

### A Date with Fate

(The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod)

Volume I

by

### Tracy Ellen

_A Date with Fate_ by Tracy Ellen

Copyright © 2012 by Tracy Ellen

License Notes.

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold, copied, published, or given away to other people unless authorized by the author in writing. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the bookseller site and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, locations, and events portrayed in this book are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

tracy@tracyellenink.com

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Dedication

This first book could only be for My Darling

A Date with Fate Cover Art

Bookin' It Designs

Contributing Editors

Kelly Beausoleil

Amber Leigh Gleisner

Beth Lake

Iveta Cvrkal

Elizabeth Connor

Thank you for your invaluable assistance.

I owe you all big time!

A preface from the author: The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod is an ongoing book series intended for adult audiences 18+. If you are offended by swearing, sexual content, sexual fantasies, sexual role playing you might not want to do at home, mild violence, cliffhanger endings in an ongoing series, some plot lines that might continue over several books. and/or no guarantees of HEA in all relationships, please do not read this book. My goal as a writer is not to offend, but to entertain. On that note, I hope you have great fun reading _A Date with Fate_ , and all my books. Thank you!

### Tracy Ellen

Prologue

Monday, 9:00 AM

TO: anabelSR38@yahoo.com

FROM: anabelJR83@gmail.com

SUBJECT: What I did last weekend

Dearest NanaBel,

I'm hoping this email finds my favorite camel jockey in her usual fighting form. My mind pictures you lingering over an exotic drink by an oasis wearing a pith helmet and jodhpurs while surrounded by exotic men in long, white robes.

Meanwhile, back here in the tundra, we're finally getting the snow predicted for the last two days. It's really coming down, so I'm expecting a slow day at the store.

I've finished customizing the last report on the new inventory system. Total pain, but it should pay for itself in the short run. I'm flooded with data to analyze and trying to not wet my pants in excitement. Also, YTD numbers are kicking major butt over last year.

Now, don't fall off your hump when reading this, but I actually took this past weekend off to have fun. I know, right?

I'm sure my weekend fun didn't come near in comparison to the splendors of exploring the deserts of Ancient Egypt, or the splendors of exploring the personal tent of a Bedouin Sheikh. (Woman, thy name is Jezebel!)

But since you've asked repeatedly what I've been up to, and since I am a most dutiful granddaughter, and since I know you'll hear twenty different versions from twenty different people, and since we're speaking of jezebels...

Last Friday night, I had stayed home and was minding my own business when I fell asleep reading...

Chapter I

"Free Your Mind" by En Vogue

Saturday, 11/17

2:30 AM

Before realizing I was even fully awake, I found myself sitting up at attention with my instincts screaming and adrenaline racing through my veins. My heart was beating so loud I couldn't determine what roused me over the pressure of the blood pounding through my head.

I live alone. I had spent a quiet Friday night at home by myself to start my weekend off from work. Last I remembered I had been lying on my bed, surrounded by several fluffy pillows for protection, and reading a surprisingly good zombie book. I must have dozed off despite all the grisly excitement.

My room was pitch black. To get my bearings, I glanced at the clock on the bedside table and saw the faint illumination of red numbers reading 2:31 AM. Okay, the power was working.

I concentrated on breathing to settle myself down. After a few seconds of breathing slowly, I could hear again. I held perfectly still and listened intently.

My bed faces the open doorway. There are no windows in the hallway outside my second floor bedroom. A yawning darkness offered no clues as to what had catapulted me from sleep.

I was beginning to think it was a zombie-induced hallucination that had scared me awake. I was cussing myself out for reading a scary book right before bed when I heard it again. On the floor near my bed is a register vent that allows me to hear noises on the ground floor below me. Straining to listen, I recognized the sounds of the hardwood floorboards squeaking in the main entrance lobby. The noise was distinctly audible as footsteps, if you knew what you were listening for. I have lived in this upstairs apartment since I was a kid and now own the entire old building. I know every squeak of every floorboard in the whole place I know what to listen for.

' _What the hell...? Had someone really broken into my building?'_

I quickly pictured the layout downstairs. The main lobby is a large room situated in the northwest corner of the building. The entrance doors to the apartment and Bel's Books, my shop that encompasses the entire first floor of the building, are located off the lobby. All of these doors were locked.

I sat frozen unable to move. I was still in denial over the sounds I'd identified and had not reacted. The soft squealing noise I heard next meant the intruder had somehow unlocked the door leading up to my apartment. The acoustics of the high ceiling in the open staircase amplified every sound.

Now I was reacting. I was whispering aloud, "Oh my God, Oh my God!"

I had been meaning to get someone to fix the sticking door for the last week. Thanks to being a slacker, I knew someone was coming up the stairs.

Anytime I've been in tight spots in my past, I have been perfectly willing to bargain my soul and convert right then and there. I vowed fervently to be a good girl for the rest of my life. In my head, I recited my lifetime litany of these negotiations.

' _Oh, please, please! Get me out of this in one piece. I swear I'll never do anything bad again...'_

It seemed like I waited an eternity, but it was probably only another heartbeat before my brain took over my wimpy, codependent subconscious and shouted, _'Get your butt up and do something yourself!'_

Thinking weapons, my next immediate thought was to grab my gun from the nightstand drawer. A stellar idea except for the fact my Glock 9mm was currently with my cousin on a gun safety and handling retreat up north in Duluth. I swore silently at the irony Candy was learning how to safely use my weapon while I had to handle a home invader with my good looks.

My mind was racing a mile a minute. Pushing aside the chenille throw I'd been dozing under, I reached for my cell phone in the dark. I patted all around the surface of the nightstand. I felt my book and my empty gelato bowl, but no cell.

I then remembered I had left it charging in the bathroom down the hall, close to the stairs. I couldn't take the risk of trying to sneak over there without being heard and possibly intercepted. Even if I did make it there without being heard, I could still end up being trapped in the bathroom with no phone because mine had been dying intermittently lately. I probably need a new battery.

With my heart beating a frenzied double time in my chest, I stood up and concentrated on listening. It wasn't long before I detected another stealthy sound on the stairs. The creak I heard was near the landing leading to the foyer.

' _Crap, crap, crap!'_ I bit my lip, hurriedly thinking over my options. I desperately needed a plan right about now. The urge to freak out was not a plan. I suspected it was not a good idea to give in to the temptation to lie on the floor and play dead like I did in bad dreams when monsters were chasing me. I could hide, but probably would be easily found since my bedroom has no great hiding spots like a secret panic room complete with a big, red button.

I was majorly bumming I hadn't paid more attention when my girlfriends had been discussing the importance of always having an aerosol can and a lighter within easy reach. Tipsy on vodka tonics at the time, I thought it had seemed unwieldy, and a tad brutal, to choose to set someone on fire with a Rube Goldberg flamethrower as a defense when you could simply shoot them. What I wouldn't give now for a supersized can of Raid and a Bic.

Sadly, I am not a secret ninja or a supernatural female. All 5-foot-1-inch and a hundred and four pounds of me is an entirely mortal, girly-girl. The odds are decidedly stacked against me winning over most men in a physical fight. No matter how I looked at it, without my gun to scare off the intruder, I was screwed.

A flash of inspiration had me dropping to my knees on the rug. I urgently felt around under my bed for the forgotten weapon of choice before I purchased my pistol.

' _Yes!'_

I sprang back up, immediately feeling a little tougher with the Louisville Slugger in hand. A crack with a bat could give me some time. If anyone came into this room, my plan was a simple one. Hit and run.

Outside my bedroom windows are bright streetlights. I need total darkness to sleep well. At night, lined draperies are always pulled tightly closed across the windows on either side of my bed. Right now, I was really happy with this quirk of mine. As long as the intruder wasn't wearing night vision goggles, the blackout conditions could give me the advantage of surprise.

On TV, it shows green lights flickering around their heads when people wear those creepy, alien-looking goggles. In that event, Plan B would be to flip on the overhead light, blind them, and then continue with my Plan A of hit and run.

A bubble of hysteria rose in my throat when I realized I was basing my escape on the accuracy of a freaking television show.

' _Why would green lights be flickering around their head if they were wearing NVGs? Wasn't the whole blasted point to have the advantage in the dark, not be lit up like a neon sign?'_

I was losing it and seriously contemplating nailing myself in the head with the bat, so I could pass out to avoid whatever was coming my way.

Standing there, I was chilled and shaky, goose bumps popping up all over my body. I'm not the type that gets cold easily. I knew it was from being hyped-up. It didn't help that my long hair was still damp from my earlier bath, and I was wearing a little nothing of a nightgown so short it barely covered my shivering butt. I almost shrieked when I heard a faint rustle of cloth and a definite creak of the top stair. The sound galvanized me into action.

I swiftly crossed the floor of my room, but stayed on the thick pile of the area rug to avoid noise. I stood slightly behind the halfway open door. I didn't want to try and close the door; it would serve no purpose. It doesn't lock and is squeaky like everything else in my old building.

I hefted the bat in readiness. It was likely I'd only get one good swing and I needed to make it count. If I missed well, my mind wouldn't even go there.

A few agonizing seconds later, I heard the intruder pause on the threshold of my doorway. I held my breath. I heard a soft footfall and then another. With the third step, the person was now squarely in my bedroom. With my eyesight more adapted to the darkness, I guessed it was a man by his general height and width of shoulders. His vague outline seemed tall, but it was hard to be sure. Even under the best of circumstances, most men appear tall from my vantage point.

I tried to ignore my churning stomach and keep a level head. I strove to feel a little calmer, more coherent. I've always sworn I would not be that girl that fell down in her high heels when being chased by a man. Now was the time to prove it.

These thoughts were all a quick flash across my racing brain as I acknowledged one, indisputable fact with a tingling, dizzy sensation. By coming straight to my room as he unerringly had, this man proved he meant to come after me.

Within the first moments, I realized it was too dangerous to go for his head in the dark. I readjusted my aim for the vicinity of his knees. Even as I swung the bat, I sensed movement in the air around me. My swing was prematurely halted against something solid with a loud WHAP! It sounded like an open hand. My heart plunged. I had somehow broadcast my intent. I felt a sharp yank and the bat went flying out of my slippery grip. I heard the muffled thud of the bat when it landed on the rug somewhere in the dark room. My only weapon may as well be on Mars.

Above me, a deep voice softly hissed, "That wasn't a very nice way to greet me."

' _Holy Freakin' Moly!'_

I didn't wait around to chat. I pivoted and took off running for the open doorway. I hadn't gone two feet when I was caught mid-stride by arms locking around my waist tighter than bands of steel. I let loose with a startled scream as I was swung around like a rag doll. My feet were off the ground, and my back pulled against a chest that felt as hard as granite.

My next move was a knee-jerk reaction; it was a Déjà vu move from my childhood fights that had always resulted in a quick getaway. I pried up one of his fingers at my waist with both of my hands. I wrenched it backwards with a jerk.

"Dammit!" his voice spit out in the darkness. He snatched his hand away from mine.

' _It worked!'_

Unfortunately for me, it didn't work for more than a second. I had no chance to get at his other hand to free myself before he quickly maneuvered and repositioned his hold. Now he entrapped both my arms against the front of my body. One of his arms was across my chest and the other around my hips.

I kicked at him backwards. I tried to twist my body to knee him in the jewels. Like a vice, his arm clamped across my hips prevented that move. I couldn't get at him. If his low laughter was any indicator, kicking him furiously barefoot wasn't doing him any damage but really hurt the hell out of my toes.

He stepped us nearer to the vicinity of my bed. Right at that very instant, I learned something new about myself I've never before had a reason to know. I hate being bound without the use of my arms. My response came from deep within me at some primal level, and instinctually, my reaction was to fight like a wildcat. I bucked my body, kicked my legs, and tried to smash my head back against his face anything to throw him off stride and give me an opening to get loose.

He made a mockery of my efforts by easily controlling my frenzied attempts to get free. As if to emphasize his total power over me, he put his hand over my breast and squeezed. Throwing my head wildly around didn't stop his tongue from licking up my throat to my ear.

He growled, "You aren't going anywhere, little girl, but try all you want."

His touch and guttural voice held me frozen in suspended shock for an instant. This was really happening to me.

I used every trick I had ever been taught to break his holds. Too bad these tricks were from years ago, and against my sisters. I haven't been in an actual physical fight since I was thirteen. I can verbally slay Hannibal Lector into a blubbering fool without breaking a sweat, but I am not a kick-ass fighter against a man. I was captured with no use of my arms. I was unable to turn my hips, so my legs were useless, too. I still had a functioning brain, though. I allowed my body to relax and go heavily limp in his arms, as if in a dead faint.

He took advantage of my feigned slump and stuck his hand down the front of my nightgown, cupping and squeezing my breasts. His other hand moved to my naked butt and he pinched me hard.

Unexpectedly shocked from my coma, I inadvertently yelled, "Ouch!"

He laughed at my pained reaction. Until I jumped up and snapped my head back, catching his mocking mouth with the top of my skull. It felt like his front teeth were embedded to the gums in my cranium. I didn't think grown-ups had soft spots, only infants. Apparently mine never fused.

The man recovered quickly. With a bounce, he hoisted me up higher against him. His hand roved all over my ass and the back of my thighs. He held me close against him to limit my range of motion. His mouth was hot on my ear whispering words I couldn't distinguish or be sure were even in English.

I wrenched my head away as far as I could to avoid his mouth, but couldn't move my hips enough to avoid his busy hand. I felt his fingers strumming boldly down my rear end. Then I felt those fingers move between my legs and the vibration of another mocking laugh against my neck.

I erupted against him like a woman possessed and blindingly out of control of anything I was doing or yelling. I was only dimly aware of kicking and scratching, head butting, throwing myself from side to side, and even snapping at his face. Had he come within range, I would have eaten his face off zombie-style and then asked for seconds. I don't know how long it took before his excited laughter started to penetrate my futile haze of bloodlust.

I could hear the underlying sexual tension in his voice as he held me to him, goading me on while whispering he was stronger and would always win.

The next thing I knew, I went sailing through the air in the darkness. I landed on my bed and bounced not once, but twice. My antique bedsprings were squeaking protests louder than my own shrieks. He snapped on the bedside lamp and tore his T-shirt off over his head by the time I came to a stop from the bouncing. I was disoriented at the sudden blaze of light and struggling to catch my breath.

Still, I hurriedly rose up, but didn't get much further than my elbows before his hand circled around the front of my neck and pushed me slowly back down against my pillows. The man was a fuzzy blur as he stood next to the bed. I pulled with all my strength on his hand casually surrounding my throat. It wasn't even a huge, monster hand. This guy was seriously strong or I am incredibly weak. Either way, I couldn't get free of him.

His hand slid off my neck and glided slowly downward. He spread his hand and his fingers dipped under the neckline of the gown. His splayed hand was lying across the top curve of my breasts, exerting no apparent effort, yet I was held firmly down on the bed. Unbelievably, I was unable to do much more than lift my head from the bed pillows.

In my bedroom, my hitched breathing was the only sound in the silent night around us as we continued battling. I soon realized it was a one-sided struggle because he was doing nothing but standing next to the bed and holding me down. He was probably getting off on the view every time I lashed out at him with a kick. I couldn't let that stop me.

He blocked my attempts to maim him with kicks by using his left knee to pin down my thighs. I got a quick glance of a bare foot. Seeing he had taken the time to remove his shoes and socks made me shudder. He had planned for this night. His right foot stayed planted on the floor by my bed.

During this time, I still couldn't see his face. He was a dark shadow backlit by the light from the lamp. Even with my vision restored, my damp hair lying across my eyes in tangles made trying to see an adult version of peek-a-boo. But then the man was lifting his hand off my chest and I knew it was my golden opportunity.

So I went for his balls.

With a surprised grunt, he adroitly avoided my fist by turning his body towards his right. This caused my punch to bounce harmlessly off his left thigh, but I had anticipated this move and my left hand was already in motion.

I was an inch from my goal of causing a painful distraction when his right hand shot out. The man gave a little shake to my fist in his grip and mockingly made a "tsking", chiding sound, as if disappointed in me for missing.

I ignored his taunts, focused on pulling my hand back out of his grip.

He responded by forcibly lifting my arm up, and then over my head. He pried open my clenched fist and pressed my fingers firmly around one of the iron bars of my headboard. He kept his much larger hand tight around mine.

His free hand went for my other wrist. My free hand knocked his away. He kept coming back and grabbing for me. I kept batting his hand away. It was a Three Stooges moment. It would have been funny, if I got to be Moe instead of Curly on the receiving end. He managed to capture my wrist with a hand as tight as a manacle. He made this hand hold another bar on my headboard. My arms were held up high, and my hips and upper thighs were trapped under the weight of his angled body.

In my mind that tiny voice popped up again, the wussy one that prayed for help. Wussy voice whispered insidiously how easy it would be to give in, admit defeat, and let this man win with no more fight from me.

' _Yeah, right!'_

I laid a smack down on that little cowardly voice and took several calming breaths. Surrender is not a word in my vocabulary.

I concentrated on my next move, or tried to come up with one. There weren't many options to choose from. I'd have to be ready to act when I got the chance.

Now that I was held down and temporarily still, I was acutely aware of the fact I may as well be nude for all the cover my nightgown afforded. In his position of leaning against me, he was intently checking out what he could easily survey above and under the sheer lace, namely most of my breasts.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. Based on his earlier grabbing and now his intense expression, my attacker seemed to have a thing for boobs. I really, really wanted to wipe that arrogantly leering expression off his face. I took a fortifying breath and made myself focus on how to get away, determined not to give up against his greater strength. My damn brain had to count for something. I just needed to keep my wits about me and outsmart him.

As if he sensed my racing thoughts, he roused himself. He sat up straighter, removing his hands from over mine around the iron bars. I instantly started to lower my arms.

He raised his hand sharply in warning, but still spoke softly. "Do not take your hands off those bars."

The calmness of his tone was so normal in contrast to his raised hand that I involuntarily obeyed without thinking.

I jerked my eyes up, meeting his squarely for the first time tonight. Distinctive green eyes challenged me. His mouth looked cruel. His full lips curled with a patronizing smirk, clearly getting a kick from my dilemma.

He continued to read my mind. His voice was pleasantly conversational over the implied threat. "I'll only tell you this once. If you take your hands off the bars, you will be punished. Do you understand me?"

The man didn't even wait for my response. By my silence, he was confident I was too intimidated to think of disobeying him. It almost drove me beyond endurance this guy could dream for a minute he'd won that easily. It wasn't easy, but I made myself demurely lower my eyes in pretended submission and bided my time.

When he slowly pulled my nightgown down, I determinedly kept my eyes closed. As he must have intended, with my arms stretched over my head and from the tightness of the stretched neckline pushing up underneath, my breasts were high on display in exaggerated offering. My nipples were erect from the rough friction of the lace, his hands, and the cold air. As he touched me and looked his fill, I set aside the feelings of wishing to kick his ass into the middle of next week with every fiber of my being. I forced myself into calmness, and then used what weapon I did have to create a diversion, my girly-girlness.

Hands around the bars behind me, I let out some feminine squeaks. I tossed my head in agitation. I shook my shoulders to and fro, quivering in my modesty. My bed helped; it bounced and squeaked a little too.

His total attention glued where I wanted, he was starting to lean forward. Without warning, I quickly brought both my knees up and then slammed into his side with both feet flat. I gave him the heave-ho, using the strength and momentum of my legs. Holding onto the bars actually gave me greater leverage. He had been in motion, his foot wasn't planted on the floor any longer, and my comforter fabric was slippery. I had finally caught the man completely off guard.

I didn't once let up my attack to allow him to catch his balance. I kept up the pressure of frenzied kicking and pushing until he slid right off my silky duvet.

Legs and arms flailing, he yelled, "Shit!"

He landed hard on the floor with a solid THUMP!

"Yes!" I screamed triumphantly when he went over the side.

Hopping to my knees on the bed and scrambling to the edge, I was about to make a jump for the door and freedom, but my luck was short lived. The only thing I managed to get was a quick tug up of my nightgown's neckline before I saw the top of his head rising up from the floor along the side of the bed.

Remembering his threat of punishment, I threw myself backwards and grabbed the iron bars of the headboard. I hit with enough force the bed posts smacked against the wall just as he sprang up from the floor like some kind of warp speed jack-in-the-box.

He stood looking down at me, hands on his hips. Gazing back, trying to look innocent, I was berating myself silently for not trying for the door, regardless of the consequences. My only small satisfaction was seeing him breathing heavier for the first time. My eyes dropped lower. I could not stop staring at the sight of his tanned, cut abs above his low riding jeans. They rippled with every breath he took.

When extremely nervous or emotional, my mind sometimes goes AWOL and thinks bizarre thoughts as a coping tool. Right now, all I could think about was how did this man manage to still be so tan when it was near Thanksgiving? Did he use a tanning booth? Get sprayed? Have his abs "highlighted" to accentuate the definition? I imagined him in a hair bonnet while giving precise instructions on how to get a spray tan. I had to turn my face into my shoulder to muffle my sudden choke of crazed giggles. A small snort escaped, but I hurriedly coughed to disguise the sound.

He solved my attention deficit problem when I heard the clinking noise of his belt buckle. Without saying one word, he made my desire to laugh curl up and die instantly. He unhooked his belt buckle and started to pull the belt from the loops on his jeans.

Heart thumping madly, I looked up to see his narrowed eyes watching my face. His black brows almost met in the middle over his fierce scowl. His mouth was a thin line.

My eyes opened as wide as they could go after hearing the belt buckle sound, so I didn't have to fake that. I swallowed hard over the dry lump in my throat. I moistened my lips with my tongue. I blinked and tried for sweetly reasonable, even if it was to tell a lie.

"Um...Mister, you'll notice I didn't take my hands off the bars?"

He ignored me. He paused, then let go of his belt. He undid the top button of his jeans and pulled down the zipper. Emboldened with relief at the immediate threat of pain off the table, and ignoring the zipper part, I was done with being reasonable. Sweet has never worked all that well for me anyway.

So I jeered at him.

"I almost think you didn't have fun getting kicked to the floor by a girl. Hey, you never said I couldn't throw you off the bed like the annoying little meat puppet you are."

Right then, as I heard myself talking smack, I swear I was having an out-of-body experience. I had a vision of the entire scene, as if I was perched up in a corner of the ceiling with a birds-eye view of the room. I saw a tough, half-naked man looming over a sassy, half-naked woman. She looked tiny sprawled out on the big bed, holding onto the iron bars behind her, running her big mouth like a lunatic.

Maybe I was being strategic and thought I had a better chance with him mad and out of control. Maybe I wanted to prove he could restrain me physically, but he couldn't break my will. Maybe I am just such a smart ass I can't keep my mouth shut, no matter what the situation.

So I laughed in his face.

"Why, I do believe the big man isn't used to getting his ass kicked to the floor by a little girl," I drawled, giving another, much more exaggerated shimmy. "Oh, you're so very tough and so very strong, I'm shaking."

It felt mighty fine to smirk up at him for a change.

For about two seconds.

Until all hell broke loose.

When I had begun taunting him, he seemed to ignore my provocation. He had stood silent, arms akimbo, with no expression on his face.

He looked me straight in the eyes. I almost choked on my own breath when he let me see the blazing intent in his face. His dark glance swept over me, as if appraising where to get started to make me pay for my comments.

I knew he had decided where to start when his attention fixed on the V of my clamped together thighs and he smiled broadly. It was a nasty smile. I unthinkingly twisted my body to get away from his blazing eyes.

That was stupid.

His short laughter was as nasty as his smile. My move gave him an eyeful of my entire bare-assed backside. I couldn't do anything about that right now, but I vowed fervently I'd never go to bed without undies again.

Simultaneously with these thoughts, I desperately flung myself off the bars towards the opposite side of the wide bed. I kept rolling, but I felt my ankle snagged. Caught in his grip, I kicked wildly as he dragged me back parallel to the edge of the bed where he was standing. Swiftly, he pulled down his unbuttoned jeans and kicked them away.

Shouting, I scooted away backwards as fast as I could go, practically crabbing it on all fours. I shouted again when he stretched over me and gripped my shoulders. His strong hands snapped both the fragile spaghetti straps of my nightgown. In one swoop, he tore it down and off of me like he was a magician whipping a tablecloth off from under a feast-laden dining table. It was done so efficiently, I didn't have time to even flinch.

I clambered up to my knees, frantically trying to cover myself. I swore hotly in his face, "You...you ASS, you are so going to pay for that!"

With that incredibly lame threat hanging in the air, I dove again towards the other side of the bed. The big man gave a battle cry and dove onto the bed after me. When he landed, the bedsprings wailed. The end of the bed screeched crookedly sideways, scraping about a foot across the hardwood floor.

I shrieked when I felt him grip my naked hips. The force of his hands collapsed me face first into my comforter with a gasping "Oomph!"

My enraged curses were muffled, but his answering war whoops of victory reverberated loudly in the silent room. He squeezed my ass with both his hands before flipping me onto my back like I weighed nothing. I was lying across the width of the bed. He was beside me, naked and grinning.

I tried to move my feet on the slippery comforter under me. I wanted off this bed. It was an irrational goal. Even if I could get past him, the floor offered no better refuge, but I was way past making sensible choices and was reacting solely on instinct. My wildly bicycling feet kept sliding out in front of me.

I screamed in frustration when I saw him watching my sorry performance to get away with an unholy leer. I was a nude woman going nowhere fast and bouncing all over the place. I swung to slap that smug look off his face, but he deflected my hand. He pounced, and I was completely enveloped from head to toe with his much larger body. I felt him hard and heavy between my legs.

I bucked, heaved, and pushed trying to propel him off me. The man pinned my hands to the bed on either side of my face and rode me until I tired, never once losing that superior grin.

Nothing I did fazed him and it made me insane. Feeling a fiery blush of heat wash over my cheeks, I closed my eyes. Not in fear or defeat, but because I was so goddamn mad I was no real match for his physical strength. I had really tried to beat him and get away tonight, any way I could. I wanted to burst with the roiling emotions churning up my insides. I hate losing. I can't remember the last time I lost at anything important.

He rose up on both elbows. I slowly opened my eyes to see him looking down impassively at my scowling face. His neutral expression couldn't disguise the triumph glittering in those green eyes. If my eyes could kill, he'd be dead meat.

The man suddenly smiled. The arrogant ass had straight teeth that were startling white against his tanned skin. And he had one dimple.

Reaching back behind with one hand, he pulled open my nightstand drawer and grabbed a condom. Never taking his intense gaze from mine, he tore it open and smoothed it down over his erection with no wasted motions.

He ordered softly, "Enough play. Put your arms around my neck and hold me tight."

I was pinned flat on my back and in no position to negotiate. I didn't let that minor fact stop me from taking my time thinking over his words. Our faces were only inches apart. He watched me with wary, lowered eyes while I slowly ran my hands up his thickly muscled arms. I trailed my fingers along the top of his smooth-skinned shoulders. Still inherently unable to give in completely, I held him loosely about his neck with my arms crossed at the wrists.

I waited.

He gave me a sardonic look and lifted one black eyebrow.

I moaned softly at that single, arched brow and finally obeyed to the letter of his demands. I wrapped my arms tighter around his neck. With both hands, I ran my long fingernails through the back of his hair against his scalp. I pulled his face down to mine.

I whispered an inch from his lips, "You win. Tonight."

He kissed me in answer. Wild, endless, drugging kisses. I lost myself in abandon. I was in the place where conscious thought has no meaning. Nothing existed beyond the man and the touch of our heated, entwined bodies on the bed.

Poised above me, he murmured against my mouth, "Christ, I've missed you."

He kissed me deeper and continued to prove it.

Much later, he gave me a little squeeze within his arms. "Seriously, a baseball bat, Anabel?"

I lay across his chest, my face nuzzled in his warm neck. I was too exquisitely exhausted to move, but I couldn't help my tiny grin at his aggrieved tone.

I murmured drowsily, "No harm, no foul balls, right?"

His hands around my waist slid lower. He positioned me on top of him while responding dryly, "Yeah, it was a real no-hitter."

I laughed.

Sleep's vastly overrated.

Chapter II

"Fever" by Peggy Lee

Saturday, 11/17

6:30 AM

My name is Anabel Katrina Axelrod. I also answer to Bel or Junior. I am the namesake of my maternal grandmother, Anabel Katrina MacKenzie. Hence the Junior. Hopefully, Bel is self-explanatory.

I'd woken up groggily a few minutes ago and glanced over at my bedside clock. I suspected it would only be around 6:30 AM, and groaned softly. It sucked to be correct. My internal clock woke me around the same time every day. It didn't seem to care I'd only slept two hours.

I lay on my side drowsily in the dark, pleased to remember it was Saturday. My shop was covered by my staff on weekends. My niece Stella, also one of my two store managers, would be at the helm today.

NanaBel, as our grandmother was affectionately called, was the original proprietress of Bel's Books and the former owner of this building. That included this second floor apartment where I grew up and still live, but now own in the historic small town of Northfield, Minnesota.

Some of my earliest childhood memories were running tame in the store below. I was happy to play rambunctious games of Tag, Hide n Seek, and Red Light-Green Light in the aisles with my siblings, but it had always been about the books for me. More often than not, you could find me curled up in a wing chair with my nose buried deep in a book. I can't recall a time when I didn't read predominantly adult literature, except for the occasional R. L. Stine thrown in.

I loved helping with the customers. To hear it from NanaBel, you'd think I was the most precocious kid ever to walk the earth. My grandmother claims I was a cross somewhere between the top sales person she'd ever seen and a little con artist. If you believed NanaBel's version of my childhood, after hanging with me the adult customers often left the store in a daze with a bag of books they didn't remember choosing, much less buying. You'll never convince me those people did not enjoy reading Robert Heinlein, Robert McCammon, and Georgette Heyer as much as I did.

I had an epiphany in middle school. I decided my main goal in life was to own Bel's Books. I've never looked back. I have worked in the bookstore officially (meaning actually paid a real wage and not child slave labor) since I was fifteen. I became the store manager at eighteen. Now pushing twenty-nine, I have been sole owner of Bel's Books for the last three years while a gleefully retired NanaBel travels the globe. She's kicking up her heels and making up for lost time.

My thoughts drifted from the store to the pressing issue of the man currently spooning me. His name is Luke Drake. He's my lover, not an unknown intruder I was freaky enough to make out with because he could pin me.

If anyone knew what I was up to last night, some might judge me a sick puppy. I think they'd be wrong. Not necessarily the sick puppy part, the jury is still out on that decision, but wrong to judge. I firmly believe what consenting adults do in the privacy of their own sex life is their own business.

For me, last night's shenanigans were a first. I'm sure people must play sex games all the time, although nobody I know has ever told me about them if they do.

That's not as strange as it sounds. My friends, family, casual acquaintances, and even complete strangers have confided in me all my life. It used to stump me as to why people voluntarily told me their personal business and deep, dark secrets. They get no prompting or encouragement from my end. I have determined it's because humans are typically contrary creatures by nature. Plus, I can keep a secret, a trait I sometimes bitterly regret. As to why complete strangers confide in me, your guess is as good as mine. I chock that one up to another mystery of the universe like black holes and dark energy.

Personally, I try very hard to keep my private life private. I rarely share specifics with anyone about my love life. Still, it doesn't stop my friends and neighbors from laying on me every agonizing detail of their own sexcapades.

It's also a myth that chicks talk about their adventures in lovemaking more than guys. When a man talks about not liking to discuss "feelings" he sure didn't mean in regards to how his wanger felt last Saturday night when out with so-and-so. My male friends are most gruesomely detailed oriented. Like it or not, I'd definitely have heard if any friends of mine were up to anything remotely interesting and kinky.

This morning, He-Who-Dominates has me in a similar hold he used last night to restrain me. One arm was draped over my hips on top of the blankets with his hand resting against my stomach while the other was under my pillow and across my chest. Even asleep, Luke's large hand greedily tried to cup both my breasts at once. I wasn't teasing when I said earlier this man is seriously infatuated with my bosom. I know, I know, it's difficult but I try to tolerate his fascination. However, I was not sure if I liked waking up this way. Not that Luke's embrace was too tight, but rather I'm not used to sleeping with any man and then waking up in his arms.

Luke was still sleeping deeply. I experimentally wriggled my butt and pushed a little back against him. He murmured something unintelligible and kissed my neck. His hand caressed up the curving indentation from my hip to my waist before he relaxed back into sleep.

' _Huh, that was kind of interesting.'_

I felt languorous and feminine, cozily surrounded by warm, hard muscles and soft, tickling hairiness. His knee rode up high between my thighs and my derrière was nestled tightly against him. How do people get out of bed and accomplish anything if this is how they wake up every morning? It made me want to lazily stay in bed and do dirty, fun things not get up and get busy doing my boring chores.

Even his steady breathing near my ear wasn't too irritating. Instead, the rhythmic sound lulled me. My mind wandered to contemplating how I came to have Luke still in my bed after playing "Who's on Top?" last night.

Along with it being the first time I've acted out one of my sexual fantasies, allowing a man to stay overnight is also new territory for me. Don't get me wrong, I am not being ingenuous here. I have gone out with quite a few men over the course of my twenties, but I don't do sleepovers. I kid you not; there have been no pajama parties with the men I've dated since I was nineteen.

I have an ironclad rule about sending a man on his way, or skipping out myself, when the date is over. Does anybody really like the inconvenient awkwardness of waking up together the next day with morning breath and bed hair? I sure don't. I schedule a date for an evening, not my whole, cotton-pickin' weekend.

