Ariadne's Thread

by Marie Treanor

  “Christ, woman, will you get off that bloody phone?” Shug demanded.

  Addie waved a shushing hand at him. “I think she’ll be fine now. Oh, yes, Jim’s great, not as legless as Shug.” Here, she cast a venomous glance at the Pycho-Weasel, who made an obscene gesture at her with his fingers. Johnny laughed. “Right, bye, Mum, I’ve got to go—thanks for this—bye.”

  Shoving the phone back in her jeans pocket, she glared round the room. “What?”

  Interestingly, it was Johnny who held her gaze. One of his best scornful smiles curling his handsome lips, he said inexplicably, “So that’s Kate.”

  “Fuck off,” said Addie. For the first time, it entered Tammy’s head that Johnny knew her already. Hadn’t he asked her if the female burglar was called Kate? And now it turned out her daughter was Kate. What was going on here?

  Frowning, she regarded her brother more closely. He was angry, as you might expect, furiously angry, and there was enough contempt in his scornful face to wither most ordinary mortals. And yet behind that was something challenging; bitter yet almost…teasing.

  He said, “Looks like there’s an argument after all for women staying at home with the kids.”

  “You’ve got that right, mate,” said Shug bitterly.

  “Och away and…!” Addie broke off, frowning. “Bugger. I bet you never brought chargers for these stupid phones?”

  “Chargers? I wouldn’t have given you the bloody phone if I’d known you were going to spend the night gossiping with your mammy.”

  But Addie ignored him. There was genuine distress in the way she dragged her fingers through that awful hair. Tammy found herself saying, “You can use the house phone,” just as if the girl was a guest, a normal woman distressed by the absence of her kid. Addie stared at her.

  “No you can’t,” said Shug smugly. “I cut the phone wire.”

  “You what?” Addie exclaimed.

  “Would you rather they were giving it this: ‘Oh, help, help, we’re being robbed! Summon the polis forthwith!’?”

  Jim and the big man—Malky?—accorded that a brief smirk, but Tammy paid little attention. She found herself unexpectedly overwhelmed with longing for the “polis” who had once been everything to her. Before she discovered he was a cheating bastard ratfink. In fact, she thought, with a desperate grab for better spirit, this was all his fault, because it was him she’d been heading up to the office to phone when she’d run across the robbery.

  Her eyes fell unhappily on Gavin, still silent by the window with Liz. Dan would have known how to deal with this crisis. Why couldn’t the bastard be here the only time he was ever likely to be useful?

  Addie said, “Christ, this is stupid!” and strode over to the window. Gavin and Liz hastily moved apart to give her room. “The snow’s gone off,” she reported with a tinge of hope in her voice. Abruptly, she swung back. “Have you got a radio? Something that’ll tell us the state of the roads round here?”

  Johnny just looked at her. It was Tammy who pointed to the old-fashioned radio on the mantle-shelf.

  “Good idea,” Malky rumbled. “Get Radio Teuchter there, Addie. Better be in English…”

  While they all watched the girl fiddling with the radio, Tammy sat down in her vacated place beside Johnny.

  “What about Jack?” she breathed, and knew by his impatient half-nod that he’d been thinking the same thing. “How do we stop them finding him? Or, Jesus wept, stop him coming down to look for us? It’ll be morning soon…”

  “The ghosts’ll look after him,” said Gran unexpectedly. “Even Kit has that much decency.”

  Johnny muttered, “I’m not prepared to take a chance on their ability, never mind their decency. I’ll go for a leak in a minute.”

  “They won’t let you go alone,” Tammy objected.

  “Why not? What do they imagine I would do with the rest of you held hostage? The phones are dead.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, brain-power is not their biggest advantage.”

  “Good point. Well, if it comes down to it, you’ll just have to make a diversion—scream or do something to bring any watcher back here… Leave it now, the moll’s coming this way.”

  Addie was indeed walking toward them, while carrying on the end of her conversation with her accomplices.

  “You want me to drive your useless arses, I need to sleep. Look after your own bloody hostages.” Her gaze flickered over Gran, Johnny and Tammy. To all of them and none of them she said, “I take it I can sleep anywhere?”

