December Frost (A Southern Romance Monthly)

by CJ Hockenberry

  But the thought Lex would spend more time with Nana…bothered her.

  And she really…really…didn't want it to.

  Deb arrived just past the event time and handed the car over to the valet. After handing Cecelia her invite, the woman in blue led them up the ramp to the front entrance. Walking up was when Cecelia wished she'd brought a jacket or coat or a wrap. She wrapped her arms around herself and noticed the tops of her breasts—those parts that would not stay tucked in the dress—were covered in goosebumps. Had the temperature dropped since they left her apartment?

  The place was decorated in style, complete with a few of the local TV stations on hand with their reporters and microphones. Luckily they counted she and Deb as nobodies and moved along.

  "It's cold," she muttered to Deb after they handed their invites over and after Cecelia had to go through a different line for her gun. She was afraid they were going to take her weapon from her, until Lt. Saxx from the Robbery division gave her the okay.

  "What they hell are you doing here? I don't think Homicide has anything to worry about with these artsy types." The dark skinned young man shook his head as his gaze traveled up and down. "MmmMmm! Who knew you could clean up so fine, Inzmann?"

  "If you like the dress, Dar, you can borrow it next time." She smirked as she slipped her gun back in her purse. "And you never know…everyone looks like a killer to me."

  Saxx gave her a salute but never stopped smiling.

  "Well the weather guy on Channel 2 said the temperature was supposed to drop tonight. Might even get some sleet."

  Cecelia grabbed at Deb's upper arm as they moved through the elegantly dressed crowd on their way up the spiraling staircase to the first bar. "Sleet? Are you serious? It's not even the middle of December yet."

  "Oh calm your ass down. Have a drink. Oooh… do you smell that?" Deb grabbed Cecelia's upper arm. "That's shrimp and grits!"

  Cecelia made a few. Ew?

  She followed Deb around, ordered a simple Coke at the bar, and then strolled into the main room where the best advertisers for the year had their work on display. From what she knew about the event—meaning what little she'd read on the brochure at the door—the winners were already chosen and were to receive their awards tonight.

  Cecelia had already decided that after food and drink, exiting before any kind of awards ceremony would be a great idea. And if Deb wouldn't come, she could always hold her at gunpoint and insist.

  What made her uneasy at the buffet were the leers at her breasts by several creepy old guys. She really wished she'd brought a wrap or something but was glad the black bodice hid her nipples…or did it? She was cold, despite the number of bodies in the room, so she was pretty sure her nipples were at attention.

  "And what house are you with?"

  It took a few seconds before Cecelia realized the woman with the gray hair and flower arrangement for a hat was talking to her across the Shrimp & Grits. She frowned. "What house?"

  "Yes," the woman said through her nose. "I don't recognize you from any of the portfolios."

  Cecelia noticed this snooty old biddy was looking at her boobs too. "I'm here with a friend."

  "Figures." Old Biddy sniffed again and continued heaping grit-covered shrimp onto her already over loaded plate. "Probably some artist's cheap date."

  Cecelia opened her mouth to give the old bat a piece of her mind but was stopped when a warm hand touched her bare shoulder. "Mrs. De Prune is the head of the Advertiser's Fund Raisers," a deep voice said to her right. "And I believe was responsible for raising close to half a million dollars this year."

  Mrs. De Prune's face almost cracked in half with the smile. She looked proud of herself. In fact, Cecelia was pretty sure no one could be as proud of her as she was of herself.

  "I see you are a man of tastes." The pickled princess moved on from the shrimpy grits to a platter of cheeses.

  And of course, Cecelia, never being one without words, snickered. "She puts anything more on that plate of hers and they'll be rolling her out on her—"

  That's when she looked up at her savior, the deep voice that maneuvered the old pickle away from her. She wasn't sure what she expected to see—but Hugh Jackman's double wasn't it.

  He was smiling at her, his brows arched high, waiting for her to finish her sentence. Of course, Cecelia couldn't remember what she was saying and really didn't care. This man stood a good foot taller than her and his smile when he flashed it was…stunning. "You were saying?"