As I lay in bed with morning breath and bed hair, being a woman of sound mind who could rationalize her behavior with the best of them, I logically justified my unique transgression of allowing Luke to stay the night. It was a true statement our night practically began this morning. There was the tiny detail of my utter exhaustion. I guess experiencing the second best sex I've ever had in my life caused me to pass out in satiated bliss. I forgot my sleepover rule and I forgot to boot Luke out.

My all-encompassing rule number one where men are concerned is quite simple and easy to remember: never forget my rules.

Even thinking of Luke brought on a sleepy smile. I admit to being in lustful la-la land over this dude. After last night, there wasn't an iota of doubt in my mind Luke really sends me.

That doesn't change the fact my rules have evolved over time and are now cast in stone. They are based on first-hand knowledge from my experiences with the most dangerous predator known to prowl the planet men. I live by these rules for good reasons. I like to be free to pursue the goals I've laid out for my life and not get bogged down with relationship issues. Following the rules helps me avoid a lot of problematic situations where men are concerned. Not following my own rules allows males to have the opening into my life they are genetically predisposed to pursue, and it creates big, fat messes.

Let's face it, stereotypically men are hunters and women their prey. I have no desire to be bagged this week's trophy kill by confusing the excitement of this elemental chase with the female equivalent of romanticized "in love." I don't need to pretty it up with a pink bow.

I thrill at the chase, and for a select few hunters, have thrown myself in for the kill. By faithfully following my simple rule number one, I have lived to walk away, unscathed and intact, from the exhilaration of the hunt for the last decade.

Since I always manage somehow to be honest with myself, in spite of myself, my quiet introspection quickly brought me to a couple of conclusions. The first, I could try and justify it all I wanted, but I have been breaking my rules for Luke since the day I met him. The second, I was going to stop breaking my rules for Luke as of this minute. I like wanting all sorts of different men in my life for all sorts of different reasons, but actually needing one main man in my life? Not so cool.

I was officially introduced to Luke two months ago at my younger brother's house. My brother Reggie gives new meaning to the word friendly and his place is like Grand Central Station at quitting time. It's a joke in our family that if you want to run into anyone from Northfield, stop over at Reg's house, located twenty minutes outside of town, and you will.

Reg lives on a sweet piece of property overlooking Lake Roberds. It's outside of a small town called Faribault, located ten miles southwest down the road from Northfield. The house that came with the lake property is a two-story old relic that defies style classification and needs massive amounts of TLC. My brother decided not to bulldoze, citing the old house had "good bones." He's been busy renovating since last spring.

Reggie owns his own contracting company and has many friends in the different trades. Whenever I come to visit there's usually a guy or two helping him work on the latest project. It always gives me warm fuzzies watching that anachronism of the bartering system in action. Keeping a fridge stocked with good beer and occasionally returning the favor seems to be all the payment the men require of each other. Don't even get me started on the assortment of women 'just dropping by to help,' and I don't mean my sisters or other female relatives. My brother's a very popular guy.

Since I've always been an exemplary role model of a sister, I drive over to Reggie's once in a while on a weekend day with sustenance. I like to check out the ongoing progress on the house. Reg and I have always been close, but with both of us being so busy lately, we haven't hung out much. It was easy and convenient to do something together before he moved out from my apartment to the lake this past summer, but now it takes planning.

Sometimes I'll even pitch-in and work around Reg's place. Having no prior experience, I'm not exactly DIY construction worker material. Truthfully, I suck. However, my little brother is surprisingly cool with my tool-challenged ineptitude. He's an awesome teacher, and so are most of his friends. I never thought in a million years I'd get pumped being taught my latest handyman lesson, but I've been really getting into it.

It makes me proud that my baby brother no longer screams like a woman and ducks when I hold up the nail gun in my hand. It's true what they say about men; they have no tolerance for a little pain. It was only the one time, and the nail I'd pulled out of Reggie's thigh was a short, tiny thing a finishing nail was what I believe he shrieked when correcting me. Yes, okay, he did bleed. But, sweet Jesus, the way he carried on you would've thought I'd punctured his femoral artery instead of the back of his leg. It was totally unfair to blame me for the resulting infection.

When I met Luke Drake, it was on the third Saturday back in September. Actually, our meeting was a little more convoluted than that, but I didn't realize it at first.

I'd woken up early to an idyllic, late summer Minnesota day. I hadn't seen my brother for over a week, so I decided to whip up some banana bread to bring to his house for breakfast. My idea was to soak up some sunshine for an hour on Reg's new deck overlooking the water. I had plans later with a man I'd met a couple weeks back in the store. We were going to the Renaissance Festival in Shakopee. The new man was a cute, nice guy, but you can't force the love. I knew after our first date for drinks it was strictly friends zone on my part. Still, he was fun and a girl could always stand another friend.

After taking care of some business down in the bookstore, I arrived at the lake house around eleven that morning. I turned my aging Jeep 4x4 into Reggie's graveled parking area just as a black and white SUV was pulling out. Driving was Jack Banner, Chief of Police in Northfield.

My parents died together in an airplane crash when I was six. My dad had been a cop in St. Paul. Jack was my dad's younger, rookie partner and good friend. My folks were flying home from Jack's Canadian border cabin in a small plane when the engine malfunctioned and they crashed. I've never figured out if Jack felt some misguided guilt about orphaning my siblings and me, or if he's simply a glutton for punishment, but he's been a fixture in our lives ever since. I consider him part of the family and torment him accordingly.

He slowed alongside my Jeep. I smiled a greeting through our open windows.

"Morning, She-Devil." Jack takes great pleasure in calling me defamatory names. She-Devil is mild compared to some of the doozies he's thought up over the years.

I think it's pretty unfair and mean on his part, but Jack's called me these names also since I was six. After we'd heard the news of our parents' death, Jack found me crying off in a corner by my lonesome. He attempted to pull me onto his lap to comfort me. I took a hunk out of Jack's shoulder with my bite and told him to "keep your stinking hands to yourself or I'll report you to my school principal."

I was a second-grader then, and fresh from learning all about sexual harassment I knew my rights as a woman.

In my teens, and whenever he was around, dear Jack had made a habit of trying to embarrass me in front of boys while intimidating them into behaving. He would take my date aside. First, he'd warn them not to even think of messing with me. Then he'd tell the boy I may look like an angel, but inside I was feral with a bite much worse than my bark. He had the scar and rabies shot to prove it.

Jack never quite got that didn't scare off the boys, but made me more fascinating. Maybe it was fascinatingly scary. My dates were never one hundred percent sure why I'd bitten Jack, a cop and twenty years older, in the first place. Being a laconic man, he never mentioned that part. If the boys asked me, I'd shrug and smile mysteriously.

"Well, good morning to you, Chief. Do you have to go and protect the unsuspecting public, or can I tempt you with some yummy banana bread?"

At forty-nine, Jack is a fit and handsome man in a tough and craggy way. To be fair, he has always been tough and craggy, so he hasn't changed much over the years. His white blonde hair is touched with a little silver now, his skin's ruddier and lined from years spent fishing on lakes in the sun and wind, but his deep-set, gray eyes are sharp as ever. They missed little.

Jack's a macho man. He's the real deal, not a poser like many men who only act tough. Jack is no swaggering dude compensating for insecurities or serious woman-bashing issues. Chief Jack likes women. He is just clueless when it comes to understanding anything about us.

Jack's got that cop stare down. The one that makes most people nervous and willing to confess to crimes they haven't even thought of committing. Add that to the physique of a powerful bull in his prime, speaking only when he has something to say, and wearing a default facial expression so flat that it makes a shark look animated, and you have one very tough hombre. Anyone with half a brain would think twice before crossing Jack.

Happily, I am immune to all that. I'm not sure if that means I have more or less than half a brain, but Jack's always been a pussycat in my eyes.

"I'm heading into the office. Paperwork." His eyes were shaded by the clichéd mirrored aviators all cops seem to wear. He made a curt motion with his left hand draped over the steering wheel. "Gimme some to go."

I tilted my head to the side and waited.

"What?" he barked out after the silence dragged on.

"Please Anabel, sweetest of all women and best baker on earth. Isn't that what you were about to add?"

That earned a fleeting tightening of the lips. For Jack, it was tantamount to a belly laugh. "Damn, are you going to make me lie for food, Junior?"

I tapped my forehead. "Oh, that's right. You are getting up there in age, aren't you? I don't want you lying when you're so close to meeting your maker."

Jack gave me "the look." I chuckled and reached for a foiled wrapped loaf of bread from my wicker basket. I nodded to him, tossing the bread between our trucks. Reflexes lightning fast, Jack snatched it out of the air, cradling the loaf as gingerly as an infant in his ham-sized hand.

He nodded back and took his foot off his brake. "You just made an old man very happy."

I am very conscious of my civic duty. I consider it part of my voluntary contribution to community service hours to give the bachelor Chief Jack a hard time.

"Oh dear, Jack, I'm truly sorry." Sad lips, I was mournful. "From some of the...er...females I've seen you with over time, I suspected it didn't take too much to make you happy. Seriously though, a little loaf of my bread is all it takes?"

Jack braked abruptly. He stabbed a finger at me. "Listen, Miss Thing, you couldn't handle what it takes to make a man like me happy. Not after all those pansy-assed boys you've had jumping through your hoops over the years." Seeing my grin, he shook his head and bit off something about smart-assed women under his breath. "See you tomorrow night."

I saluted sharply. It's a standing invitation that I host a family dinner on Sunday evenings at my place. It's my way of atoning for doing my best to avoid most of them the rest of the week.

I caught the quirk of his lips again before he drove off down the bumpy driveway to the main black top road that circled Lake Roberds.

There were three other vehicles parked at my brother's that day I'd met Luke. One was Reggie's red truck with the white "Axelrod Contracting" logo on the door. I made a sour face at the next car; I knew who drove the light blue Honda Civic with the vanity plates. I didn't have a clue who owned the third vehicle. I let out an appreciative whistle. The owner may be unknown, but I definitely recognized the brand spanking, Mack Daddy of a new truck.

I loved my jeep, Lady Liberty, but she was getting up there. I'd been circling around this identical truck for a couple of weeks now at the Apple Ford dealership. I hadn't yet decided if I was going to move in for the kill. I was deeply in want, but trying to talk myself out of crippling truck payments. Not to mention the very real possibility of crippling myself trying to get up into the front seat. I would need to carry a stool for entry assistance into a truck that size, especially after a meal and a couple of glasses of wine made me weak.

Picking my way over the graveled area towards the house brought me closer to the truck. I adjusted the heavy basket on my hip that contained the loaves of banana bread, a pink bakery bag of cookies, and bottles of OJ and chocolate milk. A gust of warm wind off the lake swirled my dress around my thighs when I stopped to admire the truck more closely.

I held my short sundress down while I toured around the vehicle. It was a 2012 Ford F-150 Harley-Davidson. The color was called Tuxedo Black. I had bonded so completely with this beauty in the last two weeks; I was half-tempted to prostrate myself on its hood to get some sun, instead of on my brother's deck.

"Very pretty. Are you Little Red Riding Hood coming to visit?"

Unaware of being watched, I jumped at the low voice, but then chuckled at the comparison. I guess with a stretch I could resemble Ms. Hood. I carried a basketful of food, my long, blonde hair was held off my face with a black headband, and I wore a scarlet red dress.

I glanced in the direction of that low voice, but couldn't see the man. "Let me guess...Grandma?"

The shadows were deep on the old-fashioned porch. Two towering Red Oaks majestically spread their canopy of leafy branches over the front yard and house. I heard a quiet laugh. Expecting to see a friend of my brother's, I was surprised when a stranger walked off the porch. He came down the front steps toward me. He was carrying a mug full of steaming something.

I put a hand to my heart and breathed, "Oh no! It's the big, bad wolf!"

He flashed a grin, bright white against his tanned face. I wasn't actually kidding; he really did look like a badass wolf.

Even before I got a proper look at him, something about the confident way he carried himself made me perk right up and pay closer attention. I noticed his eyes slowly, continuously scanned the yard around us as he walked. I peered around curiously to see what had him so vigilant.

It looked like Reggie's front yard to me. Lady Liberty's engine still ticked as she settled down. The birds were busily chirping. Crisp, autumn leaves were rustling in the trees from the breeze. Otherwise, aside from myself, there were no terrorists or snipers I could see. All was quiet on the Lake Roberds front.

The aroma of his coffee wafted my way and had me salivating. At least, I think it was the coffee. Watching him walk, I was experiencing a strange phenomenon. Everything appeared sharper, brighter, and vividly more in focus around me. The already perfect day seemed suddenly to have infinite possibilities.

When he was a few steps nearer, our eyes clashed over his coffee cup. I was jarred to my toes at the impact. I held his intense stare for a beat before disengaging and looking away. I found I had to exert willpower to glance away with a semblance of composure. I was blown away by the insane desire to lean against his chest and stare dreamily up into his eyes. This was so not like me. I don't lean, much less do dreamy.

Not looking directly at him, I still felt the touch everywhere his eyes skimmed over me. He didn't linger too long on any obvious points, but I was thoroughly, expertly checked out from the top of my black headband down to my black, seriously cute, wedge-heeled sandals.

When not looking into those eyes, my mind started functioning properly. My memory clicked into place and I mentally snapped my fingers.

' _Holy Hannah!'_

I knew why he looked familiar. I had glimpsed this man once before when he came into my store last spring. I think it had been in April. I'd been working alone that afternoon and sitting on a stool at the long checkout counter reading some report or another.

I remember feeling nervous flutters in my stomach for the previous half hour before he had arrived. I had been idly wondering if it was the caffeine from the espresso shot in my latte, or if I had forgotten something I had to be excited about that day.

The string of bells on the shop's door jingled and jangled. I glanced up to see this man walk in. The sex kitten voice in my head had stretched awake from her catnap and purred, ' _Ah, here's the explanation for the butterflies.'_

Sounds weird I know, but that has happened to me frequently enough that I've learned to listen to the different voices talking to me in my head. I end up regretting not paying attention if I don't. Besides, I look forward to the sex kitten voice. That voice is welcomed with open arms when compared to the mean mommy voice reminding me to be a responsible grown-up and do some grunt work.

The man's gaze had fixed on me. I was twenty feet away, but immediately reacted to the intensity of his look. I had no clue why, but being the focus of his concentration held me electrified on my stool like a switch had been turned on. It was horrible, bizarre, and uncomfortably exciting.

The tough-looking man staring at me across my store last spring was certainly no male model. I hadn't heard him speak and knew nothing about him. But I know men, I really like men, and men never make me lose my cool and get all electrified and turned on for no reason other than a mere glance.

I've discovered a few facts about myself over the years. One fact is I don't have a personal preference what a man must look like before I'll go out with him. I've come to accept the truth, by being bored to death, that often fabulous-looking men have more hair than wit. Men like that make me frantically plot an early escape from a date. Conversely, an average Joe with a clever sense of humor can become irresistibly attractive upon getting to know him better.

Sure, some men are hot and can appeal right away. And some women might choose to do a one-nighter with a man they've just met, but drive-by sex has never been my thing.

No, it took a whole lot more than the usual, excruciatingly boring pick-up scenario of a player to get me interested in getting naked. The practiced routine of first staring at me across the room, then ignoring me, and then finally talking to me by telling me a corny joke or giving me a compliment is so irritatingly lacking. A supposedly charming sexual predator out only to get laid is such a tired cliché. I waste no time telling those men not to waste their time on me. The sex with that drive-by man is underwhelming at best. Or so I've been repeatedly told in confidence from far too many women.

Nope, I need a dude to have real brains, not a routine. I like lots of personality to interest me in even a first date, much less getting me aroused to start with the stripping. Does that make me sound like I think I'm all that? I cannot deny I've been called conceited, arrogant, and definitely too picky by both sexes. I've been told I am cold, cruel, and frigid, although never all three at once.

All those type of comments only make me smile and shake my head.

Here's the deal, arrogant me simply can't imagine deserving anything less than what I want in a man. Why it's considered conceited because I have some self-respect and standards is beyond me. The picky part, I can't help it if dudes with brains and a personality aren't plentiful. I would love to find men so described under every rock. I'm sure were that to be the case, women would leave no stone unturned across the globe. If any men have had reasons to think I am frigid or cold, they were one hundred and fifty percent accurate. If knowing my own mind, speaking up, or saying no is perceived as cruel by those on the other end of the stick, I am okay with being cruel.

Except for one awful aberration in my late teens, I have been unapologetically playing the field, staying single, and loving it. Guys chase as they will, but never catch me for long. I didn't want to be caught at twenty, and I don't want to be caught now.

My attitude goes as far back as pre-school days where my first devotee, Bucky Mitchell, threw a fit and would not go to school unless I picked him up on my way. It's my belief I'd skipped kindergarten and gone directly to first grade just to avoid his possessiveness, and not because I could already read and write like NanaBel claimed.

So sitting in my store last April while minding my business, you can bet your bottom dollar I was confoundedly stunned to find myself aroused from receiving a mere glance sent in my direction by this man, a total stranger. My tingling female parts hadn't given a rip if the man could add two plus two, spell the word dog, or even get a basic knock-knock joke.

I had watched the man reach into his jacket pocket and check his cell. He'd quickly glanced back up and looked directly at me. He had appeared to hesitate, but then turned around abruptly and left the shop. I remember letting out a whoosh of a breath I hadn't known I was holding. I felt like I'd just dodged a bullet. If the chimes hadn't banged loudly against the glass of the door behind him, I might have believed the dude had been an apparition of my crazy, lustful thinking on a rainy, spring day.

Had I experienced my first attack of extreme pheromones I'd read so much about over the years? Whatever it was, it had felt revoltingly exhilarating.

If anybody close to me had witnessed my girly reaction to that stranger, they could not have been blamed one bit for serving me up a heaping plate of crow. Somehow, it slipped my mind and I never mentioned the strange encounter to anyone.

Then, a few months later in September, there I was in Reggie's yard, and that same man I'd determinedly forgotten was only a few feet away. I was straddling the fence about seeing him once again. I like my life uncomplicated, so I wasn't sure if I was ecstatic or depressed to be experiencing the same horribly stunned reactions as before.

One thing I did know, turnabout is fair play. It was only natural I'd take a moment to swiftly check out the man of my pheromone-induced, nightmare of a daydream.

From my angle, I didn't even have to squint to see the left hand holding his coffee mug. There was no wedding ring or white skin line. Not that an absence of a ring proved he wasn't married. Men willing to cheat were obviously sneaky by definition and married men were the best at it, or the worst, depending on your opinion of cheaters. Married men are absolutely off limits to me, no exceptions.

I'd guess him to be early to mid-thirties. His better-be-single eyes were bottle green under black, slightly arched brows. His wide mouth and full lower lip were surprisingly sensual against the harsh lines of his face. My next thought was that his eyes and lips were the only pretty things about him. Everything else shouted hard-bodied, aggressive male. Exactly the kind of man I usually high-tailed it away from, as fast and far as my little legs could run.

He was dressed in a faded black T-shirt, paint-speckled jeans, and work boots. He didn't have an ounce of fat on him anywhere that I could see in my peripheral version. He glowed with strength and vitality. I would try not to hold that against him. The not an ounce of fat part, that is. The vitality was hotter than hell.

I exercise most days and watch what I eat, but there's no getting around the fact I'm more petite centerfold than runway model. From the tightly leashed energy emanating from his being, I bet my lean, broad shouldered, mystery man had to consume enormous amounts of calories to keep at a normal weight. Some people were born under a lucky star. I would eat my weight in chocolate éclairs every day if I had such a metabolism. Well, truthfully, it would be a split of fifty-two pounds each between chocolate éclairs and frosted sugar cookies.

He was bronzed a dark tan in a way men seem to get when they spend a lot of time outdoors with their shirts off. His silky, thick hair was cut short to his head and mussed on top. It was deep black and shined brilliantly, even in the leaf-filtered sunlight. He was lean cheeked with a high bridged, distinctively bold nose reminiscent of a swarthy Greek or Italian somewhere in his gene pool. Contributing to the badass look was black stubble covering the lower half of his face and a strong, square chin. Dressed in work clothes and needing to shave, he still portrayed an aura of the sharp professional dressed down for the weekend, not a biker dude.

With his flexed arm holding his mug, I saw he had impressive pipes. Since we're objectifying here, I have to confess muscular arms absolutely do it for me. A tattoo or three could possibly send me over the edge.

This wasn't a man I'd call cute or handsome or a hottie. Fierce suited him with his air of coiled intensity and his dramatic, dark coloring. His likeness could be depicted in a mythology book when illustrating Mars, the Roman war-god.

Practice makes perfect. I was expert at keeping a poker face as those incredibly detailed impressions of the man streamed across my third eye mind. Inside, I was recoiling in disgust at my helpless fascination with everything about him. Outside, I serenely continued admiring the most gorgeous of all trucks before finally breaking the hormonally charged silence and answering.

"Yes, it's very, very pretty. The paint job really rocks, and man, those are some sweet rims. I mean, what's not to love about a 6.2 liter V8?" I flashed him my change-my-light-bulb-pretty-please smile. "I know it's none of my business, but will you please tell me what you paid for it, down to the last penny?"

His green-eyed gaze was amused, if also warmly appraising. "Wow, impressive. You're a woman who knows her trucks. I think the wheels are particularly awesome, too." Pausing, he looked me in the eye. "And you're also right; it's none of your business what I paid for it."

His immediate wide grin took the sting out of his blunt words. I flashed a sunny, sympathetic smile back in acknowledgement of his temporary rights to deny me.

' _Ah, the dumb guy probably paid the dealer's "bottom price" anyway, and was too embarrassed to admit it.'_

He took his time and blew across his hot coffee, did a test sip, and winced dramatically. He then focused on me, and again I felt the power of his stare hit me over the head.

' _Whoa!_ _Okay, this was some serious, force field level magnetism going on here_.'

I practically had to physically brace myself not to be pulled into the tractor beam of his charisma. I wanted to beg him to go steady, or be my valentine, or take me to a homecoming dance somewhere I was crushing like an innocent schoolgirl, that hard, that fast. It was nauseating, confusing, mesmerizing, and not to be tolerated.

His black-lashed eyes were not only beautiful, but shined with a lively intelligence and, dare I pray, humor? I hoped that was true. Poor war-god, from the way I was reacting he'd need a very healthy sense of humor in his immediate future, and the smarts to understand what hit him.

After his studied pause the pause I felt not the slightest need to rush to fill he smiled slowly and continued, "But the pretty comment was about you."

I smiled a little sideways at him, but otherwise ignored his flirting for a moment. I sighed gustily. I put my whole body into it. I'm not too shabby at drama myself.

"Well, if that isn't a blasted shame."

War-god's eyes glinted, but didn't stray from my face during my full body sigh. "Oh yeah, what's a shame?"

"This is the exact truck I wanted to buy. I have been scoping it for the last two weeks. Now you have it."

I gave the truck one last covetous glance and then resignedly shrugged. I got a firm grip on the heavy basket handle and walked past him to the front porch stairs. He came after me and motioned to take the basket from my arm. He looked confused at my comment, but game.

"Here, wait a sec, let me carry that for you. I'm Luke Drake, by the way. Pardon me if I'm slow, but why is it a blasted shame if I have this truck?"

I was on the stair above him when I relinquished the basket with a smile at his good manners. I guesstimated he was about five-ten or eleven. My wedge heels and the extra stair height put us at eye level.

"Hi, I'm Anabel Axelrod." I automatically put out my right hand for a friendly shake, but Luke's were presently both occupied with the mug of coffee and the basket, so I continued, "Oh, I'm a little bummed right now. I'll never know what price I could have talked them down to at the dealership for this truck."

"Oh yeah, why's that?" Luke asked, somewhat distractedly. He was transferring the awkward basket over to his arm, preparing to shake my hand politely in return.

"Isn't it kind of creepy to go buy the same exact truck of a man I want to date?" I rushed on hopefully, "But maybe you don't think that would be too cutesy if we drove twin trucks?"

I saw when the meaning of my words hit home.

His eyes shot up to stare at me.

I smiled shyly and blinked once.

My badass wolf burst out laughing.

My smile went huge.

I really love it when my instincts are spot on. I had hit the seldom seen, nearly extinct trifecta of manly muscles, intelligence, and humor.

Luke started to answer, but then the front screen door banged sharply. We both turned to look as my brother came out onto the porch.

Walking towards us, Reggie called, "Hey, if it isn't the most favorite of all my sisters! I thought I heard your Jeep." Eyeing the food, he rubbed his hands together. "So, what have you brought me?"

Reg gave me an affectionate, one-armed squeeze around the waist while checking out the basket on Luke's arm. He grabbed the Northfield Bakery pink bag holding the chocolate chip cookies.

He took a deep whiff. "Either these smell almost edible or I'm hungrier than I thought."

I hadn't actually baked the cookies myself but based on general principle, I casually rubbed my cheek with my middle finger. It was a private gesture of affection for my brother. Luke glanced up from the basket just in time to catch me being sisterly.

Reggie chuckled at my blush. "Luke, meet my sister." He relieved Luke of the basket. "Junior, meet Luke Drake. Luke's my new neighbor down the road. He's inherited Ben Drake's farm." Reggie noticed my blank expression. "You know, Junior, the farm that has the toy John Deere tractor mounted on the mailbox. Old Ben was your uncle, right Luke?"

"Great Uncle," Luke absently answered my brother.

I wasn't listening much to Reggie, either. I ignored the questioning gleam in my brother's blue eyes while he looked from me to Luke. I also ignored his brief, knowing smirk shot my way before he waved to the screen door. "Let's head inside and go to the deck."

I went up the steps, feeling the searing intensity of Luke's gaze on my back with every step. "Thanks for the intro, but Luke and I have met." I flashed a mischievous glance at Luke over my shoulder. "He knows I want his...truck."

I didn't wait for the men, but walked ahead into the house to get supplies from the kitchen. I could hear the low rumble of Reggie's voice behind me on the porch stairs saying something that caused Luke to laugh out loud.

I rolled my eyes. Reg was probably being a traitor to the blood and warning Luke not to let me near his truck. I have a slight problem with curbs. One of the few side effects I live with as a result of poor vision in my left eye. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I used the Omnipotent Sister trick and called back to him through the screen, "I heard that, Reg. Good thing you have three other 'most favorite' sisters who get their tushies out of bed and bake for you."

I snickered when the immediate response was, "Oh, peace out, Junior! You're so sensitive." I heard a low voiced, "Shit, she's got the hearing of a bat."

I passed through the sizeable living room set up with four sawhorses instead of furniture. The flooring was still at the plywood subfloor stage, but I observed it was screwed down in place since the last time I had stopped by.

There were two ancient six panel doors laid across the sawhorses in the process of being stripped of their multi-layers of old paint. I wrinkled my nose at the noxious odor. That job I did not want to do. Thankfully, the doors and windows were wide open to let the breeze in and the toxic fumes out, but it was still a brain tumor waiting to happen.

In the spacious but outdated kitchen, I reached on pointed toes for a few of Reggie's endless supply of paper plates located up in an old cabinet. When that didn't work, I jumped up and down, boosting off the cracked Formica countertop to get leverage to reach far back into the overhead shelf.

I expertly bounced, jumped, boosted, and stretched in one fluid motion. I almost managed to grip the plates.

Before my next attempt, I called out, "I'll get the napkins and plates, and then meet you guys on the deck. Do you need anything else out there, Reg?"

"He sent me to remind you to bring paper cups for the juice." Luke's quiet voice was right behind me. I whirled around in surprise. I could feel the counter's metal edge cool against the exposed, bare skin of my lower back.

He smiled slightly, his glance briefly lingering on my hands covering my racing heart over the V neckline of my halter-top sundress.

He leaned towards me.

I caught myself from puckering up just in time. Luke was only reaching around me into the cupboard. He placed a stack of paper plates onto the counter, and then politely stepped back. His expression remained blandly neutral, but I had seen the flare of momentary reaction passing over his face when I'd whirled around at his voice. I also saw the amusement now glowing in his eyes.

Flustered, I automatically smiled my thanks back without a thought. I was too busy trying to figure out if I had been flashing him when expertly boosting since my sundress was short and sassy. I usually only do that sort of thing by accident on purpose. He was definitely silent and tricky.

I wouldn't even let my mind dwell for a microsecond on the realization that I had been willing to kiss him without conscious thought. I breathed in deeply. I grabbed a firm hold of my usual sangfroid with both hands, exhaled, and settled into my normal cool.

Our smiles slowly faded. We stood a foot apart, unabashedly sizing each other up. I've never met a man before, who wasn't also a gross pervert, who made absolutely no bones he was taking his sweet time looking me up one side and down the other. Weirder yet, I stood still and let him. Speaking of bare bones, I've never before told a man I was planning to date him, either. Both were oddly exciting notions, even as I wondered what in the hell was happening to me.

Luke spoke first. "You are one scary sister."

I nodded. Not exactly what I expected to hear, but I'll accept any compliment thrown my way. "Why, thank you."

"I understand you hit curbs while driving." He said it as a serious statement, arms crossed at the chest and eyes narrowed.

I ducked my head and scuffed my foot, and then peeked up quickly at my interrogator. "Yes, but only the curbs on the left side. A mere nothing, I assure you. Anyone could do so, if they only covered their left eye and tried."

He kept a stoic face, but his eyes had that glint I was already coming to recognize. "Shooting the nail precisely into your brother's thigh? That had to take a cold, calculated aim. I believe there was the added bonus of an infection. Is that correct?"

I airily waved him off. "Yes, that's correct, but enough with the compliments. You'll make me blush."

He frowned severely down at me. "I'm to understand you bite, too?"

"Okay, that's it. I can only take so much sucking-up flattery." Laughing, I reached up and lightly shook his shoulder. "Please, snap out of it, I beg you!"

We grinned at each other for a couple of seconds.

I reluctantly remembered to drop my hand. The same hand that twitched to start smoothing across his broad shoulder.

Luke leaned forward and loosely bracketed me against the counter with an arm on either side. "Anabel, are you thinking what I am thinking?"

"It would be proof there is a God," I answered fervently.

Faces inches apart, he quizzically cocked one black eyebrow at my happily enthusiastic answer.

' _Oh, that move is no fair!_ _Totally below the belt._ '

I was enslaved with that diabolically arching eyebrow. He was so hot while looking all cool, calm, and yes, in control. Also, I couldn't cock just one eyebrow in question if my life depended on it. I had to settle for cocking my head to one side in question back at him.

A small smile hovering on his lips, Luke went on smoothly, "I'm thinking we need to go out on a date," he paused infinitesimally, "tonight."

"Oh." A little bit of a letdown in the originality department, but he made up for it in the urgency department. "I was thinking I want to have your children, but if you want to start with a date," I shrugged, "I'm up for that."

Luke gave a shout of laughter, but started shaking his head emphatically in denial when I continued speaking. "I can't accept for tonight, though." I shrugged lightly again. "Sorry, but I have previous plans."

"Oh, no you don't. You can't do that to me. Now that we've established what we will be doing on our first date, I can't wait for another night." He stopped laughing and laser beamed me from those dark green eyes. "Seriously, cancel your plans and come out with me tonight."

I opened my mouth, firmly intending to answer with a resounding, "Seriously, dream on, buddy-boy."

Imagine my surprise when what came out instead was a breathless, "Okey-dokey."

I looked around in shock to see if it was really me who had said that peculiar answer. Luke didn't give confused me a chance to renege. He stood back and was all sharp teeth and smiles, radiating male satisfaction with closing the deal.

"Cool. Seven o'clock?"

After a pause, I grumpily replied, "I guess that's okay." I have a firm rule never to break existing plans with friends to be with a man, unless it's his funeral. I added a muttered, "Svengali."

Luke looked taken aback for a second. Then he grinned while again shaking his dark head in amusement, or maybe bemusement, I couldn't tell which. He probably couldn't, either.

He placed a few paper cups on top of the plates sitting on the counter.

He brushed my cheek with a knuckle. "So you know, my future plans include a large family." His glance traveled slowly down and stopped on my hips. He nodded. "Good. Your short and a little on the oldish side, but those look like sturdy, childbearing hips."

It was my turn to burst out laughing. "I'm so happy you like midgets and antiques. But, hmm, maybe I misjudged your brains. 'Sturdy' is a word no woman ever wants to hear in association with any of her body parts."

I probably shouldn't set a precedent of cracking-up when teasingly insulted, but Luke was too funny and I didn't have a PC bone in my body. After adding plastic utensils and napkins to the pile, I nudged him out of the way with my healthy hips.

Giving me a sly grin that brought his dimple into play, he stood aside with a slight head bow to allow me to pass.

I sashayed my loaded plates through my brother's dining area, working it with my swaying hips to get around the card table and chairs sprawled haphazardly in the path to the deck doors. I angled my left butt cheek up to open the lever door handle.

I looked to see if Luke was following. He wasn't. He was leaning against the kitchen doorway. Arms folded, he was seemingly engrossed watching my childbearing hips in motion.

Straightening up, Luke shook his head decisively. "I stand by my choice of sturdy. Your hips are workhorses." I was smiling again when he started walking the opposite way, to the front door. He tossed back over his shoulder, "I'll pick you up at seven tonight, Anabel Axelrod of Bel's Books."

