Silver Spoon

by Cheyenne Meadows

  Spoon felt Riley tense as she clung to his arm. Casting a glance ahead, he found the source of her distress. The senator stood on the stage, speaking with other political notables from the local area as the clock counted down toward time to deliver his speech. Afterward, an evening gala would commence, allowing people to interact, hobnob with the rich, famous, and powerful, in a blatant attempt to gain re-election funding and votes. Dressed in a freshly ironed charcoal gray suit, which complemented his silvering salt and pepper hair, her father certainly looked the part of a prominent member of the US Senate. Too bad his career didn't take a backseat to fatherhood years ago.

  "Do you want to leave?" he whispered in her ear loud enough to be heard above the noisy crowd.

  She shook her head. "No. I promised I would be here and meet with him." With a resigned sigh, she wiped invisible lint off her black slacks. A matching black blouse hung from her shoulders, hinting at her curves while remaining quite demure.

  "Okay." Not comfortable with the press of the crowd, he led her through the maze of humanity to a side wall, near a refreshment table, and away from the crush. "Want something to drink?" He gestured to the various offerings.

  "Maybe bottled water." She picked one up and twisted the cap off.

  A flurry of applause sounded as the emcee announced the senator. Just as quickly they quieted down enough to allow him to begin his lecture full of promises to create jobs, protect rights, and lower taxes.

  Spoon mentally shook his head, blocking out the typical hype put out by everyone running for office. Promises led to votes, but once they won their election, those same promises slipped away, forgotten like an abandoned homestead in the middle of nowhere. For once he would like to meet a man of his word who held public office, but the chances of that mimicked the probability of his winning the lottery without buying a ticket.

  Leaning his back against the wall, he patiently waited for the long-winded man to finish.

  His neck hairs stood on end in blatant warning as his gut stirred in alarm. Both primitive and predictive reactions saved his hide more than once, teaching him to always pay heed and never disregard the premonition. Instinctively, he scanned the crowd searching for something amiss. Locking on a man near the front of the stage showing a bout of nerves, he leaned over and whispered in Riley's ear.

  "Stay here. I'll be right back."

  Not bothering to explain further, he slid into the large group amassed in front of the stage, all listening intently to what the Senator said, not paying the least bit of attention to what happened around them. Idiots.

  As he watched, the thin blond man slipped one hand under his suit jacket and pulled out a small handgun.

  "Gun! Get down!" Spoon yelled through the crowd, hoping the senator's security detail would act quickly and appropriately.

  "Die, you bastard!" The man yelled just before Spoon launched himself, tackling him from behind. The gun discharged as the man fell, sending a round into the front of the stage. Before his finger could tighten again, Spoon slammed his wrist against the cement floor, yanked the firearm from the man's slack fingers, then pulled his hands behind his back. Quicker than a champion calf roping cowboy, he pulled a piece of plastic from his pocket and tied the shooter's hands.

  The sound of gunfire barked across the room, sending the visitors into panic. Chaos ensued. Screams and yells accompanied a mass exodus as people scrambled to the exit, hastily leaving in a near stampede in an effort to get away from the gunman. A gunman that now lay flat on the ground, bound and incapable of causing more harm and mayhem.

  Security rushed in, surrounding Senator Bordeaux, dragging him to a nearby exit for safety, while others rushed to assist with the agitated culprit presently wiggling and cursing under Spoon's booted foot.

  How did that guy sneak through the security check?

  His internal radar pinged loudly. An unbalanced individual might try to conceal a gun and kill the senator, but in the brief seconds he saw the unsteady handling of the weapon, he knew something more had to be amiss. Everyone went through a weapons screening before entering the hotel. He neatly avoided the thorough inspection by flashing one of his high level security cards. Still, despite the extra precautions, an amateur walked in with a loaded weapon. Those facts pointed to a second man, the true threat and mastermind of the assassination attempt. Shit. He didn't sneak in; he was let in by someone else.

