by Lynn Rae
A big step. He’d taken a huge leap for her. Was it her turn to confess what she wasn’t sure she even understood?
“I really like you too.” Such inadequate words, she felt ashamed to even utter them. He didn’t seem to mind how trite she sounded for he murmured something low in his throat and kissed her, a deep, intimate kiss that would have knocked her to the floor if she hadn’t already been there. She’d thought she was taking the lead with him, bringing him out of his shell and enticing him to her, but she now realized she’d fallen for him instead.
“Would you like to stay?” She couldn’t bring herself to set a time limit on their interaction, couldn’t say stay tonight, stay all night. Stay with me, please.
“On one condition.” Paul shifted his arms and hips against hers. “We get in bed; lying on this floor is killing my back.”
Chapter 9
All day Emily had been running on autopilot. Waking up with Paul, after she’d convinced herself it was never going to happen again, had made her light-headed and giddy for hours. He’d suggested she call in sick and stay with him in her cozy bedroom, but there was too much work waiting for her. So they’d left her home at the same time, after a shared shower and some breakfast. She’d managed toast while he cooked eggs and despite the near-constant distractions of mutual caresses and tiny kisses, nothing burned and it all remained edible.
She’d plowed through all the routine matters at the city building, chatted with Angie about how nice the Sugar Beet Festival had been and speculated about who might have butchered the statue, checked on how the reward notice looked online, then made the mistake of looking at the decapitated statue’s Facebook page to find it had two hundred and twenty-seven likes. What kind of person liked that sort of thing?
When Angie called her out to the lobby, it was a relief to take a break from the computer. She walked up to the counter and discovered someone had delivered a huge bouquet of flowers, roses in varying shades of coral and white. The card, in what she assumed was Paul’s handwriting, was addressed to Dreamsicle, and invited her to lunch. A warm flush rose up from the toes he’d caressed the night before to her neck, still tender from the scrapes of his stubble. Angie’s eyebrows had never been higher as she examined the floral arrangement.
“Didn’t know Mrs. Volker had such ooh-la-la flowers. I’ve never seen something like this outside one of those fancy wedding magazines.”
Emily willed herself not to blush and give anything away. The roses were exuberant and luxurious and something she’d never have expected. She picked up the vase and nearly tipped it over it was so heavy.
“Maybe you should just leave it out here until you head home. I doubt there’s room for it and you in that office.” Angie grinned, clearly enjoying Emily’s uncertainty. “They’ll give everyone who comes through here a lift.”
Emily shook her head and lifted up her flowers with greater caution. Maybe it was selfish, but she wanted to look at them in private. The roses were a manifestation of so much she’d shared with Paul, and she hated the idea that others might intrude.
After she’d managed to get the bouquet back to her office, she sent Paul a quick text of thanks and agreed to his offer of lunch. Emily moved the bouquet around until she’d found the best angle and then sat down to admire it for a moment. Shaking her head at her silliness, she returned her attention to the computer screen and did a quick search for any new posts about the statue vandalism. She’d been periodically scanning the feeds to see if there had been any updates or rumors posted. There wasn’t a new, bright blue link on top of all the purple ones she’d already clicked through, so she decided to revisit the statue’s Facebook page, masochistically wondering if any other person had “liked” it in the last few minutes. With a click, she opened it up sat back in shock.
Someone had added a new picture to the page. This time it was someone holding up a copy of that day’s edition of the Palmer Citizen next to the head. She had the same copy lying on her desk, open to the section reporting the glories and wonders of the Sugar Beet Festival.
“Angie! Can you come in here?” Emily shouted out, excitement skittering through her.
Within a few seconds, the admin assistant was peering over her shoulder at the photo.
“Are they asking for a ransom?”
Emily shrugged as she peered at the limited information on the screen. The photo had been posted within the last ten minutes. There was a caption below declaring the reward offer was too low.
Angie shifted on her feet. “Want me to call the mayor?”
