His hand snakes out and grabs my wrist. He kisses the back of my hand. I hold back a snicker.
“My maylsh,” he says in a sexy growl. “I didn’t fool you after all?”
Mick is Russian born. In the past, we’ve gone through a number of Slavic endearments. Most of them reference pussycat or kitten. After my strong objection, we settled on maylsh, the Russian term for baby. It’s not all that great, but it’s better than pussycat. In my humble opinion, it’s not worth fighting over.
He scoots his chair back and pulls me onto his lap. I lift his cap to check out his hair. It’s pale blond and growing out from the spikey do.
He says, “Is it true blonds have more fun?”
“You get to decide.”
He leans and whispers, “Believe me, I will.”
Heat spirals through my body, settling deep into my belly. I want to grab him by the hand and drag him out to my car. Have my way with him. Until I see Mick, I don’t realize how much I’ve missed him. But, this is not the time or place. I push away and stand. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?”
I suspect they are fellow officers. Not that he’ll tell me.
Instead, he says, “This is Mel.”
He points at the men and identifies each one by first name only. Now I know for sure they’re his work buddies.
I say, “See you around, guys. Enjoy your evening.”
Mick looks a little panicked. “Hey, wait. I’ll see you later. In Number Ten. Right?”
Now, it’s my turn for payback and I love it.
“Wrong.” I walk away.
“At least leave bread crumbs.”
I hear a hint of desperation in his voice and return to the table. “You’re Homeland Security. Remember, you have no rules. I’m sure you’ll figure it out, big guy. Bye, bye.”
His buddies burst into laughter as I sashay away.
****
He found me. Was there any doubt? His lips are on my belly, moving lower. It’s late. I’m totally satisfied, happy and tired. Ready to go night-night. He’s not. I reach out, take hold of his ears and tilt his head back. “Question. Have your ever heard of New Dawn?’
“Hmmm?” he says.
“It’s a paramilitary group in the mountains, also known as the National Freedom Alliance. I was up there today.”
He rises up until his face is level with mine, bracing himself on his elbows. “Yes, I’ve heard of New Dawn. What the hell were you doing there?”
I explain the Rathjen connection, how Rick wanted me to read Hitchcock’s soul. Mick has always taken my soul reading ability seriously.
“What did you see?”
“From what I saw, he’s not a warm and fuzzy guy, but he’s smart. Plus, he’s really pissed about something and has access to a bunch of guns. Big guns.”
He mulls over my words. “I assume you won’t be going back.”
Should I share my plan with Mick? I worked undercover for Homeland Security last fall when the Rathjens were under suspicion. The potential for danger existed back then and Mick trusted I was clever enough to take care of myself. I know I’ve piqued his interest, so I dive in.
“Actually, I am going back.”
He narrows his eyes. “Why?”
I take a deep breath and the words spill out. The whole story. The Gunderson twins, especially little Kimber. The shooting lessons with her father. I know I’m talking too fast when I see his look of puzzlement.
He sits back and makes the timeout sign with his hands. “Let me get this straight. You’re taking shooting lessons from some guy because you’re worried about his little girl? If she’s not being abused, I think it falls under the category titled none of your business? If you want to learn to shoot, I can teach you.”
Okay, I’m wrong. He totally heard everything I said, but doesn’t understand. I need to convince him. I sit up and wrap my arms around his neck. The twin heart necklace presses against my heart and his heart as well. I rub my cheek against his. “You know I really don’t like guns, so it’s not about the shooting lessons. It’s hard to explain, but I have to do this, Mick.” I draw back and gaze into his eyes. “Remember when I told you Hope comes to me sometime? I thought you’d laugh but you didn’t.”
He nods.
“Your willingness to accept something that sounds so crazy is important to me.”
“Slow down, baby. I understand Hope visits you. What does that have to do with New Dawn?”
“I felt a connection to Kimber. A soul connection. She’s a twin. I’m a twin. I fell asleep on the way home. Just before I dozed off, Hope came to me and whispered, She needs you. They need you. I have to go back.”