  Raking the room, he searched frantically with the sudden realization that the fanatic man under his foot served as a decoy, a distraction, for the primary shooter. A second round plowed into the hastily closed wooden door leading behind the stage. He hit the floor, rolling to rest on his stomach, searching desperately for the second shooter.

  The security detail would have the senator under lock and key, surrounded by armed men who know how to use their firearms. Missing his opportunity, the assassin would either make a dash out with the last of the panicked public or turn his sights on another target.

  A lump formed in his throat as the last puzzle piece clicked into place. Terror pummeled him like an angry hail storm as he raced toward Riley, knowing he wouldn't reach her in time.

  "Riley. Get to cover now!" he yelled to her, praying she would hear above the loud cries of those too terrified to move and the orders broadcasting through the air from a combination of security and police forces sealing off the room.

  Her green eyes widened as they met his gaze, her mouth dropping open before she hit the deck, yanking her purse with her. With a couple of turned over metal chairs and a toppled buffet table the only sources of possible protection, she didn't stand a chance. If a bullet didn't find her directly, a ricochet would.

  In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of the man—dressed in a suit with sunglasses, matching the other hired security personnel—as he raised his handgun, aiming straight for a diving Riley. Without coherent thought, Spoon yanked the small weapon from his holster hidden just under his jacket and fired, not bothering to aim precisely or even get the man between the cross hairs. Pop. Pop. Pop. Bullets tore into the side wall where Riley previously stood, chunks of wood and sheetrock flung through the air like debris from a tornado.

  Firing once more, Spoon leaped an overturned chair, then slid behind the upturned table Riley had managed to crawl behind for a minimal amount of cover. Wrapping his body around hers, he waited for the next bullet to arrive.

  "Get your hands up!"

  "Show your hands now!"

  Pinning Riley against the wall, Spoon twisted around, firearm in hand, preparing to take out the son of a bitch for good.

  Uniformed police flew in from all entrances, holding drawn weapons and shouting at the top of their lungs.

  The shooter lay stretched out on the floor, unmoving.

  One officer kicked at him. With no response, the others crowded around, flashing handcuffs, calling on their radios, and muttering to themselves.

  Noting the immediate relaxation of their bodies and voices, Spoon holstered his weapon, turning back to Riley. "Are you okay?" He looked her over quickly, inspecting for any wounds. Not finding a single trace of blood, he released a long sigh.

  "I'm fine." She sat up, dusting off her black slacks that now carried a layer of pale dust. "You're the one I worry about. Are you sure you didn't get nicked?" Riley returned the favor, checking first his front then the back to ensure he remained intact.

  "I'm sure. Trust me, I would know if I got shot. It hurts like hell. Been there, done that." He stood, reaching out a hand to assist her up. For all the excitement, she held together well, no tears, nor hysterics, just a heightened respiration rate and a bit of a tremor now and again. Enveloping her in his arms, he sucked in a deep breath, thankful beyond measure that she survived the deadly threat. "I was so afraid I'd lose you. Scared me to death."

  "Me, too. I worried you would be hit as you sprinted across the room." She rested her head on his shoulder and tightened her grip. "I never want to lose you."

  He placed a butt
erfly kiss to her temple. "You won't."

  "We're going to need a statement." One of the men in blue walked up to them. "Nice shooting by the way."

  Reluctantly, Spoon released Riley, keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, unable to let her go completely until his heart slowed and the knot of fear in his stomach completely unraveled. Turning his gaze to the officer, Spoon remained mute. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss his marksmanship.

  Pulling out a pad and pencil, the officer, Sergeant Kelly according to his name tag, jotted a few notes down. "I just need a quick statement. Oh, by the way, you have a permit for that handgun, right?"

  "What?" Riley spoke up, anger evident in her body language, face, and voice. "This man saved my father's and my life. All you can do is ask him for his concealed carry license?"

  The sergeant had the grace to blush. "I'm sorry, ma'am. It's procedure."

