Taking Tiffany

by MK Harkins

  ***

  ANOTHER HOUR AND I was parked on the street in front of the Habitat Home. Tiffany was out front, directing the workers. She hadn’t spotted me yet as I sat frozen in my car. She wore yoga pants and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, her hair up in a high ponytail. The sight of her made me catch my breath. I’d only seen her at the charity functions—dressed to the nines. But now, looking so natural, she looked…spectacular.

  Tiffany went back into the house. Time to make my move. She needed my help; that was obvious. But would she take it from me? She’d looked plenty angry with me last night. Maybe I could make it up to her.

  I approached the front door just as a delivery man walked out. I stepped into the front hallway and looked around. It appeared they still had a lot to do. The shell was in place—roof, walls, windows, and such. But the floor wasn’t done, and the walls needed painting. I walked farther in and saw Tiffany wrestling with one of the many cans of paint.

  “Need help with that?”

  Her body stiffened. Not a good sign. She removed the lid, dipped her paintbrush, and turned toward me.

  With narrowed eyes, she examined me. “Nope. I got it.”

  “Jain sent me. I’m here in her place.”

  Tiffany’s lips pursed together. I was sure there were some choice swear words being held back.

  “She did, did she?” Her expression morphed into a full-on scowl.

  “Yeah. I can do…whatever you need.” Looking down at the paint can, I said, “I love to paint.” I told the truth. The great memories as a child helping my mom resurfaced. I reached down for one of the brushes in the tray that held a pale green paint. I liked the color; it was calming.

  But Tiffany’s eyes were anything but calm. I’d say a storm brewed there. She looked angry. No, she looked pissed. She reached over to take the paintbrush out of my hand, but I pulled back, splattering paint onto her shirt and face.

  Shit.

  I should have been repentant and apologized. But she looked comical with green paint splattered across her scowl. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You think that’s funny?” she asked. A hurricane brewed in her eyes. With a calculated, slow movement, she took her brush, the one dripping with paint, and, starting at my forehead and working down, proceeded to slide it down my body. I stood still as she did her damage. I guess I deserved that.

  The house was empty. It was close to twelve, and the volunteers had all left for lunch. Time to have some fun.

  A little paint fight wouldn’t hurt. The room was void of anything that could be damaged. A little retribution was in order. I leaned down and dipped my paintbrush back into the tray. Tiffany saw what I planned to do and took a step backwards. Wrong move. Her foot got caught in one of the trays, and she went flying, flinging paint everywhere as she slid down on her backside. I tried to step forward to prevent her fall, but my reaction wasn’t quick enough. I made the same mistake and slipped in one of the full paint trays, landing next to her with a thud, spilling more on my way down. We were both covered.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked, looking up and down, praying she wasn’t.

  She flopped on her back and stared up at the ceiling. “No. I’m not hurt. Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be at soccer practice? Why did you come?” Her expression seemed more confused than angry. “I thought I was a…”, she air quoted, “…mistake”.

  I moved closer. “I ditched practice. I want to help.” Then I added, “Nothing about you is a mistake.”

  I gently tried to remove some of the green paint I’d splattered across her face and mouth. But I only made it worse by smearing it. My finger slid over the silky substance that coated her lips. Her breath hitched, and I felt it to my core.

  “Here, that’s not working.” I leaned down and let my tongue skate across her lips and into her mouth. Kissing her overtook all my senses, so much so, I didn’t even taste the paint.

  She groaned in frustration, grabbed my shirt with both hands and pulled me to her. Ah, that was more like it. Our lips met in a frenzy of green paint and panting breaths.

  A voice boomed across the empty room. “What the hell is going on here?”

  Tiffany stopped stone-cold beside me. She whispered into my lips, “Oops. I guess you get to meet my dad.”

  Hell no. I worried Gerald Thompson would hate me because of my meager upbringing and tainted history, but he didn’t even need that excuse now. I was on the floor in the middle of a worksite, passionately and irresponsibly kissing his daughter. With green paint…everywhere.

  I got up and turned to face the firing squad.