It took me a second to realize he was leaving. He had probably been on his way out when I arrived earlier. Then his words sunk in and cheered me right up. He recalled our almost meeting those months ago, as well.

When agreeing to go on a first date with a man, I always avoid being without a getaway car. I have gratefully escaped early from many brutally boring date nights with that sensible rule.

I thought of my day ahead and took a few steps back into the dining room. Luke was at the screen door in the living room and had it opened.

"Let's make it eight. Oh, and I prefer to meet you there, Luke. I may want to have your children, but I don't really know you, right? So where shall we meet?"

Luke gave another crack of laughter like I had said something hilarious. "Anabel, I'm picking you up. Eight is fine." Across the room, he gave me that appraising look again while his fist tapped out a quick, staccato beat on the wooden doorframe. Brow creased, he said, "Listen, I'd really like it if you wore a dress tonight."

Seeing my surprised, wary look at his clothing specifications, a huge grin transformed his harsh face with boyish charm.

He snapped his fingers. "Oh yes, I almost forgot. Tiny, pink panties are optional."

It was extremely difficult, but except for a small moan of agony and squeezing my eyes so tightly shut I saw stars, I stifled my mortification knowing he _had_ seen my bare ass within five minutes of meeting me. Those weren't just tiny, pink panties I was wearing, but a butt-flossing thong.

I opened my eyes to frown very sternly at his smiling face. "Look, Luke, if I break my rule about being picked up can you promise not to dismember me on the first date or worse yet, bore me?"

Pushing the door open, Luke casually shrugged a shoulder. "I never make promises I can't keep. You may prove irritating."

I blinked in disbelief. By the time I recovered to retort, I was talking to the screen door. Stunned, I realized Luke really had left. After a moment of taking this in, I started laughing in rare enjoyment. Our first date may prove very interesting indeed.

I went out on the front porch to the top of the stairs. He was almost at his truck.

I called out, "You didn't even ask me where I live, Mr. Will-of-the-Wisp. You'd better show up!"

He opened the truck door and called back, "Somehow, I don't think finding you will be difficult." I could see his confident grin. "You'd better be ready when I get there."

I have to get in the last word; it's a failing and a gift. "Let it be on the record, I am very disappointed you have something against tiny, pink panties!"

War-god was laughing behind the light tint of his windshield when with a final wave; he drove away in my shiny, new truck.

I stood on the porch staring unseeingly outside.

By my track record, I have a tendency to go out with men who are fun and possess a sense of humor. They generally share the personality trait of being **e** asygoing. Or to rephrase the great Chief Jack Banner, they are pansy-asses who jump through my hoops. They don't find my rules a problem and they don't try to control me.

If Luke's personality matched his persona, he was no docile, nice guy. I didn't see any voluntary hoop jumping in Luke's future. Control was his first name and probably his middle name, too.

It was puzzling I felt such an intense attraction to a man I had a sneaking suspicion fit none of my criteria. I smiled to myself; I probably fit none of his either. I was most definitely aware that men thrive on the challenge of the hunt. Never before in my dating career had I skipped to the kill and offered myself up on a platter, complete with a red, juicy apple in my mouth, like I had today. I laughed out loud recalling the expression on his face.

I cheerfully decided it would take more investigation, up close and personal, to unravel this mysterious behavior on my part. I highly doubted I'd prove too easy for war-god Luke, no matter what his thoughts may be right now.

I brightened a little at my next thought. Maybe Luke and I just needed to hit the sheets and I could get it out of my system. Although honestly, I have never before felt such a sexual attraction for a man with no basis on anything but being in his presence for a few minutes. Even after I had a basis of knowing most men, I've never felt so...whatever the hell I was feeling. This was off the charts for me, but I wasn't too concerned.

You can never tell what life may bring. Anticipation of the unknown is half the fun of living. The other half is doing it.

This stirring of interest for our first date was worth it, regardless of what happened down the road.

I had a hop in my step, as I headed for the deck to grill my brother about his new neighbor. I also wanted to make sure my cousin, Candy, of the light blue Honda Civic, was eating all the donated, and probably poisoned, bakery cookies. Not stuffing her face with my yummy banana bread.

Chapter III

"Son of a Preacher Man" by Sarah Connor

Saturday, 11/17/12

6:45 AM

The life of a small business owner means there's always work to be done. I am fortunate to love what I do. I'm also lucky to be surrounded by an experienced, loyal staff who has become my second family. I've developed some habits over the years that are hard to break. One of them is routinely working six or seven days a week. My family and friends know where they can find me most days from ten in the morning until eight at night. I do have a life outside of Bel's Books; it just doesn't start until after store hours.

In theory, I take the odd weekend free from work to enjoy my life. In practice, I pop in and out of the store frequently, even on my days off. Living as I do above the shop, it can hardly be avoided. Or so I tell myself.

Stella's opinion is that I'm a control freak and a workaholic. She supports her logic when pointing out that I describe working seven days a week as only a habit, and not a bad one. She has been encouraging me on the weekends to let go and let Stella. I have a feeling she is a wee bit right, so I've been giving my niece more responsibility. I'm making a concerted effort to live a less vampish lifestyle by actually going out and having fun during daylight hours, not only later at night. Both ideas are a work in progress.

This Saturday morning, I silently slipped out of my warm bed and from Luke's warmer arms. It was harder than I liked to leave the bed. It was harder yet to do it quietly; my antique bed is a real springy squeaker. I did both, though, because I like my morning alone time. I have my rituals. I guard this time so zealously from friends and family, all but one hardly remembers that I exist before ten in the morning.

My brain wakes up around the same time every morning, regardless of the amount of sleep I've had. Luke said that his brain was trained to sleep whenever and wherever he got the chance.

After our first date two months ago, and to explain his sudden and frequent absences, Luke told me in the vaguest terms about his current career. He is employed by a consulting firm based out of Chicago. The firm specializes in prevention security whatever that is. I could only picture Liam Neeson beating up bad dudes all around Paris in the movie "Taken." If that's what Luke does for a living, I've never noticed any bloody knuckles or nasty wounds when he's returned, so he must be good at preventing.

His work involves travel and long hours. He's gone from town for varied lengths of time, most often for a few days, but sometimes a week or more. I don't know who or what is being prevented and secured, or if it's a dangerous career, but I can't picture Luke placidly manning a desk without going nuts.

What Luke has told me about his recent past is also very sketchy on the details. He saw right away I was skeptical with his glossed over, surface descriptions. It was probably the raised eyebrows and scoffing noises that gave me away. He bluntly suggested I trust him in general about everything, and not to ask specific questions about his job. The job part was non-negotiable.

Oh hello, am I female and breathing? Of course that made me want to ask a million questions, but I honored Luke's "suggestion" and haven't asked him a single one.

Generally speaking, if a man says the words 'trust me' with the implied message 'or else,' it doesn't exactly inspire my confidence. However, it does inspire my hilarity at their belief I can be so easily manipulated. Those types of men think they're pulling a fast one. Typically, they are asswipes hiding a wife or girlfriend. Unfortunately, we've all seen women fall for that line of BS. Most likely it's because the 'if you love me, you'll blindly trust me' men are pretty slick at romancing girls wanting so desperately to believe in love, and to be loved.

I don't think I'm delusional about Luke. I do trust Luke has legitimate reasons to be closemouthed about his professional life. He isn't telling me to trust him so that he can have his evil way with me. I love letting Luke have his evil way with me. No, I believe he's in a profession where loose lips sink ships and any knowledge can be dangerous to the unwary. I can easily see him killing someone, if there's a good reason. Chances are I'd agree if I knew the reasons. Whatever his job entails, what I don't sense is a mindless, gun-for-hire mentality. Luke is no thug.

I'm happy to give people their privacy, as long as it doesn't coincide with my needs. So far, Luke's detailed career path isn't on my need-to-know list.

That's my trust for Luke in his career. Luke's a man. As programmed, it's only natural he'd take advantage of my agreeable silence on his professional life and try to carry that unquestioning trust over to his personal life. Most men balk at sharing their private, innermost thoughts and feelings at the best of times. Telling a woman they're starting to get involved with to 'trust them in general, no questions asked' was a nice move, if a man could pull it off.

But like most rational people, I give my trust and respect when it's earned by actions to back it up. And like most rational women, I know better than to state any of the above to a man needing to be in control and keep his secrets.

Does it make me a nosy girl if I find any answers I need from other sources?

I don't think so, either.

It pays to be friends with the older generations in town. Those elderly folks are an amazing and underutilized networking resource. They have family bloodlines memorized and recall scuttlebutt going back thirty or forty years like it happened yesterday. I simply put the word out I was looking for someone who had been friends with Luke's deceased great uncle, Benjamin Drake.

The only drawback to my plan was getting those nice folks to stop telling me stories and quit talking once they'd started. I might not know exactly what Luke does on the job, but I sure got more scoop on his life history than a girl could ever need to hear.

One constant theme from my sources is during all his growing up years Luke was Army mad. It was never doubted he'd have a military career. The various storytellers were all murky on which branch of the military Luke actually served. But they all agreed, with a wink and a nod, that he was definitely in some elite, everybody was kung-fu fighting, sharpshooting unit. According to Uncle Bennie's elderly cronies, it had been a sad day when his great nephew Luke retired from the military. The culprit was an undisclosed injury Luke received that no longer allowed him to perform his ass-kicking duties.

Luke actually told me a lot of those same stories of his life over our first two months together. I had to be careful to pretend surprise when hearing some stories a second time. I was nearly caught hurrying him up on one anecdote and beating him to the punch line. He had squinted and scrutinized me suspiciously after that faux pas, but I avoided detection with a failsafe diversion that works with all men I started talking about sex.

Luke spoke of childhood memories fondly and easily. He is an only child, and his early years took place without any angst or trauma that I can tell. He actually likes his parents. His dad is a pastor and his mother an attorney in the Chicago area.

However, any of Luke's adult stories of the last ten years were still vague on specifics and glossed over on the details. His twenties were spent in the Army. He did opt out after an injury left him less than one hundred percent up to snuff. He alluded he was in a Special Forces unit. I have the impression he still uses those skills currently, but I've never asked a direct question of him towards further enlightenment. I think it's driving him nuts that I don't seem interested in his 'special skills,' but he started it with his no questions agenda.

The info important to me garnered from the village elders is that Luke did not torture small animals or set fires when young, he doesn't have wives and kids tucked away in a compound in Idaho, and there are no known felonies. It doesn't hurt matters that Luke Drake turns me on like no man ever has before, and he hasn't demanded the exclusivity I'm not willing to give any guy at this point in my life.

This morning, I quietly left the bedroom, and my uninvited sleepover guest, to attend to my ablutions in the bathroom across the hall. Catching a glimpse of my matted, wild hair in the mirror, I burst out laughing. I looked like something scary that lives in a dark cave.

' _Yikes!_ _Mental note to self, don't go to sleep with damp, tangled hair after being tossed around your bedroom.'_

Twisting it up, tangles and all, I stuck in a clip. In my walk-in closet, I threw on shorts, a sports bra, and running shoes. I headed back out to the wide hallway and went left, towards the open stairs.

Before you reach the stairs, and if you hang another left, the hall widens into a foyer area. Along one wall sits a large church pew painted white, a find at the Elko Flea Market this past Labor Day weekend. A massive, elaborately framed mirror leans propped against the opposite wall.

I moved on through a wide arch into the open living room. My apartment on this side was designed shotgun-style. The living room opens into the dining room, which opens into the kitchen. The kitchen leads to a back hall with a laundry room. There's a back door to a balcony at this end of the building. This whole space runs parallel to the bedrooms on the other side of the middle wall that divides the large, second floor apartment in two.

Once I did my routine of opening the white shutters covering the tall windows, the three main rooms are about one hundred by forty feet of airy, light filled space. Loft-like, the tall ceiling and open ductwork are painted a soft chocolate brown.

The apartment is my Shangri-La, my bastion of tranquility. It's probably silly and sentimental for a building to mean so much, but there's no place on earth I'd ultimately rather be.

Scattered with my treasures, the spacious rooms are decorated with an eclectic twist and furnished with a mix of valuable antiques, my flea market finds, a few modern pieces of furniture, mementos of my family life, and colorful, old Persian rugs covering the hardwood floors.

Standing at the kitchen island, I ate a handful of mixed nuts and dried fruits while downing a small glass of apple juice. I took a bottle of mineral water from the fridge and headed back the way I had come.

Eyes averted to avoid testosterone temptation; I passed my closed bedroom door. I continued down the hall to the farthest bedroom on the right. I had converted this second largest of the apartment's original six bedrooms into an exercise room. I jumped onto my treadmill and pretended to enjoy jogging in place for the next forty-five minutes. I left the overhead TV off. Today seemed like an awesome woman singer day. I have hundreds of songs spanning four or five decades on my iPod guaranteed to get the blood pumping. I ran and sang my heart out until I was sweating like a piggy and feeling it in my legs.

I prefer to run outside but with Luke still here I wasn't sure of the sleepover etiquette, so I decided to stick around. Besides, singing inside is way less embarrassing to my street cred.

Temple worshiping complete for now; I headed for the showers. I stripped off my sweaty clothes and stepped into the pounding waterfall. It felt amazingly soothing. I rotated my head and neck.

' _Holy Moly, I was sore!_ '

I ached all over in places I didn't even know existed on my body. Not that I was complaining, since it was my idea, but I wasn't used to being chased, manhandled, and flipped around as part of foreplay. I felt myself relaxing while the steam and pummeling hot water did their magic.

I took care of the labor-intensive process of shampooing and conditioning my tangled hair. I lathered my body with Spanish Gardenia shower gel, my most recent present from Stella to try out. As I did my routine of exfoliating, shaving, and washing, I thought objectively about the previous night's fun and games.

I guess sex can potentially be amazing under any circumstances. For me, the fantasy Luke and I had played out beforehand raised the eroticism, physical and mental, to a whole new level of excitement and intensity. I was definitely budging to the head of the line to sign up for more play dates.

I decided I relished every minute of being dominated Luke Drake-style, even when I fought it the hardest. I rubbed the tender area on my poor skull where I could still feel the divots from Luke's front teeth.

I grinned ruefully. _'Well, maybe not when I fought it the hardest.'_

Role-playing as an adult is reminiscent of putting on a play like when we were kids, minus the actual sex parts, of course. As a young girl, I remember how thrilling it had been when the neighborhood boys would participate willingly in our little productions. Often in the lead girl role, it was the difference of shyly kissing a real, live boy, or having to lip smack against the back of one of my sister's hands in the name of theater.

The thrill hadn't lost any of its shine to have a real live man participate with enthusiastic willingness in our very own private theatrical production. Kink is way cool.

One of the reasons I've never acted on any of my sexual fantasies is that it requires a level of trust I haven't been willing to give a man without some basis in reality.

Since I don't really do relationships, allowing a guy I don't know very well to have access to my home and control over my body would be incredibly stupid. Having no idea if he might physically harm me, or give me a STD, is not my idea of a sexual thrill. It seems more like a nightmare on Division Street to me. I'm not that kind of adrenaline junkie, nor do I have a death wish.

Luke has been out of town working longer stretches than the norm lately. We've gotten together maybe five or six times in the last two months. That doesn't sound like many dates, but when he's been around and I could get away, our dates often started in the morning and ended very late at night.

Luke also calls me several times a week when he's gone. He has a pattern of calling on Friday nights if he won't be around on the weekend. I've always despised talking on the phone. Now I have epically long conversations that would rival a teenager. I've been surprised how intriguing it is getting to know a man this way. I feel a connection to Luke on a different level because of the marathon phone sessions.

The only hint I had that Luke may surprise me with a live performance of my very own sex fantasy was a conversation that took place on a date about three weeks ago at the end of October.

The date had started with spending a Saturday together in Minneapolis. Luke didn't know the city very well, so I'd suggested we do some outdoor exploring because it had been gorgeous out. I cannot tell a lie, I'd been a tad hung over from the previous night at Rueb's, a local bar, and had almost cancelled. But it had actually felt good to get outside in the fresh air and it cleared up my slight hangover.

Luke and I had biked across town along Minnehaha Creek on the parkway. That worked up our appetites, so we had a huge breakfast for lunch in Uptown at French Meadow Café. I'm a sucker for their Eggs Benedict, plus we'd split one of their deliciously enormous cinnamon rolls. After feasting, we'd walked it off around the scenic nine-mile circuit of Lake of the Isles, Calhoun, and Harriet. The two levels of lake paths had been busy with bikers, joggers, and walkers outside with the same idea to embrace the sunshine. In Minnesota, everyone took advantage of a beautiful fall day like a bunch of paranoid hoarders. We all know what lurks around the corner to descend on us at any given moment. It's not unheard of for the temp to be fifty one day with a blizzard the next.

Speaking of hoarders, while we walked I was munching on chocolate-dipped macaroons from a bag that had magically appeared in my hand upon leaving French Meadow. I'd noticed that no matter how much we were laughing and talking, Luke always kept an eye out on our immediate environs. He truly has a special talent for vigilance. I never felt like I had less than his total attention, but he also managed to admire the awe-inspiring architecture of historic homes surrounding the lakes, watch the people around us, watch me, and watch the ground where we walked.

Turns out that observation knack of his is a good thing for me. Luke steered me over an ankle-twisting pothole in the path and around a deep puddle I would have gone swimming through. I was oblivious to these dangers to my person. I was too busy waxing on enthusiastically about a recent book I'd read and loved. He later caught me mid-air when I took a swan dive over an exposed tree root. The story he'd been telling had me laughing so much, I hadn't paid attention to the path under my feet.

All those saves would have been a bit embarrassing were I the type who actually cares about such things as my own dignity and public humiliation. It was odd to receive a deep kiss for being an oblivious klutz, but I grinned and bore the punishment. I'd given in gracefully to Luke's vehement insistence he hold my hand to keep me alive.

Our daytime date had been a great time. We'd spent hours marveling at how smart we were on almost every subject under the sun, when we weren't heatedly debating over the other's idiotically wrong viewpoint. Later, the drive home down 35W was quieter. Laced with long looks between us, I recall being excited in anticipation of what we'd be doing later when we were alone inside my apartment.

Once there, we relaxed together in the dusky, late afternoon light. Luke was a shadowed outline of a man sprawled at the end of my comfy, leather sofa. I'd been idly mulling over if I should invite him to come with me to a Halloween costume bash later that night. I was envisioning him in his Army uniform, Major Anthony "Tony" Nelson to my "I Dream of Jeannie" genie. Who cares if he wasn't Air Force, or a major? I wasn't picky; a man in uniform is hot.

Luke had reached over and started playing with my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles and between my fingers.

Apropos of nothing, in a voice as smooth as the velvet pillow I was leaning my cheek against, he said, "Tell me your secret fantasy, Anabel."

' _Holy...so much for being relaxed!'_ After a moment, I remembered to snap closed my hanging jaw. Luke didn't chatter away in idle conversation to hear himself speak, so I knew immediately he was totally serious. His smoothly composed face gave away nothing of what he was thinking. Just like that, easy as you please, he'd asked me to tell him something I have never divulged to another living soul.

I was confused, too. First off, did he mean most people have only one secret fantasy? While squirming in thought, about fifteen hot fantasies had fun playing in my brain. Secondly, did it mean he was into kinky sex stuff to ask me about sex fantasies after dating for only a couple of months, and those dates being spread out? Was he going to get progressively weirder on me? Or was I the weird one, since I found myself really tempted to answer him? Thirdly, did Luke ask all the women he dated that question, or did he sense something about me that made him bring it up? Fourthly, oh forget it; I could have kept going forever with questions on such a titillating subject.

Instead, I crawled closer to Luke. My free hand had curled around his ear, so I could whisper my number one secret fantasy. I wasn't being inordinately shy, not completely. I used any excuse to whisper near Luke's ear, or kiss and suck lightly on his neck. It drove him crazy.

Poised to speak, I hesitated.

I thought for a second if I had the nerve to tell him.

I thought for another few seconds about why I almost trusted Luke. After all, I'd only known him a short time.

I thought a couple seconds more if I even liked the idea of almost trusting him. That was a no-brainer.

So I sat back on my heels and released his hand. I'd folded my arms over my chest. I realized my nipples were standing at attention from him only asking me that question. I'd blown out my breath in frustration. It was not such an easy question to answer, even if my breasts disagreed.

'What to do, what to do?'

I rested my head on the back of the sofa, distractedly running both hands through my hair on either side of my head. I looked up at the ceiling for the answer.

I then reasoned my dilemma out in my head. I use my hands a lot when reasoning things out in my head. Sometimes, I even hum and mumble under my breath the words that fly through my brain like a ticker tape at the stock exchange. It helps me to organize and make decisions, never mind that it makes me look insane.

First, on the left hand, I had Luke. A man I couldn't possibly deny I was totally sexually smitten with, even had I wanted to. Why? Well, mainly because Luke already knew. Oh yes, Miss Blabbermouth here had told Luke within five minutes into our first date how hot he gets me. Yep, that's how aloof and hard-to-get I play.

For the tenth time, I'd glumly reassured myself there had been extenuating circumstances for my oversharing with Luke. Anyone hearing the story of our first date would agree I had grounds to react as I had. No, I was more disgruntled then about how much I looked forward to being with Luke, no matter _what_ we were doing. That rule-breaking concept alone had been technically reason enough never to see him again, much less confess my deep down sexual fantasies to the dude.

Now, on the other hand, I had Luke sitting there next to me wanting to know my secret fantasy. A man I found interesting, a man who attracted me tremendously. I'd been relatively certain at that point he wasn't a Dexter; either that or I hadn't proved too boring yet. He'd been kind enough to prove he was healthy by showing me his latest medical report after a routine testing through his secret job. The concerns of death by dismemberment or disease need not stop me. Telling him my number one fantasy could prove to be very fun indeed.

Still indecisive, I'd worried my bottom lip and mulled it over.

It wasn't like I don't know myself. Any problems or issues I had, I know why I have them. Trust doesn't come easy. Was sharing a sex fantasy something I wanted to do? If I did want to share, was I going to be honest and tell Luke my number one fantasy? Or was I going to be a namby-pamby baby and share a white bread fantasy to get off the hook, like he was a peg leg pirate and I was his captive princess.

After that brief pep talk with myself, I made my decision.

I'd given a nod of thanks to the team of voices huddled in my head and clapped my hands. Then I had turned to Luke.

His forgotten beer had been arrested halfway to his parted lips.

Even in the dim lighting, I could see Luke was watching me with fascinated interest. I couldn't quite meet his searching eyes; I guess I'd been a little shyer about the subject than I realized. Also, I hadn't wanted to see any calm, experienced amusement in his expression, or I would have smacked him and lost my nerve.

So I'd spoken in a rush before any of the above could happen. "Okay Luke, my top sexual fantasy is I want to be secretly nominated."

'WAIT! What in the hell had I just said? That came out all wrong!'

It had also come out much louder than I intended. In my agitation, I'd forgotten to whisper my answer in his ear. In the stillness of the apartment, I swore the word 'nominated' had bounced off the walls and echoed like we were in the Grand Canyon.

Even over my own incredulity, I had no trouble seeing Mr. Kinky regarding me with surprised incomprehension, added now to his fascinated interest. And that one, sexily arched eyebrow I loved so damn much.

I had moaned and put a hand to my forehead. I remember thinking I'd felt a headache lurking.

I closed my eyes and hurriedly corrected myself. "I meant to say my SECRET fantasy is I want to be DOMinated." Even in my embarrassment, I had remembered my manners. "Please."

That brought to mind another point to clarify. Holding up my hand like a traffic cop, I'd rushed on, "This is not to be confused with actual rape. That's violence and I am not, I repeat, not into violence." I added quickly, "Or pain. Or nipple clamps, or ping-pong balls shoved in my mouth." I had recently seen the old movie "Pulp Fiction" for the first time. Talk about strange, yet disturbingly funny. "No drugs. Don't get any ideas about E, or anything crazy like that, okay? And needles?" I cringed and shuddered. "You come near me with a needle and I'll kill you. Absolutely no needles no way, no how..."

My voice trailed off when I finally met Luke's gleaming eyes. He had been sitting perfectly still and staring at me, as if transfixed.

I then had the most alarming, lowering thought. Moaning again, I covered my mouth and felt my eyes widening in horror.

What if I had misunderstood what Luke meant by secret fantasy? What if he meant something normal like which wife on "The Housewives of Beverly Hills" I would most enjoy torturing slowly before delivering a death blow? Or how many castles I'd buy if I won the lottery? What if he hadn't meant anything sexual at all? What if he now thought I was a creeper, pervert girl that wanted to wear a spiked dog collar and be hung from my foyer chandelier?

In the dead silence of my living room, you could have heard the proverbial pin drop.

I couldn't stand the suspense. I squared my shoulders, dropped my hands down from over my mouth, and had glared at the silent man staring at me.

" _Well_ , dammit?"

Luke carefully set his beer bottle down on the table at his side.

When he reached over and pulled me onto his lap, I'd been somewhat mollified that maybe I hadn't misunderstood his question. When his hand smoothed back my hair and he'd slowly kissed my neck, I realized if I was a creeper pervert, well then, so was he. His kiss made me shiver and rub up against him. No wonder he liked being kissed right there so much.

'What was I worried about, anyway, for God's sake? I must be losing my touch. This was a man's lap I was wriggling on; of course he meant sexual fantasy.'

His voice had been low near my ear. "If you had said you wanted me to tie you up, I'd have worried you were lazy and looking for an excuse to get out of any work."

I'd giggled while he nuzzled me again.

'Christ, now the man had me giggling. What next? His name tattooed on my ass inside a heart?'

"Maybe if I don't call you some Friday night when I'm out of town, you should wonder why."

'Holy Crap! What had I gotten myself into?'

Luke's cell announcing a text interrupted our slow, heated kisses. With one last, quick peck and no explanation other than "duty calls," he'd left immediately after checking the message. Last night was Friday night, and the first time I'd seen Luke since that day of discussing my fantasy almost three weeks ago. It was a hell of a homecoming.

Chapter IV

"Call Me" by Blondie

Saturday, 11/17/12

7:40 AM

My brain seemed to have only two gears this morning. It had switched back into first. From daydreaming about Luke and fantasies, it was now thinking about work again when I stepped out of the shower.

If you Google Northfield and check out the Wikipedia website, my building is visible in the first picture shown. It's the red brick one with the turret, taller than those around it. Bel's Books is located across the street from the old bank, now a museum famous for the robbery attempt by the James-Younger Gang's in 1876. During the week of Defeat of Jesse James Days in September, I have a front row seat in my apartment living room for viewing all the festive activities. Invites are coveted and I wield much power. Heady stuff for sure.

Bel's Books inventories a select amount of new books, bestseller hardbacks and paperbacks, but mainly we're a used bookstore. We do not operate like some used bookstores that buy books from people for pennies on the dollar and then resells the book at half price.

In fact, we do not buy used books from customers at all. Instead, we give a store credit for a percentage of the book's value based on a sliding scale, dependent upon the age and condition of the book. In this sense, we could be considered a paperback exchange. Our inventory is continuously being restocked with approved trade-ins, but no cash is being paid out. Customers can then apply their store credit towards the reduced retail price of their next book purchase. They can buy new and used books at a lower price than other used bookstores or eBook prices.

Toweling off, I toyed with an idea of creating a membership club. I would charge a flat, yearly fee to customers interested in belonging. It would be similar to the subscription lending library concept popular in England during the late 1700s to mid 1800s. I set the idea, and the modern problems involved, on the back burner in my brain to simmer away. It was time for the really important decisions of my relaxing weekend off to enjoy my life to the fullest.

I have a wide array of moisturizing lotions and potions to choose from to anoint myself. Stella's always giving me something new to try. My niece is a fervent supporter of all things organic. Not a carcinogenic chemical or a poisonous perfume was allowed to slip past her eagle eye and into my bathroom, much less soak into my skin. Should the apocalyptic need occur, I can eat or drink from most of the jars or bottles in my bathroom. Super to know, but the lotions need only to smell delicious to make me happy.

I relish everything ultra-feminine. I've never worried if I am cool or a hipster, I could care less. I am what I am, a female that unashamedly, blissfully wallows in every frowned down-upon stereotype out there for being such a girly-girl in the new millennium. In my mind, there's a balanced symmetry that's very satisfying about loving everything pink while also running a business and digging guns, trucks, and power tools. I prefer sci-fi, zombie, and action movies over dramas and tear jerkers. I love wearing dresses and pretty undies more than jeans and T-shirts.

Although, after Luke owning my butt so easily last night, I need to step it up. It may mean possibly breaking a French manicured nail, but I am going to search out a teacher and put the time into learning some solid fighting moves. Playing with Luke, the message hit home that a weapon or a serious drop kick to the gonads isn't always be possible to decide a bad situation in my favor.

I was pondering the merits of gardenia oil over orange blossom lotion when I heard the buzz of my cell announcing a message. I had forgotten the phone was in the bathroom on the charger.

There was a text with the one word: _Awake?_

Let me backtrack here a second. When I introduced myself, I mentioned which nicknames I do answer to, but neglected to say which names I won't answer. I will never answer to the name Ana.

I'm sorry Annas of the world, but that name brings back memories of a little brat I met when I was five and starting the first grade. It was the very first day of big-girl school for me.

The brat named Anna called me "a baby" when I got teary-eyed before class started. I had choked up because bossy Anna informed me the fistful of yellow, daisy-like flowers I had painstakingly picked for my new teacher were dumb, icky weeds.

None of the adults heard Anna the Botanist tormenting me first. No, they only saw me swatting her with the flat side of my Troll lunch box upside her fat head. I was officially marked a troublemaker and a kid to keep an eye on from day one of my school career because of Anna Lynn Johnson.

Don't worry, I got even.

Anna Johnson and I have been fast friends ever since. We are the inseparable dynamic duo Anabel and Anna, still hanging and still managing to get into trouble together almost twenty-five years later.

To this day, it's still perceived by many that I lure her into bad behavior with my evil ways and she is the good girl. The reality is somewhere closer to this: On the outside, Anna's pretty and vivacious. She's a brown-eyed, brown-haired cutie that resembles a chipmunky cheerleader. With her trendy hairstyle and preppy, conservative clothes, she can pass for a preschool teacher or a preacher's wife. On the inside, she's a frustrated exotic cage dancer and wildly fun.

Anna isn't technically an orphan like me. Her mom gave birth then dumped the baby Anna on her much older, spinster sister Lily. Her mother then took off for parts unknown and died a couple of years later in a DUI head-on car crash with a telephone pole. Anna's father has always been a blank space on her birth certificate.

Unfortunately, Anna has no siblings or other extended family. Her elderly Aunt Lily provided the basics; shelter, clothing, and food, but she's a rigid, morally self-righteous woman. It wasn't a hard shell on the outside that covers up a tender heart. Aunt Lily is through and through one uptight, battle-axe of a fundamentalist church lady.

She is a cold and unaffectionate woman, but I guess if she loved anyone it would be Anna. This questionable love manifested itself by Aunt Lily being extremely over protective of Anna growing up, to the point of ridiculousness.

Aunt Lily believes evil lurks in the hearts of all mankind, especially women. Yep, EVIL is just waiting to prompt us female sinners to do any number of deviant deeds. I've not heard too many people referring to Jezebel in casual conversation, but Aunt Lily seems to know the woman personally. Anna's aunt is a woman who believes many women are reincarnated Jezebels responsible for tempting and leading poor, defenseless men astray.

I discussed this with my grandmother after first hearing the name Jezebel when I was quite young. NanaBel's private opinion to me was Aunt Lily's harshness stemmed from a bad experience with love that soured her as a young woman. My private opinion to nobody but myself: describing Aunt Lily's temperament as only soured at love was like saying Hitler was merely miffed at the Jews.

Aunt Lily diligently worked full-time at her church thrift store during the week. She belligerently stomped around brandishing her antique cane she was never without, while bullying people into buying junk they didn't need. On the weekends, she devoted her time to her church doing God only knows what.

It wasn't Dickensian, but still sad. It was not a very fun home life for a kid as lively and loving as Anna.

Somehow, ruthlessly sly NanaBel convinced the domineering and fanatical Aunt Lily that it was her own idea that Anna spent the majority of her time on Division Street with us. Anna was growing up smack dab in a nest of bourgeoning mini-Jezzies while being nurtured by the biggest Jezebel in the Northern Hemisphere, or quite possibly, the world. Yep, that's right, my grandmother.

Anna fit right in to our riotous household like a homing pigeon come to roost. Anna and my grandmother are a mutual adoration society. Anna has always been treated like another granddaughter, chore chart and all. My siblings probably thought Anna really was another sister; she'd practically lived in the apartment since first grade. Due to Anna being my BFF, I even chose bunk beds for my room, and not the Princess Pink Ruffles canopied bed I lusted after with all my little girl heart.

When the need arose, and it frequently did, I would complain in a whisper to NanaBel about the latest stunt Aunt Lily had pulled to keep Anna at home. Aunt Lily was always denying permission for Anna to come with me to a materialistic birthday party or to the ruinous movies. NanaBel insisted it was done out of Aunt Lily's love she harbored for Anna, even if she was cold and undemonstrative. I was pretty convinced it was because Aunt Lily was a mean old bitch, but I wisely kept my own counsel. I didn't want to be grounded for discourtesy and cursing. NanaBel was tough on those subjects, especially with seven-year-olds.