Emily nodded. Paul would be here soon, and she didn’t want to be on the phone with his sister when she saw him. It would feel strange. “I’ll call the police.”
She scrabbled on her desk for the card Mitchell Walton had given her and found his number and e-mail address. As she dialed, she copied the link and sent a quick note to him with the image as an attachment and then copied it to Shelly and the other members of the committee. Her call went directly to voice mail so she left as concise a message as possible and hung it up, wondering what everyone’s take on the demand would be. She heard someone at the door and looked up, expecting Angie but finding Paul instead. He was wearing khaki’s, a red fleece jacket over a blue shirt, and the sexiest smile she’d ever seen.
Her heart turned over, and she rose up from her seat and went to him, drawing him in her office and pushing the door closed behind him before reaching up to kiss him.
“Hi,” he whispered as she wrapped her arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. “Did you like the clichéd flowers?”
“The most beautiful ever.”
He smiled and her already warmed body thrummed with desire. She’d never had sex on a desk, but with Paul, she was willing to try. He must have read something of her thoughts in her eyes because he tightened his grip on her and bent her back slightly.
“I keep remembering how you looked this morning. How you sounded, felt, tasted. So silky sweet.”
As he reminded her of what he’d done with his mouth a few hours before, her sex clenched and she sighed. “Do we have to eat lunch? Can’t we just go somewhere and—”
“No. We still haven’t gone anywhere for any date we’ve had. We’re going to eat somewhere in public this afternoon. Maybe hold hands under the table. That’s all.” Paul’s stern words were offset by the gentle strokes of his fingertips against her back. “I have something for you.”
“I know. That’s why I suggested we go somewhere more private.”
Huffing out a laugh, Paul shook his head and let go of her long enough to reach inside his jacket and pull out a magazine. Taken aback, she narrowed her eyes and studied the cover as he handed it over. Gray water and a glowing-white-and-gold facade, St. Mark’s in Venice.
“This whole issue is on Italy. I thought you’d enjoy it.” Paul watched her and waited for approval. Her breath left her body in a rush and tears pricked in her eyes.
“Oh, that’s so kind. Paul, I don’t know what—”
“Make a cup of tea and read it cover to cover. Oh, and I got you these, too.” He reached back into his jacket and retrieved a small, gold-foiled box of chocolates. With a little shrug he handed it over. “More clichés.”
A bone-deep wave of affection welled up inside, and she leaned up to give him a deeper kiss, wanting to touch him as much as he’d just impressed her. Just when he began to respond in a more focused way, and she wondered if they could simply grab lunch at a drive through and find a quiet place to park, her door swung open and knocked them apart.
Angie stood there, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, and Emily realized her tentative relationship with Paul was now headline news in Palmer, Ohio.
“Oh! Hi, Paul. Didn’t know you were here,” the other woman stammered as her cheeks reddened.
Desperate to act unconcerned, Emily slid her hands from Paul’s body as she took a slow step back.
“We’re going to lunch. Soon. What did the mayor say?”
“She’s in an
unholy uproar,” Angie replied quickly and gave Paul a guilty glance.
“What’s happening?” Paul rubbed his fingers against his temple as he glanced between the two of them.
“Emily found another picture of your head. I mean the statue’s head. Not your head.” Angie was now beet red and sliding out of the doorway in full retreat. Emily had never seen the other woman so flustered. “Gotta go call some, ah, earwig exterminators for quotes. That problem in the bathroom. With the earwigs.”
As the admin assistant rushed off down the hallway, Paul gathered her up again and stroked his thumb along her cheek. “I don’t think she’s going to call exterminators.”
Emily agreed with a nod and pushed back the wave of dread threatening to overwhelm her. How difficult was it going to be when people around the building realized she and Paul were involved? Some would think she was being opportunistic, taking advantage of a vulnerable man and getting undue influence with the mayor at the same time. Others would probably make catty remarks about the age difference. Taking a calming breath, she adjusted her grasp on the lovely travel magazine and chocolates Paul had given her and reached up to cup her hand around his cheek in the way she’d already learned he liked.
