Tasting Fear

by Shannon McKenna

  You’re not getting her. Fuck off and die, shithead. Yeah? His ass.

  Burke would die for that. And Antonella would pay, and pay.

  It was the strangest sensation. Duncan observed it curiously as he drove to the office, parked, and tipped the astonished garage attendant. Like a helium balloon in his midriff. The buoyancy floated him along. People were giving him strange looks.

  He realized that he was grinning like a fucking idiot.

  Jesus, it wasn’t totally abnormal to be in a good mood, was it? Then the middle-aged lady behind the coffee counter in the building lobby gave him a strange look when he told her he liked her as a redhead. It was the truth. She’d looked like hell as a blonde.

  Strange. Like nobody’d ever seen a guy in a good mood before.

  He headed up to the office, whistling. The grizzled divorce attorney in the elevator gave him a dark look. Duncan grinned back. The man harrumphed. Maybe dealing with divorce all day gave a guy gastritis.

  He strode into the lobby. Derek was there, briskly collating something, dressed for Saturday in jeans and a T-shirt.

  “Good morning, Derek,” he said.

  Derek looked at him as if he’d sprouted wings. “Uh, hi, boss.”

  “I appreciate you working Saturdays,” Duncan told him.

  Derek’s eyes bulged even more than usual. “Uh, it’s no problem.”

  Duncan clapped him on the shoulder as he passed Derek’s desk. “You get paid extra for Saturdays, right?”

  “I get time and a half for overtime.” Derek’s face was fearful.

  “Good. I’ll tack on a bonus. You deserve it. Keep it up, Derek.”

  Odd, Duncan mused as he nodded and smiled at the die-hard Saturday-morning types. Derek didn’t blink an eye when Duncan snapped and barked, but a simple compliment scared him to death.

  Come to think of it, all his employees were giving him that nervous look. Duncan glanced down to see if his shoes were mismatched, his fly unzipped. Nope. Everything was in order.

  He shrugged, inwardly. Fuck it. He was having too much fun floating on his own private helium balloon to worry about it.

  The phone began to ring the second he walked into his office. His private line. Nell, maybe, calling to tell him she was in as good a mood as he was. This daydream was quickly deflated by the recollection that she did not possess his private office number. Only his cell.

  Answering the phone became suddenly a lot less appealing.

  He sighed and grabbed the phone. “Burke here.”

  “So, you finally came into the office!” his mother said. “What on earth is going on?” She paused expectantly.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Business as usual.”

  “Whatever you say. If you don’t tell me, I’ll just have to find out some other way. Have you talked to Elinor?”

  Duncan’s good mood began to sink. “I haven’t had time yet.”

  “Duncan, it’s so important that she change her mind! She’s determined to rebel. Please, you have to back me up on this—”

  “I’ll call her,” he promised. “As soon as you get off the phone.”

  He extricated himself from the conversation and punched in Elinor’s number. Her roommate, Mimi, picked up the phone. Loud, incoherent music pulsed in the background. “Who is it?” Mimi shrieked.

  “Elinor’s brother. May I speak to her?”

  “Elinor’s brother? Like, which one? The bodaciously cute one, or the uptight, stuffed-shirt one?”

  “The stuffed-shirt one,” he specified, with weary patience.

  “Yo, Ellie!” Mimi screeched. Duncan winced and held the phone away from his ear. “It’s your bro. The stuffed-shirt one.” Mimi listened, and said, “She’s coming. Hang on.” There was a clunk. Duncan leaned back in his chair, started to shrug off his coat, and stopped. The SIG.

  Shit. He had to keep it on, sweat and all. He stuck his hand in his pocket and gasped at the soft, silky texture that assaulted his hand.

  Petals. He jerked his hand out, startled. Rose petals scattered all over the desk, his chair, his lap, the floor.

  He laughed out loud, causing a graphic designer and a junior accountant to peer through his open door, eyes big. They probably thought he was losing it. Maybe he was, he thought, with delirious glee.

  “Hello? Hello?”

  He yanked his attention back to the telephone. “It’s Duncan.”

  “Hi.” Elinor sounded guarded. “Did Mother tell you to call?”

