Spring Into Love

by Chantel Rhondeau

  “I’ll be right with you,” she said to him. After one more set of oohs and ahs she handed the boys back their report cards.

  He gave her a nod and studied the front of the store while listening to the conversation behind him. Older computers, household appliances, and sports equipment filled the front half of the space. Closer to the counter, he saw electric and acoustic guitars hanging from the ceiling. Amplifiers lined the walls.

  She clapped her hands, pulling his attention to her again. She said, “Okay, troops, line up single file and head for the exit. I’ve got work to do.”

  The boys groaned and she grinned at them. When they turned, he could see them better. Identical triplets.

  “Now,” she said. “If you see my brother, tell him to get his butt home. I want to see how he did on his science quiz.”

  “Ah, Dix,” one of them said, “Quit worrying. Riley’s gonna make it. All the way.”

  “Yeah,” the other two chimed in. “All the way, Riley, all the way, Riley!” they chanted until she whistled loud enough to be heard over the din.

  “Like I said line up and get a move on.” She clapped her hands again to shoo them along.

  The boys trooped past him single file until they reached the door. Then they jammed up, arms and legs and elbows wedging their way through.

  He was hard-pressed not to laugh, but he managed. He wasn’t here to be amused. He was here to get an overall impression of the woman.

  As soon as the boys squeezed their way out the door, he was alone with her.

  Center stage.

  * * *

  Dix’s day was going pretty well. And now she had an honest-to-God browser by the front of the store. After the Fanelli boys had squeezed their way out the door, she sized up the stranger as best she could. He stood with his back to the window, so she couldn’t make out his face. His silhouette was imposing, but that didn’t faze her.

  At her size, not many people intimidated her physically, and in her profession, she met a lot who tried.

  He stepped closer and out of the window’s glare. He was broad in the shoulders. Good looking, too. “And what can I do for you, Good Lookin’?” She flashed her best shopkeeper’s smile. It wasn’t like her to use flirtatious talk, but it had just popped out.

  That’s what happened when she spent too much time alone.

  The stranger’s all-encompassing gaze said ‘cop,’ but she knew all the locals and didn’t recognize him. “You must be new around here,” she said in a questioning tone, which he ignored.

  He trailed a finger over an amplifier as he moved closer. He leaned over to give it a better look, and she drew in a breath at his profile. Strong nose, commanding chin, high-ridged brow bone. She’d been right: this was one good looker.

  “Just browsing,” he said in a smoky blues club voice. She had an ear for voices, and his was strong and warm with just a hint of rasp that could, if she let it, trail down her spine. She closed her eyes to help her absorb the sound and let it slide to her vitals. Mm-mm. Fine.

  She suddenly remembered she was alone in the store, except for Razor, who only looked like a nasty dog. He was still in a happy stupor from the kids petting him. She slanted him a glance and toed him in the side. He lifted his head and cocked it. She clicked her tongue and he stood without a sound.

  This man had waited for the boys to leave so they would be alone. She hated when that happened.

  She idly placed her right hand over the screwdriver she’d been using on the stuck cash register drawer and cupped her other hand over the panic button just under the counter.

  She studied him. His new leather jacket said he wasn’t likely a junkie or a robber. Still, he walked with deliberation toward her. Observation, honed by years of practice, told her he never moved quickly. If he were a buyer, he’d be decisive once he found the item he wanted. He would go after anything he wanted. And get it.

  Warmth bloomed deep in her chest as she watched him raise his face to the ceiling to study the guitars. She’d been right about his chin.

  Razor leaned against her calf and jutted his head around her leg. He peered through his lookout hole in the counter’s swinging door. She could handle just about anyone with Razor at her side.

  She knew the exact moment when the man noticed the dog.

  Razor wasn’t what anyone would call ‘cute.’ The black and white pit bull was scarred and marked by abuse with one ear half chewed off. Most people stopped dead at sight of him.

  Not this guy. His step faltered for a split second, but when Razor didn’t bark or growl, he continued to move toward her.

  Which she decided was a sign of character.

  http://www.bonnieedwards.com/books/love-in-a-pawn-shop/

  Note to Readers

  If you enjoyed Sweet Ride! Please share the love by telling your friends and other readers by posting a review on the site where you purchased it. When I decided to “go it alone” with my stories I had to dig deep for courage again, just the way I did before I sold my first book. Reviews help all writers move ahead with their goals. And believe me, we all need the help!

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Yours happily ever after,

  Bonnie

  Meet Bonnie Edwards

  Bonnie Edwards came to writing romance the long, hard way: by trial and error, through years of rejection, always determined to succeed. With this first book, (originally titled: This Heart of Mine, written as Bonnie Adams) she finally won the battle. She went on to write many more titles for various publishers such as Harlequin’s Blaze and Kensington’s Aphrodisia line.