  "Procedure? Procedure? Where was your damn procedure when not one but two men waltzed in here with loaded weapons and deadly intentions?"

  A ghost of a smile appeared on Spoon's lips. Fiery to the core. Holding Riley tight, he gave her a squeeze. "It's okay. He's just doing his job."

  "It's not okay." Her hands flew as she vented at the man. "Talk about screwed up. Spoon should be touted as a hero instead of treated like a jaywalker who also happened to spit on the sidewalk." She leveled her furious glare at the man.

  Sheepishly, Sergeant Kelly looked down at his notepad. "Perhaps tomorrow would be a better time to drop by the station, at your convenience, of course, and provide your statement?"

  Spoon bobbed his head slightly. "I can do that or…" Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet, opened it, and showed the officer his primary government top level security card.

  The sergeant's eyes grew large before he wiped his forehead with one hand. "Damn." Writing a few words, he stared at Spoon for a long moment. "I see." Closing the small notebook, he stuffed it in his breast pocket. "Thank you for your service, soldier." With that said, he saluted and ambled back to join the pack surrounding the fallen man.

  Riley glanced up at him. "Wow."

  He brushed a kiss across her cheek.

  "Care to let me borrow that identification card for a while?"

  The corners of his mouth curled up. "Unless a blind man is checking it, I don't think it would do you much good."

  "Well, drat." She matched his grin.

  Pulling her back into his arms, he hugged her close.

  "I'm so proud of you." She punctuated the compliment with a long, passionate kiss.

  "Excuse me." A throat cleared behind Riley, the deep voice easily recognizable after hearing it drone on for a good fifteen minutes earlier.

  Reluctantly, he loosened his hold, allowing Riley to turn and stare at her father. Surprisingly, the senator's gaze didn't stay on Riley, instead locked with his.

  "Who are you?" the senator sternly commanded.

  "That's classified." He tossed back the standard answer given to anyone and everyone who proved too nosey for their own good. Refusing to look away, he held the stare like an alpha wolf facing a challenging opponent.

  Her father's face pinched, eyebrows furrowed in a deep frown. A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. Obviously, he didn't take well to being tactfully told to kiss his ass. Too damn bad. A man who abandoned his daughter and did everything in his power to manipulate and crush her dreams didn't deserve respect.

  Silence ensued for a long moment as they both glared at one another before the senator finally offered his hand. Spoon shook it grudgingly, releasing as quickly as possible.

  "I'm glad you're on our side." That said, he lowered his gaze to Riley. "I should have trusted you to find the right man all along."

  Her head lifted while her entire body stood rigid. "Yes, you should have."

  When she spoke no more, her father had the decency to lower his head and soften his tone. "Can you forgive me?"

  She sucked in a breath. "I honestly don't know." A few beats clicked by before she spoke again. "But, I will try to leave the past where it is." She twisted to look up at him. "Spoon is my future." Leaning against his side, she wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed.

  He followed suit, offering her all his support as she faced her father for the first time in years. Pressing a kiss to her crown, he quietly waited to hear the rest of the long overdue conversation.

  "You have my blessing."

  Riley's icy façade thawed as her stone-like stance eased. He felt how much those words meant to her. Perhaps now, she could find a semblance of peace when it came to her sole remaining family member.

  "Thank you." The whisper, laced with emotion, carried easily between them.

  "Will you dine with me this evening?"

  Spoon shared a look with Riley. She patted his chest before focusing on her father once more. "Not now. Maybe in the future. I need some time."

  Riley stepped to the side, pulling Spoon along behind her, not stopping until they reached his SUV. He bit back a proud smile. Most other women would have folded under the pressure and made up with their parent. Not Riley. In her book, respect had to be earned, a philosophy he ardently agreed with.

  He would have gone along with whatever she'd chosen, even if she'd caved to her overbearing and controlling father. All he ever wanted was her happiness. If that meant sitting at a dining table with a pompous buffoon, then he would gladly do so. Luckily, his girlfriend possessed high intelligence and the backbone of a mother cat protecting her babies by standing up to a hungry fox.