  Duncan paused for a second. “Well—”

  “Your job is to convince me to change my major back to econ. Consider my retirement plan, split-level suburban home, SUV, and cemetery plot, right? Not! Forget it. I’m going to follow my dreams!”

  “I think that’s great,” Duncan said.

  There was an uncertain pause. Elinor pressed on. “You can’t make me change my mind. I’ve got what it takes to—”

  “Of course you do,” he agreed.

  There was a confused silence from Elinor. “What?”

  “You’ll be great. Go for it. Give it your best shot.”

  Elinor was stupefied. “You’re not being sarcastic, are you?”

  Duncan sifted petals through his fingers. “Am I such an ogre?”

  “I was just wondering if, you know, an alien took over your body.”

  “Hah.” He buried his nose in the petals. Like Nell’s skin.

  “Mother’s gonna kill you,” Elinor predicted cheerfully.

  “No doubt,” he agreed. He said good-bye and hung up, staring at the crimson mass of rose petals. His helium balloon reinflated, floating him up off his chair. He was done being the official wet blanket of the family. He entered the number of the cell he’d given Nell, and fingered a petal while it rang, savoring the agony of anticipation.

  “Hello?” came her sweet, musical voice.

  “I found the petals,” he announced.

  In her pause, he could actually feel her smiling that secret little smile that drove him wild. “And? I hope they didn’t embarrass you.”

  “Nothing could embarrass me today.”

  There was a shy silence. “Um, Duncan? I’m sort of in the middle of the lunch rush, so could we—”

  “Do rose petals go bad, like vegetables, or do they dry out?”

  “They dry out,” Nell said. “Do you think I would have filled your pockets with something that turns to slime?”

  He ignored that, grinning. “I can’t wait for six o’clock.”

  “Me neither,” Nell whispered. “Bye.”

  She broke the connection, and Duncan laid down the phone.

  He tried to concentrate. He really did. But the urgent, pressing, serious business that grimly occupied him on any other normal day seemed so much less important today. So much less interesting. The only things that engaged him were conversations with Gant and his buddy Braxton, another ex-agent from the old days who had a security outfit. He arranged for Nell’s apartment to be bug swept that day.

  He called Nell so often, she started to snap at him and hang up, but always with laughter in her voice. He’d never been the type who had any luck making girls laugh before. He finally understood why guys worked so hard at it. It was irresistible. He would do any crazy thing to get that gurgle of laughter out of her.

  Meetings, conference calls. Seconds ticked by, heavily, laboriously. His employees were acting strange. Whispering conversations, cut off when he walked by. Smothered bursts of laughter. Bruce had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

  At ten to five p.m., he gave in to it. It was an hour early, but he wasn’t getting diddly-shit done here. He might as well go to the Sunset, park his ass, and make damn sure she didn’t leave the place alone.

  She was scheduled to work three hours on the game texts with Bruce, from six until nine. Too much, with a long shift of waitressing behind her. She pushed herself too hard. He might insist that she cut out early. They could get dinner before they met her sisters at that pub.

&nbs
p; He found a good parking spot not far from the Grill and went in, heart thudding. There she was, swathed in her orange apron, hair twisted up and corkscrewing around her face. She looked tired, harassed.

  And freaking drop-dead beautiful.

  She glanced over and ran into a table. He was with her in two steps, steadying her tray. She pulled back, spilling half a bowl of French onion soup. “Thanks, I can manage. What are you doing here?”

  “It’s a restaurant, right? Don’t I have the right to come in here?”

  “Yes, of course. Sorry,” she said, biting her lower lip. “The tables are full. You can wait fifteen minutes, or you can sit at the counter.”

  Duncan seated himself at the counter. The place was hopping with late lunchers and early diners. Nell and a redheaded girl were the only waitresses, both running frantically. He watched Nell serve people, gracing them with her luminous smile, carrying trays that looked far too heavy for her. She sneaked an occasional glance at him. Some minutes later she made it back to him with the coffeepot. “Stop staring. It’s making me nervous,” she hissed into his ear, pouring him a cup.

