Dance of the Rogue

by Cris Anson

  “You guys go do your man-talk,” Crystal said. “I want all that fingerprint powder gone before Fantine gets back.”

  Both men watched the gentle sway of her hips as she climbed halfway up the steps, retrieved her dust cloth and sat on a tread. Judd sighed. “Makes me wish I was twenty years younger.”

  “Wouldn’t do you any good,” Soren growled.

  “No, but it would probably push me into finding a Crystal of my own.”

  “Then you’re ahead of the game by being twenty years older. Because she’s one of a kind. Now let’s get down to business.” Soren herded Judd into the kitchen. They sat at adjoining stools at the counter separating the kitchen from the sunroom. “The light dawned. I saw it on your face. What did you remember-slash-connect?”

  “Tell me about this half-brother business. If you meant that your brother is Rosalie’s grandson, that must mean Randolph was his father? And my guess is you just found out? You said it wasn’t proved yet. Are you doing DNA testing?”

  “Yes, yes and yes to all of it. Fantine came to our neck of the woods armed with good research and a twenty-eight-year-old letter Nonie had recently discovered among her son’s papers. When Magnus—that’s our oldest brother—and I saw a photo of our mother with this man she referred to as Randolph, we knew she wasn’t just whistling Dixie. In fact, Rolf isn’t the only family just unearthed. Magnus is in Alaska as we speak, tracking down our mother, who apparently left Pennsylvania shortly after she’d written that letter.”

  “Alaska. That’s where Randolph died, plane crash, right?”

  “Yeah. We figure she went to meet him there, intending to come back and fight for us kids when they got settled together, but he died before they connected. And she was stranded there with no money, no contacts, and no way to get in touch with her kids because our dad was a mean SOB who would have burned any letters she sent.”

  “Have you met Pearce Kelleher yet? He was over here the other day, when I first saw Rolf come to visit, so I know they met.”

  “No. We haven’t been here very long.”

  “Pearce is Miss Rosalie’s nephew. Her only living relative.” He paused to let that sink in.

  “Until now,” Soren filled in.

  “Yeah. Strange how such news could be coincident with an accidental fall down the steps. I think I’ll do some digging into Pearce Kelleher.”

  “Already Googled him. He’s got a financial business that—”

  Judd snorted. “Google is sandbox stuff to a retired cop with connections in the field.”

  “Oh right. Sorry, I’m just a hick from a blue-collar Philadelphia suburb.”

  “No offense intended. I think I’ll call my buddy in the lab and try to put more of a rush on that DNA thing I got working.”

  “You mean, to see if Rolf’s DNA matches Nonie’s?”

  “Nah, that’s civil stuff. I don’t know where they went for that. Mine is criminal.” At Soren’s quizzical look, he added, “Hercules, that’s her cat that was found dead near where Miss Rosalie was lying, has gobs of human tissue under his claws. And I have Rolf to thank for having the smarts to take digital photos of the scene. He boxed Hercules and stashed him in the freezer.”

  At Soren’s raised eyebrow, he explained further. “At first they just wanted to preserve its remains so they could have a burial ceremony once Rosalie got well. But now…

  “Somehow,” Judd mused, “I think that cat is connected to Rosalie’s fall. If we find that it’s attempted murder, we can really pat Rolf on the back for preserving the evidence.”

  Attempted murder. The words hit Soren like a shovel to the back of the head.

  * * * * *

  “I’m staying. Get over it.”

  The night nurses exchanged glances. Soren Thorvald was an impressive bodyguard at six-three with a forty-two-inch chest, but they had to keep their patients’ needs foremost.

  “You heard what Captain Matheson said.” He didn’t bother to say “retired” captain. They didn’t need to know that. “The police don’t have the manpower to spare. That’s why I’m here. No one goes in or out of that room tonight without my knowing it. I don’t care how many alarms go off.”

  The one who seemed to be head honcho, Caridad by her name badge, finally nodded. “Here’s the duty roster for tonight. I’ll have Gail pull up their CVs on the screen so you can see their mug shots. Anyone else, you’ll photograph.” She sighed. “I may have to explain myself to the union’s attorney if you find the need to question anyone’s right to be here, but I think I’m up to it.”