  She lives with her husband and various pets in the majestic Pacific Northwest. When she's not writing, she's hiking with her husband and their Standard Poodle. Bonnie loves to hear from readers at bonnie@bonnieedwards.com

  Other romance books by author

  Love in a Pawn Shop

  Body Work (The Brantons book 1)

  Slow Hand (The Brantons book 2

  Perdition House Part 1 (An Erotic Saga)

  Perdition House Part 2 (An Erotic Saga)

  Rock Solid (Tales of Perdition 3 & The Brantons 3)

  Short Romances:

  Long Time Coming

  The Stone Heart

  Sample Chapters for all these and more at http://www.bonnieedwards.com/

  Happy Reading!

  Bonnie Edwards

  Liveon

  No Evil

  Stacy Eaton

  Copyright © 2013 by:

  Stacy Eaton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  This book was built at IndieWrites.com. Visit us on Facebook.

  Chapter 1

  October - Jacquelyn

  There are two things that inevitably happen whenever you are picking someone up at the airport. First, you could be running late, and when you finally arrive, you find the person you’re meeting standing by the curb tapping their foot with impatience because their plane got in ten minutes early. Or, you might be extremely early just to find out that the plane is running way behind schedule. The latter would be today.

  So here I find myself standing in the United Airways terminal at the Philadelphia International Airport looking up at the arrival screen and re-reading that my friend’s flight is still thirty minutes out. Freaking wonderful. Like I’ve got nothing better to do than to sit around and wait for Rebecca to get in.

  Oh wait, I don’t have anything better to do. That’s right. I have no life other than my extremely busy career and hanging out with a few friends once in a while. I don’t have a family waiting at home for me or any pets that need attention. It’s just little ole me, Jacquelyn Liveon.

  I glanced around and found a nice, solid white pillar to lean against where people couldn’t walk up behind me. I don’t like people where I can’t see them, especially ones I don’t know. As a poli
ce officer, it’s been ingrained in my brain that you always know what’s at your back. No matter where I am, I always prefer to be against a wall or facing the doorway so that I can see what’s coming my way. I don’t like surprises, ever.

  I stood against the cold stone and scanned the area for a few minutes. If I have to be in a crowd, which I’m never really comfortable with, I like to people watch. People watching is another thing that police officers like to do, more out of habit than anything else. By watching closely, we can read what’s going on. We rely heavily on body actions to tell us when a person is being honest or about to become aggressive.

  As I glanced around, I saw a guy trying to pick his right nostril without being seen; he wasn’t doing a very good job at it and I wrinkled up my nose and continued to observe the crowd. A woman in a tight white pencil skirt—totally inappropriate for flying, in my opinion, was trying to work a wedgie out of her butt crack by walking funny. She was getting quite a bit of attention and not just from me. Several tired looking male businesspersons rolled their briefcases or overnight bags watched her walking wiggle. At this time of night, they were probably just making it home after a long day of work. Sad to think, she was their entertainment.

  It wasn’t all that busy here since it was nine o’clock at night. The rush over for the day, but there were still a good number of people wandering and waiting. I looked at my watch, another twenty minutes until Becca’s plane landed. I wish I’d grabbed a cup of coffee before I got here; I passed a popular coffee shop about ten minutes away from the airport, but I was worried I’d be late if I stopped. Being the good friend that I am, I had passed up on my need for caffeine. There weren’t any coffee stands on this side of the security gate either, so I had to wait until we left to get my much needed fix.

  I pulled out the cell phone that I’d slipped into the side pocket of my cargo pants and browsed through some work emails that I hadn’t had a chance to answer. Occasionally, I lifted my head and glanced around, keeping my eye out for any trouble. It was a hazard of the job, never fully being able to relax, always waiting for something bad to happen, or for someone to yell for help.

  I went back to my emails after watching a family drag four suitcases and two tired children past me. Maybe it was the energy that caught my attention next, or just the fact that there was a lot of movement to my right, but I turned to see an entourage of people coming in from the parking garage. They climbed onto the walking escalator; you know, that moving sidewalk that makes you feel like you’re walking three steps for every one you actually take.

  I personally loved those things, but I hated when I got on and lazy people were blocking both lanes. There were signs above that explained how to use it in both words and pictures, but obviously, the entourage wasn’t paying any attention. They were the type who’d get under my skin because they stood in a large group and blocked the passing lane.

  Everyone appeared happy and they were talking over one another. There were six people in the group, two men and four women, all dressed casually but expensively, and they appeared to be traveling light with only one small bag for each of them. I watched as they climbed off the walking platform and looked around, unsure of exactly where they were going.

  I figured they were either going to step into the security line or step up to the ticket counter. They did neither. They continued to mill around and talk, blocking the exit off the moving platform.

  I heard giggling to my left and turned my head to see two young girls, probably about eighteen, chortling to themselves and staring at the group. They took out their cell phones and started snapping pictures. When I looked back at the group again, I noticed that one of the men was smiling down into a woman’s face. She beamed brightly back up at him.