  “What’s with you tonight?” he asked. “You’re tense.”

  “Oh, nothing. Business as usual. Money problems. Credit card debt. A bugged apartment. Armed kidnappers shoving me into a car. Nights of wild monkey sex with a man who’s practically a stranger to me. Then I get to work and discover that not only does Kendra have one of her weird illnesses, but Lee broke his toe, so we’re short-staffed. And now you’re here, staring at me like I’ve got two heads. Other than that, I’m fine. Let me take your order. Strip steak, I presume.”

  “Actually, I ordered out for lunch,” he said.

  Her eyebrow lifted. “Then why are you here?”

  “I wanted to see you,” he said simply. “I couldn’t wait anymore.”

  She swallowed, a blush warming her cheeks. “We have a three-dollar minimum at night.”

  “More coffee,” he said. “And bring my usual dessert.”

  She looked disapproving. “You should try something new.” She marched away, chin high.

  “So. You’re the one, eh?” a gravelly female voice said.

  He looked across the counter, into the clear gray eyes of a strong-jawed, wide-hipped lady of about sixty. “Excuse me?” he said.

  The woman smartly dressed a tray of salads and passed it across the counter to the redheaded waitress. The waitress hung over Duncan’s shoulder from behind, popped fragrant strawbery gum in his ear, and studied him as if he were some strange species of mold in a petri dish. “Not bad,” she commented, her voice judicious.

  “I’m Norma,” the older woman said, examining him over the lenses of her glasses. “I own this joint. And you’re Strip Steak.”

  Being defined and labeled in terms of his lunch choices was a new experience for him. “Duncan Burke, at your service,” he said.

  “So you’re the one,” Norma said again, wrapping silverware in napkins and stacking them on a tray with machinelike efficiency.

  He sipped his coffee. “What one am I?” he asked guardedly.

  “The one who’s taking away my right-hand woman.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, but it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there,” he said.

  “Don’t I know it,” Norma replied, her gray eyes steely. “In fact, I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you what a prize you’ve got in her.”

  Duncan’s coffee cup froze halfway to his mouth.

  Norma went on. “I heard about that kerfuffle last night. You, saving her from those guys on the street. That’s good. Bravo. I like it that you can handle yourself in a tight situation. That’s a good quality in a man. Useful. But that’s not enough.”

  Duncan blinked. “It’s not?”

  “No. Not for Nell. She’s special. Very sensitive, very romantic. She has more to give than you could imagine.”

  He started to feel hunted. “How do you know what I can imagine?”

  “Any guy who orders the same lunch for six weeks in a row has imagination issues,” Norma informed him, not without sympathy.

  The redheaded waitress swooped by and leaned over his shoulder again. “But don’t despair,” she said, popping her gum in his ear again. “You can make up for a lot of that egghead intellectual imagination stuff in bed, if you treat her good. And I mean, like, good, buddy boy.”

  “Exactly my point,” Norma agreed. “If you don’t treat her like a goddess, you’ll have me to answer to.”

  Duncan forced himself to close his slack, dangling mouth. He coughed to clear his throat. “Just what are you implying, ma’am?”

  “That depends on you,” Norma said crisply. “You see, unfortunately, our Nell is an orphan. There aren’t any parents around to judge you and break your balls.” She pointed at her chest. “But here’s me, Strip Steak. Ready and willing to pick up the slack. Worse than the very worst mother-in-law could ever be. Just be aware.”

  “There’s me, too. And Monica. And don’t forget her sisters,” the redhead piped in from behind as she swept by. “Mess with Nell, and Nancy and Vivi will rip you open and toss your entrails into the gutter.”

  “Ah.” He pondered that memorable image for a moment. “You want me to declare that my intentions are honorable, you mean?”

  Norma smiled approvingly. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

  Nell appeared with a plate. “Here’s your dessert. Carla, table five needs a slice of Black Forest and a Key Lime. They’re in a rush, okay?”

  Carla gave her gum a final loud pop, and sashayed away, ass twitching back and forth. Nell set down the dessert. It was not apple pie with vanilla ice cream. It was a fluffy confection. Lots of whipped cream.