  Soren gave her one of his rare smiles, making the lights in his blue eyes dance. “Thank you. I hope it’s a false alarm, but I’d rather be safe than go to a funeral.”

  Nurse Caridad’s face took on a somber cast. “I can’t believe someone would try—”

  “Believe it. Judd thinks the first Code Blue this afternoon was either one of two things. A diversion so all the hands and equipment would already be occupied when the attempt on Mrs. Dwyer was made. Or else a test to see how staff responded. Luckily, your response time was top-drawer. In both cases. Graveyard shift won’t have near as many hands on call.”

  Soren settled himself into a padded chair they had pulled out from one of the private sitting rooms and tucked into a corner near the ICU entrance. The strategic location would make it hard for anyone to sneak up to disable him from behind. “Don’t worry about me. I brought some snacks and water.” And a jelly jar for when he had to pee, but they didn’t need to know that. He’d manage. Somehow.

  Because it was for family.

  * * * * *

  “Relax, honey.”

  Rolf tucked Fantine closer to his body as they settled down to sleep in her room at Nonie’s. Both of them were exhausted from the traumas of the past twenty-four hours. “We have Soren worrying about Nonie, Crystal worrying about the house, Magnus worrying about Mom, Judd worrying about Hercules. Most of all, you have me worrying about you. All you have to do is get a good night’s sleep.”

  “The way you put it makes me sound like a fifth wheel. I need to be doing something too.”

  “You will. Tomorrow, when Nonie wakes up—and I know she will, I feel it in my bones—you’ll need to be bright-eyed and cheerful for her. And so do I, and I can’t be cheerful if I’m worried about you.”

  Fantine managed a tiny smile. It made him feel good to be able to put it there.

  “And another reason I need a good night’s sleep,” he emphasized. “You’ve been diverting all the blood from my head to down further south, you know that, don’t you.”

  He got an outright chuckle from her out of that. “From what I’ve heard about you, it’s a genetic defect.”

  “No,” he said slowly. He tensed, then relaxed. This was Fantine he was talking to. “Not genetic. Mental. All those women, I realized it wasn’t them I wanted. It was…I don’t know what I wanted from them. I wanted to lash out at all the kids who taunted me because I was so different from Mags and Soren. I wanted to punish women because they could be mothers, because they could do the same to their sons that mine did to me. I wanted to hurt everyone before they could hurt me.

  “Damn.” He nestled her more securely against his rib cage, his hip. “Was I really as ugly as that sounds? How can you stand to be with me?”

  “I’m not standing,” she murmured, trailing a hand down the center of his hairless chest. Another thing different between him and his hairy brothers. “I’m right where I want to be at this moment in time.”

  She snuggled her leg tighter across his thighs. “After my ex took off with a grad student, I vowed I wouldn’t ever again let myself need anyone so desperately, never depend on anyone else. I’d go where I want, pick up guys for a roll in the sack when the mood struck me then kick them out the next day, no strings, no tears. Between that and Grant, my trusty—”

  “Yeah, about your dildo, we’ll have to rename it, Fantine. There’s no room in our bed for another man.”

  S
he giggled. Actually giggled. “Somehow it doesn’t feel right to have a silicone cock named Shirley. Anyway, it was enough, what I used to do. Until now.”

  She leaned into him, dropped little kisses along his jaw, finding the spot near his ear that especially delighted him. “I must admit,” she murmured, “you’re growing on me. And I don’t mean that in a gardening kind of way, like Nonie’s roses and dahlias.”

  “And I’ll be growing any second if you keep kissing me like that,” he growled. “Tonight I don’t think either of us wants hot and heavy sex. I want to be close to you, in your arms, just being together, sleeping together, in the purest sense of the word. You bring me peace, Fantine. In the middle of all this turmoil with Nonie’s accident, I want to hold on to that.”

  * * * * *

  “Excuse me,” Soren said, coming instantly alert and on his feet at the sight of a stranger. “You can’t go in there. You’re not on the roster.”