  Once they settled in the vehicle, he pinned her with a look. "You all right?" Her slight frame carried tension and the slight tremor of her hands spoke of delayed adrenaline rush and a major bout of nerves.

  She shot him a small grin, intertwining her fingers with his. "I am now. Thank you for coming with me. If you hadn't… I think things might have been much different."

  Her praise floated over him like a cool mist under the summer's intense heat. "You're welcome." Her rattled state ate at him, pushing him to seek a way of relieving her stress, but common sense told him he could only do so much. The images in her mind were imprinted for a lifetime.

  Giving her hand a squeeze, he leaned in to peck her cheek. "Hungry?"

  Riley shrugged. "Maybe."

  "Where do you want to go?" He left the question open-ended with every option on the table.

  Gazing straight ahead, Riley took a few beats to consider his offer. "What I would really like to do is pick up something to eat, take it home, and go for a long walk with Achilles." She twisted to face him. "Is that okay with you?"

  He smiled and nodded. She wanted to dash home to the safety of her small nook. Sounded like a great idea to him.

  "Of course." He pushed the key in the ignition. "Don't tell anyone, but that big lug has grown on me."

  As predicted, she matched his grin. "Good. Because I hope you two get to spend a lot of time together."

  Starting the engine, he drove to a nearby sub shop, purchased a couple of sandwiches, and headed to her apartment for an evening of hanging out with the woman he adored and her giant slobber-prone pet. He couldn't think of a single place he would rather be.

  Chapter 19

  Riley grinned as she typed 'The End' on her latest novel, an action/adventure that had given her fits and dug into her side like an obnoxious thorn most days. More than ready for a break, she saved the document, then turned off the computer, putting the latest book to rest for a few days before returning to search for mistakes.

  Her thoughts turned to the evening before when Spoon had surged to the rescue, easily disarming a potential murderer intent upon shooting her father then took out another, this one set upon taking her life in her father's stead. The whole surreal episode still perplexed and shocked her since she'd never considered such violence could happen in her small college town or that her only living relative would be the target. Even if she didn't care for her father as a person, he didn't des
erve to be executed on stage in front of his avid fans. A shudder ran down her spine when she realized the outcome would more than likely have been much different if Spoon hadn't tagged along for moral support. Jittery this morning, she slowly managed to work through the aftereffects through her writing, escaping into another world where happy endings were a given.

  The police had called earlier, explaining the whole situation to her, after the original shooter spilled the beans under interrogation. The gunman who shot at her, John Riggings, had a previous record and held an old grudge against her father for sending him to prison eons ago when her father had worked as a district judge before moving up to take a seat in the House of Representatives. Riggings had enlisted the assistance of a former cellmate to provide the distraction in hopes of causing enough confusion and terror as to take out the senator with no one noticing. As the first plan fell through, he opted for the secondary target. Her.

  Riggings obviously perceived her death would cause the senator great pain and heartache, not knowing the broken and jaded status of their relationship. It might have happened according to plan except Riggings hadn't counted on an ex-Green Beret being in attendance.

  Spoon. He'd risked his life for her, shielding her with his own body. The brave action spoke louder than any words. No fictional hero could have been more courageous, more chivalrous. For the rest of the evening, he'd stayed with her, touching her, holding her, simply being there for her to defuse from the earlier trauma. She'd wanted to ask him to stay the night, but bit the words back, unwilling to sound like a wimp or ninny who suddenly needed a babysitter. The fact remained she would have to spend nights alone, so as much as she might want to be pampered and babied, she would expect it the following night. And, the next, making it that much harder to be alone again. Better to suck it up in the beginning than try to work it out later.

  She sighed wistfully. He'd stepped up to the plate and hit a home run with the superb date straight out of one of her books. For a guy that claimed to know little about romance, he had managed to treat her to the best evening ever. Her only regret remained that he'd opted to leave instead of spend the night, sharing hours of passionate intimacy.