  “Wait till everyone sees these pictures of Ryan Palmer!” I heard one of the girls giggle.

  “Oh my God, he is so freaking hot,” the other one replied.

  Ryan Palmer was a film star, I knew that much, but not much else. He’s probably in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, and from the few movies I’d seen of his, he was a pretty good actor. As I watched the group, I saw the man glare at the young girls and quickly look away, turning his back on them to shield his face. Huh, it really was him.

  “Did you see that? He just looked at us!” I heard the giddy voices of the girls giggling as they spoke back and forth to each other. Man, to be young and silly again. Yeah, or not. I rolled my eyes.

  Just then, an airport police officer walked up and told the girls if they didn’t get outside and move their car right this second, it would be towed. It was my turn to chuckle. I could only imagine how much that towing bill would cost. I watched as the girls followed the police officer, turning to look over their shoulders at Ryan one more time before he was out of their sight.

  I glanced back at the group and saw that Ryan was now eyeballing me. I held his stare for a moment and then looked away. He was most likely wondering if I was trying to snap his picture, too. I shook my head. Not likely. I was not a groupie of any sort, and the thought of falling into the hoopla of some mega movie star was not my deal.

  I put my cell phone away and crossed my arms over my chest. I looked over the crowd that had gathered in the area, many of them rubber necking to get a peek at the six people congregating as more and more people began to recognize him. I surveyed them as I waited. One man, about thirty, seemed a bit out of place. It was about seventy-five degrees outside—warm for a fall night—but he was wearing a heavy jacket. Immediately, my instincts were on alert.

  I observed him as he peered nervously around; he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. I could see a slight sheen of sweat on his face. The fine hair on the back of my neck rose rather quickly. I followed his train of sight and found that it led right to Ryan’s group. Ryan was inspecting me again, and I considered him for a moment. I could tell his eyes were a bright blue even from the distance between us. I wondered how much brighter they would look up close. I blinked and looked at the floor. Where did that even come from?

  I turned my attention back to the suspicious guy, taking in every detail about him. From his thinning brown hair to his metal-framed eyeglasses, all the way down to his ratty Nike sneakers. Something was up, and it wasn’t going to be good. Figures. I left my off-duty weapon at home. I shook my head at my own stupidity; I never leave it at home. It’s always the one thing that you need when you don’t have it—right now being the perfect example.

  The man continued to peer around nervously and always returned his sight to the group who had now moved over near a window. I continued to keep my eye on him, and I found myself standing up straight, no longer leaning against the pole. My arms came down to my sides and I scanned the large area quickly to see if there were any police officers in the area. Nope, none. Great…just great.

  As the movie star entourage started to move toward the security line, the strange guy tensed, and I noticed that there was a bulge in his pocket that caused the material to droop. Based on its outline, he appeared to be concealing something heavy. If I took wild guess, I’d say that it was probably a gun. Little jolts of adrenaline started to spike through me. This could get really ugly, fast.

  The man followed the group toward the security checkpoint. He had to walk quickly to catch up, his strides longer than what was reasonable for a man of his size. I kept pace right behind him, ready to move when I saw a chance. The group was so involved in itself; they didn’t notice anything happening around them. Normal behavior for most people.

  One of the ladies in Ryan’s group dropped something on the ground, and two of the other women stopped to wait for her to pick it up. Ryan and the other two people in his traveling group continued on, oblivious to what was going on behind them. They were separated now, easier to pick them off. This was not good, I moved closer to the suspicious man.

  When they were about forty feet from the security checkpoint line, the man began to pull out his hand, and in his palm was a semi
-automatic pistol. My instincts had been dead on. I stepped into action without a second thought. Why I did what I did, I will never know; but it was just the start of things to come.

  Instead of grabbing the guy or going for his gun, I stepped in front of him, blocking his view of Ryan, who apparently was his target. At the same time, I put my hand on Ryan’s arm to gain his attention and push him back. He turned to me but my focus was already on the man holding the gun, my back to Ryan. I felt him stiffen beneath my touch, or maybe that was the wave of fear that flew out of him and slammed against my back.

  I looked the guy in the eye, but he didn’t see me; his gaze was trained over my head at Ryan. Although his attention was on the man behind me, he pointed the gun directly at my chest. A fierce stab of adrenaline surged through my veins at the sight of the muzzle. I heard a woman scream, but I didn’t look to see where it came from. It sounded like it came from a distance, but my tunnel vision had kicked in and the outside world faded as I concentrated on the subject in front of me.

  “Whoa! What’s going on?” I asked him quietly.

  The man’s gaze flicked to me quickly and then moved back to Ryan. “Move!” he yelled.

  “Sorry, but I can’t. Why are you pointing a gun at me?” I asked him, purposely keeping my voice low. Rule number one for any hostage negotiator was to always remain calm and talk softly, to try to get the person to stop and listen.