His expression hardens. “I can’t stop you, but I think it’s a bad idea, Melanie.”
When he calls me Melanie, I know he’s not happy. I respond in kind. “Mikhail Petrov, you’ve made that crystal clear.”
After a long silence, he says, “So, you’ve set up shooting lessons. Then, what? Do you have an end goal? Plans to spy on the family? Report them to child services? Have the children put into foster care?” He has an edge to his voice like he’s interrogating a criminal.
“Of course not,” I say indignantly. “It’s hard to explain, but the little girl needs me. Maybe her brother does too. At least I can check out their situation, bring them some things, like clothes, or coloring books and crayons.” I’m totally aware my so-called plan is lame, and I can see it in Mick’s eyes. “Actually,” I add, with a touch of spite in my voice. “I don’t need your permission, so let’s just drop it.”
Mick flops down on his back and stares at the ceiling as if looking for divine intervention. Finally, he sighs, wraps me up in his arms and pulls me close. “I know how you are, maylsh. When you’re on a mission to right a wrong, there’s no way I could stop you. But, promise me you won’t go to the compound alone.”
He pauses until I cross my heart and promise.
“In the meantime,” he continues, “I’ll try to track down information about the group. I hear they have a shooting range. Did you see people packing guns?”
“The guys guarding the gate were armed.”
“Can you describe the guns?’
“Big, dangerous-looking rifles.” I think back to Rathjen’s conversation. “I think Riley said they were AK-47’s.”
“Kalashnikovs.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a Russian semi-automatic assault rifle. Did you ever see the movie Rambo?”
“Yes, it’s one of Paco’s favorites.”
“The rifle Stallone uses is an AK-47. It’s capable of mowing down lots of people. I wonder what else they have in their cache.”
I turn in his arms and kiss his cheek. “Maybe I could find out if Homeland Security wants to hire me again.”
Surprisingly, he takes time to consider it. “My inclination is to say no, since the risk involved at New Dawn is much greater than what you did for us last year.”
I choose my words carefully. “You had no problem sending me to the Rockin’ R ranch when you suspected one of them might be a murderer.” I slide my hand down his chest, trail it across his belly and wrap my hand around his growing erection. “Maybe I can convince you.”
He catches his breath and rolls onto his back. “Maybe I’ll let you.”
Chapter Nine
It’s still dark when I’m awakened by the sound of rain pelting the windows, driven by a gusting wind. I’m warm and toasty, curled into Mick’s solid body. He loves to spoon. I’ve always been a lone sleeper. When I was with Billy, he had nightmares, so I learned to stay well away from him and his flailing arms. Often, he was caught up in a battle known only to him. I learned to respect the distance between our bodies. Consequently, spooning is new to me, but I’m getting used to it.
For a moment, I’m disoriented, thinking I’m still in Number Ten. Then, I remember I’m in my new home, with a separate bedroom, kitchen and living room. I smile, proud of my accomplishment. Along with th
e wind and rain, I hear another sound. I stiffen in Mick’s arms. Is someone trying to break into the house?
Mick jerks awake. “What is it, maylsh?”
“I heard a noise, like someone’s trying to get in.”
Mick rolls out of bed. The sound of metal scraping across the bedside table tells me he’s picked up his gun. I follow him down the hall and through the living room. The thumping sound continues. The front door has a peephole for safety.
Before I can peer through, Mick orders, “Stay back.”
He parts the drapes covering the front window and peeks through. Laughter rumbles deep in his chest. “Go ahead. Take a look.”
I peer through the peephole. At regular intervals between the thumps, a familiar cat face appears in my line of vision. I open the door and Thunder Paws stalks through. His fur is wet. His ears are flattened against his head. As usual, he’s one pissed-off cat. He marches over to his feeding dish. Finding it empty, he stalks down the hall toward the bedroom.
Mick wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I believe your pussycat has returned. Let’s go back to bed. It’s early.”