  She didn’t seem about to wait for the answer, just kept walking to the door, but Tammy said maliciously, “Try the third door on the left, on the first floor.”

  As if she couldn’t help it, Addie glanced back and nodded acknowledgement or even gratitude. She looked almost embarrassed and angry about it. Tammy wanted to laugh.

  “Trying to freak her out?” Johnny enquired.

  “Might as well. She can see the ghosts, you know. She’s already seen old Christopher.”

  “Well she might get more than she bargained for in that room.”

  ef

  Sleeping wasn’t easy. Although she’d well warned both Jim and Shug of the dangers of actually firing their guns, she could hardly be sure they’d stick to her advice. The old lady wasn’t remotely afraid of them—and all that kept John Maxwell quiet was the fear of what they would do to his family. If reasonable opportunity arose, she knew he would take it. And Tammy would help. The old uncle seemed almost as vague as the fluttery little woman who seemed to be John Maxwell’s mother—the accordion music fan. But Liz and Gavin were also unknowns. Though fear had kept them unnaturally quiet, Addie had the distinct impression of strong-minded, forceful people. Probably highly intelligent. Probably people she would like.

  The whole thing was such a bloody nightmare. All that kept Addie sane now was the prospect of getting back to Kate. And to do that, she needed sleep, and some sun to melt the snow…

  And yet every time she closed her eyes, scenes from the awful night replayed in her mind: Tammy cringing on the office floor while Shug pointed his handgun at her; the ghost of Christopher Maxwell shaking his head at her, as clearly visible as his own piano; John Maxwell, his eyes dark and smiling, telling her she was beautiful, kissing her, melting her bones with the touch of his amazing hands on her breasts. Then again, John Maxwell regarding her with searing contempt, falling under Malky’s huge fist, lying on the sofa like some immovable obstacle to her departure, even though he was even more helpless in this situation than she was.

  How did she get out of this? How did she forget his contempt or his kiss? Time, Addie, just time—cures everything, remember?

  Slowly, gradually, she began to drift into sleep till she lay in that peculiar state of the totally exhausted, mostly asleep, aware she was drifting into slumber and dreams and yet still able to control their direction.

  So naturally she conjured Johnny. She let him find her lying here in whosever bed this was. She let him sit beside her, even felt the depression of the mattress under his weight. His rumpled dark hair fell forward over his face, his eyes gleamed black with desire, and she didn’t even mind his mocking smile because it couldn’t hide the quickened panting of his breath as he drew back the covers and gazed at her naked body.

  Addie felt her nipples harden and tingle under his gaze.

  “Do you want me to suck those?” Johnny murmured. For answer, she arched her back provocatively and conjured away his jacket. His shirt hung loose, allowing her a good look at his chest, muscled and scattered with coarse black hair. Slowly, he bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth, rolling it around his tongue, sucking on it in a long, tender stream. His fingers closed on the other nipple, gently pulling. Addie slid her hands over his naked shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin, the hardness of his flesh, while his mouth and hand swapped places on her breasts, creating delight and desire in equal measure.

  Between her legs she was hot, aching. She arched he
r hips upward, and obligingly his hand left her breast to slide down over her stomach and find the burning wetness of her pussy, pressing her, gently kneading.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered, and he did that, too, with all the amazing tenderness he’d shown earlier, covering her mouth with his and turning it over and over, probing deeper and deeper with his tongue, while one hand kneaded her breast and the other wandered among the folds of her pussy, finding and caressing her clitoris just the way she liked it. Better than she’d ever liked it.

  The naked skin of his chest touched hers as he held her and stroked her pussy to a raging inferno of arousal and pleasure. Though his eyes blazed with his own desire, it was hers he attended to, pushing one finger inside her slick entrance while his thumb circled her clitoris. Addie moaned and writhed under him. Oh, yes, this was a dream worth having, an orgasm worth surrendering to, brought to it as she was by this man with the stormy, lustful eyes and the knowing, sensitive hands of a musician. And let’s face it, dreaming was the only way she was going to have him…

  Addie moaned as she drowned in pleasure, dreaming vividly now of the big, hard cock she knew he had, pushing its way inside her, sliding in and out. In a maelstrom of heat, she fell over the edge into joy.