“How about you show me what’s new with old Great-Great-Uncle Peter’s head and then we get lunch?” Paul said with a twinkle in his eye. He didn’t seem to be too torn up about his massacred ancestor.
Emily couldn’t stop her chuckle and after a moment, Paul joined in as he followed her around her desk to look at her computer screen. She pulled up the photo, and he studied it silently.
“Did you already send this to everyone?”
“Sure did.”
He looked away from the screen and smiled at her. “Of course you did. What do you think Shelly—”
Paul’s phone rang, and he excused himself as he answered. Within a few seconds he declared he was putting it on speaker and set the device on Emily’s desk. Shelly’s outraged voice soon filled the air. “I’m on speaker? Who’s there?”
Emily cleared her throat and spoke up. The phone made a rude little blat of static.
“Of course you’re there too. Anyone else?”
Paul said it was just the two of them, and Shelly rumbled right along. “Oh, so sorry to break up your date. Paul, what should we do?”
Emily looked up at him as he stared at his phone with a perplexed scowl. “How should I know, Shelly? I’ve never negotiated a ransom before.”
“I’m looking at it right now,” Shelly snapped, and Emily could picture her pulling out reading glasses in order to squint at the screen. “They want more than we offered. Shitty little extortionists. I say we stick with our reward and not negotiate; otherwise this thing will drag out until Christmas. I’m e-mailing Dave and Roger…”
“Sounds reasonable,” Paul said as Shelly’s voice trailed off. With a little grin, he reached out for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. Rather than stay seated in front of her computer screen, Emily rose up and leaned against him, her arms wrapping around his waist under his jacket. He pulled her tight and rubbed his nose under her earlobe. Stifling a giggle, she sighed and slid one of her thighs between his, quivering as she pressed against his clenched leg muscles. He hummed in her ear and she nipped his jaw, enjoying how his whole body jerked in response.
“You keep that up, and we won’t make it through lunch,” he whispered.
“Stop being so sexy,” she whispered back.
“I’m not sexy. I’m an electrical engineer.”
She couldn’t help it; she chuckled. Paul landed a kiss on her cheek while sliding his hands down to cup her rear.
“I can hear you.” Shelly squawked from the phone, and Emily drew back with a guilty start, fearful the formidable women could see her through the device.
“What would you like us to do?” Emily spoke up, trying to regain some professional ground.
“Oh, nothing. I’ll keep checking the city e-mail for an actual contact. There have been a few messages already, but I’ve asked each to provide some sort of evidence they have Great-Great-Uncle Peter. So far nothing.”
“Maybe the new picture with today’s paper is their response.” Emily wanted to take back her suggestion as soon as she made it. She stared at the phone like it might jump at her as she waited for Shelly’s response.
“Huh. That’s pretty stupid—”
“It’s not stupid, Shelly.” Paul cut in and squeezed his hands around her waist to steady her. His immediate defense of her made her knees weak and she was glad he was holding her up.
“Cool it, Paul. I didn’t say Emily was stupid, but rather it’s stupid of the culprits to offer up proof when we have no way to know which contact is correct. I can’t very well go on Facebook and set up some exchange in a public forum, now can I?” Shelly was quick with her rebuttal and Emily wondered what it had been like to grow up in the Ellison household. Then she wondered if either of Paul’s parents were still alive and if she might meet them someday. With a little shiver, she contemplated what her brother and parents might think of Paul. Families made things so complicated.
“I’m going to e-mail each of the crackpots that’s already contacted us and tell them today’s picture doesn’t confirm anything and ask for something verifiable. Something only a person looking at the head would know.”
“Like what, Shelly? We never got a good look at Peter before he was decapitated.”
“I don’t know, Paul. These idiots are going to have to convince me they’re the real deal before I set up a meet,” Shelly said with a hiss. She was as irritated by inefficient criminals as she was by too much red tape in government.