  "I—" and that was about all she had in her as warmth spread from her knees all the way up her legs and settled between her legs. How long had it been since she'd seen a man that could instantly warm up her languishing libido?

  Ah…never.

  But here he was and she was suddenly moist. She was pretty sure her nipples were showing now.

  "Are you all right?" His expression did reflect concern as he started to put his own plate on the table's edge. "You look flushed."

  I do? Yikes! Cecelia cleared her throat and motioned at his plate. "Oh…no I'm fine. I just…I've never been to a function like this."

  "Oh…" he retrieved his plate. "Then consider yourself lucky. I've been to six of them this year. Not always advertising awards, but functions." He nodded past her to the old pickle. "And no matter how many I attend or where, there's always a Mrs. De Prune."

  "Well…I'm glad you knew who she was. You saved me from more scrutiny." She was very aware her breasts were out and about and turning just as red.

  "Actually," he smiled. Oh that smile! "My date told me who she was. Otherwise I wouldn't have known myself."

  Date?

  Cecelia sighed as her libido deflated. But nothing was going to take away that warmth. Not for a while. She could still have her fantasy, right?

  He checked his wrist and Cecelia saw the gold Rolex. "Oh…I am sorry. But I'm supposed to check on something. If you'll excuse me?" He winked at her and walked away to disappear into the crowd.

  Before Cecelia could gather her wits, Deb appeared in front of her, her own plate piled high with boiled shrimp. "Who the hell was that? Man he was checking you out wasn't he?"

  Cecelia shrugged and eyed the shrimpy toast before she moved to the cheese with a sigh full of missed opportunities. "I have no idea. And he's here with a date."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Thomas did not want leave this brunette beauty. And if he wasn't working, he'd have texted Giselle to find her own ride.

  Wow.

  He'd spotted her when she walked in—who didn't? Not with that dress on. Nothing was left to the imagination in it, and she knew how to wear it. He assumed she was a model and toyed with the idea of maybe hooking up with her later—after he'd finished the job.

  Before he left Atlanta.

  So, after leaving Giselle with her friends, he followed the bombshell to the food and maneuvered himself a place just in front of her. The opportunity to intervene with the old biddy was perfect and he was able to talk to the knock out. From her mannerisms and the way she held herself when he was up close—once he could tear his gaze away from her physique—Thomas knew she wasn't a model.

  And she wasn't one of the artists, he'd gathered that from her short conversation with De Prune. He assumed she was probably there with her friend as support. Maybe she was the artist.

  He'd seen beautiful and known plenty of women. Meaningless sex came with the job description. Sometimes. And he'd sort of assumed that after tonight's job he and Giselle could retire to her condo in Midtown and spend a few hours doing just that.

  Only…

  Even as he moved away from the buffet and set his plate on one of the trash tables set out for convenience, the woman's face was all he could see. It was her eyes—a blue so blue they were almost harsh and the dark, straight brows that gave her a slightly commanding look.

  Not to mention her other assets. He particular liked the way her dress showed off her well-toned stomach and belly button. Definitely an innie.


  As he made his way through the side door leading to the stairs, he imagined what it would be like running his hands over that stomach and then moving it around to caress those luscious mounds in the back.

  Damn. Maybe it was a good idea he did get away from her because he was upsetting his thoughts the way lightening disrupted an electrical current.

  On his way up he removed the small can of spray paint. The cameras would start soon so he had to be ready—

  He stopped. The first camera had already been blasted with black paint.

  Crap.

  Thomas ran faster up the stairs to the next camera. It too was disabled.

  He ran up two more flights and stopped at the fire hose door. Thomas had already put his gun just behind the extinguisher. There were a few strained breaths as he slipped his hand in, then relief came when he found it where he left it. Phantom was already in play and luckily he hadn't found the gun.