  “Addie? Are you in here?”

  Chapter Six

  Oh, Jesus Christ, do you only exist to get in my way?

  Addie’s eyes snapped open. She was still orgasming as the door of the room pushed inward. Somehow she managed to grab at the fallen quilt, half-tugging it across her body. Through the haze of pleasure that still held her helpless, she gazed toward the door, waiting for Shug to appear. Instead, John Maxwell strolled into the room.

  The man of her dreams was more rumpled than ever, his black hair wild, his shirt opened most of the way down his chest, half in, half out of the kilt’s waist. Addie wanted to shout at him to get out, but as she was still in the throes of orgasm, only something like a whimper escaped from her lips. The sight of him at that precise moment was beautiful. It was appalling.

  Helplessly, she dragged her hand over her face, hiding it, hoping feebly that he would imagine she was just trying to wake herself up. It gave her a moment to get herself back under control—sort of—and when she looked again, Shug was hopping into the room, leaning heavily on a walking stick. In the other hand he grasped the inevitable gun, pointing it, of course, at John Maxwell.

  “Nice tits, Addie,” Shug said, “but there’s no need to show the world.”

  “Fuck off, Shug,” she said shakily. She dragged the quilt farther up and realized that, humiliatingly, John Maxwell was not looking at her but at the foot of her bed. Which is when, belatedly, she saw the naked man who sat there.

  His skin gleamed a warm shade of sepia. Long, tangled hair fell around his shoulders and across his curiously unclear but handsome face. Beside him stood another young man wrapped in a faded plaid. Through the latter’s body she could still see the window and the pale grey light of dawn gleaming through the curtains. They were both transparent.

  It seemed she was still dreaming, a dream now well out of control, but hey, it was a hell of a lot more fun than her waking life, so she was quite prepared to run with it.

  But no, Shug was distressingly real. He kept looking at her, as if willing the quilt to fall again.

  “No, really, Shug,” Addie said dangerously. “Fuck off.”

  “Thought you fancied a quick one for auld lang syne.”

  “Oh, I think she’s had one,” John Maxwell drawled inexplicably, though at least it drew Shug’s stare away from her.

  “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  The ghosts gazed silently at Johnny and shook their heads till even Addie felt their disapproval.

  Johnny sighed. “Nothing.”

  The naked ghost actually grinned and stood, revealing his whole body for the first time. Impressively whole if still weirdly transparent.

  Hastily, Addie dragged her gaze away from him. “What do you want, Shug? Is the road open?”

  “Not yet. Just there’re funny noises in the house. I think there’s someone else around. Your man here’s helping me track them down.” Shug spoke the last words with a sneer, jerking his head at his host.

  Addie said, “Why doesn’t Jim or Malky do that? They’re bound to be a shade quicker than your Long John Silver.”

  “I manage fine. And Jim’s watching the others. Malky’s upstairs, with his own hostage.”

  Addie closed her eyes on the word.

  “Hey, what’s that?” Shug demanded. “Have you got the window open in this weather?”

  Snapping her eyes open again, Addie saw the kilted ghost standing in front of Shug, its mouth pursed and angled as if blowing hard into Shug’s face. His hair actually lifted with the force, but clearly he couldn’t see the apparition.

  “Not me,” Addie denied, seizing her opportunity for petty revenge. “Shug, you do know this house is meant to be haunted?”

  “That’s shite,” Shug pronounced, though with a shade less certainty than usual.

  “I don’t know… You’ve heard things, I’ve seen things…”

  “What things?” Shug demanded, turning his body in an attempt to escape the inexplicable wind.

  “Ghostly things. I saw a man in the piano room.”

  “That was me,” Johnny interjected.