  The wiry man—scraggly gray hair that fell below his ears, squinty dark eyes behind owlish glasses, sixty or so pounds less than Soren—drew up to his full height of maybe five-eight. He carried a pail and mop and wore an orderly’s uniform with “Terry” embroidered on the breast pocket.

  “Got a call of a spill,” he mumbled, keeping his head down.

  He’d timed it well, Soren thought. Lunch break, where two of the four nurses were gone from the desk for a few minutes while one began and the other finished the traverse between desk and the break room. A third nurse was changing a patient’s soiled garment and the fourth, on the phone, had her attention on the computer screen.

  At least Soren had had the advantage of surprise, having chosen a vantage point that was hidden from the view of the casual stroller until he was almost close enough to touch.

  “I’ll take the bucket,” Soren said. “We’ll clean it up. No one’s allowed inside.”

  The man set down the bucket without a sound, bent down to lay the mop on the floor, and shot up like a cannonball. Soren thrust out an elbow to block a headbutt and felt a slight prick in his neck.

  “Caridad!” he roared. “Call security!”

  And slumped to the ground.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lying on her side, Fantine awoke to the most delicious sensation, the pressure of Rolf’s warm body against her back, tiny nips and bites to her shoulder, tugs and pinches to her nipples. Her thigh lay spraddled atop his, allowing his cock free access to her pussy which, she realized, was hot and slippery.

  This must be heaven, she thought. To luxuriate in this feeling of being utterly desirable, utterly beautiful, sublimely sexy. She leaned back into him, loving the feel, the heat, the smell of him. Loving…she shied away from completing that thought.

  “So, you’re finally awake, are you? It’s about time,” he murmured into her ear before delving his tongue inside the curve of it.

  She shivered, undulated her hips.

  “No,” he ordered. “You have to stay absolutely still. I’m punishing you for having a grant named Dildo—”

  Fantine burst out laughing. “You’re a little mixed up there, aren’t you?”

  He slapped her playfully on her hip. “I told you to stay still. I want to see how long I can keep moving this slowly, holding back, before nature takes over.”

  Sex never had been this joyful before. But no, she reminded herself, this wasn’t just sex. They were making love. Slowly, deliciously. She relaxed, letting him do all the work. Although keeping still was a devilishly difficult kind of work, she realized.

  Slow strokes, sliding in all the way to the hilt, skin touching skin everywhere, then slowly pulling out, her inner muscles contracting to make his journey both difficult and enticing, until she felt the thick crown of him at her opening, then the slow and welcome return of him into her deepest recesses. This was nirvana.

  His rhythm never varied, like he was hearing Ravel’s Bolero in his mind. She wondered how he could keep such a tight rein on his libido, as she was raging inside, his cock stoking her to higher and higher heat, yet the very fact of his forbearance was an aphrodisiac as well.

  At last she cried out his name as her muscles clenched around his cock, and was rewarded with faster and harder thrusts as he joined her in a meltdown of epic proportions. When the last tremor subsided, she moaned, feeling utterly sybaritic.

  “I didn’t think I could do it,” he gasped. “I think that’s the longest I’ve ever held back.”

  “You certainly didn’t have to hold back on my account.”

  “Yeah, I did. I wanted to give you all the pleasure I had in me. I wanted to prolong it until you couldn’t breathe, until you’d die if you didn’t come. Until you cried out for me.” He kissed her shoulder. “And you did.”

  “I did indeed.” She shifted in the bed until she faced him. “Rolf. For whom I cry out.”

  “That sounds poetic, like something from Shakespeare or some other literary guy.”

  She stroked his beautiful face, the slightly raspy jaw, his thick dark brows, the fallen-angel mouth. She was falling. Hard. “It’s from the heart.”

  His eyes darkened. “Do I have your heart, Fantine?”

  The moment was shattered by the ring of her cell phone. A quick glance at the drapes told her day was only dawning. Who would be calling before sunrise?

  She tumbled out of bed, unembarrassed by her overweight nudity, and reached for the phone in its charger, thankful she’d had the presence to plug it in last night.

  “This is Fantine.”

  “Hey, I hope I didn’t wake you up. It’s two in the morning here in Kodiak, Alaska, so I guess it’s, what, six out there?”