  Locking a round in the chamber from the magazine, Thomas held his weapon barrel up as he climbed the last two flights of stairs to the top floor. Just inside to the left, then the right, the right and then the left would be the statue.

  He checked the door for traps, and certain the Phantom hadn't bothered to set any, opened the door.

  Thomas paused. No alarms. No click. He slipped inside and ducked behind the nearest pedestal and listened.

  A noise inside the room caught his attention. He closed his eyes and thought about the room plan he'd memorized the day before. He thought he heard tools, a bag, and maybe even…sneakers.

  And…a zipper?

  Both hands on his weapon, he moved from pedestal to display, always keeping himself low and out of sight.

  It wasn't until he was one row away from the statue that he chanced a look. His view was warped a bit because he had to look through a crystal display. Somebody in a raised white hoodie stood in front of the statue and they were doing…something. He just couldn't figure out what.

  He was going to have to get closer. Thomas doubted the guy was going to stop if he shouted freeze. And he was pretty sure the Phantom was going to try and make a break for it, if not attempt to break him. And I don't want me broken. Not when there's a hot lady downstairs that I'd really, really, like to get to know better.

  "I think this is the closest you've ever been."

  Thomas froze. He hadn't expected the Phantom to speak.

  "I know where you are. Third statue on my right, two rows behind. I can see the barrel of your gun."

  The voice wasn't normal. A beat later Thomas realized he was using a voice box. Clever. This thief had been careful for years to prevent authorities finding DNA, images or recordings of him.

  Now it was time for quick decisions. There was a floor full of people below, and a dangerous thief yards from him. Thomas recalled the Phantom's MO which never mentioned weapons. And so far, no body count. Which was good since he suddenly felt the need to protect not just those downstairs, but in particular, the knockout in the black dress.

  Should he answer the guy to stall? There wasn't any backup waiting in the wings. He was on his own. Thomas needed information.

  "What, you got eyes in the back of your head?" Thomas cringed. Wow. That was a real boner of a statement. Way to go there, Tom Tom.

  "No. I spotted you before you spotted me."

  "You've been downstairs? You were in the group?"

  "No." The guy continued to move, but Thomas still couldn't make out what he was doing. He needed a new vantage point. "I spotted you when you arrived in town."

  Say what?

  "Good try, Phantom. But I don't buy it."

  "You arrived on flight 445 from D.C., where you were hired to find a rare painting, stolen from another collection in Vancouver, British Columbia two months ago. After having successfully delivered the painting to its rightful owner—you were hired because the original owner didn't have legal rights to the painting and they did not want police involvement—you were contacted by a new client to prevent me from stealing this statue."

  Okay. Thomas chewed on his lower lip. That…was creepy. "Care to tell me how you know all of that?"

  "Because it is my job to know. As it is my job to put a stop to your interfering in my employer's acquisition of priceless treasures."

  Dude…this wasn't sounding right. "You make that sound like my work is interfering with yours."

  "It is. So I was hired to end it."

  That's when things went a little…wrong.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "I can say with complete honesty," Cecelia spit the mouthful of nasty into her napkin. "I do not like shrimpy grits."

  Deb tried not to choke on her drink when Cecelia used her napkin as an airline bag. She waved at her friend and regained her composure. "See…this is why I wanted you to come with me."

  Cecelia downed her Coke and put the glass on one of the nearby trash trays. She noticed an untouched plate of food on it. Most of the food was the shrimpy grits. Ah…so someone else didn't like it either. She made another face and wished for a cheeseburger. Lots of onions. "So…you seen Juan?"

  "No." Deb sounded a little irritated. "I haven't. I'll bet you he blew the whole thing off now that he's with his girlfriend."

  "Meh…" Cecelia patted her friend's shoulder. "You're better off. And you're young, and hot, and in a place to meet a lot of…" she looked around a minutes and chuckled in her friend's ear. "Gay men."

  "Har-har," Deb said and pushed Cecelia's hand off her shoulder. "Don't rub it in. You probably found the only straight guy here. Or at least, the only unmarried one."

  "He was here with a date."