  Addie cast him a look of dislike. “Not unless you’ve got a false beard stashed in your sporran. And I think there’s something in this room, too…”

  “Get away,” said Johnny, perching on the side of the bed, the better to watch Shug’s spinning efforts to avoid the blowing ghosts. Eventually, Shug hopped over to the window, wrenched back the curtains to stare accusingly at the palpably closed sash. He propped up his stick against the wall, then leaned his shoulder there, too, for leverage before he shoved at the upper casement with both hands. Since he didn’t let go of the gun, Addie braced herself for it to go off. It might even be a good thing if he shot himself…

  Achieving nothing, he turned his attention determinedly to the lower. While the ghosts hovered watchfully, he tugged up the casement. But no sooner had he lifted it than it fell again with considerable force, dragging his hands back down. Shug wobbled precariously on his good foot. He had to grab at the wall for support, and Johnny was on his feet in an instant, lunging at him.

  “No, you don’t, you bastard,” Shug yelled, pointing the gun at him from his slumped position against the wall. Johnny paused, hands spread, and shrugged as if he didn’t care. He even sat back on the bed. Through the quilt, Addie could feel the bulk of his hip against her thigh. She pretended not to notice.

  Just then, Malky’s unmistakable voice rent the air, shouting from some distance away. “Shug! Shug! Come here!”

  Shug made a grab for his stick, just as the ghost began to blow it over. Though he managed to catch it, he wobbled onto his broken foot and howled with pain. Undeterred, he turned on Addie.

  “Get your arse up there and see what’s the matter with him. If he…” The door slammed shut on the rest of his orders, and Shug swore. There was a definite hunted look on his face now. With impressive haste, he began to hop toward the door. “Never mind,” he muttered. “I’ll go myself. Addie—watch him. Go where he goes, and if he does anything wrong, kick him in the balls. Hard,” he finished viciously, wrenching the door with more force than hope.

  It opened easily, rocking him backwards, but again he regained his balance and hirpled off out into the passage.

  “All right, Shug,” Addie called after him. “You run along!”

  Hysterical laughter bubbled barely below the surface, fed by the ghosts’ wicked grins. Even John Maxwell was regarding her with something like amusement behind his hooded, secretive eyes.

  “You know, I can’t make up my mind whether you’re actually a cruel, unpleasant person—or just in the wrong company.”

  “Oh, the wrong company, certainly,” Addie said bitterly. She met his gaze. “And I’m
cruel and unpleasant.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. And thank you for resolving the other paradox.”

  “What, that I can understand the word?”

  His lips twitched. “No. The fact that you came here to rob me—and yet when I kissed you in the study, I could almost swear you weren’t acting.”

  It felt as if her heart had stopped. The memory of that kiss heated her skin from the toes upward. Just for an instant, she allowed herself the impossible hope that he might not hate her, might even recognize the same magnetic attraction she felt to him.

  His dark eyes gleamed. His mouth curved faintly in a way that made her desperate to kiss it again.

  She swallowed. “And how exactly did you resolve this—paradox?”

  “With the help of Tweedle MacDum and Tweedle MacDee here.”

  Addie frowned with incomprehension. She’d forgotten all about the ghosts, who still drifted silently around the room. It seemed she’d also forgotten to be afraid of them. Johnny held her gaze, all her attention, her bruised, unformed dreams. “I can see you weren’t acting,” he said softly. “I can see you’re just a randy little slut who’ll take it any way she can get it.”

  Reaction was spontaneous, instantaneous. Her hand flew up not to slap but to punch, hard in the face. He caught it in the palm of his hand, absorbing the force and grasping her closed fist, and when she swung at him with her left hand instead, he caught that, too. She was borne backwards, both hands pressed into the pillows beside her head. His body covered hers. Even through the quilt, she could feel its heat.

  His gaze roamed deliberately across her naked shoulders, down the exposed parts of her breasts.

  “What now?” he taunted. “You want me to fuck you here, quickly, before your gangland friends return?”

  She did. God help her, she did. Her whole body pulsed so fiercely she was terrified he would feel it. “Go and fuck yourself, arsehole!” she spat at him.

  “Such heat,” he marveled. “And don’t think I wouldn’t if I could. It would solve a lot of problems. On the other hand you’re here, gagging for it, and I haven’t fucked anyone in more than a year.”