I veto the idea when I find the sopping wet cat curled up on my pillow, looking smug and purring loudly. Hands on hips, I glare at him. “I should have kept my whereabouts secret.” Disgusted, I throw on some clothes. “I’ll make coffee.”
Cat or no cat, Mick’s getting ready to crawl back into the sack when his cell phone buzzes. He picks it up, walks into the bathroom and closes the door.
Secrets. Always secrets. I know it’s the nature of his job, but I can’t deny I’m bothered by it. One either trusts the person he’s in a relationship with, or he doesn’t. I believe I’ve proved I’m trustworthy. I wander into the kitchen, turn on the light and fire up the coffee pot. I haven’t had time to grocery shop, but when I peer into the cupboard and fridge, I see Steve has thoughtfully provided healthy snacks. Thank God, a few doughnuts remain in the box.
I’m on my second cup of coffee when Mick appears, newly shaven and clad in fresh clothes from the small overnight bag he always carries with him. He pours a cup of coffee and joins me at the table.
“Gotta go. We’ll talk soon.”
I glance at the clock on the microwave oven. “It’s five-thirty in the morning. And, you just got here last night.”
“I know, I know. So sorry. It’s not what I want.” He downs his coffee in a couple of gulps and snags a doughnut. “I’ll call you soon.”
I shouldn’t, but say it anyway. “Why do I feel like a one-night stand?”
He stands and places his hands on my shoulders. “You know that’s not true. Sadly, we all have people we must answer to.”
Don’t be a whiny bitch, Mel. I nod, fighting back an angry response.
He tucks a finger under my chin and lifts it until I look into his eyes. “I have something very important to talk to you about the next time I’m in town.”
“How about right now?”
“I have few things to clarify first.”
“Like what?”
“Later.” He takes my hands in his and kisses the back of each one. “Remember your promise. You’ll not go to New Dawn alone.”
“I keep my promises.”
“Don’t be mad at me, maylsh. It makes me sad.”
I stand and give him a hug. “Not mad. Just miss you, that’s all.”
He picks up his bag and turns to leave.
“Hold it,” I say.
He pauses. “Yes?”
I summon a smile. “If you see your mother, tell her your girlfriend says hi.”
He blows me a kiss and salutes. “I will.”
When Mick and I first got together, I asked about his mother. Was she still alive? Living in Russia? Perhaps somewhere in America? I could hardly believe it when he said it was classified information. Ever since then, it’s been our way of saying goodbye.
Before he steps through the door, he says, “Charge your cell phone.”
I toy with the idea of going back to bed, but decide to look for the cell charger first. After emptying a couple of boxes, I find it cradled inside my sports bra. I have no memory of putting it there. At the beginning of the move, I was super organized, labeling each box as to its contents. Toward the end, it turned into chaos. I tossed the mismatched remnants of my life into a couple of boxes, regardless of category. Hence, as I unpack, it’s like a treasure hunt. After finding my charger, I open another box and find a bottle of catsup, a curling iron, a manila envelope containing my bank statements, a lone apple, and my winter boots.
I plug my cell phone into the outlet next to the bed and climb in, taking care to stay on the dry side. Thunder Paws is over his snit. Still purring, he crawls to my side of the bed and nudges me with his head until I give his tummy a tickle. My phone chirps to life with a series of pings, indicating unread and unanswered text messages. May as well face the music. Sleep can wait. I leave it plugged in so I can scan the messages.
My mother:
—Did you get moved? Want me to come up and help you?—
Kendra:
—How did it go with the Rathjens?—
Uncle Paco:
—Hey, little girl. Call me. I have news.—
He includes an emoji. It looks like a half loaf of bread and something else I can’t identify.