  "Maybe he's her beard. You never know."

  Speaking of Mister Hot and OMG, Cecelia pushed up on her toes to look around at the talking, eating, milling people. The guy was tall so he shouldn't be hard to spot. But he wasn't anywhere near their position by the buffet door. She pushed at Deb. "Let's go mingle."

  "My feet hurt." Deb wobbled a little as she walked.

  "No shit," Cecelia said behind her. "But it was your idea to wear these calf-killers."

  "They made your ass stick out."

  Oh. Really? Great. Now I have big bewbs and a big ass. Lovely.

  The two had just moved into a larger room when a voice boomed over the intercom. "Hello?" *tap, tap* "Is this thing on—oh my that's loud isn't it?" He laughed and everyone took their hands off of their ears as the volume died down bit. "Good evening everyone and welcome to the Atlanta Advertisers Awards Banquet!"

  "I think this is our cue to leave?" Cecelia pleaded in Deb's ear.

  "Yeah…that tub of ice cream and some Thrones is sounding reeal good. I got jammies you can wear."

  Cecelia was happy sleeping commando but didn't want to gross Deb out.

  Deb motioned for her to follow and Cecelia was close behind. They were almost to the door to the spiraling hallway when Saxx approached, a very determined look on his face. He put a hand to Cecelia's arm. "Inzmann, you got a sec?"

  Uh oh. This sounded serious. She looked past him to Deb who said she'd be at the front. Cecelia nodded and followed Saxx to a side pocket. This was easier to find since most of the guests were gravitating to the speaker. "What's up?"

  "We got a hit on a silent alarm upstairs about three minutes ago."

  "You think one of the guests is trying to steal something?"

  "Something tripped the alarm. I sent two of my men upstairs and lost contact. You're the only other officer here and backup's still five minutes away."

  Great. She looked down at herself and looked up to see Saxx looking down at her too. "What?"

  "Just thinking maybe you should change?"

  "No time." She reached into her purse and retrieved her badge. Luckily she had it on a chain and hung it around her neck. Then she pulled her gun out and shoved the spare magazine down between her boobs. And once again, Saxx was watching her. "What?"

  "I've never wanted to be a bullet so bad in my life."

  She light
ly punched his shoulder and then the two came up with a plan. Saxx told her there were stairs leading up to the top floor where the alarm was tripped, but the cameras were all blacked out. "We suspect the thief did that earlier."

  "How much earlier? Geez Saxx."

  "Oh come on, Cecelia. It's an Advertisers dinner. Why go up there and steal something?"

  "Why indeed." She grabbed one of the radios and snapped it to her shoulder strap. After a quick run through of where she'd be when backup arrived, she hurried over to the staircase door and stepped through.

  The first thing she did was get rid of the shoes then headed up the stairs. She spotted the spray on the cameras. On the floor just before the top she noticed the fire extinguisher panel was open. A quick look showed just the extinguisher. She took the next set of stairs and paused at the door.

  She hadn't expected to hear a lot of yelling—and then gunfire. Shit!

  Cecelia checked the magazine, loaded a round, and then slipped into the door and kept low. She took the scene in the instant before she hid behind a pedestal. A large room, L-shaped with the tip of the L hidden around the corner. She could see a few of the displays were knocked over—one was shattered. Ouch…hope that wasn't expensive.

  Then she caught movement to her left, reflected in one of the pieces covered in mirrors. At first it looked like two people. She thought she heard two people. Another shot and then another crash.

  She crouch-ran around the pedestals and made sure she was behind a solid piece—a big one carved of stone—stepped out, spread her legs and aimed her gun at the retreating back of a man. "FREEZE! Police!"

  The guy stopped for a second, but then started forward. She fired a warning shot just past his head. "I said freeze, asshole."

  He did and held his arms out from his size. "You're making a mistake," the man said.

  "They all say that. Now…slowly set the gun on the ground and turn around."

  He did exactly as she said. But when he turned around—

  It was him! The Buffet Guy!