Besides, NanaBel could be counted upon to pick up the phone and perform her magic. Nobody can withstand NanaBel. She'd smooth over whatever objections Aunt Lily had to allowing Anna to join me and the other kids having fun.

Anna's also my one exception to my strict rule of everyone forgetting my daily existence before ten in the morning.

I checked my phone. It was 7:45 AM. After her text, I called Anna and put it on speaker. I chose the gardenia oil and began to smooth it up my legs, feeling my bliss at the slightly peppery, floral scent.

"Okay, its opinion time," my friend announced in lieu of a greeting. "I'm deciding between mammoth blueberry muffins with a sugar crusted topping or vanilla frosted raspberry scones for the feature of the day. Which sounds more scrumpdillyicious to you?"

I didn't need to think. "Size always matters. I vote massive blueberry."

I could hear pots and pans clanging noisily in the background while she worked. Whatever Anna did, she did loudly and with frenetic energy. Her home kitchen was outfitted to meet professional catering standards. She rose early six days a week and cooked in the comfort of her own kitchen for Bel's Books café, Laissez Fare.

A couple of years ago, Aunt Lily had deeded title of her house over to Anna with the caveat of life tenancy good health prevailing. Anna was pleased with this deal while it chilled me to the very marrow. I was horrified at Anna's Stygian bargain of life tenancy with that strong-as-a-pack-mule, hellfire spouting, seventy-five-year old Debbie Downer of an auntie. It was a living nightmare worse than anything I could wish on my worst enemy. Anna had shrugged at my appalled protests on her behalf. For my friend, having her soul destroyed was worth the price of a free house and a professional kitchen.

Anna's laughter has a musical sound. The lucky wench could carry a tune, too. "I said mammoth, not massive. Anyway, I remember you distinctly telling me size doesn't matter, Junior."

"No way did I say that. That'd be crazy talk."

"Yes way, you did say that." Anna also has a memory like a steel trap. I didn't ever have to worry I'd be able to forget something from my past.

I scanned my memory banks and hit pay dirt. "Ah yes, I told you that years ago when things seemed to be getting serious between you and, what was his name...Stan, Steve? Whatever, we all knew he had a pencil dick. I didn't want you to feel bad."

Over the whirring noise of an electric mixer Anna exclaimed, "What? No way! How did everyone know he had a pencil dick? Who's everyone, anyway?"

"Yes way, and umm...let's see. Reggie told me and my sisters. Guess he must have seen Stan or Steve's little pee-pee somehow. Didn't they go to the same club around then?"

"I don't know, but that's too funny." She kept laughing. "I never did it with him. So that's why they called him 'Little Stevie.' Gosh, and here I thought it was because he was sort of short." She abruptly stopped laughing. "Oh just great, your jerk of a brother must have laughed his ass off knowing I was going out with a pencil dick. I can't believe you didn't tell me! Junior, you'd better tell me what you know about anyone's dick size I go out with. I don't want to hook up with any more baby dills! Oh my God..."

I meekly promised to keep her updated.

She demanded, only half in jest, "What about Jim? Do you know anything about him? Tell me!"

"Well, geez Anna, gossip from the bookstore men's bathroom has his girth measuring in at...You freak, I promise I know nothing about Jim's manroot size." Now I was laughing. "I could guess, though, if it would make you happy. Hey, I know, we could start a Fantasy Package League like guys do with football."

After we ran with that idea, stopped wetting our pants, and had both settled back down Anna said, "Okay, I'll assume no news is good news where Jim is concerned."

Jim Mardsen was Anna's new flame. Her question about his penis size was interesting since they had been going out for a few weeks already, but I made no further comment.

During one point a couple of months ago, I thought Anna might hook up with Reggie. At first, this seemed bizarre to me, maybe even slightly incestuous. I mean, come on Reg and Anna? Upon further reflection, I could see the attraction of like to like. I don't know what happened to stop the would-be lovers, but something went drastically wrong. One day they were flirting like mad, the next day they were giving each other the cold shoulder.

Maybe it was just as well that a romance between Reggie and Anna was over before it began. My brother's M.O. is to go out with the same woman only a couple of times before moving on. He's upfront that he's out only for a fun time, not a relationship. I'd hate to think he'd give Anna the same cavalier treatment, but I'd hate more to see her hurt by my feckless brother.

Most curious was Anna not rushing to tell me every detail. I had to respect her silence, and Reg wasn't talking, either. I was positive Reggie had done something extraordinarily dumb to make the normally forgiving Anna not want to acknowledge his existence any longer.

Anna sighed. "I'm going with the scones today. I can't think about mammoth anything right now. The visual is too disturbing."

I laughed.

Anna and I co-owned but she operated Laissez Fare, the organic bakery, deli, coffee and juice bar located within my bookstore. It was one in a series of ongoing improvements I was implementing to increase revenues when facing reality at the advent of e-books as competition for printed books. Laissez Fare is, by far, the most expensive investment I have made over the last two years.

Northfield is a river town of about twenty thousand located roughly forty minutes south of the Minneapolis-St Paul metro area. The town has two colleges, St Olaf and Carleton. Both are highly ranked private schools. There are approximately five thousand students with money to spend coming to our thriving downtown area regularly to eat, shop, and hit the bars. I couldn't compete with the bars, but the shopping and eating parts were up for grabs. I had a ready-made hungry and thirsty clientele shopping at my store. I had a best friend with a culinary background tired of working for someone else. Anna and I brainstormed two years ago and the café Laissez Fare was our resulting creation.

I own Bel's Books and the building free and clear, but the heating and cooling bills alone are killer. I need to be innovative and proactive to keep growing my business and generating profits. The gambler in me doesn't balk at using a portion of my nest egg capitol to make investments towards the future. The businesswoman in me knows making solid investment decisions means having a well-defined and researched master game plan outlining the goals I want to achieve. Then I had to be flexible enough to be willing to toss the game plan aside sometimes. Opportunity has a way of popping up without warning or planning. Always helpful are a good banker, good advice, good credit, and good karma. Knock on wood.

Bel's Books is an institution in Northfield. Thanks in large to my grandmother, the bookstore has had a solid rep for over forty years. With the addition of Laissez Fare, we are now also known as the place to get organic, high-quality "fast food." We serve coffee drinks, juice concoctions, sandwich wraps, soups and salads, and my personal living hell on earth: incredibly tasty bakery treats.

Customers have always hung around the store. Since Laissez Fare opened, a significant number more stay to eat and drink while they do homework, browse and read, hang out with friends, or hit on my assorted staff members. As long as people spend money and don't cause any commotion, I'm cool with it all.

Anna is making a living doing something she loves, and by existing on a miniscule wage, has almost paid me back the startup costs. I lease out the space, got a percentage of the profits, and free coffee drinks for life. Anna cut me off cold turkey from free bakery goodies a week after opening. I love or hate her for that, fluctuating with my blood sugar levels.

Banging away in her kitchen this morning, Anna complained, "Are you on speaker? I hate that tunnel sound. What are you doing now, anyway?"

"I'm rubbing oil on my buttocks. Gots me some ground to cover, girl, but I'll be done in a minute."

Anna's laugh ended on a groan. "Oh God, tell me about ass acreage. I have got to quit eating my product. I'm getting depressed my jeans are so frickin' tight lately." Anna's figure was small on top and bigger on the bottom. Any weight gain did go straight to her thighs and gluteus maximus, but on the bright side; she has a slender neck and thin face.

"Huh, that's never a good sign. Perhaps wearing a muzzle while cooking might help?" I suggested, helpful friend that I am. Glancing in the full-length mirror, I checked out my waistline. I should probably thank my friend for cutting me off the sugar gravy train.

Anna's ungrateful suggestion of what I could do with a muzzle made me think she didn't find me helpful in this instance.

"Are we still on at ten for spying in St. Paul today?"

"Okay by me." Frowning, I thought of the sleeping Luke. He had to be awake and long gone before ten this morning when I needed to leave. If not, I could leave him a note. I guess since he had no problem unlocking my door somehow last night to come and get me, he could manage locking it on his way out.

"I'll be there before ten. Hey, wait. What are you wearing?"

"Umm...I'm naked."

Anna burst out laughing. "Junior! I meant tonight when we go to The Rock. Are you dressing up?"

Anna likes to know what others were wearing before we go out. I've never cared what other girls are wearing. I could get excited over clothes, shoes have been known to cause spontaneous combustion, and jewelry well, what happens between me and earrings is too private to describe, but I'm missing the let's-all-dress-alike gene common amongst so many of my girlfriends.

I put the gardenia oil aside, took the phone off speaker, and went into my closet once again. "Anna Lynn, I'm not even dressed for the first time today, much less thinking about tonight. You'll be the first person I'll tell when I decide. I'll post on Facebook and then Twitter about it."

"Like that will happen, you Neanderthal," Anna scoffed loudly.

I always give her grief about her religious devotion to social networking; particularly re-tweeting. She's always got an eye on her phone or a screen. I _am_ a social throwback compared to her. I find nothing redeeming about Facebook for social purposes. I get very sick of friends stalking friends. Who went out and who didn't get invited, who was in pictures, who was unfriended. The damned drama it caused was endless.

Anna switched topics. "Are you done with that zombie book yet so I can read it? Hey, did Luke ever end up calling you last night?"

"Nope, I fell asleep while reading and Luke didn't call me." I wasn't fibbing.

"Oh no! Isn't that weird for him to miss a Friday night phone call? Aren't you nervous?"

Anna's aware Luke calls me on the Friday nights when he's out of town. Phoning me was a ritual he had started after the first week we met. She's been there on a few Fridays when he's called, plus she met him three weeks ago.

When he's gone from town for his job, she now frets over him like a mother hen. I have no idea why. She knows fewer specifics about what Luke does for his job than I do. Still, Anna is convinced Luke's a secret agent risking life and limb for the good of our country, an unknown and unsung hero.

A natural worrier, she rushed on, "You haven't heard from him this morning either? I hope he's okay." She muttered that anxiously under her breath. I heard water running and rattling noises, it sounded like silverware being tossed around. "When did he call you last?"

I felt bad for not reassuring her that Luke was fine and dandy and hogging my bed even as we spoke, but then I was over it. Anna knows I don't do sleepovers or boyfriends. She would be agog at my departure from the norm and want all the details. Maybe at some point I'll tell her more, if there is more to tell, but not now.

"Don't worry, Mother Hubbard. I'm sure he's fine." I hurried her off the phone, "I've got to get dressed. I am freezing standing here. See you at ten."

I wasn't sure how I felt about my best friend and lover becoming friends, much less Anna starting to romanticize Luke into some sort of American James Bond. I guess it was slightly better than if they hated each other.

Chapter V

"Torn" by Natalie Imbruglia

Saturday, 11/17/12

8:00 AM

After ending the daily call with Anna, I quickly finished getting ready. I blew my long layers straight and put on a little make-up.

I dressed casually in a favorite pair of skinny black jeans and a white button-down shirt. I rolled up the cuffs neatly. I don't like long sleeves. Over this, I wore a short fitted black vest, but I left it unbuttoned.

Stella and I are jewelry and accessory fiends. She has shopped with me since she's been old enough to point and drool at what she likes. We love to look for treasures in places like antique and flea markets, or in shops tucked away in neighborhoods.

We often re-purpose our found treasures into something else. Recently, we scavenged up some old, but architecturally interesting earrings and used them to decorate a hair clip. Stella also trimmed the vest I'm wearing with the gunmetal buttons in a baroque flower pattern. They're pretty funky. There's not too much we can't improve upon.

I zipped on sturdy ankle boots with silver side buckles and only three-inch-high, square heels.

I was ready to search out my morning coffee.

Looking in the mirror, I put a hand to my ear and frowned. Make that almost ready.

Without earrings on I may as well be naked, but they're kept in my bedroom. So are my necklaces, bracelets, and rings. Those I could live without for a short time, but not wearing earrings really bugs me.

Feeling a little cranky over being inconvenienced in my own home, I shrugged it off to another reason not to do sleepovers.

I planned to sneak in some work on the books before Stella arrived to open. My store office desktop is where I prefer to work.

I wasn't going to hang around the apartment and wait for Luke to wake up. I decided correct morning-after behavior didn't really matter to me, but I didn't want to text Luke and wake him.

I left an actual handwritten note taped to the one place a man would be guaranteed to see it, the toilet lid.

Dear Mr. Muscles,

I'm worried our dates are becoming ho-hum...

I'm out and about doing stuff, so please lock up on your way out.

If you're in town, you're invited for Sunday dinner @ 5pm.

Have I told you lately you are very, very impressive?

X

Anabel

p.s. Your turn?

Purse swinging in hand, I was walking down the hall when the front doorbell rang. And rang, and kept on ringing. Whoever was outside my building pressing the doorbell wasn't letting up and the annoyingly shrill buzzing sound was continuing nonstop.

I quickly dashed over to the master station intercom on the wall and checked out the view screen. I was surprised when I recognized who it was.

Smiling, I pushed the button to speak. "Crookie! Hey, easy on the buzzer. It's so nice to see you, but why am I seeing you?"

The irritating noise stopped and a garbled voice queried, "An..el? Is ..at you?"

I watched the screen as Bob "Crookie" Crookston bent from his considerable height to speak directly into the box attached to Bel's front entrance outside wall. He appeared to put his lips against it. I giggled, I couldn't help it that was so like him. He's essentially a rocket scientist, but doesn't get intercom systems and microphones have evolved since his ghetto, ancient apartment days at Purdue.

"Tis I, Anabel of Northfield. What up, dude?" I reared back in shock when a blast of jumbled, shouted words was my answer. Bob excited and loud was one thing, but Bob angry and yelling? This was very strange behavior coming from him.

Bob's an old friend from high school. We had bonded our senior year as science partners and during our after school tutoring sessions. Even then, he'd been very tall and gangly skinny. He'd dressed goofy and wore ugly, thick framed glasses. He had been your typical nerd, incredibly intelligent and incredibly socially awkward.

Sitting next to me at our lab station in school, he had seemed terrified of me for the first two weeks of class. He couldn't even look my way without turning beet red and breaking out into a sweat, sometimes hyperventilating.

I had to put a stop to that crapola immediately. I really needed his help because science gave me the worst headache. It was bad enough I had gotten stuck in biology, instead of my first choice of earth science, which sounded a whole lot friendlier to me.

My procrastination at taking the required science credit had caused me trouble; I couldn't afford a B or lower because my colossally smart partner was petrified of half the human race. NanaBel had paid out a significant bonus for straight A's. I had been too greedy to lose out on that primo deal for the first time ever in my school history. I was a girl with goals.

After my first quiz result of a B minus, I waited for Bob after school. I had borrowed MacKenzie's pristine 1980 turbocharged Firebird Trans Am and driven that day. Mac, when she wasn't being too bossy, was the greatest oldest sister. She'd usually been willing to let me use her car during the day while she slept after her graveyard nursing shift at Northfield Hospital. Mac's only requirement had been that I kept the gas tank topped. I had a hard time seeing clearly over the bulge of the turbo hood, but it was worth every second of the neck strain. I loved the scream of the engine as I shifted from second into third at 4000 rpms.

Standing beside the Firebird, I had picked Bob immediately out of the crowd of our fellow inmates by his towering height, as he came scurrying down the sidewalk. Even with his head facing down, he was taller than everyone around him. By his hunched over posture, I had surmised he was carrying a load of boulders in his backpack.

I'd reached in the driver side open window and tooted the horn. He didn't look up, so I'd laid on the horn until it penetrated even his genius fog. When he'd finally looked my way, I waved to him with a big smile and motioned for him to come over to my waiting car at the curb. It was comical to see him look around and point to himself in disbelief when he realized it was his attention I was trying to grab. It had been even funnier to see his expression as he checked out my ride. The decaled, turbo bird spitting out a large flame across the hood was pretty damn awesome.

At my cajoling insistence, he'd reluctantly folded himself into the passenger side. He had to slide the bucket seat so far back to accommodate his thirty-eight inch inseam that he was technically sitting in the back seat.

"What do you want, Ana...Anabel?"

Pulled so far forward in the driver's seat to reach the pedals that I could be mistaken for a hood ornament, I roared off into the busy after school traffic.

Once on our way, I had answered him cheerfully. "Know what, Bob? I am so glad you asked me that question. What I want is exactly what I need to talk to you about today."

I'd kept my eyes on the road but could clearly see him skittishly glancing my way. Between keeping a watchful eye out for sneaky relatives and always liking boys, my peripheral vision had been highly developed by the age of seventeen. I kept my face mostly forward for his comfort, but approached him straight on with my words.

I continued laying out my plan. "Here's the deal. I've noticed you need my help in the worst way, Bob."

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down rapidly before he'd croaked, "I do?"

"Yes, you do," I affirmed assuredly.

I downshifted and swerved sharply around Anna's Aunt Lily. She was in her old boat of an Oldsmobile doing ten mph on Jefferson Parkway in a thirty mph zone! I'd barely resisted the urge to give her the finger when she angrily honked. It had been so tempting, as she'd think it was my sister, but I heroically refrained. I sighed when Bob closed his eyes tight and gave a silent scream.

"Relax, Bob. I'm a good driver." I had sped up, hooked a left at the almost still yellow light, and gunned it. I headed south on Highway 3 out of town. "Yes, you really need my help and today's your lucky day. Do you know why?"

Bob was still clutching the door handle in a death grip, but cautiously looked at me then. He was feeling safer to watch me since I hadn't taken my eyes off the road once since I'd invited him into my car. I smiled inside.

"No," he'd whispered.

I put a hand to my ear, "What, Bob? I can't hear you!"

Bob cleared his throat and spoke up a little. "No Anabel, I don't know why."

"Why what?" I asked innocently.

At his distressed confusion, I'd relented with a chuckle.

"Sorry, Bob. I'm kind of a warped chick sometimes." I turned and flashed a grin. He flinched. I faced the road again then, and had bit my cheek not to giggle. "It's your lucky day because I have something I am going to give you, and you have something you are going to give me."

I'd never seen anyone go from beet red to pasty white that fast. I had hurried on before he fainted, or worse. "Friendship! I'm only talking simple friendship here, okay?"

I laughed out loud when he had quickly shook his head back and forth "No" in denial. Poor Bob had been worse off than I even suspected.

"Yes." I insisted.

He wheezed, "I can't be friends with you!"

I'd frowned ominously at that. "The hell you say. Am I not smart enough to be your friend, or what?"

I waited patiently for his answer. Bob resembled a wise owl with glasses when his head bent to the side to consider my words. He probably had never considered whether he would choose to be friends with a girl before. He was only sure that because of his paralyzing shyness most girls wouldn't want to be his friend. I could tell he'd been intrigued by the concept.

"Umm...I don't know. You make me too nervous to think straight." He'd blushed again and looked desperately out the window, as if seeking an escape route.

His speaking in semi-coherent sentences had encouraged me to believe I was doing the right thing for us both. Really smart people can do really dumb things, so I'd still clicked down the door locks in case he really would tuck and roll to get away from me. We'd been screaming down the road at eighty mph, and a brain his size was too beautiful of a thing to waste. At his look of fright at the clicking sound, I took pity and quickly filled him in on my brilliant idea.

"Straight up, my new friend, you are scared of girls and a science whiz. I am scared of science and a whiz at being a girl. See, I was thinking it's kismet we are partners this year. Or maybe it's destiny?" I'd shaken my head. "Either way, we have the ability to help each other out here. We can work together after school for an hour or two and tutor each other. What do you say?"

He'd finally smiled at me a little, or it could have been a nervous tic. Either way, he was no Justin Timberlake but his smile was rather adorable in a dorky way. Yes, he resembled an owlet with his staring, round eyes and perpetually surprised expression, but it wasn't like he'd been a total dweeb. I had some material there to work with, given enough time.

Bob had sounded amazed. "You think I could help you? Sure...yes, I will help you with biology. There is no reason to be scared. Uh...maybe you can help me, too." After taking a big gulp of air and sounding so dubious I had to grin, he'd said, "I would like being friends. You are very... interesting." He ducked and blushed. His whole face and down the back of his neck had gone a deep, dark crimson again. I'd winced because it looked painful.

After we verbally shook hands on our deal he'd adamantly refused to physically touch me on several grounds I had let him be. I was happy he'd agreed without any more coercion needed, since I only had a half a tank of gas and a few bucks on me.

After a few moments of driving in companionable silence he had peered out the windshield worriedly. "Um...where are we going? My mom is going to wonder when I don't show up after school and will report me missing to the police."

I'd laughed, until I realized he wasn't kidding.

Now, here Bob Crookston was ten years later, at eight in the morning on a Saturday, and swearing up an incoherent storm into my intercom like I'd taught him nothing in all those intervening years.

"Geez Louise, Crookie, hold on a blasted minute and I'll be right there."

I took the stairs down two at a time. I thought I'd heard the name Reggie shouted by Crookie, but that only stumped me more because he and Reg have never been friends. Even as I wondered what could possibly be going on with Crookie, I felt a sneakin' admiration at my ability to run so quickly and quietly in my high-heeled boots down the stairs without breaking my neck. Sometimes my talents astound me.

Sighing inwardly, I recalled at the last minute to turn back and lock my apartment door behind me. After all, I had to think for two. I had my innocently slumbering guest upstairs to protect and keep safe. Good God, the ongoing sleepover complications and responsibilities of last night's fun just never ended.

Key ring in hand, I crossed the lobby and unlocked the deadbolt of the door leading to the outside. I opened it a couple inches, but to be on the safe side, I toed the rubber headed door stop down to prevent the door from being pushed further open.

I could have buzzed open the door from upstairs, but for all I knew Crookie might be a tweaker on a rampage. I highly doubted Crookie was a druggie, but it had been a couple years since we last really talked and he was acting spooky. Of course, he had also gotten married which could help explain the spookiness.

He had chilled out. He was waiting with arms crossed and a shoulder propped against the red brick wall. His mouth was a tight line, his whole demeanor grim and exhausted, but not insane or jacked-up.

I eyed him up and down. Aside from looking like his dog died, Bob has steadily improved with age. He still had the same golden-brown hair and hazel eyes, but now sported an expensive haircut and his glasses are rimless. He'd filled out a bit from working out steadily over the years. He's a tall guy, no doubt about that, but slim now rather than beanpole skinny. Clean shaven with clear, pale skin and no visible tattoos or piercings, he's your very tall, average-looking, professional man until he smiled.

Crookie's smile is a little shy and a little slow, yet once it arrived it's so unbelievably sweet that any girl who caught a glimpse of it never thought of him as nondescript or average again. If he was a different type of man, he'd be doing a different woman every night based on that little smile alone.

His clothes were a little rumpled, but actually fashionable. He had on a brown leather jacket unzipped over a tan sweater, and his jeans were a designer label that Stella would have a shitfest over if she saw them. I vaguely remember her emoting something about sweatshops and chemicals.

Seeing me, he shoved off the wall and murmured my name. A quick glance around at the quiet street outside verified it had stopped drizzling and the sun was trying to peek out. The air was brisk. Through the gap in the door, the coolness felt refreshingly good on my face.

Even as obviously distressed as he appeared, I was still happy to see my old friend. Kicking up the door stop, I opened the door wide. "Hello, Crookie. Sorry for the delay. I was debating your sanity."

Crookie cracked a smile, bending to give me a peck on the cheek when he came into the lobby. "Hello, Bel."

"Hey, what's wrong, why so grim? Wait, never mind. That's enough about you; let me show you how I've grown." I reached my arms around his waist and gave him a big, dramatic squeeze. I attempted to lift him saying, "See? I'm so strong now I can lift a head as heavy as yours!"

I hadn't been able to move him a centimeter, but I did manage to get him to laugh down at me in protest. He gripped my shoulders and held me away from him, looking me up and down. "Yes, I can see you have grown. Those heels may take you out of the dwarf tossing zone, but that is cheating."

I laughed while I locked up again. Our disparity in inches has been a running joke between us for years. At parties, he insisted the top of my head was a perfect spot for his beer. I insisted his navel was a perfect spot for parking my chewed gum.

"Let's go into the store and grab a coffee, okay? I know I need one." Not waiting for an answer, I crossed the lobby to Bel's Books doors. It's not safe to keep me too long from my first morning cup of coffee. I can't be held accountable for my actions.

Genius that he is, Crooks agreed distractedly, "Sure."

He stood with slumped shoulders and a glum face as I keyed in the code to open the beveled glass, double doors to Bel's Books. I moved them wide to each side, locking the doors in the open position.

I glanced covertly at Crookie. Something depressing was obviously heavy on his mind. Good money was on woman trouble. What else could have a man running the gambit of acting like a rampaging tweaker and then the walking dead, all within five minutes? I resigned myself to being the lucky girl that was going to hear all the gory details. So much for sneaking some work time in before Stella the Hun arrived.

The lifelong familiar aromas of thousands of books, lemon oil, ground coffee beans, and the spicy scents of herbs rushed out to envelope me. Closing my eyes and inhaling a deep, rejuvenating breath of this enchanted air is often all it takes to right my world. I inhaled again.

Following me in with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, Crookie paused. He pointed with an elbow at the huge refectory table a few feet in front of us. Four cement troughs filled with lush, green herbs were staggered down the center of the table. The morning sunlight coming through the large display windows spotlighted the troughs. They stood out in the otherwise darkened store.

"Those are different. The herbs smell great."

"Yeah, I saw the idea for a smaller version of the troughs in a magazine. I had been envisioning something for that big table old worldish and rustic, but didn't want metal." I shrugged one shoulder and smiled up at him. "You know me, once I got the bug up my butt I had to build them that day. Cool, huh?" I bumped his elbow with mine. "You likey?"

I recognized the spark of interest lighting up his eyes. He murmured absently, "I do likey."

He wandered over and peered at the troughs. A lock of straight hair fell onto his forehead. He became absorbed lightly skimming his fingers over the planters, as if he was a city inspector looking for code violations in the footings of a new construction.

"I have not seen cement look so textured before. What did you use? Did you at least make a mold first?"

He looked up at me at the last question, and he sounded so accusatory I had to laugh. I rubbed my hand up and down an upright spike of French tarragon and breathed in the light licorice scent. "Sure, if you consider a mold two cardboard boxes from Just Food Co-op."

He winced. My definitely unscientific and lackadaisical approach to creativity drives him so crazy that I tend to be offhand with the details to shake him up. Sometimes super smart nerds need shaking up. They deserve some fun teasing, and they also need to remember being a genius isn't everything in life. I am just the girl to do this dirty job.

He held up his hands to ward off evil while muttering darkly, "Never mind, I do not want to know how you actually made them because it will drive me nuts!"

I wanted my coffee, so I hurriedly agreed with a big smile. "Good call, since I started by borrowing several things to make them."

Sure enough, he was already groaning and shaking his head at me. Crookie hates the incorrect term 'borrowing' Minnesotans use to cover any item they get from another person, regardless if it's returnable or not. If you want to drive Crookie insane, ask to borrow a piece of gum.

I hid my smile behind my hand when he gave me a pained look and chided, "You know, Bel, you cannot 'borrow' something you cannot return." He mumbled under his breath, "I bet you decided on the consistency of the cement just by looking, too, instead of using correct measurements. You did not follow any instructions, did you?"

"What instructions? I was totally winging it here, Crooks," I tormented in reply, plus it was true. "There was only that tiny picture in the magazine and a one liner of a description mentioning using straw mixed in with concrete." I tapped his forearm. "Straw, by the way, is what creates the textured look you like."

He practically pulled his hair out. "Bel, there are clear instructions on the bags of QuikCrete for correctly preparing the cement."

"Gee, I never thought of that. Huh." I fluffed my blonde hair with both hands.

Revulsion dripping from every word, he demanded, "You did not even wait the right amount of time for the cement to set properly, did you? Do these troughs leak?"

"Only when they get wet."

Hearing my tone, Crookie looked completely blank for a moment.

His whole expression brightened when, undismayed, he flashed his incredibly darling smile and pointed an accusing finger at me. "You are such a...How can I still fall for your tricks after all these years?"

"Obviously you aren't getting enough teasing, that's for sure."

"Trust me, Bel. I have never been teased by anyone like you in my life. I will have you know at work I am highly respected and revered." Crookie sighed then, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I have been doing nothing but work for about eight weeks straight."

"Poor baby. It's probably a good thing the brainiac women at your lab don't tear you away from your microscope and tease you. If they got a load of that super-hot little smile thing you've got going on, no more cats would get dissected that day."

"Cats dissected? Microscopes?" He shook his head again and laughed. "Bel, you have no clue what I do for a living, do you?"

I hooked my arm through his and led him down the main aisle to the back of the store. "It has to do with science, so enough said. Come on, Big Brain, this is one blonde that needs her morning coffee something fierce."

Motioning him into a chair at a table for two in front of Laissez Fare's counter, I plunked my purse down and went behind the service bar to begin making a latte for myself. Looking up to see Crookie sitting slumped at the table, once again the picture of abject depression; I added enough fresh beans to make three shots of espresso. I had a feeling I was going to need the triple whammy.

"Can I make you a coffee, Crooks? Or something else?"

He shrugged and muttered, "I do not care, Anabel."

I didn't care, either, but I made him one, too. For the next couple of minutes the loud gurgling noises of the commercial espresso machine were the only sounds. Carrying over two large cups of frothy coffee, I sat down across from him.

Taking a slow sip of the nectar of the gods, I opened my eyes to see him cautiously doing the same.

"Is your mother enjoying living in Florida?" I asked politely, delaying the inevitable to better savor my latte.

Crooks snorted softly. "As you know, my mother does not enjoy anything, but she has her sister to nurse so she at least she is occupied."

I grinned. "I guess the better question would be, are _you_ enjoying your mother living in Florida?"

He nodded rigorously. "Yes, immensely, thank you for asking. How is NanaBel?

"My grandmother, the lucky bum, is probably punching a camel in the head as we speak. She's on her way to the Luxor region in Egypt. After that, she's off to Germany to stay with friends. Can you believe it's a house party at a castle over the holidays?"

"I love that woman," Crookie stated. "What are your sisters up to lately? How is Jasmyn?" Crookie's always had a little fascination for my sister, Jazy. I think he'd like to put her under his microscope and study her closely.

"My sisters...," I repeated, smiling a little. "Let's see; Mac married a man twelve years younger, Kenna divorced her latest that was twenty years older, and Jazy's single and working her way through the southwestern suburbs, specifically the Prior Lake area."

Crookie grinned in spite of his depression. He knows my family well enough that he got the subtext of all I was really saying.

We both sipped our coffees in silence for a few moments.

Scrunching his face, Crookie carefully set his full cup back on the table.

Behind the glasses, his eyes were anxious but determined when he demanded, "Anabel, is your brother hiding here?"

"Hiding? No, Reggie's not hiding here. Why are you asking me such a bizarre question?" I probably looked as bewildered by the abrupt question as I sounded. Crookie visibly relaxed his shoulders at my answer.

"He is never home. He does not return my calls. I think he is hiding from me, the bastard." Crookie was beginning to get agitated all over again.

"Yikes, Crookie, wait a minute here. Why would Reggie be hiding from you, of all people? I didn't even know you guys spoke."

I was completely confused. Crookie hadn't lived in Northfield since he was married two years ago. At his new wife Cheryl's urging, they had moved to Edina; a suburb bordering Minneapolis to the immediate west and known for its over-priced real estate and snob appeal.

Crookie is a scientist with advanced degrees in the biotechnology and chemical engineering fields, and who knows what else. Not me; science still gives me a headache. I know he invented and patented a food industry process while still in graduate school that has made him a mint. I am proud of him and his accomplishments, but I've begged him not to tell me any details. With his brilliant mind, Crookie probably has invented many more things I wouldn't want to know about by now. In college, he was courted for employment by many companies. Crooks chose Ecolab, a local company in St Paul. He has worked there since, but he is correct; I have no clue what he does there.

I hoped this doesn't make me a bad friend, but I can't be blamed science hurts my head, right?

That's what I think, too.

His laugh was bitter. "Oh, it is not me Reg has been 'speaking to', but my wife, Cheryl."

I took another long sip of my coffee to buy some time, my synapses finally firing up from the triple hits of espresso. It was starting to become a disturbingly clearer picture once I remembered Cheryl's sister had moved to Northfield a few years ago. That was how Crookie had met Cheryl in the first place. "The Day of Infamy" was how I believed Anna and I had termed it at the time.

Cheryl's a bitch with a capital C.

I thought seriously about the man I know my brother to be. Reggie started his own residential construction company five years ago. He's worked long, hard hours, in all kinds of extreme weather, to build up his business. The dedication has paid off, and he's now reputed to be a solid, dependable contractor.

That tickles my grandmother to no end. NanaBel had raised all five of us kids MacKenzie, Kenna, Me, Jasmyn, and Reggie since our parents died when I was six. She has stressed over Reg not having the proper male influences in his life while growing up.

I suppose living with a grandmother and four older sisters since the age of three, there could be a small case made for Reggie not having enough male influences.

It was true that as a little dude, my sisters and I did doll him up a bit. We applied blue eye shadow and mascara, curled his beautiful blonde hair, buttoned him up in one of my frilly dresses, and then encouraged him to dance like a tiny ballerina. Reg was so cute with his little hands pointed up over his head and tippy, tippy, tippy-toeing all around the room.

It didn't help NanaBel's worries that Jasmyn, only a year older than Reggie and way meaner, could beat Reg up until they were well into their teens. We take sisterly joy in rubbing it in to Reggie that by the time he was tough enough to possibly win a fight against any of his sisters, he was too old and knew better.

