He'd hurt her once; he'd hurt her again. She pushed at his chest to put some distance between them and looked up into his eyes.