“Set up a meet. What are we, undercover cops?” Paul whispered in her ear and she huffed out another giggle. Oh, he was going to get her in trouble.
“I don’t even want to know what you two are doing. Emily, keep me updated on this Facebook page.” Shelly didn’t even bother to say goodbye before she disconnected the call.
Despite how good she felt being in Paul’s arms, Emily still shrank a bit at Shelly’s barely concealed disapproval.
Paul must have noticed her mood shift because he slid his hands up to frame her face as he peered at her, kindness glowing in his dark eyes. “Don’t let her get you down. Come on, let’s go have lunch.” He grabbed her hand and led her from her tiny office, commenting since Angie knew, everyone else in town would know by the end of business today, so why not hold hands in city hall?
Four hours. That’s how much time he had to fill before he could pick Emily up and escort her to Halloween parties that evening. Paul didn’t feel like diving in to a new schematic a friend had asked him to look over; the laundry and dishes were done, so he searched for something to distract him while the hands on the clock rotated.
He opened up his computer and logged in to his e-mail account. Maybe someone had sent him something interesting. That was about as likely as his winning the lottery and moving to Bora Bora. The thought of Emily in a tiny red bikini lolling on a pristine tropical beach distracted him for several moments as he leaned back in his chair and contemplated how long it would take to fly there and if Emily could get any time off. Thinking of her, he opened up the e-mail she’d sent him with the link to the photo of Great-Great-Uncle Peter’s head.
He took a look at the distressing image. Once he decided not to stare at the dour metal face, Paul scanned the surrounding image. Poured concrete floor and new-looking. The edge of a metal wall filled one side of the picture. It was corrugated gray metal, and also new-looking, no specks of rust or dirt to be seen. Now he frowned, put on his reading glasses, and leaned closer to inspect the foot and hand of the person holding the paper. The vandal was wearing a nondescript brown leather shoe, sneaker-style and not trendy. He had a similar pair in his own closet. Nothing a teenager would be caught dead in. The jeans were also something worn by an older person, too bland to be anything other than a middle-aged man. The pudgy-fingered hand also indicated age,
wrinkled and veiny, the knuckles swollen with years of work and strain.
Paul swallowed as he took in the evidence. No kids had decapitated the statue; it had been done by someone most likely in his demographic. But why?
Were there any other clues he’d missed? Taking a scientific approach, Paul studied each quarter of the image and the only new item he noticed was a ring on the hand, or a glimpse of a ring to be more accurate. It was thick and gold with a barely distinguishable reddish stone. It definitely looked like a class ring, the sharply cut lettering on the side indicated nothing less. He could make out an “alm.” Paul squinted, somehow reminded of something as he looked it over. Could it be?
Rising from his seat, he went to the closet and pulled out one of the fireproof boxes stored inside. One contained the jewelry his mother had left him. He’d already given Courtney most of Karen’s jewelry, but he still had his mother’s pieces. They were more old-fashioned and his daughter preferred the things her mother had worn. After unlocking the lid, he pulled out the boxes inside, yet again reminding himself to label the things in some systematic way. Scuffed leather boxes filled with pearls, garnets, and diamonds set in gold piled up on the carpet until he found his target: a plain cardboard box filled with miscellaneous things. He opened it up to discover his wedding band, Karen’s engagement ring, tiny extracurricular participation pins from their youth, and there finally, his old high school class ring. Holding it up in the light, he studied the heavy gold band. He’d chosen a ruby since it matched the Palmer High School colors, and he still remembered how much extra it had cost.
He returned to his desk and held the ring up to the image on the screen. The few letters visible on the photo were a perfect match to his. Damn. But how was he supposed to track down a middle-aged man with a Palmer class ring in a town full of people who fit that description. He’d have to contact the police with this new bit of evidence. He toyed around with trying to enlarge the image but gave up after a few wasted minutes. His time would be better spent with reviewing the new schematic from one of his students at Kettering Labs, not playing one of the Hardy Boys and thinking he could impress Emily by solving the case of the missing bronze head.