  “Yes. This must be Magnus. Are you looking for Rolf?”

  “Actually, I’ve tried Soren a few times but he’s not answering his phone. Our deal was that I’d update him around this time every day about our mother so Rolf could worry about his Nonie.”

  “Oh, that was thoughtful of you. Soren’s pulling guard duty at the hospital. Rolf can tell you all about it. Want to talk to him?”

  Magnus cleared his throat. “Yeah, if he’s around.”

  Fantine grinned. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s no secret we’re sleeping together. Here he is.”

  Rolf scowled but took the phone. “Mags? What’s happening? Why are you calling so early?”

  “I haven’t gone to bed yet, you young reprobate. I wanted to update the eastern contingent on what’s going on here, but Soren hasn’t answered his phone the three times I tried. So I thought I’d see if you guys knew where he is. What’s this about him being at the hospital?”

  Rolf explained Captain Matheson’s theory and Soren’s decision to stand guard at Nonie’s bedside.

  “Wow, that sounds serious. Maybe I shouldn’t bother you again until I have things here all arranged.”

  “Wrong answer, Mags.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Well, let me just say this. I’m making arrangements to get her out of Alaska, but it might take a while. They aren’t exactly on any major airline flyways. I haven’t asked her yet about the past, it’s been too hectic. Just wanted you to know that things are underway.”

  A beep sounded.

  “That’s my call-waiting signal, Rolf.” Fantine held out her hand. “Let me see who it is.” He showed her the phone’s tiny screen. “That’s the hospital.”

  “Hang on, Bro.” He handed the phone to Fantine, watched her face morph from instant anxiety to patent disbelief.

  “Okay. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” She flipped back to Magnus. “Mags? We have to get right to the hospital. Seems someone made an attempt on someone’s life at ICU and Soren got caught in the middle of it. Call us when you wake up. Someone will update you when we know something.”

  Rolf was already dressing.

  * * * * *

  “Soren! Are you okay?” Crystal rushed ahead of them into the emergency-room cubicle where Soren had been taken.

  “I’m fine, babe. You didn’t need to co
me here at oh-dark-thirty.”

  “Soren Thorvald, you know darn well I’d go to the ends of the earth for you.”

  As they argued about who loved who more, Rolf was relieved to see his brother so alert on the gurney. His hairy chest was exposed, EKG leads attached to various parts of him. For once Rolf was happy not to have the rug his brothers had on their pectoral muscles. It must be hell finding the right spots to put those damn disks.

  Noticing the other visitors, Soren lifted his other arm—the one Crystal wasn’t holding, the one with the IV—for a high-five. At Rolf’s frown, he said, “It’s okay. They’re done. Just waiting for them to unhook me.”

  “Oooh, yeah, let me rip those leads off. Maybe I’ll pull some hair with it.”

  “Cool it, Bro.”

  Fantine sidled up to Rolf, tucked an arm around his waist. “I haven’t seen this sadistic side of him yet. Is he really as bad as it sounds?”

  “Worse,” the two men said in unison, sharing a smile.

  “Well, you can’t be much the worse for wear,” she said, joining in their smile. “For you to be joking like this.”

  “Takes more than a syringe of succinyl choline to kill a big ox like me.”

  An ER nurse bustled in, followed by a female doctor, both of whom were casting appreciative glances at Soren’s muscled nakedness.

  “How many women does it take to remove—”

  Fantine elbowed Rolf in the gut. “Hush. Let them do their job.”

  But she was, he saw, biting back a smile as well, because Soren was truly ripped. Rolf was only nicely built. But maybe Fantine would have a different adjective for him. He hoped.

  “You’re cleared to leave,” the doctor told him as the nurse wrapped up the tentacles of the machinery. “There’s a gentleman outside who wants to speak with you. Would you mind doing it in the waiting room? We need the bed.” She smiled, took a last lingering glance at Soren’s chest, and left the room with the nurse.

  “Hey Crystal, aren’t you jealous?” Rolf asked. “Soren got ogled to death and didn’t do a thing to discourage them. Not even so much as a scowl. Which, by the way, he does exceptionally well.”