  Chapter Eleven

  Angela

  Six Months Earlier

  AFTER THREE HOURS of silence, we finally arrived. Dear God. No. Was this a joke?

  There was no preparing for this…dump. My parents warned me that I’d be living with the basics only. I thought, instead of a five-star hotel, I’d be faced with a Best Western-type living place, but this was a dilapidated hovel.

  Right smack dab in the center of a fenced off area sat the sorriest building ever built. A huge structure, stretching about twenty feet high, and looked to be around six thousand square feet. At some point, maybe fifty years ago, someone painted the exterior a purplish-brown color. Now, the paint was peeling and was mostly gone. Only a few high windows were visible from where I stood. It was ugly and depressing.

  Surrounding the main building were a dozen or so huts placed haphazardly inside a fenced off area. I wasn’t even sure they would be considered huts because they didn’t look like they’d stand up to any type of wind. Never mind wind – a small cough would probably topple them.

  I recalled my nanny reading the Three Little Pigs story, and I giggled.

  He-with-no-name turned his stupidly handsome face toward me and glared. If looks could kill, I was sure I’d be dead and gone. Maybe, if I kept laughing, he could make it happen. Death. Anything would be better than the hell my parents sent me to.

  I always thought my parents were uninterested in me. Typically, they ignored me until I made a fuss. When I got loud enough, they’d throw money at me until I quieted down. We had a non-verbal agreement. I stayed out of their way as long as I got what I wanted.

  That all changed once I ‘humiliated the family’. Now I knew they weren’t uninterested; they hated me. Pure and simple. They put me in a place which was not only worse than jail, it was worse than any existence I could imagine.

  Now I hated them right back. They were the biggest phonies in the world. I embarrassed them, so now I had to stay in this hell until society forgot me. It’s only a year, sweetie. Sweetie? Really? They hadn’t used that word since I was six.

  I made a vow to get back at them. I’d get away from here and disappear. I’d have the last laugh.

  Mr. Sullen Man walked into one of the huts and placed my luggage in the corner. Oh, so this abode was mine. Lovely. I walked in, and the stench of the previous inhabitant was so strong, it burned the hairs inside my nose. What was that smell? I looked to my mute tour guide and, of course, got nothing. He did take a backwards step out of the putrid-smelling enclosure.

  With hands on hips, my eyes narrowed and I asked, “Really?”

  He shrugged and walked toward the main building. I kept talking even though he didn’t understand me. I needed to vent, and he would be my sounding board.

  “How can you live in such a place? Don’t you want to hurl yourself off the nearest cliff? This place is disgusting! I hate it here!”

  He stopped and turned toward me with the same if-looks-could-kill expression. He held up a hand then pointed at a sign on the door that read, “Director”. He turned his back and walked through another door. Pig.

  I straightened my shoulders and headed toward the office. I was told by my parents that the director, Ms. Rutherford, was the quintessential Earth Mother. An Englishwoman who’d spent her life caring for the abandoned children of Romania. Looking around this dump, I knew they’d lied. Just as they lie
d about everything else in my entire life. Hatred filled me as I knocked on the door.

  It creaked open slowly. There wasn’t anyone here. My eyes scanned the office, which appeared clean and organized. There was an outlet so I could charge my satellite phone. Good, I’d have that, though I’d need to sneak in at night to give it an adequate charge. My eyes adjusted to the darkened room. At least one room in this disaster of an orphanage was presentable. Oh, that’s right. They probably had inspections and need this space as their “front” so they’d appear legitimate. The people who ran this place must be pure evil. Who would allow anyone to live this way? Just as the thought skittered through me, I heard a squeak nearby.

  Right below my line of sight were two big eyes, staring at me. And that’s pretty much all they were, because the rest of the child was nothing more than skin and bones.

  About three feet tall and covered in dirt stood the skinniest person I’d ever seen. I’m not talking Paris-runway-skinny. This was much worse. With long stringy hair, sunken cheekbones, and limbs that could pass as twigs, was the most heart-wrenching excuse for a child imaginable. Rage filled me as the realization struck. They starve and torture children here.

