Brita smiled, nodding. “Well, thanks for your help.”
Percy extended a hand to Sam. “Percy Honeybun. Thanks for saving my brother’s life, I only have seven of them.” Percy looked around the room. “Although it would make getting some food a little easier if there were fewer of us.”
The Honeybun men all laughed, nodding.
Sam shook his head, smiling. “Eight brothers, I’d like to meet your mother some day.”
Pleasance grinned. “She’s pretty impressive.” She glanced up at Alf, wondering if he was thinking the same thing she was…about the Honeybun kitchen table. She hoped Mama Honeybun never figured out what she and Alf had done on that table.
As if reading her thoughts, Alf smiled at her then turned to Brita. “Did you get to sit in on the interrogation of those two terrorists Homeland picked up at the hotel?”
Brita nodded. “Tamarat has already demanded his phone call. But the other one seems to want to cut a deal. He gave us some good information.”
Percy nodded. “It seems they kidnapped a lot of women across the country and, like we assumed, drugged them, dressed them in Burqas, and sent them to the Middle East. They were used as leverage to get things they needed here in the States…”
“Like blueprints to buildings they wanted to attack, engineering designs for bridges they planned to blow up…”
“Music to detonate caps in malls…” Alf added nodding.
“So what happened to those women?” Pleasance was frowning. How awful it must have been to be kidnapped and dragged to a place where women had no rights.
Brita’s eyes fixed on Pleasance with understanding. Brita was a cop and she could hold her own with any of the men on the force, but she was a woman too, and she could empathize with the helplessness those kidnapped women must have felt. “We’ve located most of them and begun the process to get them home. It’s gonna be slow, however, some of their new ‘masters’ are powerful and filthy rich.”
“They don’t like the exposure this will bring to them, so they’re obfuscating,” Percy added.
Brita turned to Alf, “This Omar, the one who’s talking, he said something very interesting about Wilkes.”
Alf nodded, clearly interested.
“He said Wilkes was taken hostage from the party and later shown pictures of his sister in a Burqa.” She looked at him. “He did give them some information, like, for example, how to access your home.”
Alf shook his head, looking sad.
“But Omar claims he was killed as a message to someone else in the agency, someone much higher up.”
Alf felt the color draining away from his face. “Shit!”
Brita nodded. “Sounds like we still have a loose end to tie up.”
Alf looked at his older brother and nodded.
They said their goodbyes to Sam and left shortly after that. Pleasance declined riding home on the plane with the rest of them. “We’re driving,” Alfric announced. “Pleasance has had enough of Godric’s flying for a while.”
Godric looked appalled. “I’m an excellent pilot!”
Edric nudged him with an elbow. “You’re especially good with loop de loops.” They all laughed as most of the color leeched from Pleasance’s pretty face.
Heathcliffe patted her on the shoulder. “He was just giving you a hard time with that death spiral. I’m sure he won’t do it again.”
Alastair laughed, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
Pleasance glared at all of them. “I prefer the sound of terra firma under a good set of tires thank you very much.
“I know someone who would beg to differ about that,” Alastair said with a chuckle. They all joined him in a private laugh. When Pleasance looked confused Alf said, “You remember Angie?”
Pleasance nodded.
“She isn’t too fond of the way we drive.”
“Hairpin turns at sixty miles per hour and wheelies on the highway seem to freak her out for some reason.” Edric shrugged as if completely perplexed by Angie’s attitude.
Pleasance lost another ounce of blood from her face. “Oh great! I’m driving, Alf.”
Behind her back as they left, Alf winked at his brothers.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Emmett Clark was a careful man. He liked to control things around him to the greatest extent possible. He managed his environment with an iron hand, using variety and unpredictability as tools to keep himself off the radar.
Which was why he was surprised to see Alfric Honeybun stroll into the Italian restaurant where he was dining that night. He forced himself to smile as the younger man approached his table.
“Hello, Honeybun. What are you doing here?”
Without being invited, Alfric slid into the empty chair across from his old boss. “You’re a hard man to find, Emmett.”
Clark shrugged and sipped his wine. “You’re responsible for that, Honeybun. Your failure with Raia has brought a lot of heat to the agency.”
Alf didn’t respond. He just looked around the expensive restaurant. “Nice place.”
Clark shrugged his shoulders. Opulence was just an everyday occurrence for him.
Alf knew the man’s roots and had to wonder when that transformation had occurred. He certainly hadn’t grown up surrounded by wealth and luxury.
Alf signaled the waiter. When the man came over, pristine linen napkin folded precisely across his forearm, Alf ordered a beer, in the bottle, no glass.