But don't feel too sorry for him. Aside from where he lived, my brother has actually enjoyed constant male camaraderie his entire life. My dad's old cop buddies, particularly Jack Banner, our Uncle Trevor, who has no sons, and NanaBel's platoon of male friends all constantly tried to outdo each other. They had vied to teach Reggie traditional manly pursuits and made sure he did everything boys should do. Reg had happily soaked up all the attention from his wannabe father figures and was disgustingly spoiled. As a result of those good men, and despite his sisters, Reggie grew up to be a halfway decent man with widely varied interests. Not a woman-hating, homicidal, cross-dresser.

He may never be ready to settle down, but with four older sisters that he loves, respects, and more importantly fears, I give him credit for the common sense to steer clear of the wife of any of our good friends.

My brother has dated a multitude of women over the years, but I was under the impression he didn't mess with married women. Reggie takes the simplest, most direct approach in life to get what he wants, and he's followed this principle where women were concerned, too. I'd yet to see him get worked up over whether a woman wanted him. If she did, fine. If not, he'd shrug good-naturedly at the rejection and move on. He generally avoided the complicated like the plague. I reasoned you couldn't get much more complicated than a married woman.

I sighed at this point in my musings. What was I thinking? We were talking about a man and his penis here. Incredibly moronic destinations were often visited when the little head was doing the driving. If a man was trashed out of his mind, then all bets were off.

I spoke quietly, "Are you sure about my brother and Cheryl?"

Crookie shrugged. His face twisted in a painful grimace. I wanted to tear my eyes away from the sight of his emotional torment, but I forced myself to keep a steady gaze. I've known this boy since grade school and we've been friends since high school. We were tight for several years, even when he went away to school in Indiana. I visited him at Purdue quite a few times, and we hung out when he came home and brought his new college friends. I was still in touch with a couple of them.

Yes, Crookie and I were tight until he got hitched.

Crookie dated Cheryl for only a brief, few weeks before they went to Vegas on a weekend trip and came back married. Not my idea of a fun surprise but since the deed was done, I could only wish the best for Crooks. I kept my true opinion of his bridezilla to myself as it would do no good to discuss my suspicions.

But from the beginning Cheryl didn't fool me. She's a female most kindly described as a selfish user. We've all met her type. Cheryl was sure she deserved everything in life while doing absolutely nothing to earn it. Highly destructive soul-suckers, women like her use sex and emotional manipulation to live off some poor schmuck. The schmuck was usually intelligent enough to make tons of money, but inexperienced enough to fall for the machinations they initially mistook for love.

Crookie is a kind and gentle man who convinced himself his amoral wife was worthy of his love, saw only her positive points she was careful to show him at first, and worshipped her like she deserved it.

Of course his new wife hated my guts. She proceeded to make Crookie's life miserable until we gave up trying to stay friends in the face of her jealousy. Crookie was such an inexperienced man and no match for Cheryl's manipulations. He innocently emailed me the truth of how she threw fits if he even mentioned my name after they were married. He was so upset by this behavior in the woman he was convinced was perfect, and had been so happy to be in love, I had sincerely wished him the best and let go of our day-to-day friendship for his sake. I had no wish to rock their marital boat.

Crookie and I hadn't seen each other much more than three times in the last two years. We talked briefly on the phone, or shot the occasional under the radar "I'm still alive" text quickies, but that had been the extent of our communications until this morning.

I reached across the table and linked my hand with his, squeezing. Now his eyes were glistening behind his glasses, but I ignored this. "Tell me."

He did. Once the floodgates opened, Crookie couldn't stop talking. He must have been keeping all this dammed up for the last two years, miserable and alone.

He caught Cheryl cheating the first time six months into their marriage. Cheryl blamed being so lonely because Crookie worked too much as the reason.

It never stopped from there, and somehow it was always Crookie's fault, or somebody's fault just never hers. I was so bummed listening to my friend. Seeing the shell of a man Crooks had allowed himself to turn into by not getting rid of Cheryl immediately after the first infidelity made my stomach hurt, and seeing him caught in her web because he loved her was so not my idea of a fun time. His voice droned on in a monotone of crushed hopes and dreams, as he recited how his lovely wife was always the wronged party in some scenario while she continued wreaking emotional havoc by telling Crooks how much she loved and needed him.

Love, for the lack of a better word, is the strangest and most inexplicable emotion to me. Like many sane people, I am honestly afraid of the concept of even "normal" love, much less getting tangled up with a person suffering an extreme psychological disorder.

Being a normal couple "in love" might be fantastic, but I've observed that eventually most people settle in, become bored, and take love for granted. And then the strangest thing happens. It's as if couples assume they are _supposed_ to become bored and take love for granted. They live out the rest of their lives this way.

How could the excitement of two or three fantastic years together at the beginning ever be worth the resulting lifetime of the ongoing monotony called "being in a committed relationship?"

I don't think I am stupid or cynical, or against love or marriage. I can see where love's exhilarating, wonderful, and delicious. I would love to believe in love lasting a lifetime. It's just that after years of observation, my conclusions are that being committed until death do us part might very well kill me. Love and commitment appear to be two extremely different concepts, and not the couple we are taught to believe go hand-in-hand so naturally.

Crookie would be the first to tell me scientific research suggests falling in love is a biochemical process in the body responding to cues from our glands. In our brains, the hypothalamus signals our pituitary gland to open the free bar and pour shots of dopamine, nor epinephrine, phenyl ethylamine, estrogen, and testosterone into the bloodstream. We don't stand a chance against wanting to mate when the incredible euphoria of that chemical cocktail is running amok throughout the body. Phenyl ethylamine's a natural amphetamine. Our sneaky bodies are getting us high, encouraging us not to eat, and telling us we don't need sleep. We can live on love.

After a long enough time period of this incredible euphoria, when you're good and hooked, our glands get cracking again. Our bodies then begin to produce the hormones oxytocin and vasopressin to calm us down, to normalize us, and to get us back into the swing of daily life. We can eat and sleep again. We now need air to breathe because anybody with a brain knows that man can't live on love alone. Our body's chemist says we should now be content to bond in "roommate love" for the next thirty-forty-fifty years. Hey, grow up and be mature—the honeymoon can't last forever, right?

I agree with my body's bartender. I don't think it can, either

My friends say there are many benefits to being in love and part of a couple. They say life can be just as monotonous and lonely when single.

This is true.

They say you learn to accept the boring and mundane as a way of life in exchange for the benefits.

This I don't get.

The words boring and mundane have me envisioning a bunch of miserable lifers moping at a factory job. They've been slaving away their whole adult life at a job they've admitted they haven't liked for a long time. They'll carry on being miserably bored, unhealthy victims in their lifer jobs and gripe to anybody who will listen, but by God, they'll have health and vacation benefits.

My friends assure me, as they take their separate vacations and pursue their separate friends and hobbies, that they're as happy now with their marriages at five, ten, or fifteen years, as they were at one year. They've just grown and it's a different kind of happiness. According to our body's chemical engineering, they aren't wrong.

My friends tell me as a couple at least you aren't alone. You have someone to share your life with for money, sex, affection, moral support, household chores, to cook for and eat with, the bills, the kids, the vacations, and old age.

I don't tell those friends what I think of their marriages or committed relationships. What do I know what makes them happy? I get that the general idea is to grow old together having shared all those small and large moments of a lifetime. I get that in your forties-fifties-sixties those couples will sit outdoors in individual claw-foot tubs. They'll hold hands across the grass. They'll relax overlooking a pond on the edge of a forest; after popping a blue pill and waiting for life to kick back in.

Unfortunately, hanging around ninety-nine percent of the people around me that are happily committed, roommate love couples only reminds me that stereotypes are out there for a reason. Those are the solid marriages, too. They're not the truly miserable marriages like Crookie's with the extra problems of sexual or emotional infidelities, and mental or physical health issues.

From what I've seen of long term relationships with my own eyes, an old idiom regularly spouts off in my head like a nervous refrain, "There but for the grace of God, go I."

If humans truly want to attain, and maintain, happiness, I've often wondered if we wouldn't be smarter to treat romantic relationships like we do our cars, and trade them in every few years for a newer model more suited to our evolving individual tastes and lifestyles.

I fervently hope I never have to learn the answers to any of these questions.

Reining in my AWOLing brain, I gave Crookie my full attention again at his next words. "Two months ago, I sunk to new low depths. I decided to spy on Cheryl down here when she was coming to visit Tina, her sister."

He paused, and kept his eyes on our loosely joined hands. His free hand was nervously opening and closing the lid of the peridot ring I always wore on my left ring finger. Trust Crookie to notice the miniscule hinges off to the side of the emerald cut stone. The antique silver ring was a gift from NanaBel after a venture to Italy. It's called a Borgia ring because the gem stone top opens to one side revealing a tiny secret compartment purportedly designed to carry poison. I carry a breath mint in mine. Hiding my amusement, I amended that thought because Crookie had absently removed the mint, sniffed it suspiciously, and then popped it into his mouth.

He peered up at me and observed out of nowhere, "I am always so amazed when I see you in person and realize how petite you are compared to how I think of you. I could snap your finger like a twig, it is so delicate."

"Geez, that was such a totally," I pulled my hand back and securely latched onto my coffee cup with both hands, "creepy Crookston thing to say."

He laughed with me, but sobered up quickly. "Before I left for work that Friday morning back in September, we were fighting again. Cheryl informed me she was leaving for Northfield to stay for the weekend." He ran his hands through his brown hair, leaving it standing on end. "I have to say, things were so terrible by then it was a relief to hear she was going somewhere for a few days, you know?"

I nodded, and then took a big swallow of coffee to not say anything else. And then another. He didn't need me adding to his misery by questioning why the hell he stayed with that hooker as long as he had.

He took a small drink of his coffee, too. I fondly watched him precisely wipe off his mouth with the precisely folded napkin. "After thinking about it all day, I decided I was going to get the proof she was playing me like I'd suspected for months. I knew it was true that she was, but I needed to see it for myself. That was my thought process. Probably the scientist in me needed the hard data to accept the cold facts." I smiled sadly in agreement. "I drove down here and arrived about ten o'clock. I went directly to Tina's street. Do you know her, Anabel?"

"I met her once at a party a year ago." I made a face. "She was really wasted on something and hanging on some dude I didn't know."

"That sounds like Tina. Listen, I will hurry to finish my story because I know I am taking up your time. This probably was not how you planned on spending your Saturday morning, right?"

He looked so morose and miserable. I got up and put my arms around him, rubbing his back.

"You'll always be my friend, Crooks. You did right coming to me because I always have time for my friends. I'm glad I was home to answer your rude buzzing."

He mumbled a "sorry about that." He wrapped his long arms around my waist nearly twice and held on, burying his face against my, for this particular moment in time only, maternal bosom.

I stood there rocking us slightly and stroking his head. He was quiet for so long that I started to worry he was silently bawling. Then he turned his head, and I was relieved when he spoke quietly with no trace of tears.

Sensitive woman that I am, I hate it when men cry. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

"When I got near Tina's, I parked down the street and walked up to the house. There were a few lights on and a couple of parked vehicles in the driveway. One was Cheryl's BMW; the other was a red truck I suspected was your brother's. It had a white logo on the door, but it was too dark out to decipher the writing." His head rose and fell with my deep sigh and he patted me in comfort this time. "I walked right up to the front bedroom window and looked in through the curtains. Cheryl was with a man on the bed." He made a choking, scoffing sound. "I finally had my proof in the flesh, all right. I did not even have to break a sweat figuring it out. Shit." He paused a second. "Anyway, I could not be totally certain from the angle, but the man was blonde and approximately the size of your brother." Crookie looked up at me, his face anxious. "I need to know if he was the man I observed with Cheryl. He is my only clue to go on. She has not been in contact since that night, Anabel, and I'm really fucking worried now."

Hearing Crookie swear so much this morning was almost as alarming as his story. He normally spoke very properly, hardly using contractions, much less curse words.

I pulled back in disbelief, my hands on Crookie's shoulders. "What do you mean 'worried now?' Didn't this happen two months ago in September?"

"Correct, but I left immediately after seeing her in that bedroom. I called her cell from my car on the way home and it went directly to voicemail." He choked out another bitter laugh. "She was otherwise occupied, remember? I left a message telling her not to bother coming home because I was divorcing her. From that moment on, I would not be speaking with her again, except through our attorneys. I told her not to attempt to get her belongings because the locks would be changed on the doors of our house. I was finally, irrevocably done with her." His eyes were cold behind the reflection in the lens of his glasses. This was a grown-up Bob Crookston I was gazing back at; no more illusions of love clouded his vision. "I did have all the locks changed immediately that next morning. I paid a hefty premium to have the job done on a Saturday, too. I retained a divorce attorney immediately, and followed every step he outlined for my situation."

Crookie gave my waist a shake in emphasis. "Do you know what, Anabel?"

"What, Crookie?"

"It felt fucking fantastic."

We both laughed a little hysterically at that statement. Man, I couldn't blame him for any retaliation he took to nut up at that point. In fact, I cheered him on wildly for remembering he had a set of balls after being so systematically emasculated.

His next words made me stop smiling. "Cheryl has not called once. Neither has her attorney, if she has one. Tina finally called me back a few days after all that happened. She made Cheryl leave her house that same Friday night when she got home from her job because they got into a screaming match." He snorted, saying dryly, "Apparently, Cheryl drank Tina's liquor. Tina has not spoken with Cheryl since that night around eleven. She said good riddance, as far as she was concerned." Crookie paused and started to drink his latte, then stopped. "Could I please get some water, Bel? I am not a coffee drinker."

I chuckled. "Sure."

I went to the fridge behind the bar and brought us back two bottled waters, my brain buzzing over what Crookie had just related. I sat down and we drank some water in contemplative silence for a minute.

"Has she taken any money out of the ATM or used any credit cards since then?"

He shook his head. "No credit cards. She withdrew several hundred dollars before going to Tina's on that Friday, but nothing since. She also has money at her disposal in the checking account I left open. I have been depositing a regular stipend on my lawyer's advice for Cheryl's living expenses, but no money has been withdrawn."

A frisson of foreboding ran through me.

Crookie sighed. "I know this seems strange that I am only now getting anxious she has not been in contact, but you have to know Cheryl. She would think nothing of stringing me along, not answering her cell, and trying to heighten my worry by disappearing." Crooks abruptly stood up, pacing back and forth in the aisle in front of our table. "It has been great having her gone. I have thrown myself into work on a big project and have not even thought about her for a week or two at a time." He scrubbed at his face with both hands while making a growling noise. "This is so messed up. I do not have a clue where she is, I do not care where she is, yet I know I need to find her so I can move on and get the damn divorce."

I thought over what he had revealed for a few seconds. "I can tell you this, Crooks. She is not living with my brother." I frowned. "What about other friends and family? Nobody's heard from her or seen her?"

Crooks scoffed. "What friends, Anabel? I used to buy her stories that other women were jealous and mean to her. Tina is the only other family." Sighing tiredly, he sat back down; long legs sprawled out in the aisle while his eyes stared up at the ceiling. "You did not like Cheryl from the beginning, did you?"

"No." I made a moue at the memory. "You married her before I could talk sense into you. I doubt I could have made you see reason, but I really regret being gone on vacation right before you lost your ever-lovin' mind and eloped."

He angled his head to the side and smiled a little. "I appreciate your honesty. It's refreshing, that is for sure." He smirked, and it was a look I would be happy to see erased from his repertoire of expressions. It spoke of hurt and rejection. "If anyone could have convinced me to slow down, it would have been you with your outstanding reasoning capabilities."

"Cute. When you didn't listen to reason, Oh Ye, of Little Faith, I would have laid a smack down on you." I shot him a sly smile. "I would have driven you far away and straight into the arms of a talented prostitute with a heart of gold. Yep, I would have locked you up with Goldie for a few days, or weeks, to compile raw data for scientific comparison."

After Crookie's indignant guffaws died down, I tapped my fingernail on his upturned palm resting on the table. "Seriously listen to me, old friend. It's not your fault Cheryl is what she is. You fell in love, you trusted, and you believed her to be the woman she pretended to be." I spoke softly and soothingly stroked his arm. "It's so her loss. You are such an amazing man, and any woman would be lucky to be loved by you. Why, Snookie-de-Crookie, I'd scoop you up for myself, if I didn't know for a fact that you recite the periodic table out loud while having sexual intercourse."

"God, you are a wonderful, terrible, rotten little girl!' exclaimed Bob "Crookie" Crookston while laughing loudly, blushing, and then groaning in despair. He began to bang his forehead against the table.

"Oh, Bel, help me here. What am I going to do?"

Alarmed with the head-banging, I got out my cell and pressed 5, holding up a gimme-a-minute finger at his look of inquiry.

"Hi, Reg. Serious question for you. Yes, I said serious, not spurious. Can you talk?"

Crookie sat up quickly and reached for my phone. "Let me talk to him!"

I shot him my special Librarian frown that's reserved expressly for grabby, excitable men. I stood up and walked out of his reach zone, but close enough so he could still hear my side of the conversation.

"This is important, but you are not going to like me asking. Please bear with me for a minute, alright? First, I'm going to need you to swear to God here, okay? Yes, a blanket swear to God is exactly what I am asking for, that's correct. Thank you. Yes, I do appreciate you. Now remember, don't be mad I'm asking, but have you ever... umm," I glanced at Crookie and shrugged in apology, "had sex with Cheryl Crookston?"

I winced and held the phone away from my ear so Reggie's shouted response didn't break my eardrum. Puzzled, I answered, "No, I'm not calling for Anna. What does Anna have to do with anything?" Then I got sidetracked as he continued shouting.

When he showed no signs of winding down, I interrupted, "Geez Louise, you said you wouldn't get mad, so enough already! You know I don't normally get up in your business, so can you just answer my question, please? I said it's important."

Reggie's shouted response of, "No, I swear to God I haven't sonofabitchin' had sex with Cheryl Freak-Show Crookston, that fuck-any-dick-with-a-wallet, ditch digging whore!" was audible probably in the next county.

I winced again. Crookie's face was set in stone. He sat with arms crossed and stared down at the table. He had his answer from my brother.

I know Reg was being truthful about not having sex with Cheryl. Not only because of the sacred 'swear to God' clause that we use in our family of mainly atheists, agnostics, and general heathens to determine the ultimate truth; but because he rarely gets mad. One reason Reg would flare up though, was if he suspected his word was doubted by someone he loved, meaning one of his sisters. In his anger, he's been known to string together colorful swear words. Those curses often make no literal sense yet, somehow, they get his point across quite concisely.

I was taken aback by his immediate anger in this case, and the Anna reference, but I shelved that thought for another time.

I rushed in to calm my brother down. "I hear you, Reg. I didn't believe you'd touch her with a ten-foot pole. Here's the problem. Bob Crookston hasn't seen Cheryl in two months. He was under the impression you may have." I nodded over at Crookie. "Yes, he mentioned he had called you. I'll tell him that, but I have one more question. When did you see or talk to Cheryl last?"

I listened to his succinct answer with raised eyebrows. Unfortunately, it was both my eyebrows. I flashed on Luke, thinking of his warmth and strength upstairs in my room.

' _Was I crazy to have slipped out of bed?'_ I had a sudden, sharp pang to be up there cuddling with him, instead of down here and dealing with the serious, fast becoming ominous threat of the missing hooker wife. Then the realist in me shook off the unprecedented yearning to be held and protected from life's little peccadilloes and I snapped out of it.

I listened to my brother relate what he knew for a few seconds longer. My relief he hadn't been involved with a married woman was more intense than I had anticipated. I don't know why I'm always surprised when people show their ethical side. It's not as if I have been constantly battered with deception or immorality to be as skeptical of human nature as I am. Maybe it was from all the reading I've done over the last twenty years. I should have watched more television.

"Yes, I agree. Jack will definitely be next on our to-do list after I talk with Crookie. Thanks for being cool about this." I laughed at my brother's pithy, one-word response that ended our call.

"When did he see Cheryl?" Crookie asked, leaning forward intently. He looked tired but hopeful, eager for some definitive answers at long last.

"Reggie saw her later that night."

Crookie shook his fists high in the air. His grin stretched from ear to ear. "Yes! You do not know how relieved I am to hear someone actually has seen her since Tina's. What happened? And who is Jack?"

I drank some water, thinking I wasn't as sanguine. "Okay, first of all, Reggie says sorry for not getting back to you, but he's been super busy with work and forgot. Secondly, it wasn't Reggie with Cheryl in the bedroom at Tina's using his candlestick. Maybe it was Colonel Mustard, but it wasn't my brother."

Crookie shrugged acceptingly. "Okay."

"Cheryl, however, did stop over at my brother's later that night after Tina kicked her out. He was putzing around in his kitchen when he heard the knock. Reggie remembers the time since it was late and he'd glanced at the microwave clock." I paused to accurately recall what Reggie had said. "It was Friday, the fourteenth of September, at 11:33 PM. I'm sorry, Crooks, but she hit on him the minute he opened the front door. Reg told her 'Thanks, but no thanks' and tried to send her politely on her way."

Crookie blew out a breath. "I am fine. I have had a long time to get used to the idea. Go on, please."

"Cheryl went off on him in a rage about Tina throwing her out. Then she screamed at Reggie about liking the sex he had with her the previous weekend after the bars closed, so why was he turning her away that night?" I made a face of distaste at the thought. "Reg said she was nuts because he's never touched her. The most personal contact he's ever had with Cheryl was to reluctantly buy her a drink over at The Contented Cow the week before this happened. He made her leave that night and she drove off. End of story. That was the last time he has seen or heard from her." I took another long, satisfying drink from my bottle of cold water. "In answer to your second question, Jack Banner's a friend of my family. He's a cop. You've met him over the years. Don't you remember him?"

"Oh yes, that Jack. I did not connect the first name when you mentioned it. He's the tough guy that always had his eye on you."

"Yeah, he's watched out for all of us since I was a kid."

"I recall very well. For a period of time, I was somewhat concerned he may take advantage of you. When we were seniors, I asked you if older dudes around forty attracted you, remember?" He smiled at the memory. "When you answered that I was trying to make you hurl and it was not going to work, I did not worry about him any longer."

I let out a peal of laughter. "That's why you asked me that? I thought you were asking because of Mr. Brock, that sub we had in Biology for two weeks. He was such a douche. So many of the girls thought he was hot, but he was major icky!" Crookie laughed while I shuddered at the memory of Mr. Brock's fixed, creepy stare on my chest or rear, depending whether I was coming or going. "Jack's the Chief of Police now in Northfield. Reggie and I both think you need to report Cheryl missing to the cops. If you agree, Jack will tell us the way to go about it."

Crookie sat forward enthusiastically. "Absolutely, I agree. Something is not right about Cheryl being missing this long."

"Gee, you think?" I didn't try to conceal my snarkiness.

Crookie may be relieved to have it off his chest, but I didn't have a good feeling about any of this. It wasn't my Law and Order detective voice talking in my head; it was more like my Law and Order detective voice screaming in my head. This was not the end of the mess, but only the beginning.

Cheryl was too much of a troublemaking bitch to drive off quietly into the sunset without a word of farewell. It appeared my baby brother was the last man to see a woman now known to be missing for over two months. He had just reacted in uncharacteristic fury at the mention of her name.

I needed another coffee.

Chapter VI

"Call Me When You're Sober" by Evanescence

Present Time Saturday, 11/17/2012

9:15 AM

Sitting on my faux leather chair in my office tucked under the stairs, I was swiveling idly back and forth while staring blankly at November's sales numbers displayed on the monitor in front of me.

I only had a short window of time to get in some work, but I was finding it hard to concentrate on the open Excel spreadsheet. I usually get so absorbed poring over reports that I have to tear myself away from the computer, but today I couldn't focus worth a damn.

Crookie had left about fifteen minutes ago to meet Jack Banner over at the police station. When I had called Jack, he had listened impassively to my explanation of events without much more than a grunted question here and there. When I finished, he had ordered Crookie to the station immediately.

Jack had also been explicit Crookie come alone. I reluctantly agreed, but only once Jack reassured me that my friend didn't need me to hold his hand. At least for today, Jack had bitingly added, he'd probably hold off beating Crookie with a police baton.

I guess it was my day to torque off the males in my family circle.

That still didn't stop me from cautioning Crookie to be careful what he said and to query whether he was positive he wanted to go to the station without legal representation.

He had given me an incredulous look. "Why do I need a lawyer to report Cheryl missing, Bel?"

"Let's suppose the worst here for a minute. Say something bad has happened to Cheryl." I could get into this idea. I rubbed my hands together. "Suppose someone has butchered her into manageable Cheryl pieces and then put her through a wood chipper, a la Fargo. Then the killer threw the mulch, formerly known as Cheryl, up in the air like confetti all over a plowed up corn field." I smiled brightly at Crookie's horrified expression. "Can you account for every moment of your time over the last two months, without knowing what time you may have to account for?"

Crookie appeared so struck by this idea it was my turn to be incredulous. Had he never once thought of foul play as a reason Cheryl hadn't shown her face in two months? I wanted to kill her myself and I hadn't set eyes on her in over two years.

I gave up trying to talk sense. Crookie was too happy knowing Reggie had seen Cheryl later that night. I hoped I wasn't sending a big-brained lamb off to slaughter.

Before I locked the lobby door behind him, an exuberant Crookie turned and swept me up in a boot dangling, bear hug. He nearly squeezed the life out of me. "I have missed you, Bel." He squeezed me again. I think I felt a rib cracking. "Thank you so much for your help."

When he started to squeeze me a third time, I started smacking him about the head and shoulders in muffled protest. My face was mashed against his chest. Being hugged as a five-footer is often not pleasant.

He set me down and lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I will see you tomorrow night for sure. I will contact you later today with an update, if that meets with your approval?"

At my regal nod as I fluffed my messed up hair, Crooks went smiling on his way, a much more optimistic man than when he had

arrived. I glanced over at the door leading to my apartment.

I bit my lip and clenched my fists. I was so incredibly tempted to run up those stairs. I forced myself to turn right and walked back into the store. I checked the time on my cell. 9:20 AM. I touched a finger to my naked earlobe.

' _When would Luke wake the hell up, leave, and quit harassing me?'_

My cell vibrated in my hand. It was before ten in the morning but I saw it was a text from my sister, Jazy, so I read it.

R we on 4 2nite @ Macs?

I thumbed _, Yep 7. Pick me up?_

Almost instantly, Jazy's response buzzed back. _K Ciao_

I put my phone away appreciating Jazy's no frills approach to plan making. It's her basic approach to life, as well. She wants something, she goes after it. She doesn't want to do something, she doesn't do it. No fuss, no muss. It would never cross her tomboy mind to ask me what I was wearing before we went out. Sometimes she was called cold; but that was usually by a frustrated, horned up guy disappointed to realize he wasn't getting lucky. I call her refreshing.

I headed to my office where I still sat minutes later, staring off into space in a fugue state. I kept thinking over what my brother had said about Cheryl Crookston.

Things weren't adding up and it was nagging the bejesus out of me. What had he meant when he initially asked if Anna had put me up to asking about Cheryl? That was so high school. I hadn't even done that sort of thing when I was in high school, so it rankled. It also made me speculate what Anna could know about Cheryl's disappearance.

I had to wait to talk with Reggie until sometime later today. He was out on a job. I was impatient for answers and waiting isn't my style, but interrogating him on a job site isn't cool. Not with power tools to be considered. It was a relief when this train of thought was interrupted by my cell.

It was a text from Anna again.

_Do not worry. I'm sure Luke OK_.

I leaned back in my desk chair, stretched, and then snickered while shaking my head. Luke really has an admirer in my old friend.

Anna had met Luke, and fallen in love with him, on what was supposed to be our sixth date at the end of October. That was a little over three weeks ago when Luke showed up at the store earlier than expected for our Friday night date. His flight had landed ahead of schedule and he'd driven straight from the airport in Minneapolis to Bel's Books, about a thirty-five minute drive with no traffic.

Before he'd arrived, I was closing out the last till and preparing cash drawers for Saturday. Anna had been doing her own work over at the Fare. We were alone in the closed store. Anna's laptop was open on her service counter, softly playing some music. As we both plugged away, we'd talked sporadically of inconsequential things.

I'd been privately amused Anna was still there because it was obvious she was dragging her feet. My friend was dying to get a chance to check Luke out. I had inadvertently whipped up her curiosity to a fever pitch. Not by saying so little about our first few dates that was the norm but by the very existence of a sixth date.

Anna had clapped her hands together earlier that day and stated she wanted to meet this paragon of perfection. If Luke still had me interested after the fifth date, then she absolutely needed to meet the man.

I didn't think I was _that_ bad with the men I'd dated, but Anna assured me that I was even worse. Either I ditched them by the second date or turned them into a friend.

If I had my way, I'd keep my time with Luke a secret and not let the real world intrude. Unfortunately, I have to live in the real world.

It was my choice to live in a smaller town. I am highly visible as an owner of an established store, a big fish in a little pond. For the most part, I'm very satisfied with my choices. This is one of those rare situations when I regret never leaving Northfield. I know what a fish swimming in an aquarium feels like, and I longed for the anonymity of the open ocean found in big city life.

My personal life seems to be of acute interest to many people. Most of these people care about me, so fair enough. If Luke and I are going to continue seeing each other, it is probably necessary for Luke to meet my friends and family before the speculation grows too rampant and our dating is made into some big deal. Secrets appear juicy, but reality often proves duller than the fertile, dirty imagination. Dull is exactly the image I like to present where my personal life was concerned. To continue keeping everyone out of my business, I was going to have to let them in it a little first.

The night Anna met Luke was after he had been gone for work for the longest stretch since we'd started dating. I hadn't seen him in over three weeks. I had missed his last two phone calls during the week because I was out on other dates. When I've missed Luke's calls in the past, I haven't called back unless he requested that I do so.

Luke did ask me to call him back on Wednesday's voicemail. My date had been with Rob at a Euchre tournament. He's a guy I consider just a fun friend who likes playing cards as much as I do. The night ran late. I was wiped and fell into bed when I got home. I had meant to call Luke back, but crashed before I did.

Thursday's date had been with my octogenarian banker, Mr. Charles Barkley. Mr. Barkley's an old school charmer whom I adore and respect. He's one of the last of a dying breed of gentlemen from a different era, and that is a great pity because he's really something.

I always have a vastly entertaining time sharing a late Thursday dinner at his bachelor pad at least once a month. My banker's forgotten more on most subjects than most people will ever learn in their lifetime, and he is a fascinating conversationalist. Mr. Barkley's also droll and debonair, and I'll bet he was extremely hot back in the day.

I like to tease him by saying things like, "Mr. Barkley, with all due respect, if you were even fifteen years younger and didn't manage my business affairs so expertly, I'd cave to temptation and give you a run for your money."

Eyes twinkling roguishly, his responses were always something like, "My dear Miss Axelrod, were I even five years younger, it would be to your greatest pleasure to fire me."

The Thursday night missed call from Luke had no voicemail. The week had been hellishly busy at the store, so during the next hectically busy two days, I had only remembered to text Luke a quick hello in reply to both his missed calls. Getting with Luke over dinner and drinks after not seeing him for such a stretch was a plan I could totally get into.

My smile of welcome was enormous that evening when I looked up and saw him silently entering through the unlocked back entrance of the store. Observing Luke dressed all in black with a matching black expression on his swarthy face, it hit me how much I'd missed him.

I noticed his eyes glittering from several feet away.

Bel's had been closed for a while and Luke had no idea Anna was over at the Fare finishing her own work. She must have been down behind the service bar and he thought I was alone.

With no return smile, he pinned me with a look. It was rife with sexual intent. My body responded by shooting pings of tingling awareness down to my very favorite vacation spot in the Universe. I didn't say a word, finding myself fascinated and unable to look away from Luke's mesmerizing eyes. I wondered vaguely if this was how a staked goat felt being stalked by a ravenous lion, happy to be the sacrificial offering and eaten alive. He strode up behind the counter, and then my back was up against my closed office door while his mouth met mine with a demanding hunger.

His kisses seemed almost harsh or angry, but I was too busy loving the touch of his lips and tongue to care too much right then what his problem was. When I moaned my desire softly into his mouth and pressed closely up against him, Luke paused in his sensual assault on my senses.

Straightening up, he slid his hands down from encircling my waist to cup my bottom. He was staring down at me, broodingly silent and unmoving while he held my ass in his hands. I felt his fingers slowly gathering up the hem of the back of my short sweater dress. Feeling the thin fabric moving up higher, inch by inch, I was glad I'd chosen not to wear tights tonight. There was nothing but smooth skin above my boots. His long fingers lightly stroked high on my thighs. Soon they were outlining the lower curves of my butt left exposed along the bottom edge of my boy shorts. Those fingers would come close, but never quite touch, the wetness his caresses and kisses caused between my legs. His eyes were veiled beneath the lowered fan of his dark lashes and his mouth was serious, but I caught a flicker of satisfaction pass over his face at my unconcealed pleasure from his touch.

He slowly raised his eyes. I didn't try to hide the aroused smile of happiness I wore as a result of his greeting. I didn't know if I could hide my desire should I even want to; it felt like it would shine through any attempt at subterfuge. The man could bring me from zero to creaming my bikinis with only his knowing stare. His passionate kissing and intimate touches set me on fire in a way I'd never experienced. I burned for him and let him know it.