  The door on the other side of the office opened, and a smallish woman with an English accent greeted me. “Oh, you’re here! I heard Dr. Stefan was back. Welcome! I’m Dottie Rutherford.” Her smile lit up her round face.

  What the hell? I shook with rage. How dare she try to fool me.

  “What is the meaning of this?” My voice was low, but the animosity was unmistakable. I pointed to the child.

  She slowed for a moment. “I see you’ve met Mirela,” Dottie said as she eyed me, sizing me up. My anger was evident from my sweating, flushed face and shaking body. I’d never been more upset.

  “Mirela came to us yesterday. She’s new.” She turned to the little girl. “Miss Elise is looking for you,” she said, smiling at the child. She looked back at me. “Sometimes the new children tend to wander a little. She’ll get the hang of things.”

  She pressed a button on a small box on her desk. I heard a cracking sound, then, “Yes, Ms. Dottie?”

  “Hi, Elise. I have Mirela in my office. It looks like she’s checking things out.” She gave me a wink.

  I breathed in, trying to calm down. Maybe I’d overreacted. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “I’ll be right there!” The box quieted and the static died.

  Dottie turned her warm smile back at me. “I don’t blame you for your reaction. It can be shocking when you first arrive here. I heard from Doctor Stefan you have a dead vole in your hut. That couldn’t have been a pleasant surprise. I’m so sorry. We’ll have that cleaned and sterilized before you go back in. In the meantime, are you hungry?”

  Disbelief. Was she really talking about dead creatures and food in the same breath? And how did the news of it get to the doctor and the director? Oh, that’s right. Mr. Stupidly Handsome. He must have blabbed.

  “No. I’m not hungry. But someone should feed her.” I held the little girl’s eyes again.

  Another warm smile from Dottie. “We’re working on …”

  The door from outside burst open, and a young woman of eighteen or nineteen charged in. “Oh! There you are Mirela. I’ve been looking all over for you.” She had brown skin and a beautiful white smile. Long, dark hair framed a round face that radiated exuberance. She turned toward me and said, “Oh, you must be Angel!” then flung her arms around my neck. I thought I’d choke to death before she let go.

  I took a step back and gawked at her. “What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded as I straightened my clothing.

  She placed a hand over her mouth and giggled. “I did it again, didn’t I, Miss Dottie?”

  I remembered the old television show I watched on the Sci-fi channel when I was younger. Twilight Zone. It was an episode about landing in an alternate universe. That was what happened to me. All I needed to do now was wake up or turn the channel.

  “It’s okay, Elise. I think Angela is a bit shell-shocked. Let’s give her a little time to get settled in. Did Adam get the animal out of her hut yet?”

  Elise turned her bright smile my way. “He sure did! He’ll have that dead vole buried in no time.” Her head nodded the entire time she spoke. “I’m going to sterilize and clean it from top to bottom for you,” she said as she held out her hand for Mirela. “As soon as I get this little one back to the playroom.”

  As quick as lightning, Mirela dashed across the room and wrapped herself around my leg. For a little thing, she sure packed a punch. She almost knocked me off my feet.

  Dottie’s face softened. “She must have heard you standing up for her.” She turned to Elise and said, “I’ll bet she does speak or understand English after all.”

  Elise whispered to me, “She hasn’t eaten or spoken a word since she arrived yesterday. She won’t let anyone touch her either.”

  I tried to peel her from my leg, but she wrapped herself around me like stubborn ivy.

  My eyes pleaded with Dottie and Elise to do something. I didn’t like children. I didn’t know anything about them.

  Dottie’s sympathy was visible, but she said, “She hasn’t bonded with anyone yet.” She continued speaking while her eyes studied me. “I hadn’t planned to put you to work within minutes of your arrival, but can she stay with you a bit?”

  Panic, strong and powerful, replaced the exhaustion, anger, and dread from earlier. “What do I do with her?” I asked while shaking my head. No. I wasn’t equipped to help a starving, obviously crazy child. Why would she latch on to me?

  We were interrupted by loud male voices coming down the corridor outside the office.