Just to embarrass Clark.
“Honeybun, I’m expecting someone, so if you’ll just get to the reason for your visit…”
Alf looked pointedly at the meal on the table before his old boss. “Started without them, eh?”
The man just stared at him.
Alf accepted his beer from the waiter, who looked down a long, straight nose at him, nearly rigid with disdain. He took a deep pull off the icy bottle. “Mmm, that’s really good.” He slanted another look at Clark’s plate. “That looks good too, what is that, eggplant parmesan? Maybe I’ll order some of that.” He reached across and plucked a breadstick from the basket. “Do you mind? I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast and I’m starving.”
Clark’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing. His pale hands lay on the table, on either side of his untouched plate, the fingers twitching as if he’d like to grab something and squeeze it hard.
Alf thought he knew what that something might be.
“What do you want, Honeybun?”
Alf swallowed the bite of breadstick and sat back, giving Clark his full attention for the first time. “I want you, Clark. I want you in prison, wearing an obnoxious orange jumpsuit. I want you singing soprano in the prison shower choir. I want you to pay for all the people who were killed and injured because you decided to buddy up with a bunch of blood thirsty terrorists.”
Clark’s expression didn’t change much, only his eyes showed his surprise. “That’s ridiculous, you have no proof of that accusation.”
Alf’s smile wasn’t a nice one. “Oh, but I do, boss. I have a call made to you from jail by one Qamar Tamarat. I have a statement by one of our agents that you instructed him to abduct and incapacitate a star witness, one Pleasance Roberts.” Alf’s eyes all but shot sparks across the table as he thought of what the man across the table from him had put Pleasance through. “And I have a dead body, in an apartment, a fellow agent, executed, with two bullets from your gun. We’re still digging of course, but that’s enough to get started with. Don’t you think?”
Clark’s eyes had widened perceptively with each recital of the evidence against him, but he remained outwardly calm. “That’s all bullshit. You don’t have anything.”
Alf chuckled. “I see I’ll have to bring out the smoking gun.” He reached into the leather jacket he was wearing and pulled out a heavy sheet of paper, rolled tightly and secured with a rubber band.
Clark’s face lost all of its color when he saw it.
Alf smiled. “I see you recognize
it.” Alf unrolled the sheet of sketch paper so Clark could see the drawing of the University Bridge Pleasance had done. The points in the bridge’s structure where each of the explosive caps had been placed were all covered with purple circles. The address where the finished painting was to be shipped was written across one corner of the sketch, in Pleasance’s tidy handwriting. It was Clark’s address. “We uncovered several of these from the safe in your home.”
Clark was no longer paper white. His face now rivaled the eggplant on his plate for color. “How dare you enter my home without a warrant.”
A sheet of paper appeared in front of Clark’s nose. He looked up into a face that bore a striking resemblance to the man across the table from him, capped with short cropped bright red hair. “Here’s your warrant, Mr. Clark.”
“I don’t think you’ve met my brother, Percival.”
Percy threw Alf a glare and Alf grinned back at him. “Or my other brother, sitting over there enjoying a fine Cabernet and a juicy steak. That’s Godric.”
Godric gave Clark a little finger wave.
“Sitting next to him and enjoying the spaghetti with meatballs is Alastair.” Stair’s mouth was full so he just nodded.
“His date is my girlfriend, Detective Brita Muldane,” Percy added, giving Brita a little finger wave too. She glared at him.
A busboy appeared at the table, bearing a pitcher filled with ice water. “I’m Heathcliffe,” the busboy told Clark.
“More bread sir?” Clark looked up at the waiter for the first time. He had red hair too. “Oh, and that’s Warwicke.”
“Jesus god, man, how many frickin’ brothers do you have?”
Alf just shrugged. “Only seven.”
Clark looked down at the sheet of paper Percy had placed on the table in front of him. “You just got this warrant ten minutes ago.” He looked up, “You couldn’t possibly have gotten those sketches in the last ten minutes. It takes twenty minutes to get here from my house!”
Percy rolled the sketch back up, banded it, and handed it to Godric. “What sketches? Shall we go quietly now, sir?”
Brita clasped a set of handcuffs on Clark’s wrists and nudged him toward the door. He was flanked by Alf, Brita, and Percy. Brita had her gun jammed into Clark’s back. The rest of the brothers followed at a discreet distance.
They pushed through the outside doors into the warm, damp night. It was raining again, as it had been on and off all day. A limousine pulled up to the entrance as they emerged from the restaurant.
The valet opened the door of the long, white car and two young girls and their dates climbed out.