I sensed something coiled in Luke unwind and relax at my candid look. He smiled slowly, and hot desire flared openly in his eyes before I closed mine to his slower kisses. They were expert and thorough, his soft lips not missing any area of my parted mouth.

My hands flat on the door, I tilted my head back to offer my exposed throat to that talented mouth. He leisurely kissed and sucked on me while his hands trailed up my sides. Fingers teasingly skimmed over my breasts. At the feel of his teeth gently biting and then his tongue licking against my neck, my nipples hardened to tight, distended points obvious even through my bra and sweater dress. Luke continued to ignore them, except for brief, feather light touches with his fingers, as he traced the curving fullness of my breasts with his hands.

I ran my fingers up the back of his thighs and squeezed his ass, digging into the rounded, taut muscles. Pulling him against me, I rubbed his heavy arousal against my lower stomach. I brought my hands between us and ran my nails up the front of each thigh. Lightly tracing over his balls, I cupped and softly squeezed him. Using both hands, I stroked up the length of his erection straining against the zipper of his pants. I allowed my roving fingers to apply harder pressure around the head of his dick for a moment, moving up and down. Luke murmured encouragement in my ear and pushed against my hands.

It was his turn to groan faintly when I sent my hands moving slowly up under his open jacket and along the hard ridges of his stomach muscles. Caressing across his chest, I lingered over his flat nipples, lightly pinching on the tips until they hardened into points beneath his shirt.

Luke pulled my hands away and held them down against my sides. He whispered compliments while placing slow, open-mouthed kisses down my neck and across the tops of my breasts. I smiled dreamily at his sweet words.

Earlier that evening, I had dashed upstairs to get ready before my crew clocked out. Black is my color and I was all about it tonight, except for the sparkle of my silver jewelry. My mid-thigh length sweater dress was incredibly soft cashmere. A wide belt cinched in my waist and I wore suede, high-heeled boots that zipped up the back. A multi-strand necklace of delicate silver chains graduated down from my throat and over my cleavage partially revealed by the scoop of the sweater's wide neckline. My streaky blonde hair was twisted and piled up on my head in a tousled look. I wore tiny diamond studs in my ears.

Squeezing his hands, I arched against him like a purring feline under his kisses. Luke murmured against my skin, "You look pretty tonight and smell so good." He kissed the top curve of my right breast. I felt his tongue lightly lick my skin. "When you didn't answer my calls..."

"I'm finished!" Anna popped up from behind the Deli case, shutting the sliding door with a thud while wiping her hands on a towel. "I am going to have to...."

Anna's voice trailed off when she saw us. Luke had instantly spun around at the sound of her voice while keeping his left arm protectively around me. Even plastered boneless against the door and still in a sensual daze from Luke's ministrations, I had to smile at the identical shocked surprise on both their faces. Luke had made me forget we weren't alone.

Anna recovered quickly. She made a beeline over to where we were standing. She glanced at me and I groaned silently. I knew that innocent, quivering lips from trying-not-to-smile look. She gave in and grinned broadly.

"Hey, I'm Anna Johnson, Junior's friend and partner. You must be Luke." She dragged her gaze from Luke's face and looked at me again with bright, inquisitive eyes that didn't miss a detail of my unfocused state against the door. Her grin got bigger, if that was humanly possible. "I'm so happy to meet you."

Luke bumped Anna's fist with his own, losing his dark glare and smiling back easily. "Thanks, Anna. It's great to meet you, too. You two have been friends a long time, since grade school, right?"

"Yep, first grade. Did Junior also happen to mention that when we met she smacked me with her lunch box?"

I found my legs and pushed off the closed door to stand next to Luke while shaking my head and muttering, "And they're off...."

Luke grinned, his dimple creasing his cheek. "No, she didn't mention that part. She did that to you? Anabel seems to have violence issues. She smacks, she bites," he squeezed my waist and slanted me a sly look, "she pushes. As her best friend, should I be worried, Anna?"

I rolled my eyes as Anna trilled with laughter. "Knowing her, I'd say you should worry most when Junior is quiet for too long. All the rest is just her way of showing affection."

Luke chuckled, but I observed a calculating look fleetingly pass over his face when he spoke with Anna. If I hadn't been watching him closely, I'd never have seen it flash by. It made me straighten to alertness, curious what he was up to.

"I think we'll need to talk more about Anabel's bad habits. This would only be for my future protection, of course." Luke gave me a quick smile. He ran a hand lightly up my arm and settled his arm around my shoulder.

Laughing, Anna instantly agreed. "Oh, but of course."

Protesting, I yanked on the zipper of his leather jacket. "You're both crazy. I haven't heard even one bad habit mentioned here yet. What are you two talking about, anyway?"

They both groaned. Luke hugged me closer while saying to Anna over my head, "Add delusional to the list, Anna."

Anna was laughing, but I saw her fascination with Luke's easy affection towards me. Moving away from his arms to walk a few steps to the checkout counter, I groaned silently again. I was really in for the third degree soon.

"Since Anabel has no bad habits," Luke coughed into his fist and cleared his throat, "then what should you warn me about, Anna?" He leaned in and joked conspiratorially, "It must be all her dirty secrets only a best friend knows that you'll want to tell me about."

I relaxed. My earlier suspicions from seeing that calculating look pass over his face melted away. Surely he wouldn't announce his intentions to pump Anna for info about me, not with me right there?

Luke and I have talked about anything and everything while we've explored getting to know one another. Anything and everything except our personal pasts, if we were currently seeing anyone else, or our wants and needs in a relationship. We'd been carefully dancing around those touchy subjects.

I'd be happy never to go there. Those types of conversations get out of hand too easily. Talks like that invariably bring up issues. Issues cause misunderstandings and problems. Problems mean explanations, discussions, and more discussions. Enter next the resolutions and then the ultimatums. Ultimatums bring on headaches. Who in their right mind actively seeks a headache? One minute you're happily dating, thinking everything's groovy and nothing needs fixing. The next, you're depressed and contemplating lifelong self-pleasuring as the only answer.

I had no idea how Luke would react to finding out I was dating other men. Men could be so contrary. Too often in the past, it had seemed to drive men nuts when they understood I wasn't looking for a shout-it-to-the-world, sexually monogamous boyfriend scene. They saw it as an insult or a challenge to overcome. But you can't force loyalty with words. It's a gift you give with actions. It seems a simple concept to me. If I care enough about one man, I will be monogamous to him because I want to be with no other man. Relationships don't automatically come with a thirty-year guarantee of devotion, regardless of the wear and tear of daily life, nor should they, in my opinion.

I had no idea what Luke intended to say to me about missing his recent calls before Anna interrupted moments ago. But all those thoughts made me unsettled and slightly nervous, so I excused myself to finish closing.

Walking into my office, I heard Anna giggling and saying to Luke, "Junior is so full of dirty secrets; I wouldn't even know where to begin. It doesn't matter though, since I can't tell you a single one."

' _Crap!'_ With a man like Luke, that was the equivalent to waving the red flag in a bull ring.

"Anna, was that a challenge?" was Luke's teasing response.

' _Crap and more crap!_ _Anna, use your brain here_...'

"God, no!" was Anna's cheerful answer.

' _Thank you, I love you Anna!'_

"There's no challenge, Luke. Best friends are vaults. Period. The end. It's a girl thing."

"Vaults and best friends are only a girl thing?" Luke asked.

"Oh, for sure. Most straight guys don't have a clue how a woman really thinks."

"Yes, men are basically clueless idiots, aren't we?" was his silken reply.

Anna and Luke laughed happily together.

' _Reminder to self: kick Anna's ass later.'_

I had no clue where Luke was going with this, but somehow it didn't sound good for Team Anabel.

I quickly took care of the rest of my closing business. All the while, I was intensely aware of Luke's eyes tracking me around the store from where he stood chatting with Anna. I didn't glance over at them, but I was aware of his every movement as well. It gave me a thrill of heightened excitement for the night ahead. Maybe Anna's right and this is not normal behavior coming from me about a man near our sixth date. But since I've never had a sixth date in over a decade, I couldn't be sure what's normal for me anyway.

Grabbing my purse, I was ready to go. As I approached the pair, I was momentarily surprised to hear Luke casually inviting Anna to join us for dinner. She was pleased as punch but demurred, not wanting to horn in on our date.

I thought it was a great idea and seconded the invite, happy Luke had suggested it. Anna knows I wouldn't ask if I didn't want her, or if I thought Luke was asking only to be polite, so she cheerfully accepted.

I figured I had all night to be with Luke. A couple of hours of him getting to know my best friend would be a good transition into letting people know we were dating and that it was no big secret.

Luke led the way out as I locked up. Behind his back, Anna kept giving me big eyes while grinning and nodding her approval of Luke.

Mouthing the word "Wow!" she silently clicked her fingers like pincers. Okay, she was specifically pretending to pinch Luke's ass. Even as I elbowed her to behave, I had to agree his backside looked very fine from where I was standing.

On that note, the three of us walked our merry way down a block to Rueb's to have a drink and some food. Anna and I were both starving since neither of us had taken time for lunch that day. Inside Rueb's, it wasn't too crowded. Luckily, we'd arrived between happy hours. Luke had gotten us settled at a table, ordered a round of drinks, and proceeded to get to know Anna.

When I'd introduced them, I had a vague notion that Anna's giddy bossiness might put Luke off or his supreme confidence would repel Anna. Not so. He encouraged her to talk about growing up with me in Northfield. He listened attentively and soon had her forgetting any self-consciousness around him.

I was supplied with drinks and then, for all practical purposes, ignored.

Anna gets very excited and animated when telling stories. She jumps and bounces all over the place, or up and down in her chair if restrained by locale or seat belts. She laughs often and she's also a toucher. The girl's always grabbing someone, or something, or herself, but I'm used to her ways and they don't faze me.

They didn't seem to faze Luke, either. He sat back and nursed his beer, kept the drinks coming for us, and smiled often at Anna's antics. She told him many adventures of our growing up years that had Luke chuckling, even while he sent me appraising looks. That was probably due to the fact I was usually the one getting us in and out of trouble. He was most likely reconsidering my offer to have his children. If I was a scary sister, imagine what I'd be like as a mother.

Typically, I don't drink that much when I'm out. My norm is to sip on one cocktail forever. I don't have anything against drinking per se, I just don't need alcohol to let loose and party. I have fun talking with friends and dancing without getting drunk, even though people often mistakenly think I am drunk.

Tonight, Anna and I were totally wasted within an hour.

Later, I understood it was all part of a diabolical Luke Drake plot to infiltrate, divide and conquer, then interrogate. I think I now have a firmer grasp where the details of his career path will lead. Something like head man in the neo-Spanish Inquisition sounds about right. It might be time to find out exactly what this man is up to when he was out of town.

After plying Anna with several drinks, no food, and his smiling regard, I was astonished to see my male-savvy best friend drunkenly lulled into completely putting her guard down with Luke.

I unconsciously finished off my third vodka tonic. It was one of those nights when it felt good to kick back and the drinks were going down real easy. I shook the cubes in my glass while Anna's giggles ran up and down the scales. Luke was entertaining her with sexist blonde jokes and politically incorrect, tiny person one-liners.

I snorted into my empty glass _. 'Yeah_ , _go ahead and giggle, Anna; you're a 5'5" brunette, and not a short, little Blondie like me.'_

I caught Luke's small smile at hearing my snort.

Our server, a woman I didn't know named Cindy, quietly delivered a shot to me. She nodded towards a man I also didn't know sitting alone at the bar.

Raising the shot glass in a toast, I threw it back in one motion. Sputtering, I nearly threw it right back up.

' _Woo-wee!'_ I slammed the shot glass down on the table and shook my head in revulsion while the unidentified clear liquor burned down my throat.

Once I was sure I wasn't going to die, I became aware Anna was laughing uproariously at Luke's dry retelling of how we'd first met at Reggie's. Instead of taking my female side like a proper best friend, she kept telling him it was "so funny." Anna thought the part when Luke attempted to leave me standing there talking to myself while he exited Reggie's house was "flipping awesome."

I snorted again. 'Ha-ha. _Too bad Anna didn't know the story of our first date that same night. Then she'd REALLY have something to laugh about at my expense.'_

The faithful Cindy arrived a few minutes later with a tray. She set down a fourth vodka tonic for me and a rum and coke for Anna courtesy of Mr. Funny Man himself. She then put a second complimentary shot at my elbow.

Cindy sang softly out of the side of her mouth, "Somebody loves you...." and nodded towards the same guy at the bar. He raised his glass, smiling, when I glanced over.

I turned my head to Cindy and smiled wryly. "You mean somebody's trying to kill me." Resolutely, I cheered myself on. "Okay, man up, Anabel!"

As Cindy giggled _,_ I took a deep breath and bravely threw this shot back after the first. It went down more smoothly. My body involuntarily shook for a minute like I was having a seizure, but it didn't burn as badly as the first shot.

' _I was getting good at this!'_

In victory, I held up the shot glass and grinned with numbed lips at my two new friends, Server Cindy and Guy at the Bar. They clapped in praise, and then a laughing Server Cindy whisked the shot glass away.

Luke had paused in his current story to Anna to watch me take the shot. I saw him watch my new friend, Guy at the Bar, who was talking with the bartender and unaware of Luke's once-over. He watched my finger when I rubbed it slowly over my lips to restore feeling. He watched as I propped up my suddenly buzzing head with palms on my hot cheeks and elbows plopped on the table.

I couldn't help smiling happily at Luke's watchful, unsmiling face. I think he's the hottest man I've ever seen in my life.

"Thank you, Anabel."

"Sure. For what?" I grinned.

"For what you just said to me," he answered, sexy brows raised.

"I didn't say anything," I scoffed, laughing. I amended emphatically, "I was _thinking_ something."

Luke tipped back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, grinning and shaking his head at the same time. He started to reply, then stopped and laughed out loud.

Tipsily, I couldn't turn off my delighted grin as he laughed. Luke has an excellent sense of humor, but I would never call him happy-go-lucky. As we've gotten closer, I've discovered under his amiable, calm surface he is often on the more serious side and could sometimes be dark.

His voice is naturally low and gruff, but when he laughs the sound comes from far down inside him, popping out almost against his will and he appears slightly surprised. I think Luke grins dryly at irony, snorts wryly in his own secret amusement at people, and sarcastically chuckles at life's little foibles, but he doesn't often genuinely laugh for the sheer, wonderful fun of it. I feel like I've won a prize or done something special when I've surprised his happy laughter this way.

Anna was noisily sucking down the last of one drink and waving enthusiastically across the room to someone she knew. Hearing Luke's deep laughter she inquired eagerly, "What's going on? What did I miss?" She took a big swig of her new drink. "Wuke, finish telling me about that westaurant in Chicago where your fwiend works."

I giggled at Anna's Elmer Fudd impersonation. It always happens when she's getting toasted and never fails to tear me up. Luke righted his chair. He shrugged helplessly at me, as if he had no choice but to entertain, and then resumed his conversation with Anna.

I snorted in my glass for the third time. ' _Yeah, dude's about as helpless as a King Cobra.'_

Abandoned, as well as neglected, I was feeling warm. I picked up my drink and put the cold glass against each rosy cheek to cool off, and then I took a long swallow to cool me off inside. When I focused in on their conversation a while later, my mouth dropped open in shock to hear Anna seconding Luke's every opinion like Polly the Parrot starving for a cracker.

That made me woozily realize I was hungry and that I needed to go to the bathroom.

I interrupted Luke to excuse myself. He was explaining to a bewitched, befuddled Anna either a punch line of a joke or his political viewpoint I couldn't be sure which that in a perfect world we would be better off led by a triumvirate of Republican businessmen with absolute power.

Luke stood up and gallantly pulled out my chair. That caused the adoring Anna to clap and extravagantly compliment his wonderful manners.

I muttered, "Yeah, right. Thanks should go to his poor mother."

I got up, but without making eye contact with Luke. It was to hold myself back from delivering a sucker punch to his helpless eight-pack. I'm positive he and Anna would have only added the blow to the list of my imaginary bad habits anyway. I carefully made my lonely way to the Ladies room sans best friend, an event seldom seen in my lifetime.

I did my thing, washed my hands, and swayed and grooved to a man named Marvin singing about getting it on. The music was bouncing off the tiled walls at a high volume through an unseen speaker. I patted at my hair and made sure my clothes were still on after that song was finished. I reapplied my lips gloss, not really able to see my face too clearly in the wavy mirror. They should really do something about that.

On the way back to our table, I made a detour to thank Guy at the Bar for sending me those god awful shots. Grabbing a handful of nuts from a bowl, I munched hungrily while leaning my back against the bar next to his stool. He looked like a nice guy, so I told him that. I also let him know he shouldn't waste his money on me, that I was there with my date.

"You are?" Guy asked, confused.

"Yep, I am here with that man." Guy at the Bar turned and followed my pointing finger towards an empty table. I closed one eye, my left, and corrected my aim to my table.

We both watched Anna take a big slug of her drink. She continued talking and making strange motions like she was sawing a piece of particularly difficult wood in half. Luke was nodding, but his eyes kept coming back to me and my friend at the bar. He was not smiling again. His face looks hard and a little cruel when he isn't smiling.

Guy said, "Sorry, my mistake. It didn't look like you were with him. What do you think your girlfriend is doing?"

I nodded my agreement on his first comments. "He's a very tricky date." I peered at Anna. "Hmm, I cannot tell a lie. I have no clue what she's doing. Is it just me, or does it look weird?"

After some consideration, Guy at the Bar agreed, "It looks weird."

He tapped my hand that was beating time to the music on the bar. "Your date doesn't look very happy right now. Do I need to worry?"

I looked over at Luke. "Huh. I can't see real well since the lights are so dim in here," I smiled brightly at Guy, "but hey, I was just thinking to myself that he looks kind of cruel. I think it's his mouth. What do you think? Don't worry though, okay? I won't let him beat up a nice guy like you."

"Good, thanks. I don't know about the dude's mouth. I think he just looks pissed off."

In considering silence, we both glanced over to study Luke.

Luke raised his right brow. For some reason, I had no problem seeing that motion. Similar to the Patellar reflex, the gesture made me want to straddle his lap every time it occurred. I snorted a giggle at the thought. Luke frowned and nodded his head slightly towards my empty chair.

I shoved off the bar. "Ah, he had me at the eyebrow move." I patted Guy at the Bar on the shoulder. "Bye-bye, Guy, and thanks again."

"You're welcome. You're nice, too." He smiled. "If you decide you don't like his tricks...."

I laughed and waved, saying over my shoulder, "Thanks, but so far I like his tricks just fine."

As I sat back down, Luke reached for my hand and linked it with his. I leaned over and kissed his cheek, then slowly wiped off my lip gloss with my thumb. He smiled, but it didn't erase all the hardness from his face. He turned back to Anna's story.

I leaned over and kissed his cheek again, smiling big when he turned to give me a stern look for interrupting, but squeezing my hand in his. Anna also mimicked his stern look, but since she was swaying in her chair it was impossible not to giggle. I leaned her way and gave her a kiss on the cheek, too.

"That's for being such a cute chipmunk."

She grabbed onto my right arm and started shaking it while laughing in excitement. Anna announced loudly, "You are dwunk. Oh my God, Wuke, Junior's dwunk. She never gets dwunk!"

"Hey, maybe you're drunk," I countered, pulling my arm back before she wrenched it from its socket. "Did you ever once think of that, Miss Chippie?"

Luke laughed out loud.

I grinned at him. "I'm not drunk. I just think I need glasses. Really, I swear."

Anna bounced in her chair. "Wait! Everyone be quiet! I have to finish telling you, Wuke. Listen, now, okay? Junior, be quiet for a minute. You don't need gwasses, okay, you are just shit-faced. Let me finish my story."

I nodded, relieved I didn't need glasses. I looked at Luke and saw he was giving me one of his intense stares while Anna chattered away. She was doing that peculiar sawing motion again while speaking of tree forts.

Shushing him, I gestured helplessly and mouthed, "I'm shit-faced."

He grinned and swiftly kissed our joined hands. I glanced over at the talking Anna and then scootched my chair closer to Luke's.

I whispered, "Don't let me drive home."

He whispered back, "We walked."

I whispered back again, 'Yeah, but I may want to drive our truck."

"There's no way in hell you are driving a tricycle, so don't worry."

"I _wasn't_ worried about driving a tricycle! What the...?"

Server Cindy interrupted my snorting giggles to bring me a fifth vodka tonic, a double. I swore to her I didn't order it. Laughing, she pointed to a nearby table of four men that I hadn't noticed before who were playing cards. The bar had been steadily getting busier and more crowded as we drank.

These guys I knew, or at least I thought I recognized them from working over at Reggie's place. They were sort of blurry, so it was hard to be sure. I waved my arm in their general direction with a big smile—in case they had a hard time seeing, too. They called back greetings. I spun around in my chair and chatted with them all for a few minutes. Turns out they didn't know my brother.

I turned back to Luke and Anna. Sucking my fifth drink down through the little straw like it was water, I almost swallowed vodka down the wrong pipe when hearing what was going on right beneath my nose.

Anna was most distressingly, without caution or forethought, drunkenly answering any questions Luke idly put to her about any subject of our past. My past!

I had been dimly aware of hearing her speaking in the background, but now caught the end of her saying, "...and this was the wast guy Junior went out wiff. He bored her, too. I hope you don't bore her, Wuke."

I narrowed my crossing eyes suspiciously at this little development. Luke and his double gazed back at me with an amused expression on their faces and a dangerous glint in their four eyes.

We had been at Rueb's for one hour.

I was completely trashed and Anna was firmly Luke's new best friend. I had no idea what she had been singing to Maestro Luke this past hour, but the vault door was definitely ajar.

Anna's head now rested on the table, she was near to passing out. I absently pulled the straw out from between her lips, needing to exert some force to get it out from between her clenched teeth.

I knew dazedly, on some level, I should be disgusted with myself for underestimating how deviously good Luke really was, but it seemed I was too happy of a drunk to care.

Luke smilingly suggested we get Anna home and then we could continue on with our date. Even in my drunken state, I felt a moment of satisfaction seeing the blank expression on Luke's face when I told him, most regrettably, our date was over. We'd be taking Anna back to my apartment for the night. She was way too drunk to be by herself. If I brought her home this trashed, Aunt Lily would blame me and chase me with her antique sword cane set on slice and dice.

Back at my place, Luke led us like a Sherpa up the Mount Everest of a steep staircase to my apartment.

The outside air had braced me a little, but I still had problems focusing my eyesight and Anna's legs weren't working so well. Luckily, that didn't stop us from singing various duets for Luke's listening pleasure all the way home, into my building, and up the stairs. I thought our rendition of "Coming 'Round the Mountain" was particularly fine. I did the 'When She Comes!" and "Yee-Ha!" parts with bump and grind gusto.

At the summit of the stairs, a swaying Anna abruptly covered her mouth with her hand. Letting out a dreadful moan a zombie would be proud of, she ran stumbling towards the bathroom. Since she left the door open, violent retching was soon heard.

Luke winced at the gagging sounds, shooting me a quick, guilty look.

I spread my arms wide in answer and shrugged, laughing. "Hey, Torquemada, don't feel too bad. You can lead the girls to the bar, but even you can't force them to drink."

Luke's grin was wide, as he repeated incredulously under his breath, "Torquemada..?" while shaking his head.

He was reaching for me, and damned if I wasn't eager, when Anna's pitiful voice could be heard beseeching my name from the bathroom.

"Hold your horses, little doggie, I'm a comin'!" I called down the hallway.

I turned back and smiled a cheery, boozy good night. "Well then, Luke Drake, thank you so much for the dinner."

Rubbing his forehead, he laughed and gracefully admitted defeat.

After quickly making plans with me for the next day to explore Minneapolis, Luke then paused in his descent to leave. With one foot on the stairs, he was looking on in amazement as I painstakingly made a note to myself of our date. It was on my foyer mirror with a tube of lipstick from my purse.

"Sweetheart, why don't you let me put the time in your cell, instead of these," he waved toward my note. Doubled over with laughter, he was barely able to get the next word out, "hieroglyphics on the mirror?"

Calling down the hall to Anna that I'd be there in a second, I walked over to Luke.

He waited for me, still chuckling. I reached up and planted a chaste kiss somewhere near the region of his dimple. "You'll not trick me into giving you my cell phone so you can plant a bug in it. Don't be too surprised if I wear an aluminum foil headband tomorrow to block your micromindwaves. Now, good night, My Pharaoh, unless you'd like to help with Anna in...?"

Luke made a face of mock horror and beat a hasty retreat down the stairs. He ordered up from the last stair. "Anabel, buzz me out the front and lock up right away."

Already at the master station, I rolled my eyes at his orders. I called back down over the ledge. "You called me by my first nickname. Don't think I didn't notice how cutesy you really are!"

Smiling over the sound of his loud snort of male disgust as he left, I waited to see him exit the building. I verified the doors were locked and the alarm reset, and then went to see if Anna was still among the living.

Once I got Benedict Anna alone, she got a friendly reminder on the merits of remembering to keep her mouth shut, the definition of the word vault, and who was truly her best friend. She was a captive audience. She was draped over the toilet in my bathroom and still puking her guts out from all the liquor Luke had poured down her unsuspecting throat.

As I held back her hair off her face, I softly brought up the pinky swears from grade school. I gently reminded her of the painful, penknife slices of Indian Blood Brother oaths in eighth grade. Did she really forget the five beers each, tearful declarations of best friend love in high school, as we vomited in tandem? I even dredged up the sincere, if paranoid, swear to Gods to be friends forever the time that we smoked weed at eighteen and got so high. We laughed and ate until we passed out like beached whales on my bedroom floor. The deal clincher that made her beg for me to take pity; I'd tell my brother everything she's always said about him if she opened her trap to Luke ever again about my personal business—wasted or not.

After her next bout of dry heaves was finished, and I had soothingly wiped a cold, wet cloth over her face poking her in the eye only once and then had given her mouthwash to rinse, she totally agreed Luke was very tricky and promised she was onto him.

A couple of hours later, I tucked her into the guest bedroom. I set a glass of ginger ale on the bedside table and a big soup pan for any further emergencies on the floor. Anna asked in a small voice if I was mad she'd ruined our date.

"Please, and miss the sight of you barfing? While trying desperately not to toss my cookies, too? Why, nothing compares." I waved a negligent hand. "Don't worry about it. I'm seeing Mr. Tricky tomorrow. Besides, you may have actually saved me tonight."

Anna stopped punching her pillow into submission and frowned blearily up at me. "How did I save you?"

"Holy Hannah, I was so blasted earlier. If you weren't here, I cringe to think what I might have said to Luke if we were alone." I smiled wickedly. "Or what I might have done to him."

Sighing, Anna snuggled under her covers. "Great, now I really feel crummy. Luke probably hates me knowing he missed a wild night of a trashed Anabel. You hardly ever drink like that. What if you would have started drunk crying, or blacked out after dancing nude on the dining room table? That would have been so sweet! You should call him and tell him to come over. I probably wouldn't hear anything."

"Huh. Appealing as that sounds, I think I'll pass. Pass out, too. Sweet dreams, you little lightweight."

"Thanks for keeping your toilet clean, June."

I was at the door when Anna called softly, "Hey..."

"Yes?"

"I like him. You need a man like him to keep you on your toes." Anna paused. "Or do I mean on your knees?"

She was still chuckling delightedly at her own joke when I closed the guest bedroom door behind me without answering.

Anna is my best friend. We're sisters until the end. I may have three blood sisters of my own, but there's a universal truth known by the kind of females I like best; a woman can never have too many sisters.

Chapter VII

"Love Shack" by The B-52'S

Present Time Saturday, 11/17/12

9:40 AM

After hearing the front door of Bel's being unlocked, I recognized the rhythm of the heels tapping across the lobby floor. I went to the door of my office. As the overhead light fixtures hanging from the soaring, tin stamped ceiling were switched on by Stella, the store woke up, becoming bright and cheerful.

My store manager and niece walked her way towards me down the wide aisle of the huge, open room that comprises the main floor space in Bel's Books. The central aisle flows straight down the length of the room and ends at the Laissez Fare café. Continuous, short bookcases line either side of the aisle and create wide rows, much like in a school library.

The long, wooden checkout counter where I was standing is located along the side aisle when you first enter Bel's Books front doors. It's basically under the hallway of the bedroom side of the layout upstairs. My office is reached by a door behind the checkout counter. The office is an odd, little room built under the stairs that lead up to my apartment. It's a cozy place from which to rule my little empire.

With her head down and digging for something in her purse, I only got intermittent glimpses of Stella as she came forward. I did manage to notice a sparkly, yellow bag hung from her elbow. She was dressed in the uniform of the store; jeans and a T-shirt with BEL'S BOOKS spelled out across the front.

I saw she was wearing platform pumps that explained the clunky sound of her heels. They were two-toned in the colors blue and green that appears to be patent leather, but I knew differently. Being Stella, she tries to live by her ideals and convictions. At the forefront of her beliefs is the concept to harm no animals in the choice of the clothes she purchases and the food she eats. She buys nothing made of leather and is vegetarian.

Stella is trying to be vegan, but is totally depressed with her progress. Try as she may, she can't stay away from the cheese. As she struggles with her inner dairy demons, she compromises and eats cheese produced from dairy farms where the cows are treated gently. Thanks to my niece, I've learned way more than I ever wanted to know about the standard processes used in the production of dairy products. My oldest sister, Mac, has a lot to answer for in the raising of Stella. I figure Mac has to be the one to blame since it's never once crossed my mind to wonder about the status of cow's teats, or the levels of blood and pus acceptable in the milk we buy at the grocery store. Those kinds of facts completely disgust me, and maybe Stella was having a hard time transitioning to vegan, but she'd grossed me out for life.

My only niece initially made the decision to be vegetarian at the age of fourteen and got flak from a lot of the adults in her life. Pushing the great age of twenty-nine, I've observed the older some people get, the less they seem to remember what it was like to be a teen full of zest and purpose. They thought it was just a phase and humored her. Four years later, when the phase hadn't gone away but became a way of life, it made some people uncomfortable. Beats me why, but Stella is often patronized for her beliefs and asked stupid questions. She generally handles intrusive, arrogant questions with a patient grace, always on the lookout for potential converts.

My personal favorite is from Marge Clausen, an overweight, sedentary busybody in her forties who has been coming to Bel's Books since I was a kid. I overheard Marge asking the lithe, athletic, glowing-with-health Stella, "Are you sure you're getting enough protein, dear?"

Aside from the obvious, her question brought home to me that when you're vegetarian people take an uncommon interest in whether or not you're getting all your protein and vitamins. I can't recall ever hearing an adult ask a flesh-eating teenager those types of questions, regardless if their physical condition is bulimic skinny from barfing up their vitamins or morbidly obese from a steady diet of junk food and no exercise.

Eating organic wasn't as trendy four years ago. To be a vegetarian, paired with insisting on organic whenever possible, is to some people downright un-American and threatening. I get a good chuckle out of that attitude, as if slaughtering cows and chomping down Big Mac's built character, good health, and a powerful nation.

Personally, I am a chomper, but I buy organic and local wherever possible. I take an interest in knowing where my meat comes from, especially beef, for two reasons.

One, can you say Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease? It's the disease named for the human related result of eating cattle infected with Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy, more commonly known as mad-cow disease. That disease scares the-you-know-what out of me. Not enough so that I've completely eliminated beef from my menu, but I do consider eating it an extreme sport.

Two, try having your fourteen-year-old niece sadly shake her head at you when seeing the burger in your hand and chiding mournfully, "Auntie, you know you are eating sad, sick meat that once had a face."

My God, I am only human and have a heart, even if on the shriveled side, and a brain, hopefully not spongy. Stella masterfully plays me like a violin. Now I try to make sure the animals I eat had a happy life first on a nearby farm. I like thinking they are running around frolicking and eating grasses free of pesticides. I like the idea their poor teats are not abused for my dairy products. I like imagining they don't know what hits them when they're butchered locally for my eating pleasure.

I've always steadfastly supported Stella in her convictions just because. More and more, I was coming to believe she has the right way of it with many of her beliefs. They're sensible and realistic, if uncomfortable to practice. My niece is full of true grit and determination, two traits I admire greatly in women when used in the pursuit of self-discovery and personal goals.

I have to give her kudos for being able to pull off the shoes, too. They look like a throwback to old pictures I've seen of the seventies fashions. The saying, "Keep on Truckin" flashed across my brain. The girl was stylin'. That's a good thing since she's majoring in fashion design.

Stella's eighteen and a freshman at St Catherine's College in St. Paul. She also works at Bel's as my right hand woman. Mac's footing the tuition bill for the private college and it's not trivial. But Stella's a hardworking kid. She is earning her own money to help contribute to the cause and otherwise supports herself.

When Stella chose St Catherine's, I think we were all a little stunned. At first glance, the only thing she seems to have in common with the private, all girls, Catholic St Kate's was the fact she has a vagina. We're a heathenish lot when it comes to organized religion. Most of my siblings went to state schools and majored in partying for their first couple of years.