Billy:
—Call Candy Talbot.—
Bio dad Steve:
—Candy Talbot needs your assistance.—
Candy Talbot:
—Damn it, Mel, don’t you ever answer your phone. I’ve got Dwayne’s girlfriend scheduled for tomorrow and I need you to do your thing. Okay? Call me ASAP.—
Nick:
—Cowboy Jim’s Grandma Edie died. He’s depressed and needs a new dance partner. I said, ‘How about Mel?’ and he said, ‘Yes, indeedy, but she’ll need some lessons.’ So, how about it, kiddo? Are you willing to help the poor guy out?—
Cowboy Jim. He’s of an indeterminate age, tall, skinny and bow-legged. I’ve never seen him in anything but jeans, a plaid shirt, cowboy boots and a Stetson. His grandmother, Edie, was a tiny little woman with permed white hair and dressed exactly like her grandson, minus the hat. When they came into Nick’s, usually on a Sunday afternoon, we’d move the tables and chairs so they had room to dance. Nick would crank up the music and, despite the disparity in height, they would glide across the floor in a waltz or a two-step. Once they got limbered up, they’d teach the crowd a new line dance. If you’ve never seen a room full of drunks trying to line dance, you’ve missed a real treat.
And now Nick is guilting me into becoming Cowboy Jim’s new dance partner. It would be unfeeling of me to refuse. If I turn him down, I’m an uncaring, self-centered ass hat.
My cell phone will be charged in a couple of hours. I’ll deal with my messages then. I snuggle under the covers and try to fall asleep. I can’t. It’s way too quiet. I find the silence unnerving. My new home is located in a safe neighborhood, but bad things can happen in good neighborhoods. Last October, I was going for a run in a quiet neighborhood not far from here and had a near-fatal run-in with a giant SUV. I banish the image from my mind.
I’ve spent the last year living in a motel. It’s noisy, despite the sign Quiet hours from ten p.m. to seven a.m. posted in each room. I’m accustomed to the sound of couples engaged in a yelling match, a fumbling, confused drunk trying his key card in my door and cars revving their engines. Factor in my exhaustion from working ten-hour shifts, and it’s no wonder I slept like a baby, even though Kendra says that particular adage is far from the truth. “Babies love to wake you up every two hours, just for spite.”
I start to doze off and then jerk in surprise when the furnace roars to life with a series of clicks and hisses. The warm air blowing through the registers causes the vertical blinds on the window to bump together. I pull the covers over my head. My eyes refuse to close. You just drank two cups of coffee, dummy. Finally, I stop trying and unpack the rest of my boxes.
&nbs
p; Two hours later, my panty drawer is organized. The catsup bottle is in the fridge. The apple is next to the coffee pot, looking lonely. My winter boots are stashed in the closet next to my only pair of stilettos. My one good dress is on a hanger. The sum total of my worldly goods is pathetic.
Cell phone charged, I text my mother.
—Help not required. All settled. Will call soon.—
I’ll catch Kendra later. Morning is a busy time for her. Since three of the text messages reference Candy Talbot, I go straight to the horse’s mouth, so to speak.
She answers on the first ring. “About time you called me back. Judy Moss, icky Dwayne’s girlfriend, will be here at eleven, providing you’ll be here. Otherwise, I’ll postpone it.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good,” she says and clicks off with saying goodbye. Candy is not known for her social graces.
Chapter Ten
I’m back in Detective McKenzie mode, blond wig firmly in place. Judy Moss is a busty, overweight, multi-tattooed fake redhead. We’re engaging in small talk while Candy fetches bottled water for the three of us.
I have my work cut out for me. Judy has exceptionally small eyes. One might call them beady. Small eyes I can deal with. But she has another habit and therein lies the problem, soul-reading wise. Her gaze darts nervously around the room like a trapped butterfly looking for an escape route. Her arm is in a sling and one side of her face sports a yellowing bruise, the injuries she claims were inflicted upon her by ex boyfriend, Dwayne.
I’m trying to get her to look at me. I point at the safety pin piercing her right eyebrow. “Oh,” I exclaim. “Is that a real safety pin?”
Her eyes widen a bit at my sudden interest in her unusual choice of jewelry. She leans over the table so I can get a better look. “Yes. It’s made of titanium. Less chance of an allergic reaction.”
“Hmm,” I say, feigning interest.
Hope and Honor Page 5