  Dottie clapped her hands and said, “Oh good! You’ll get to meet my husband, Jerome, and that sounds like Dr. Stefan.” She stopped speaking and her eyebrows furrowed, replacing her happy expression.

  The two men were arguing, enthusiastically, and loud enough for us to hear.

  A deep voice with an English accent filled the hallway. “I don’t agree. What we need is skilled assistance, not some superficial socialite princess who will spend her days more concerned about her fancy clothes and makeup. She’ll be a horrible influence on the children and staff. Take my advice, send her out on the first plane available.”

  Another male voice with a similar English accent responded, “We need the help. You’ve seen the latest funding figures. We’re dealing with a potential disaster. She needs to stay. We’re desperate. Elise told me she’s more beautiful than a super-model. I can’t believe you’d have a problem with that.”

  How many English people were here anyway?

  “But she’s awful!” The door swung open, and I locked eyes with Mr. Sullen, Stupidly Handsome, No-Name…Pig.

  “You! You speak English!” I stated the obvious. For a fleeting second, I saw his hard expression lift. But it went right back to stony.

  Bastard.

  His eyes lowered to my leg, which had lost its circulation due to the creature strangling it with superhuman strength. I saw it again; his expression went soft. He smiled at Mirela and asked, “How are you, luv?” in a soft voice that did all sorts of sparkly, thrilling things to my insides.

  That voice was meant for the child, you idiot.

  “She’s fine. She’s with me, and we’re going…” I shifted my eyes to Dottie, “We’re going…?”

  “To the cafeteria,” she finished for me. “First, I’d like you to meet my husband, Jerome.” She narrowed her eyes at Stefan and said with controlled calmness, “It looks like you’ve already made Dr. Stefan’s acquaintance.”

  And just to make Stefan look bad, I put on my most sincere, sweetest expression and greeted Jerome, “Pleased to meet you. I’m so glad to be here to help.”

  Jerome cast a sidelong glance at Stefan and replied, “We’re honored to have you.”

  A choking sound came from the good doctor.

  Take that.

  Chapter Twelv
e

  Tiffany

  I FELT LIKE I was a child again. I really did.

  Covered with green paint and caught by my dad making out with Todd was not the way I imagined today would go. Not even a little. Still sleep-deprived, and judging by my behavior, deprived in other areas, I turned to greet my dad—who was so angry his face was a dark shade of red. I’d seen him upset before, but his coloring had only made it to pink. This was a new record.

  “Dad.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” he said through clenched teeth.

  “We were painting and tripped?” I lied a little. Yep, no older than five.

  He stared angrily at Todd, who stood straight and met my dad’s intimidating glare head-on. He was brave, I’d give him that. Maybe what Colin said about my dad scaring off potential dates was true. If I were Todd right now, I’d be shaking in my boots, or in his case, Nikes.

  What was my dad doing here anyway? “Dad, aren’t you supposed to be fishing?”

  He took his scary, angry eyes from Todd and looked distracted for a moment. “My secretary called me on the satellite phone. She said someone called in an emergency, and I needed to come here right away. I didn’t get much else from her.” He looked around the empty house. “Where is everyone? Did something happen?”

  “No. Everything’s been quiet. The volunteers are at lunch.”

  Todd cleared his throat. “Mr. Thompson. I think if someone tried to lure you here under the guise of an emergency, it might be wise to leave the house and call the police.”

  “Dad! Todd’s right.” I grabbed his arm and started for the door. “Oh, by the way, this is Todd. Todd, this is my dad.”

  He followed close behind, gave a nod and greeted, “Sir.” He was so serious.

  Once we cleared the doorway and were outside, I took a good look at him. Laughter bubbled out when I saw that his lips were green.

  He leaned in and whispered, “I wouldn’t laugh too hard, you look the same.”

  My dad flipped his phone closed. “The police are on their way. I’m afraid you’ll have to shut down for today, Tiffany. I’m sorry, I know you’re trying to meet a deadline, but they’ll need to get their detectives out here to make sure this wasn’t some sort of set-up. Only a few people have my secretary’s direct line, so they’re taking this seriously. Whoever set up this prank went to a lot of trouble.”