I'm the only one without a degree. I considered it a waste of time and money for me since owning Bel's has always been my focus. NanaBel, surprisingly, didn't try to dissuade me, but said I could always go to school should the urge arise. I haven't regretted the decision not to pursue a traditional college career, but initially, I did miss the continual learning a structured school setting had given me. I hadn't understood how much I loved soaking up knowledge until I was done with high school and putting in long hours at the store. For the first couple of years, Bel's Books consumed my every waking hour. It was exciting. I kept taking on more and more responsibilities. I had tons to learn, but as I became more familiar with all aspects of managing the store, I knew it was not enough.

Loving the business I own and run doesn't mean its continual fun and games. Mainly, my time's spent with routine tasks, a lot of the same old, same old. Once I had determined what my restless problem was, I solved it.

I came up with a life action plan I refer to, please forgive me, as the Bel Curve. Continued education is the overall goal, and having fun while achieving this broadening of my horizons is the overall focus. The subheadings Brain, Body, and Spirit organize my pursuits of a well-rounded education. The system has worked well for me over the years. I've always devoured books, but sometimes I take a class on a specific subject. Sometimes I learn an active skill, try a new hobby, or take on a sport. My only rule of operations, I gotta love what I'm learning or doing. It is fine to continue on one subject and delve as deeply as my interest warrants, but if I don't love it, I move onto the next challenge.

At our gentle teasing and questioning, Stella stubbornly insisted St. Kate's had the program she wanted. She proved once again she knows her own mind and has thrived in her first quarter in the diverse, small class environment. It's a great school.

My heart swelled with love for my niece while I watched her today unawares. She's extremely pretty in a vibrant palette with her lustrous, dark chocolate-brown hair and aquamarine eyes under slashing, dark brows. Rosy cheeked with the MacKenzie dimples, she has a beautiful smile with white, slightly crooked teeth. She insisted she didn't want braces in the interests of perfection once the dentist had admitted her bite was fine. She thought her one or two, slightly crooked teeth were interesting. Such confidence from a sixth grader boggles the mind.

Mac had Stella at seventeen. My oldest sister had gotten pregnant by her high school sweetheart, Freddy DeVere. I recall vividly the drama at the time. From my nine-year-old perspective, I was repulsed at the idea of Mac having a baby. NanaBel had promised to support Mac in whatever choice they made about the pregnancy keeping the baby, adoption, or abortion. Her only requirement was that Mac discussed what she was thinking, feeling, and reasoning with her family, as she made her decision with Freddy.

I kept my lips zipped so I could listen, round-eyed and big ears, to all the discussions around the dining room table without being sent out of the room. Years later, I grasped how NanaBel had expertly turned a difficult situation that often rips families apart into a time of family unity and excitement. She showed us all by example the stepping stones to making sound decisions while incorporating our very human strengths and weaknesses into the equation.

One of NanaBel's favorite axioms has always been, "Your actions should bear scrutiny your own." All my life, I've watched her in action practicing what she preaches. I have come to greatly admire her philosophies.

My grandmother doesn't give much credence to public opinion other than as a tool to weigh the lay of the land, and then manipulate it to her own ends. She also doesn't consider "manipulate" a four-letter word. NanaBel's quite Machiavellian in her thinking. You've got to love that trait in a woman, especially a woman solely in charge of your family's future.

What NanaBel does believe is that it's very important to be able to sleep at night after deciding on the path you'll take, so don't ever lie to yourself in the privacy of your own mind.

Self-delusion is a major no-no in our family, even if it's admitting you're selfish, unfair, unethical, immoral, twisted, or just plain wrong. Vigorous self-honesty, self-examination, and self-acceptance promote the eventual best choices.

Liking yourself and striving to be the person you want to be; along with plenty of exercise, regular meals, and a good night's sleep, gives you the energy to have a fun, hardworking, and productive life. NanaBel's formula is all about life being hard work and a good time. After twenty some cognizant years of my own empirical observations, it's my conclusion my grandmother has to be the coolest woman in the world.

Mac and Freddy chose to have the baby. Freddy was a year older and going to school at the U of M. They waited until after Mac had graduated high school, and baby Stella was born in July, before getting married. After the wedding, they lived in a tiny apartment in Dinkytown near the University. They were a happy, little family deliriously in love and overflowing with plans for a bright future.

Seven months later, Freddy was T-boned on an icy, February day by a delivery truck running a red light while doing fifty. Poor Freddy had been hit on the driver side and killed instantly.

A devastated Mac and baby Stella moved home to our Division Street family. Eventually, Mac used the resulting insurance settlement to pay for schooling to become a nurse. She socked away the rest. We all chipped in our time and it was a group effort raising baby Stella. For the first few months, Mac was sleepwalking through the days while dealing with the reality and grief of being a new mother, a bride, and a widow all at the age of eighteen.

I was just eleven when they moved back into the apartment with us in Northfield. It was a sad time; Freddy had been dear to us all. My sadness eased a little when it took about one nanosecond for me to fall irrevocably in love with having baby Stella around 24/7. Time went on, Mac dealt with her loss, and she slowly moved back into the sunlight of the living. At that point, she had to tackle me to wrest baby Stella out of my grubby, little arms. We agreed to share the baby.

I now thought about how hard Stella works going to school while holding down a full-time job. I thought about how friendly and kindhearted she is the girl took a spider outside rather than kill it, which in the winter is an interesting choice. Pressing my hands against my chest, I almost felt my heart swelling; I was so proud of her. Stella's probably the closest I'm going to get to a daughter of my own, even though she's only ten years my junior.

Stella glanced up, her pretty face inquisitive. "Why are you standing there holding onto your boobs like that, Auntie Bel?"

She grinned at me when I dropped my hands while laughing at her valid question. "Oh, I was enjoying feeling myself up on this fine Saturday morning. Those are the kinds of things I get up to, if left to my own devices for too long."

Stella burst out laughing, shoving me playfully in the shoulder. She unlocked the deep drawer under the checkout counter near where I was standing. She stowed away her Big Buddha purse.

"Nifty shoes, hippy chick."

Stella pointed her foot, the better for me to admire. "Thanks. I ordered them online through a website on Etsy. Only thirty bucks!"

I pointed nonchalantly to the yellow gift bag tantalizing me on her arm. "What's that little morsel?"

Stella held the bag up in surprise, as if just noticing it. "This gift bag, you mean?"

"Yes, that gift bag. Is it a present for someone....like me, for instance?" I asked without shame.

"Now why would I have a present for you?" Stella teased, pursing her lips in thought. "What have you done for me lately?"

I clapped my hands. I love presents. "Hmm...let's see. What have I done for you lately? Good question. Does it have to be something I have actually done, or does what I _intend_ to do count?"

Stella giggled. She handed the bag over to my greedy, clapping hands. "I believe you would do anything for a present, wouldn't you?"

Distractedly, I pushed my long hair behind my shoulder while murmuring, "You ask that like its wrong. Have I taught you nothing, Stell?"

I opened the sparkly bag and pulled off the decorative, tissue paper that served no purpose other than to keep me from the loot underneath. Inside were two wrapped items. I took both out and laid them gently on the wooden counter. Savoring the gifts was as fun as opening them. Well, not really, but a close second.

I carefully folded the gift bag and handed it back to Stella. "You really shouldn't have, Stella sweetness, but here you go. Recycle this for next time."

She stuck the yellow bag under the counter while dramatically snorting and rolling her eyes. I don't know where she gets some of her facial tics from; must be my sister, Mac.

I opened the gift on the left first. "Thank you so much! What is it, exactly?"

Stella took it out of my hands. Using scissors, she sliced off the tab wrapping covering up the white, slim tube. She popped off the lid. Her bright blue eyes were intent and serious, little frown lines of earnestness on her forehead. "It's called lip stain. You are going to love how it feels and looks. Jane Iredale's line may not be certified organic, but I have checked out the ingredients. There is no propylene glycol in her stains. Or sodium lauryl sulfate. It's safe and nontoxic for you to use."

Oh, man, I could just squeeze her endlessly for being so incredibly cute when she's so serious, but I settled for a quick hug and warm praise. "I appreciate your research. Thanks for being so smart. I cringe at the poisons I'd consume without you policing the profit-hungry, corner-cutting, bastards of the cosmetic industry."

Eyes sparkling, she nodded, pleased. "Put some on and try it. Then hurry and open the next one."

I live to obey. Stella was right; the lip stain felt great and tasted even better. Jane and I had a future. "Mmm...delish."

Stella handed me the second wrapped package. I laughed in delight when I opened it and saw the earrings. They were shiny, delicate silver in the shape of an elongated sphere with a blue topaz stone dangling in the center.

"Stella, they're perfect! I love them. Thank you!"

"You're welcome. They reminded me of your eyes. Sammy made them. Isn't she good at jewelry design?"

"She _is_ good." Without thinking, I put on the earrings. I went over to a mirror hanging on the wall right inside my office door to check them out. I curled my hair behind my ears and turned my head this way and that to catch the sparkle in the light.

"We should talk with Sammy about selling her jewelry here," I idly mused, thinking about Stella's talented best friend. "What do you think, Stell?"

Stella came to lean against the door frame. "Sure, we could do that. Those look totally cute." She got a perplexed look on her face. "I just noticed something. This is probably the first time in my life I've ever seen you without earrings on already. What are you, psychic or something?"

I watched my blue topaz eyes widen in the mirror and saw my Pretty Pink Just Kissed lip stained mouth stay closed. I felt tongue-tied, although Stella had no way of knowing why I had no earrings on. For once, I had no facile answer for such an easy, simple question. I felt like a complete idiot standing there and saying nothing.

Stella's straight eyebrows drew together. "Why are you looking so strange? What's wrong?"

A voice behind her at the door inquired, "Who's looking strange?"

It was Anna. Stella and I both turned to her. I was relieved at the interruption until Stella said, "Can you believe Bel had no earrings on this morning and won't tell me why?"

"Wait a minute..." I protested, but Anna overrode me.

"What do you mean? She's got earrings on, Stella."

Stella's arms were folded and her platform shoe was tapping. Her eyes narrowed. She was on the scent, but still confused.

"These are earrings I just gave her as a gift, Anna. She didn't have any of her own on to begin with, and she keeps staring at me like she's guilty of something when I asked her why."

Anna peered at me suspiciously. I shrugged and went for clueless. Without hesitation, I threw Stella under the bus. I did a circular motion with my finger near my head, signaling Stella was a kook.

This is what I get for shaking up my routine, and for having a nosy niece that keeps an eagle eye on me and knows all my ways. No wonder I have no children of my own if this is the peppering you get for not wearing a pair of earrings one damned day. All because I had a lousy sleepover, I have resorted to lying to my niece and best friend.

"I saw that!" exclaimed Stella, laughing. "I'm not nuts, and you'd better tell us what's going on or I will drive you crazy until you do. You know I can do it..."

I did indeed. Relentlessly single-minded as a rat terrier is another trait she, no doubt, got from one of my sisters. I learned a long time ago, Stella is not a female you can depend upon to take a hint and shut up in public when you don't want her to pursue a delicate subject. Nuance and subtleness are not words in her vocabulary. You have to drag her off to the side and threaten her with bodily harm to get her to be quiet if there's something she has sunk her teeth into and wants an answer on. I either had to come up with a quick explanation after screwing up my timing so badly, or spill the beans I had Luke upstairs. Then I'd really be in for a waterboarding session.

"Okay, then. I will tell you why I have no earrings on today." I pulled my hair back with one hand, blowing out a heavy breath in defeat. Both Anna and Stella watched me suspiciously from the doorway of my office.

I bent my head, and confessed in a quiet, dignified voice, "I have a prescription drug problem that I have been trying to kick. My hands were shaking too much to fit any earrings through the holes in my ears this morning. See?"

I lifted my head and held a hand up, letting it quiver and tremble in the air between us all. "Are you two happy now?"

Anna and Stella looked at each other, then at me, and then back at each other. They went hysterical at the same time. They held onto each other. They screamed with laughter and made mean-girl comments about my acting skills. I sat in my office chair, swiveling gently and smiling contentedly while they were busily whoopin' it up at my expense. I cast a quick look at the clock. 9:59 AM and counting.

"Ah, Stella love, I hate to interrupt your bonding moment with Anna here, but I do believe it's time to open the store?"

"Damn!" Stella cried as she ran out of the office. She called back over her shoulder, "I haven't forgotten this, Auntie."

"Thanks again for the lovely presents!" I called after her.

Anna plopped down on the moss green velvet loveseat near my desk. "Okay. What are you holding out on, Junior?"

"Forget the earrings. I think some serious stuff is going down. I'm very worried, actually. Bob Crookston was here earlier, and you will not believe what's been going on with his wife, Cheryl."

Anna's cocoa-brown eyes are shaped round, but now they grew huge. Her eyebrows rose high under her long bangs. She sat forward expectantly. "Why? What's going on?"

I stood up, needing to stretch. The only two hours of sleep was catching up with me. I also wanted to get out of Dodge before Luke sauntered in. His untimely appearance would ruin my clean getaway after all my hard work not telling on myself that he was upstairs.

' _Geez Louise._ _How late would the lazy man sleep on a Saturday, anyway?_ '

"How about I fill you in as we drive? Are you ready to go now or do you need a few minutes?"

Anna jumped up again. "Give me a couple to make sure everything's in order with Trent. Did you know the Ladies of the Lanes bowling league are meeting here today at one o'clock in the Garden Room?" Stretching my arms towards the ceiling, I paused to give her a look. She laughed. "Of course you did." She snapped her fingers. "Oh, and do not let me forget to tell you my news, too. It's the main thing I wanted to tell you this morning when we talked, but you got me flustered with the puny penis thing. Thanks again for that, by the way."

I smiled, reaching over and shutting down my PC. "My pleasure. Okay, hurry up and we'll talk in the jeep."

"The catering is no biggie. Trent's got it covered for today. It's coffee in urns, bottled waters, wraps, and a variety of cookies. They're good to go."

I perked up at the mention of cookies, my stomach growling. That handful of walnuts seemed like years ago and the lip stain wasn't very filling. "What kind of cookies are we talking?"

"The kind that makes your ass big, Junior. You can't have any for free."

Laughing, I followed Anna out into the store. She took off to Laissez Fare to talk with Trent. I could see the big guy was already at work making drinks for a couple of younger girls.

Trent looked my way. He did an exaggerated double take, grinned widely, and held both hands to his heart. In return, I drew a heart in the air with my two forefingers and pointed at him with a small smile. The two girls, they were barely in high school, followed his glance over to me and scowled.

Trent Christensen is twenty-three, grew up in Northfield, and has worked with Anna at the Fare since it opened two years ago. He is currently training to be a Pastry Chef at the Minnesota Institute of Arts Culinary School in South Minneapolis. I wouldn't be surprised if he and Anna partnered up in the future and expanded the business. I'd be interested in backing them to start branding and packaging their own recipes for sale locally maybe wholesale and retail distribution. I put aside the idea for further consideration to discuss with Anna.

Trent's very attractive, like a giant Teddy bear. He stands a solid six-five. He has a curly mop of black hair. His dark blue eyes have a way of twinkling slyly at you, even when his mouth isn't smiling. He's a large boy, but you want to cuddle him. Women of all ages love him. Men find him harmless. Like the two girls glaring over at me from the Fare, both ideas make me laugh. Trent has the greatest, if the weirdest, customer service skills. I like working with him just to hear what comes out of his mouth next. The customers get a kick out of his conversational gambits, too.

Stella was over helping a customer in the Sci-fi section. I recognized the younger guy, since he's been in the store often lately, but haven't met him yet myself. Stella seemed to help him whenever he was browsing. I chuckled to see her talking and smiling animatedly while gesturing emphatically with her arms like she was a full-blooded Italian, instead of predominantly Scots and German.

I looked to my left. Larissa Butler was down at the end of the checkout counter ringing up a single book purchase. That was some fast shopping, but I knew from experience there were certain people that weren't bookstore browsers. Sacrilegious, I know, but there you go. They enter the store, go directly to the new book section, grab their book of choice, and vamoose.

Larissa's a part-time employee and a friend of my youngest sister from their high school days. I've known Larissa casually forever, but not really known her well until she started working for me last summer.

Larissa had married young and moved out of state. I hadn't seen much of her for several years. She came back to Northfield after a particularly nasty divorce about eighteen months ago.

The older man who'd swept her off her feet and married her had turned out to be a monster, not Prince Charming. He'd been terrorizing Larissa by beating the crap out of her for years because he was insanely jealous and possessive. Larissa's a knockout. She's tall and slender, has a heart-shaped face, big, crystal blue eyes, and perfectly straight, thin blonde hair. She's also so sweet-natured and harmless you couldn't even hate her for being beautiful. It would be like hating rainbows or white, fluffy clouds.

As for smarts, Larissa's not the sharpest knife in the drawer. While a sweetheart, most of her limited conversation and interests revolve around cute, baby animals. Since my sister Jazy is horse crazy, I can only guess that was the reason for their teen friendship.

Larissa is a woman whose life took a horrifyingly wrong turn by hooking up with the wrong man. If life were fair, she would have an adoring husband who wouldn't blink an eye that she's a boring dimwit because she's so sweet and beautiful. They'd have three shy children she'd dote on with all the baby love in her heart, and a house full of kittens.

Instead, Larissa had been living a nightmare for years with a man who beat her up regularly for her every supposed infraction. Thankfully, her parents finally figured out what was going on, helped get her out of that life, and got her some professional help. She'd left her crazy ex, took back her maiden name, and moved back home to get her life on track. The ex has been serving time for assault. Not for beating Larissa, but from going nuts on a trucker at the MacStop gas station off 35W in Lakeville while stalking Larissa last year after the divorce.

I hired Larissa after Jazy had told me her story and asked for my help. I was appalled when I realized the extent of the damage this girl has suffered. I hadn't even known her that well, yet I could see the dramatic difference in her personality and confidence.

Months after being home with her folks, when Larissa first came to talk with me about a possible job, she was still a shell of her former self. Skeletal thin and dull-eyed, submissive and subdued, she was broken and pitiful.

During the interview, I had taken one look at her and every fiercely protective, maternal instinct I didn't know I possessed had come roaring to life. I spoke to her softly and gently about our shared past, a light banter to put her at her ease. After several minutes of this, I was rewarded with quick, furtive glances of eye contact. After I spent a half an hour telling her cute, g-rated stories about the store and our lives with NanaBel, she'd been able to watch me talk, sat up straighter, and actually smiled cautiously once or twice. When the hour interview concluded, she was softly talking with me. The tiny spark of hope I saw in her gentle eyes made me want to lay my head down on my desk and weep like a baby for all she'd endured. The scars I caught a glimpse of on her thin arms under the cuffs of her blouse, some faint white lines, others angry red circles, made me want to repeatedly punch a wall.

Maybe not a perfect choice for an employee in sales, but I'd been determined Larissa was going to succeed at Bel's. She could have a place here for as long as she needed or wanted. Once I'd worked through the process of getting her trained and comfortable, Larissa has turned out to be a good, dependable employee and was now solidly part of the Bel's Books family.

It appeared routine and steadiness were key for her, so I made sure she did the same duties every shift. I pushed her to learn new things, but slowly and surely with no pressure. Working a Saturday shift was new for her. Her normal schedule was during the weekdays, usually when I was working. I believe she felt safest with me around.

Larissa appears much healthier these days. She's on the timid, quiet side by nature, but gradually, she's been gaining back some confidence and some much needed weight. She's no longer rigid with internal fear when a man comes near her in the store, or jumps in terror if a book drops with a loud smack. She seems content working at Bel's Books. I believe the upbeat, fun atmosphere has had a soothing, beneficial effect on her battered spirit. The older ladies and young mothers love her. They probably believe they're being assisted by a sweetly shy Cinderella, you can almost hear the cartoon chirping birds and talking mice.

After her customer left, I walked down to her. "Howdy, Ms. Butler, what's shakin' today?"

Larissa doesn't like being hugged, and I can relate to that. For some reason, she loves double high-fiving. It makes her giggle. Her giggle sounds like a squeaky, little bat, and that makes me giggle. She said my giggle sounds like I just did something naughty which makes her giggle even more. I have no clue what she means by naughty, but when you look into her eyes and see the child-like innocence shining back despite what she's gone through; I don't think our concepts of naughty are remotely the same.

"Hello, Anabel." Gigglefest over, she motioned grandly to the store at large. "I'm keeping it real today."

Larissa was proudly smiling when I burst out in delighted laughter to hear her quoting Billy Carlson, my other store manager. He's a great guy with a great big heart. It seemed simple enough on the surface, but it was a leap of fantastic progress for Larissa if she's comfortable enough with Billy to be intentionally joking about his sayings.

A few minutes later, I was sitting at the Fare counter and drooling while waiting for Anna to be done with her work. My eyes were reluctantly drawn away from the bakery case when I noticed the water level in the bottle sitting in front of me shake, and a second later, shake again.

The shaking reminded me of the build-up scene in the first Jurassic Park movie when something was coming and the puddle tremored. I felt the same dread now.

I turned on my stool to observe Aunt Lily thumping her way down the main aisle towards us. Her head was swiveling from side to side as she glared around Bel's Books. You'd swear she had entered a den of iniquity, instead of what most sane people refer to as a used bookstore. I've heard her dogmatic opinion, ad nauseam, of the dark sins that lurk within any books not of a non-fiction, Christian genre. I've got nothing against believers, but Aunt Lily's not a woman you'd want as your poster girl. Any organization she reps gets a bad rap simply by being associated with her fanatic, mean self.

Lily Johnson's sparse, gray hair is worn scraped back in a wincingly tight bun. Her black brows resemble furry centipedes in motion across her broad forehead. They shade the beady, unblinking eyes of a carrion predator. She has a beefy nose with wide, flaring nostrils. Her mouth is perpetually twisted, as if sucking nonstop on a lemon. If that isn't scary enough, she has a massive body an aspiring lumberjack would be proud of, even at her age. Aunt Lily is the stuff of nightmares. Not quite as terrifying as a T-Rex, but pretty damn close.

On the crook of one meaty arm hung the purse she'd carried forever. It's a huge, black monstrosity circa 1900. Shiny and furry looking, it was possibly constructed out of an animal she had killed and tanned herself for fun as a child. Hanging daintily from the other elbow, and incongruously out of place, was a familiar pink bakery bag. Firmly clenched in her right hand was the black cane that resembled a long chunk of basalt. She certainly doesn't need the cane for walking, but uses it purely for intimidation purposes.

It works.

To keep current with food trends in her café, Anna likes to do what we term 'spying.' Spying involves periodically visiting different surrounding towns and checking out the competition to see what's cookin'.

Our spying adventures began, in part, because of mean Aunt Lily. Since the opening of Laissez Fare, Aunt Lily has taken perverse pleasure stopping by Bel's with food from other eateries about every second month.

After watching her depress Anna one too many times, I always try to wander unobtrusively over to the Fare's counter when Aunt Lily stomps down the main aisle trailing her miasma of malevolence. Aunt Lily's main goal seems to be driving home to Anna how her cooking doesn't measure up to whatever is in the bag she brings. Yeah, she's a real sweetheart of an Auntie.

I was positioned perfectly for the interception today. Aunt Lily's big on proper posture, so I slumped lazily on my stool. My back and elbows rested slovenly on the counter behind me. My legs were sprawled apart while I waited to make my move.

"Oh my, onward Christian soldier," murmured Trent in my ear, leaning down right behind me. The high school girls had wandered off, and except for the oblivious Anna banging trays around behind us in the sink, we were alone watching Aunt Lily's lumbering forward progress down the aisle. "Didn't she bring a bag from the Northfield Bakery last time she graced us with her charity? While we're on the subject of charity, what would you say if I told you I was signing up for ChristianSingle.com?"

I answered out of the corner of my mouth, "I'd say, 'Trent, what did the Christians ever do to you?' That's what I'd say."

"God, Anabel," Trent exclaimed in a fervent undertone. "I love your sassy mouth! Are you sure you won't reconsider and go out with a younger man who has the soul of an old degenerate?"

I stifled my giggles with difficulty. "Quit it. Don't make me laugh."

Trent straightened up to his full, impressive height and said with exaggerated courtesy, "Why hello, Ms. Johnson." He leaned forward, one arm resting on the top of the cash register. "Are you having the best day of your life today?"

Ignoring Trent like he was invisible, Lily Johnson placed the pink bakery bag on the counter. After looking me up and down, Aunt Lily pinned me with her special glare of virulence she kept reserved especially for Liberals, Infidels, and Jezebels. She snorted angrily at my wide smile of greeting, and at my thighs swaying indecently open then closed.

She turned her attention to Trent and continued her pleasantries.

Her cane hit the edge of the counter with a loud crack a scant inch from Trent's hand. He jumped back in stumbling haste at the unexpected attack. He sidestepped behind me. I felt his hand clutching the back of my vest like a talisman to ward off evil.

Aunt Lily started thundering, "Young deviant, the best day in the life for the devout will be the day they meet the One True God and His Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. Renounce your ways and fight the Devil inside you before it is too late!"

Oh yes, did I forget to mention Aunt Lily was convinced Trent is one of those despicable homosexuals?

"Be saved or beware! You do not want to face Our Father come Judgment Day as the sinner that stands before me." She paused and commanded menacingly, "Now, boy, be useful and inform my niece I'm here."

Anna turned off the water at the sink, saw her Aunt, and came hopping over to join us at the counter. Aunt Lily spread her lips in a scary grimace that was supposed to pass for a smile.

The Behemoth cooed, "Anna, come taste these divine cruellers from the Northfield Bakery. Chef Leonard received his training at the International Culinary Center in New York City."

She said the words with a malicious reverence, as if the school was located in the Garden of Eden and not just NYC, and the training received guaranteed a quality of baked goods comparable to that of manna from heaven, and not a basic recipe anyone could follow.

Anna blinked once, her happy smile of welcome wobbling. It disappeared at the sight of the Northfield Bakery bag.

Before Aunt Lily could stop me, I snatched the pink bag off the counter. I glanced inside.

Disdainfully, I wrinkled my nose. "Don't you mean crullers?"

The "crull" in crullers rhymes with skull. Not to be confused with cruellers. That is pronounced like the word cruel. As in the cruel and unusual punishment Anna's aunt was attempting to deliver right along with the pastries. Anna had plans to attend that school in New York, but cancelled and went local when Aunt Lily had a "heart attack" and desperately needed her niece by her side.

Aunt Lily's eyes were slits of hard obsidian. She reached for the bag. "No, Anabel Axelrod. Chef Leonard said these are Persian cruellers."

I held the bag back. I shook my head decisively in the negative. "They most certainly are not. Cruellers are fluted and shaped round. They're also generally thought to be of French origin. What's with Chef Leonard and the pretentious Persian name? What a poser. Persia isn't even a country anymore. He may as well have called them Prussian cruellers or Rhodesian cruellers." I snorted derisively. "No, these are crude donut sticks that are knock offs of the more elegant, delicate cruellers. New Yorkers call them crullers. They hawk them on the street out of those street carts."

I tilted my head while I took in the sight of the angry, red-faced woman standing in front of me. "Do you have any idea why this cruller is shaped like a rectangular stick, Aunt Lily?"

After getting an eyeful of Aunt Lily's working mouth and clenched fists, Anna broke in tentatively. "Umm, maybe we should try one and..."

Trent interrupted Anna. He was feeling braver a few feet out of thrashing range and was my obliging straight man. "Tell us, Bel. I'm very interested to know why these crullers are shaped like a stick."

I met Aunt Lily's basilisk glare with a relaxed, cool smile, totally at ease with certain people wishing me dead after they've had the pleasure of beating me bloody with their cane. Using a napkin, I reached into the bag and pulled out a sugary glazed pastry.

The cruller glistened under the light from the pendants hanging over the counter.

I held the pastry aloft with two fingers, as if it were dog poop. "I've been told on good authority that this cruller shape came about because New Yorkers found it too difficult to fit the original circular crueller into their coffee cups for dipping." I smiled angelically at Aunt Lily. "It never crossed their minds to break them in half."

Trent guffawed loudly and Anna let loose a giggle before hurriedly covering her mouth. Aunt Lily continued to stare at me with a flat expression somehow more ominous than if she were enraged and swinging.

I made a face at the cruller in my hand and continued to pour gasoline on the blaze of my eternal Hell-fire. I took my time inspecting the pastry while making soft, negative noises in the back of my throat.

I finally finished my careful exam and looked up at the trio watching me.

Thighs still lazily swaying to and fro, I sighed. "Okay, not real thrilled here with the weight or looks of this thing, but time for the ultimate test. How does it taste?"

I pinched the tiniest, most miniscule sample bite humanly possible. After barely allowing it to touch my tongue, I sat up straight and promptly spit it out into the napkin with a loud, disgusted exclamation.

Gagging, I shuddered. "If you think these fat-filled disasters are divine, Aunt Lily, you've been sampling your soup kitchen food too often. Ugh! Majorly greasy grossness." I spit again for good measure. "Ugh!"

If I had my way, Aunt Lily the Unloving wouldn't leave Bel's Books any happier than when she had arrived. Today, she furiously did an abrupt about-face and thumped out of the store without another word to anyone. Not to be immodest, but I have to pat myself on the back here. I think it was my personal best ever Interception of The Behemoth.

Trent leaned across the counter and twirled me around to face him. His grin was wicked. "I want you for my bride. Think about it. In the meantime, don't hog the bag. Man, I love these things!"

I had stuffed half a cruller in my mouth the minute Aunt Lily was out of sight. Chewing while rolling my eyes in blissful agreement, I passed over the pink bag. Trent and Anna dived in.

Anna aimed a swat at me. Over a mouthful, she garbled, "Way to go, Junior. I have to live with that woman!"

I protested around my own mouthful, "Don't call "it" a woman. You choose to live with it and will get no pity here, Miss Martyr."

Stella came over and grabbed the bag from an unsuspecting Trent. She looked inside and scoffed, "No more cancer crullers for any of you. I can pour some poison down your throats if you're still hungry. It's the same thing as eating all this leaf lard, refined sugar, and bleached flour."

Trent put his hands around his head, as if hugging his bursting brain. "My GOD, I love the women in your family. You're all so mean! Stella, please, you can pour anything down my throat, even leaf lard, whatever the hell that is. I promise I'll swallow and die a happy man. I'm waiting for you to hit legal drinking age, and then I am moving in, girl."

My niece folded her arms. "Trent, aren't you in school learning to be a Pastry Chef? Leaf lard is pig fat found deposited around the kidneys and loin of the poor pig. It's used in baking because it doesn't have much pork flavor and gives pastry crusts that flaky texture."

On a dirty laugh, he repeated the only word a man would hear. "The loin, eh?"

Stella threw up her hands and walked away. The brat took the pink bag with her. Trent hopped the counter and followed, protesting loudly.

Anna regularly insisted on fairly evaluating the treats Aunt Lily dropped off. Normally, I wouldn't eat them if Anna paid me, considering who delivered them.

In fact, Trent was right and Aunt Lily must be slipping. The bag of chocolate chip cookies I'd brought over to Reggie's the day I had met Luke were the last offering Aunt Lily delivered to Bel's, and had also been from the Northfield Bakery. Chocolate chip cookies are easy for me to resist. Plus, I figured if the Behemoth had sprinkled them with poison, my brother's cast iron stomach could handle it. It was an added bonus that Cousin Candy had been there that day at Reggie's and ate several of Aunt Lily's tainted treats.

But even my fear of being poisoned by Aunt Lily, or refined sugar and bleached flour, couldn't hold out against a bag of fresh Persian crullers. They are finger-licking fabulous. Although, now the whole leaf lard thing was ricocheting around in my cranial cavity, right up there with those poor cow teats.

' _Damn, I hate when Stella ruins another one of my life's little pleasures.'_

Chapter VIII

"Would I Lie To You?" by Eurythmics

Saturday, 11/17/12

10:23 AM

Anna and I headed out the back door to the double garage on the southeast edge of my property in the parking lot. I let out a long sigh of relief to finally escape the building for the next few hours.

We hopped in Lady Liberty. I drove the couple of blocks through town, crossed the Water Street bridge over the Cannon River, and then we were headed north on Highway 3.

Farmington is a small town a straight shot north about twelve miles. This was our first stop on today's agenda before heading to the Grand Avenue neighborhood in St. Paul. I didn't waste any time. Verbatim, I started filling Anna in on my conversation with Crookie from earlier this morning.

Anna had gotten to know Crookie pretty well our senior year in high school. It was usually a package deal back then. If either Anna or I had made a new friend, so did the other. Anna was even starting to like him-like him a few years back, but couldn't be convinced to tell Crookie. It had been frustrating for me because the giant nerd was completely oblivious of her interest. Anna always thought he was a hottie with a body. I had thought they'd make a cute couple, but then came "The Day of Infamy" and here we are today, cursing his soon-to-be ex-wife to hell and back.

Anna was furious at Cheryl's slutting it up, never dreaming it had been that bad for Crooks since the beginning of his marriage. Every time she interrupted my narrative to call Cheryl a splendidly foul name, I'd agree with an, "Amen, girlfriend!"

It was immensely satisfying talking with someone who was as irate over Cheryl's behavior on Crookie's behalf as I was. That's why best friends are so terrific. Maybe when Cheryl resurfaced Anna and I would beat her up.

After I arrived at the point where I called Reggie to get the low down, Anna was listening intently to every word. She wasn't bouncing around in her seat any longer while throwing jabs and pretending to be a boxer beating the daylights out of Cheryl. She was biting the inside of her cheek and casting quick glances at me as I drove.