  “I decided you needed a change of pace,” she said, a note of challenge in her voice. “This is a house specialty. Banana cream pie.”

  She stared at him, her soft mouth pressed flat. Norma stared, too, from behind the counter, her large, chubby arms crossed across her voluminous bosom. Seconds ticked by.

  It irritated him, being jerked around, but this was not about pie. This was some sort of subtle test that he could not afford to fail.

  Ah, what the fuck. It was only pie, after all. He forked up a bite.

  “It’s good,” he said, automatically. Then he took another bite, and realized that it was true. It really was good. In fact, it was damn good.

  Nell’s face relaxed. Norma raised an eyebrow, harrumphed, and stumped away to serve a customer at the other end of the counter.

  Nell leaned down. “What did they say?” she hissed in his ear.

  Duncan felt an unexpected smile tug at his mouth, swiftly followed by a desire to laugh. “I was just informed that I should declare my intentions. And if I don’t treat you like a goddess, I’ll be sliced wide open, and my steaming viscera tossed out into the street.”

  “Oh, my God.” Nell turned a delicate pink. “I’m going to kill them.”

  “No need.” Suddenly, with no warning, he was laughing. Out loud. In public. People were looking. He didn’t care.

  It felt great.

  Chapter

  8

  He kept catching her eye, giving her that wicked grin that scrambled her brain. The grin with the dimples that carved sexy lines into his cheeks. He’d done it in the restaurant and made her screw up the orders. He’d done it on the drive to his building. He was doing it now, from behind his desk in his office. She crossed her legs and tried to catch her breath. Bastard. It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t.

  “Nell? Earth to Nell? Do you have any of those finished?”

  She jerked her gaze back to Bruce. “Uh, do I have what finished?”

  Bruce rolled his eyes. “The manuscripts for the goblin caves! Did you get those done? I need to submit them to the graphic artists.”

  “Ah…um…” She winced. What with attackers and protracted bouts of incredible sex, she hadn’t had a second to work on the game. In fact, she’d forgotten about its existence. “I’
m so sorry, Bruce, but I—”

  “She’s been busy,” Duncan said curtly, from behind his desk.

  Bruce’s eyes narrowed. He looked from Duncan to Nell. “Busy?”

  Nell began to blush. “My life’s been kind of crazy. If you want, I’ll try to whip something up right now.”

  “Okay, fine, but I was hoping to brainstorm about the octagonal tower and the magic mirrors tonight. And how about the prophesies for the cursed tomb of the lost kings? Haven’t done those, either, huh?”

  She resisted the urge to excuse herself for slacking off. “Not yet, but I have some ideas,” she said. “They’ll need to be encrypted.”

  “I roughed out a Rosetta stone last night. Looks like we’re going to be here till midnight if we want to have a chance in hell of finishing—”

  “No,” Duncan said. “She’s been waitressing all day. She needs dinner, and a rest. Plus she has an appointment, in Queens, at nine.”

  Bruce stared at them, and started to grin. “Ah. I see. Does she need her beauty rest, then? So that’s the way the wind blows.”

  “Shut up, Bruce,” Duncan growled.

  “Tired or not, we gotta get that material churned out by Monday,” Bruce fretted. “I don’t know how you expect us to—”

  “Do it tomorrow,” Duncan said.

  Bruce slanted him a glance. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, Dunc.”

  “So? Work doesn’t care what day it gets done.”

  “I’m free tomorrow,” Nell said quickly.

  Duncan looked at his brother. “See? Problem solved. Get lost.”

  Bruce got up and backed toward the door. “I’ll just go on home and slave away on my Rosetta stone while you two lovebirds—”

  “Out, Bruce!” Duncan’s voice was like the lash of a whip.

  “I’ll just, ah, engage this lock for you.” Bruce flicked the lever, grinning, and ducked out the door. It snicked shut behind him.

  “That was unnecessary!” Nell hissed. “I promised him that I’d get those goblin cave manuscripts—oh!” She squeaked as he pulled her up to her feet and dragged her around his desk. He yanked her onto his lap, so that she was straddling him. “Are you nuts?”