Brita grabbed Clark’s arm and they waited for the kids to pass before moving forward.
The teenage girls had their heads together and were talking rapidly, obviously excited by their special night out. Their dates tugged miserably at their ties and rolled their eyes.
One of the girls glanced over as they passed and saw Clark’s handcuffs. Because she was busy gawking, she didn’t see Clark’s leg shoot out to trip her. She fell forward with a squeal of alarm and landed on the handcuffed agent.
He fell into Brita and grabbed her gun. Then he lifted his cuffed arms and slid them over the girl’s head before she could regain her balance. He started backing with her toward the empty limo, his arms wrapped around the girl’s chest, and the gun held out in front of her.
He smiled at Alf. “I guess I won’t be joining that prison choir any time soon, Honeybun.”
He slid backward, dragging the hysterical teen with him as he moved toward the long, white car. Jerking his head at the valet he said, “Open that door and get the hell out of the way.”
“Yes, sir.”
The valet opened the door and stepped back. “You forgot something, sir.” Clark turned and saw the man’s red-blond hair just before the valet kicked the gun out of his hands and settled the muzzle of a gun against his throat. “You forgot to count all the way to eight.”
“Oh yeah,” Alf said. “Emmett, meet my brother, Clovis.”
Clancy had been sprung from the Honeybun home, where he’d been carefully tended by Angie during their impromptu visit to Minneapolis. He snored softly on Pleasance’s couch, his belly full of dog crunchies and a few yummy extras from Pleasance’s meal prep. She smiled at him from the kitchen as he chirped joyfully in his sleep, his enormous legs kicking and twitching as he dreamed, most likely about chasing mice in his warehouse home.
Behind her, in the dining area, large, vanilla scented candles perfumed the air and flickered from a table set for two with elegant china dishes and gold flatware. Soft music wafted through the house, creating the aura of soft seduction Pleasance intended.
She leaned over the pot on the stove and carefully took a taste from the spoon. The asparagus cream soup was nearly done. The salmon with dill was warming in the oven. The wonderful aroma of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen, and a fruity Zinfandel rested in an ice bucket next to the table, waiting to be poured into gold-rimmed crystal goblets.
Pleasance adjusted her apron and reached up to push an errant wisp of hair off her flushed face.
She glanced at the clock on the wall and hoped Alfric would be on time. As if on cue, the doorbell rang.
She wiped her palms on the apron and grinned in anticipation.
Alfric heard her call out for him to come in and reached for the doorknob. When he opened the door he was greeted by a large, wet nose in the crotch.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t Pleasance.
Alf crouched down and scratched Clancy behind the ears. “Hey buddy. You doin’ okay? It sure smells good in here.”
“You hungry?’
Alfric looked up and almost swallowed his tongue. He stood up and forced his mouth to close. “Starved.”
His gaze wandered slowly over her, savoring every creamy inch. He smiled. “Nice hat.”
She grinned, reaching up to touch the tall, white chef’s hat. “Thanks, I thought I should wear it since I’m dishing up delicacies tonight.”
Alf gulped audibly. “You certainly are.”
She smiled. “You haven’t even seen what I have yet.”
He took a step closer. “Oh, I think I have.”
Pleasance giggled. “Do you like my apron?”
Alf took another step. “I love your apron.”
She ran a finger across the top of the white canvas. “It has a pocket.” Her voice was slightly breathless.
He took another step. “I really like the pocket too.”
Pleasance gasped as he took another step and slipped his arms around her waist. “What’s your favorite part of my outfit?” Her voice came out in a husky whisper as his lips lowered to kiss along the exposed mounds of her breasts above the apron.
Alf smiled as he slid his hands over the silky skin of her hips and cupped her naked buttocks. He pulled her up tight against his body. “The parts that are missing.”
Then, he lifted his head and captured her lips hungrily.
That was when he decided, no matter how good dinner was, it would have to wait. He had more exotic delicacies to savor first.
The End
www.samcheever.com
Author Bio
Award winning author Sam Cheever mixes in a little fun, a little adventure, and a little real-life spice to create her sexy fantasy and romantic suspense stories. Sam’s fictional peeps fight their way through a dizzying array of dangerous challenges without letting little things like mean tempered ex girlfriends, dangerous villains, or angry, manipulative gods dampen their zest for life and hot love!
To find out more about Sam and her work, please pay her a visit at any one of the following online hot spots: her website; her author page on Facebook; her MySpace page; or her blog. She always loves to chat with readers.
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Life, Liberty, and Pursuit of a Honeybun
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