That's a sure tell with Anna that she has information. Sometimes Anna looks so guilty and furtive when she knows something that she thinks I don't, it takes all I have not to bust a gut.

When I repeated Reggie's inventive swearing answer about not screwing around with Cheryl, Anna's face went hard and her lip curled in contempt.

"I suppose you believed him?" She demanded, sniffing haughtily and tossing her head.

"Sure, I guess so. Why would Reg tell me a lie about boinking Cheryl Crookston?" I asked casually.

Anna snorted. "Oh, I don't know, Junior. Let's see, maybe because he can? Or he doesn't know the meaning of the word truth? Or because your brother's a total buttwipe?" Anna shrugged in disgust. "Take your pick."

"He's that bad? Huh."

We were both quiet while I accelerated into the oncoming lane and zoomed around a slow pickup truck. Anna was white-knuckling the dash, but I ignored her silent slur on my driving skills while looking at the countryside around me and contemplating my brother.

Anna relaxed when we were back in our lane in one piece. "Hey, I know what that 'huh' sounds of yours means. I didn't want to drag you into the middle of this because I know how close you and Reg are, but with Cheryl missing everything is different."

"Thanks, and I agree. I just don't want any trouble for Reg, since we know he saw Cheryl that night."

Anna snorted again, louder. "Oh, you don't have to worry about your darling Reggie getting into any trouble over that detail."

I snorted back. "Good, but enough messin' around. Tell me what you know, please."

Anna angled in her seat to face me and got comfy. "Okay. I was baking a cake in the kitchen that night when Cheryl came knocking at Reggie's." Anna pretended not to notice my surprised glance. "Slut Cheryl started humping on your stupid brother the minute she was through the front door. I shit you not, Junior. She jumped on him and he almost fell down! I never came out of the kitchen," Anna lowered her voice and mumbled quickly, "umm...because my shirt and bra were in the other room."

Ignoring my huge grin, she hurriedly resumed speaking in her regular voice, "I peeked around the corner and saw everything; but Cheryl had no idea I was there. Your brother got her off him, she yelled some crap at him, he kicked her out, and she drove off exactly like he said." Anna reached over and smacked me on the leg. "Quit laughing! It wasn't funny."

"Ow! Hey, I'm driving here." I was laughing in relief Reg hadn't been alone with Cheryl. Okay, I was cracking up even more at the thought of Anna topless in Reggie's kitchen while Cheryl was in the living room putting the moves on my brother. It sure explained why he had remembered the exact date and time.

"Oh Anna, I'm sorry. I bet that sucked big time." I broke down giggling again and slapped the steering wheel. "But come on, you gots to admit it sounds like a French farce!"

Anna crossed her arms and smiled smugly. "Sure I do, Junior. Just as soon as you admit what Luke's truck was doing parked down the street from your building early this morning. Where was he, hmm? Playing with his cucumber in an alley?"

' _Ah, man. Have I said lately what a pain in the butt best friends can be?'_

Growing up the middle child with four siblings, you learn real fast there are two ways to deal with sticky situations. Go on the offensive with no holds barred, or avoid, avoid, avoid.

Some might see a third alternative. Admit when you're wrong and take whatever punishment you deserve like a man. Get it over with, and move on.

Fortunately, I realized real young that I was not a man. My take, after plenty of experience, was the third alternative of copping to your crime is not a good idea. The third alternative guarantees you will most definitely get a whipping in some respect. By acting on the choices of going on the offense or avoiding the issue altogether; there's still a hope in hell you can get off scot-free.

We were now in Farmington. I stopped for the red light at Hwy 50.

I glanced over at my smirking friend. I chose to ignore what she'd said about Luke's cuke _and_ be offensive. "Okay, Betty Boobies Crocker, you can keep your secrets to baking the perfect pound cake with my brother. But please answer these questions. Did you drive over in your own car to Reggie's that night or get dropped off? And where, pray tell, did you leave your shirt and brassiere?"

"Yes, I drove over. I came from Rueb's after having a late drink with Jazy and Tre J. As for my shirt..." She closed her eyes to recall the night while I grinned in amusement at the revealing booty call nature of her answer. "I think I left my shirt and bra on the card table in the dining room."

I sighed. It wasn't too hard now to figure out what had caused their nasty attitudes towards each other these past two months. The next part was not going to be pretty.

"Reggie swore to God today that he's never had sex with Cheryl Crookston."

The light changed to the green arrow and I accelerated through the intersection. Anna audibly sucked in a breath; her face gone stark white. The sprinkling of tiny freckles across her nose stood out against the pale relief of her skin.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" she moaned, incredulously.

"No, I am not kidding you. He swore he's never touched her and I believe him one hundred percent. You messed up, didn't you?"

"Oh, crap, I think I messed up in the worst way, Junior," Anna agreed, still moaning. Then she smacked the dash. "Why wouldn't Reg swear to God when I asked him? He only stared back at me and wouldn't answer. I went nuts thinking that he had been with Cheryl! I thought the big dickhead went silent rather than lie and swear."

Anna went quiet, biting her lip and staring out her window. I didn't say anything, but waited for her to tell me the rest as I drove west to the main drag of Farmington's small business district.

"After Cheryl left that night, we had a knock down about all this." Angrily, she threw out her arm and almost nailed me. Luckily, I jerked my head to the side, but Anna didn't even notice. "I can't get over that bastard brother of yours let me think he had lied! Junior, our fight went ballistic. I went off on him and left pretty hysterical. It killed me to hear that he had sex with Cheryl right after the night of _our_ first real date." In case I couldn't do the math, she added for clarification, "Our first date was that Friday night before she claimed he did her in the parking lot."

I nodded solemnly, keeping my eyes on the road. "Yeah, I'm following so far."

"Reg said he bought her one drink at the bar on that Saturday night because she cornered him." Anna gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah, right. I blew him off and didn't believe him." Her voice escalated. "My God, Cheryl's exact words were 'they fucked in his truck when the bar closed.' She didn't even know I was there listening in the kitchen!" Anna wailed out, "Why would I believe she was lying?"

Wiping her eyes with her hand, Anna reached down blindly for her purse, rooting for a tissue. Sitting up, she sniffed loudly. "Our week together was so amazing. I wanted to tell you so bad, but didn't want to jinx anything. It was all too new." Anna sniffed again and made a face. "I know Reggie's history better than anyone. The last thing I wanted was to be another dumb chick he nailed who thought she could change him. How sickening would that be? I totally believed him when he said it wasn't that way with us....but he let me go that night and he hasn't tried to get me back."

Anna covered her face with her hands, losing the battle to keep her composure. Her narrow shoulders shook with her sobs.

In the course of normal events, Anna doesn't cry over guys. True, she's a romantic, but more apt to tear up out of happiness over a sappy movie or a newborn baby. Men she gets mad with get a piece of her mind, or a sock in the gut not sobbed over two months later. I was feeling her misery. My brother had really gotten to her.

I spotted a diagonal parking spot across from Ye Old Downtown Bake Shop. I zoomed in and turned off the engine.

I reached over and rubbed Anna's shaking back lightly, making comforting noises while she cried it out. I agreed with her that boys suck in general. I agreed with her their purpose for existing was to make our lives miserable, when they weren't making us delirious. While I privately thought castration fell under the category off cutting off one's nose to spite one's face, I agreed with her hiccupping curses that it was the solution to all her problems.

Rubbing and soothing, I thought to myself that Anna was right to believe in Reggie's words to her, even if they had tentatively dated only one week. I know my brother. If he told Anna he had feelings for her, he meant it. It certainly explained his crappy attitude for the last couple of months. He must have been going nuts watching Anna dating Jim Mardsen while not knowing how to stop the insanity and still save face.

At that image, I chuckled inside. Reggie's always had it too easy where women are concerned, since he normally didn't give a damn. If he was into Anna, he was like a babe in the woods stumbling around with emotions he didn't know what to do with, probably didn't want, and choking on his manly pride. I also understand why he wouldn't swear to God to Anna.

As I absently comforted the crying Anna, now thankfully winding it down, I was thinking how their budding relationship had been blown to smithereens by Cheryl appearing on the scene that fateful night. Geez, what were the odds you'd have to deal with a mental chick like her spewing devastating lies the first week you were going out with someone?

I decided it would do no harm to share some of my theories with Anna on what had gone down that night with Cheryl and Reg. Normally, I don't like to get involved, but I hate seeing my friend so down and it might help. Besides, Anna has a mind of her own. She'd decide on the course of action to take with Reggie after I told her my views. Hopefully, her choice would involve mega amounts of torment.

I love my brother, but due to an accident of birth, I've had to listen to many different sob stories from many different women that have tried and failed to capture him. It's one of the drawbacks of being a shop owner and available to the public ten hours a day. I can run from Reggie's cast-off beauties, but I cannot hide. No wonder I have so many rules about men. I'm sometimes amazed I don't bat for the other side. I guess it just goes to support the nature versus nurture part of that debate.

I squeezed Anna's shoulder. "If you are done being a little crybaby, I want to tell you something that could cheer you right up. It's why I asked you those questions about your car and bra."

Anna snorted and gave me the evil eye while blowing her nose loudly into a tissue. She motioned for me to continue, but I was too spooked. For a second there at Anna's expressive glance, I'd caught a terrifying glimpse of a resemblance between her and Aunt Lily.

I shuddered and shook it off. "I believe Cheryl absolutely knew you were there at Reggie's, or that some girl was there. That's why she tried to kiss Reg right away and claimed to have had sex with him. Hell, she had just come from being in bed with some dude we know for sure wasn't Reg." I tapped my pursed lips. "Hmm. I guess it's possible she's a nymph-o, but I doubt she was coming over for more good lovin' right then from my brother." I nodded slowly. "Nope, what the skank probably wanted was a place to stay for the night. It was late and Reg was someone who popped into her head. He's known as an easygoing guy and he'd bought her a drink the week before. The slut would think she could get what she wanted from him, right?"

Cautiously hopeful, Anna nodded back, curious to see where I was going. I had been thinking about this for a while and the pieces fit together.

"Okay, the skanky slut-ho' knew she couldn't go home to Crookie because of his voicemail saying he was divorcing her. It's not that far to drive to the lake. I do remember Reg saying she and Tina hung around last summer a few times, don't you? Wasn't Tina's boyfriend at the time helping Reg with the pontoon boat's broken engine?"

Anna looked thoughtful. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I do remember that. Why would the skanky slut-ho' bitch lie though?"

I raised my brows at Anna. "Seriously? Jesus wept, all the woman does is lie! It could be as basic as Cheryl being mad Reg wasn't home alone for her convenience, so she started talking smack for the sheer, mean hell of it. Who knows why skanky slut-ho' bitches do what they do?"

Anna stared at me in stupefaction for a second. "Junior, I think you are so right! Oh boy, she did seem out of control. At the time, I was so pissed off at everything she was saying, the crazy way she acted didn't register so much." She sat up straight, talking faster. "She could have seen my car. I didn't hide it, and then the bra, too. It was a hot pink, push-up! You know, one of the super duper padded on the sides and underneath for that extra lift bra?"

On the off chance I still didn't get it, she enthusiastically cupped her breasts and smashed them up close to her chin.

I nodded. That type of padded bra should be certified as a lethal weapon. Not only for the miracles it performs, but it's also incredibly heavy and stiff.

Then Anna dropped her hands and rolled her eyes, saying with disgust, "Oh but wait, you don't own one of those bras, do you?"

Diverting Anna from the touchy subject of padded bras and breast size, I flipped down her visor so she could spiff up. "Here, look in the mirror."

I summarized while she vigorously rubbed the makeup smears off from under her eyes.

"Okay, my brother never nailed Cheryl Crookston, you wouldn't believe him, and he refused to swear to God. Why, you ask? Because, dear Anna, he wasn't thinking of you as a sister anymore." I grinned and lightly pushed her shoulder. "Hear him roar, you were his potential mate, his woman. He thought you should believe in him with no safety net or water wings. It was a test, perhaps subconsciously on his part, and a rather idiotic one, but nevertheless a test."

Seeing Anna's astonished start and rounded eyes at this statement, I smiled and reassured her, "That's right. So what did you do? You forced Reg's manly pride and backed him into a corner. You saw his refusal to swear to God as him lying. He saw you failing his idiotic trust test. Then you took off all mad, but only after you guys fought like wolverines about it first. You were feeling crushed and played, and why not? Poor baby, that was too bad of Reg to expect blind trust from you after Eve of Destruction had done her damage and took off. Since then, the two of you have done nothing but snarl and snap every time you've seen each other. Did I miss anything?"

I snapped my fingers. "Oh yeah, and then you hooked up with a new man." I laughed in wicked delight thinking about it now. "Reggie is really all up in his manly, idiotic pride now. I bet he's picturing you in his porno imagination doing circus sex acts with poor Jim of the undetermined package size. _Now_ did I forget anything?"

Anna was giggling hysterically while dabbing at her running eyes and nose. I could only hope it was with a different tissue. After a bit, she calmed down enough to peer in the little mirror to poof up her hair.

"Great, I look like crap." She turned an earnest gaze my way. "Do you really think that's why he wouldn't swear to me? I'm mate material now, not a sister?"

"Yep, I really think you could be Playmate of the Year."

Anna's horribly red-splotched face broke out in a beatific smile. "The truth is that I've got a boyfriend I don't like more than a friend. I've barely kissed Jim. I definitely haven't done circus sex acts with him, you dirty girl." She grinned and hugged herself. "But I really, really, REALLY love the idea of Reggie not knowing this and being more miserable than I've been."

Anna paused to savor the thought of my brother's jealous agony, her gaze far off. The grin turned gloating. This was why I love supporting my friends. I twiddled my thumbs patiently until she returned to reality.

"Junior, I've fallen half in love with your numb nuts of a brother. He probably hates me about now. Even Aunt Lily suspects how much I like him." She grimaced. "Did I tell you she caught me blubbering in my hysteria over him that night when I got home? Talk about a lowering moment! Can you imagine the friggin' lecture on chasteness and jezebels I had to suffer through at one in the morning?"

"No, and if you try to tell me, I'll punch you in the mouth."

Anna started laughing, all smiles now. "Yet strangely enough, I'm happier than I have been in weeks. So yeah, I think that about covers it."

I grabbed my purse. "Perfect. Can we go spying now? I'm weak with hunger. I could possibly eat a small pony should a slow one cross my path anytime soon."

Anna snapped the visor up, still grinning. "I'm buying. How does a Shetland sound?"

"Hairy, but I'll take it."

She giggled. "Deal, but one more thing first."

I whined pathetically, "What now?"

Anna, leaning my way across the jeep, presented her face to me sideways. I gave a beleaguered sigh and leaned her way. She pressed the side of her face to mine.

"Cheek!" we said in unison.

Chapter IX

"Zombie" by The Cranberries

Saturday, 11/17/12

3:00 PM

After several more conversations concerning the mystery of the missing Cheryl, several more one-sided conversations about the wonder that is my brother, and several hours of walking around in St Paul, Anna and I drove home to Northfield.

Turning into Bel's parking lot, I cruised by an older model, white Dodge Caravan that had its motor running. The van was idling in a space near the entrance to the street. I caught a glimpse of a big man seated behind the wheel. I didn't know the van or the man, but I absently reasoned he was waiting for someone in Bel's, perhaps his wife.

The lot only had two parked cars besides those I recognized as belonging to our various employees. Even on a Saturday, late afternoon could be a slow time in the store.

I parked Lady Liberty in the garage. I glanced at my phone and saw a voicemail message from Crookie. After listening, I updated Anna.

"Crookie reported Cheryl missing with Jack in Northfield. After that, he went to the Edina police. He knows one of the cops there; he's the husband of a co-worker. Oh, and Crook's coming over tomorrow night for dinner."

"Awesome," Anna beamed, "it will be so nice to see him. I'm relieved there's an official search now for Cheryl, aren't you? I can't stand her, but I'm really curious to find out where she's been all this time."

I absently nodded my agreement. I was checking out a text message I had missed from Luke earlier in the afternoon.

Yes. My turn.

The meaning of the words 'my turn' washed over me. For a few moments, I was adrift in the seductive world of wondering what Luke might choose for his turn at a fantasy. Pornographic imaginations must run in my family. Greedy, impatient girl that I am, the next thought was how long he'd make me wait to find out. Then I laughed softly at the brevity of his text.

Anna smiled in inquiry at my laughter. "What?"

I slipped my phone in my purse and shook my head. "Men. You've gotta love 'em."

Anna looked dubious. "You do?"

Chuckling together, Anna and I toddled towards the back entrance door of the store, agonizing over who felt the most bloated from all we'd eaten. We each carried a handled bag stacked with takeout boxes from our ventures on Grand Avenue to share with our staffs.

Anna bumped me with a shoulder and a knowing grin. "I noticed Luke's truck is no longer parked down the street."

"Huh. Guess he must have finished his business in that alley."

Anna griped, "Oh, come on, Junior! One of these days you have to tell me something about your love life for a change."

"Sure, that could happen," I agreed easily. "But I'm telling you upfront, you'll be bored to tears. It's not like I do nudie cake baking like some people I know."

Laughing, I darted out of the way of her swinging purse and ran for the back door. I happened to glance in through the glass before pulling the door open. What I saw caused me to gape in stunned shock. I stood rooted in place, unable to look away for a few frozen seconds.

I slammed myself against the wall on the side of the door and hissed at Anna, "Quick, come over here. Don't go in front of the door."

Anna ran up and backed against the wall next to me. Her eyes were huge as she took in my shocked face.

I opened my purse and fumbled for my cell. I held up my hand before Anna could speak.

I punched 9, saying to her, "Listen, some guy is in there and he's got Larissa. I saw him shaking and hitting her. Stella's up front. Everyone else I could see is okay, but the guy is screaming." I paused to talk into my phone. "Jack, 911 at Bel's. I think it's a domestic. He has my employee and he's hurting her. Stella's in there, Jack. I saw it through the back door. Really? Where? Well, then fucking HURRY!" I threw my cell into my purse and dropped it to the ground.

Jack was a few minutes away. There was a frat house fire by St Olaf's. I knew my eyes were huge, too. I couldn't seem to blink, but I was thinking furiously. I was imagining the fear and pain poor Larissa was feeling. I was filled with terror he may hurt my Stella, or our employees and customers, if he hadn't already.

Picturing him hurting one of my people in my bookstore brought on a wave of protective rage that shook and consumed me. I was blind with the raw power of it and couldn't breathe. My throat felt like I had swallowed a rock and it physically hurt. I had this reaction once before in my life when an older bully was pounding on a much younger Reggie on the playground after school. The kid was years older than me and a foot taller. It hadn't mattered then; all I saw was Reg getting creamed. I waded in, jumped on the bully's back, and started punching his head and face. I had gotten my ass kicked.

It didn't matter now, either. Like I remembered from long ago, the rage ebbed, and while not gone, banked and glowed red inside me. I could breathe again. I wasn't a kid this time. Suddenly dead calm, I was able to think clearly. I knew what I had to do.

I unbuttoned my shirt halfway down and pulled it apart. I ran my hands through my hair, twisting it up in a loose knot and pulling down a few strands.

"Give me your cheaters, hurry," I ordered Anna.

"My cheaters?" Anna repeated dazedly, but automatically opened her purse. Anna wore contacts but always carried a pair of glasses. She handed them over and I put on the black frames. I could see perfectly.

She asked in confusion, "What are you doing, Anabel?"

"Stay out here, okay? I promise it will be fine and you won't get hurt. Wait for Jack. He had two 911 texts and is on his way."

Anna held onto me, protesting, but I shook off her arm. Hurrying over, I took a deep breath and then threw open the back door.

I didn't hesitate, but walked boldly, loudly into the store. I slammed the back door behind me. I threw the full bag of food I had brought in with me to the side. With a noisy clatter, it landed in the direction of the Fare.

I started yelling at the top of my lungs and bitching out the employees.

I saw Trent and Brenda Blackman, a part-timer working for Anna; shoot me identical, terrified glances. They'd been watching the scene unfolding in front of them at the checkout counter where Larissa was working. Trent was huddled protectively over the crying Brenda, as they stood together behind the Fare's service bar.

In the first seconds, I swiftly took in the three customers in the store while my eyes sought Stella. I registered relief in the back of my mind seeing her still standing near the front of the store in the Romance section. Her arms were around two elderly ladies that were leaning on her, bug-eyed with fright. Even from this far, I could tell Stella was also scared to death.

I quickly scanned the whole floor while continuing my screaming tirade. I strode up the side aisle in a loud, heel-clomping walk with my revealed breasts thrust out, my hips swaying, and my hair tumbling down around my face. I strode towards where I knew Larissa and the man were. I hadn't looked at them directly yet, but I could plainly hear Larissa's soft, pained cries. The enormous wall of cold rage inside me was demanding to be let loose and kill something.

Since the minute I had thrown the bag of food towards the Fare, I had been sizing up the store while screaming nonstop like a drill sergeant in the loudest voice I've ever used.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING ALL STANDING AROUND NOT WORKING? I LEAVE THE STORE FOR AN HOUR AND THIS IS WHAT YOU SLACKERS GET UP TO? HOW DARE YOU NOT WORK HARD WHILE I AM OUT TRYING TO DRUM UP BUSINESS, SO YOU CAN KEEP YOUR JOBS AND GET PAID!"

Everyone's attention was now on me in horrified bewilderment. I noticed Billy with a petrified, elderly woman on the opposite side of the store in Sci-Fi.

I made my eyes pass over Larissa and the man next to her for only a brief second without stopping. They were on my side of the aisle. I continued my blistering, tyrannical raving directed at the staff's ungrateful lack of work ethics and brains.

I was only three yards away now from Larissa. The man who had been holding her in a tight, punishing grip by her upper arm was not tall. He was wide but not muscled, and carried an extra thirty pounds in a gut. He was much older than Larissa, easily in his forties. He had the red-veined nose of a drinker and his dark hair was oily and thinning. If he had ever been attractive in his youth, those days were long past. His eyes were close set and he looked rat-faced mean and vicious, just like you'd expect a wife beater to look.

I had his full attention, too. He had turned to face me, now only loosely holding onto Larissa's right arm. I saw the slack-jawed surprise on his face at my yelling like a Nazi boss on steroids. Then he zeroed in on my unbuttoned blouse showing off considerable cleavage. I do not need a padded bra. Only a few seconds had passed since I burst shouting into the store and he still appeared too confused to even form a sentence. He was as stupid as I'd expected.

I saw Larissa's swollen, vacant eyes and a puffy redness swelling around her mouth. I saw blood smeared on her lip and chin. Then I saw everything glaringly outlined in front of my eyes through a red film of indescribable fury. I didn't stop as I strode forward the last couple of yards, quickening my step to almost a trot.

I ignored the man and yelled, pointing at Larissa. "I KNEW IT WAS A MISTAKE TO HIRE YOU! YOU ARE WORTHLESS! LOOK AT YOU, JUST STANDING THERE WHEN THIS MAN NEEDS YOUR HELP. GET BACK TO WORK, YOU IDIOT, OR YOU ARE FIRED! DO YOU HEAR ME? I WILL MAKE SURE YOU NEVER WORK IN THIS TOWN AGAIN!"

With my peripheral vision, I was aware of the spread of a dawning smile on the man's face at my screaming words to Larissa.

I was two feet away.

I moved forward while looking up and pointing at the ceiling. "LOOK UP THERE! OH MY GOD, LOOK, LOOK!"

Positively shrieking the last 'LOOK', I knew with an unquestioning certainty that everyone in my store was anxiously looking up to where I was pointing on the ceiling. All of them full of confusion.

Without hesitation, I took full advantage of the confusion my abusive, screaming tirade had caused. With all the momentum of my skipping trot behind my left leg, and with many years of playing soccer and kick ball rising to the surface, I kicked the distracted fucker square up in his scrotum with my steel-toed, booted foot.

When Larissa's abuser dropped to the floor, cupping himself while rolling, retching, and screaming in agony, I heard myself screaming, too. I hopped on my right leg, arms out straight for balance, and I kicked him again as hard as I could. Then I kicked him again and again, over and over.

Everything happened fast after that, and seemingly all at once.

I vaguely was aware of cop cars pulling up in front of Bel's, lights flashing and sirens wailing and doors slamming.

I was aware of Stella running towards me, tears streaming down her face.

I was aware of the freed Larissa lurching away, sobbing and falling to her knees on the floor behind the checkout counter.

I was aware of Anna's piercing voice screaming my name from somewhere behind me.

I was aware my hair had tumbled completely down in my face and Anna's cheaters had gone flying off somewhere.

I was aware of Trent and Billy gently, inexorably pulling me away from the screaming, heaving man on the floor. I had been kicking furiously at him, shrieking the word "BASTARD!" repeatedly with supreme satisfaction in time with my kicks.

Once they had pulled me a couple of feet away, I shook the guys off. I held out my hands to let them know I was calming down.

They were shaking like I was in the throes of a severe bout of malaria.

Trent and Billy stood protectively between me and the man on the floor; never taking their eyes away from him for long. The bastard was in a fetal position, crying and blubbering.

Billy was bouncing nervously and talking fast, nonstop. "That was some serious fucking shit! Anabel, are you okay? Man, he caught us all by surprise. Dude suddenly came out of nowhere, shaking and hitting Larissa!" Billy appealed to Trent. "Right, man? He said if any of us tried anything he'd break her neck. He was trying to drag her out of the store. Is this her ex or what? The crazy fucker warned us not to touch our phones, but I texted the cops from my pocket. Then you come flying in the back door like...like, hell, some sort of librarian gone wild. What was that? It was so fuckin' unreal! I can't believe I saw you do that!"

I patted his shoulder. It took a lot of effort to lift my arm and I was absently surprised by its heaviness. "It's cool now, Billy. We're okay, right? Right, Trent?"

Billy and Trent looked at each other and they both nodded quickly. Trent tentatively cupped my shoulder and peered down at me.

Face white, his voice was cautiously solicitous. "Yeah, we're okay, Anabel. Are you okay? Do you need some water or something?" He motioned towards my shirt and joked weakly, "Not that I mind, but do you want to button up your shirt, or maybe sit down over there?"

I didn't answer and my hands were clumsy. I gave up after one button. I noticed the cops were coming our way led by Jack. He took in the scene, gave me a cursory once over pausing at my chest. Then Jack turned away and started giving orders.

Stella rushed up and grabbed me in a fierce hug then, and I hugged her back tightly. I pulled away to look her in the eye. "You're fine, right?"

She nodded, wiping her tears away. Unable to talk, she nodded quickly again.

"Go help Larissa, okay? Ask Jack if you can take her into my office and close the door until the EMTs get here. Call her parents." My words felt sluggish and slow, but Stella nodded a third time and took off without another word.

I should go to Larissa, but I didn't know if seeing me would traumatize her further after yelling the way I had. I could hear her continued sobbing, even over the ex's mewling cries and curses from the floor.

I turned as Anna enveloped me in another hard hug. "You crazy...God, you kicked the CRAP out of him! If you EVER do anything like that again..."

I whispered, "I don't feel so good."

She didn't seem to hear me. She released me and turned to Trent and Billy. From far away, I could hear her voice talking urgently to them. She hurriedly left to go tend to her crying employee, Brenda.

I felt adrift, not knowing what to do with myself. ' _Where was I needed?'_

The few customers in the store gathered around closer to Trent, Billy and me. They kept a wide berth from the police and the man on the floor a few feet away. They were all chattering at once and exclaiming over what I had done. Two of the elderly ladies I now recognized as the sisters, Millie and Ethel. They played bridge here every Thursday afternoon.

Millie was saying, "Anabel, my dear girl, are you..."

I lifted my hand, mumbling, "Sorry...excuse me."

I then rudely walked away from them all my customers, my staff, and the police. On increasingly wobbly legs, I headed towards the back door. I needed air desperately.

A couple of uniformed cops were coming up the aisle from that direction. They gave me a curious look, but rushed past me to join in the excited confusion of the action behind me. I kept heading for the back door and freedom. It seemed like I was wading through water. I kept my head down, watching my shaky legs move slowly like they didn't belong to me.

Sounding like he was yelling down a tunnel, I heard Jack's official voice directing his men to secure the man on the floor. The wife beater screamed and cried, incoherently bellowing curses, and tried to fight them off. I heard a crackling sound and then silence. I ought to be interested. I've never seen anyone tasered before, but I felt strangely tingly and numb.

Some instinct had me look up. Luke stood framed in the back door entrance a few feet to the right of me. His searching gaze swept right past me without pausing, as he scanned all the activity happening in the store. Then his head snapped back to me. His eyes briefly closed tight while he murmured something under his breath. I saw he was frowning and his mouth shaped my name, but I didn't hear any sound over the roaring in my ears.

When I felt Luke's strong arms, a feeling of safety washed over me that I've only experienced before in my life when held by my grandmother as a child. My whole body was quivering with the shakes now and my head hurt. The tingly feeling was worse. I felt outside myself looking on from far away. But before I could rest my forehead against his wide shoulder for just a minute, I knew there was something important that I needed to tell him.

' _Oh, yeah.'_

I whispered, "Sometimes a kick in the gonads does decide things in my favor."

Chapter X

"King of Anything" by Sara Bareilles

Saturday, 11/17/12

4:45 PM

Anna was patting my hand and peering down at me worriedly. Even when she's worried, her face looks like it's trying to stop itself from breaking out into a smile of knowing a secret you don't. This isn't on purpose, but a nervous reaction to stress. Anna can't help that she looks guilty as hell when she's anxious, but you can imagine the trouble it's caused us throughout the years.

It took me a second to realize I was lying on the sofa in my apartment. I stared around bemusedly for a moment and then it all came rushing back.

I pulled my hand back and sat up hurriedly, and then swayed with the rush. "Whew!" I pushed aside the afghan. "What happened, how did I get up here? How's Larissa?"

Anna handed me a small glass of orange juice. I accepted gratefully and started chug-a-lugging.

"You fainted."

At her flat words, I choked on the orange juice. She thumped my back.

"No way in hell I fainted!"

Anna's worried visage disappeared and she glared at me. "Yes, you did faint. Luke came in the back door and swept you in his arms. You dropped like a girl in a Harlequin book." She mocked nastily, "Even your hair swung perfectly over his arm to the floor in a cascade of shimmering blondeness." Anna finally stopped whacking my back. "Overall, Larissa's okay. Her parents took her home right after they all talked to Jack. Everybody else is doing just peachy. The ex, Ron Hansen, showed up only a couple minutes before we did. The bad news is, he hit Larissa in the mouth and shook the poor girl around, but luckily, he didn't have time to do anything besides threaten the other people in the store." She added an afterthought, "Oh yeah, and I got your purse and Stella closed the store."

"Thanks."

I didn't dare laugh, but it was weird seeing Anna this upset at me. It's unnatural for cute, chipmunky types to be mad. I plunked the empty juice glass down on the coffee table and fell back, crossing an elbow over my eyes. I was relieved all had been handled downstairs, but wondered how long I was out on the sofa.

Besides, I didn't really feel much like laughing. Passing out was a normal reaction when dealing with the aftermath of adrenaline and shock in an average person, but I hate that I'd reacted like an average girl. I had to face the truth. I'm not some tough chick that can go kick a man in the balls a few times, then walk away and get ready for a night out with the girls. Apparently, I need a nap first.

Anna wasn't done with me. She went on mercilessly, "Then Luke carried you up here." Over my loud groan, she carried on, "You came out of your faint and said," her voice went falsetto, "'Oh Luke, you are so strong. Please be my man and take care of me'."

I peeked over my arm at Anna. "Yeah, right. And how can you say the words 'Harlequin book' to me with a straight face, you mean, little vermin."

"Listen, Junior, if you hadn't just _fainted for over an hour_ ," Anna loudly emphasized the words, "I'd be tempted to smack the stupid out of you for running into the store the way you did."

I sat up again and regarded the pissed off Anna standing above me. My head still had a lingering trace of the pounding headache I'd felt earlier, and it felt tender to the touch. I was slightly nauseous, and even though I was no longer shaking, I felt weak as a kitten. I was in no mood for taking any shit.

"Are you mad I went into the store, or just mad I did it without you?"

"Both!" Anna yelled, shaking her fists at me. "My God, Junior, that crazy madman could have had a gun or...or...a knife! You could have been seriously fucked up. I could have helped, but no, you ran off. You left me out there not knowing what the hell was going on. That really blows!"

"Well, excuse me for not stopping to draw a play action in the dirt," I shot back, and regretted it instantly. My head was thumping again and I rubbed my forehead in agitation. I went on more reasonably, "Come on, Anna, I couldn't drag you in there with me. What if I got you hurt?"

Anna did a little jig of frustration in front of me. "That's my point exactly. You left ME behind to watch something bad possibly happen to YOU, you moron woman!"

I reached for her arm and pulled her down beside me on the sofa. I wasn't quite yelling, but my voice was still raised. "Fine. Next time I plan to go kick the crap out of some wife beating ex-con, I'll send you an engraved invitation, okay? We'll attack him together singing a duet. Will that make you happy, you bloodthirsty badger?"

Anna snorted and frowned, fussing with NanaBel's knitted afghan until it covered over both of our legs and laps. "Okay, fine. Just don't leave me behind ever again."

"Gotcha. No behinds will be left." I pushed her knee with mine and teased her, "Come on, you know you love me like I'm your best friend, so don't be mad at me." I nudged her again. "How about next time we'll do a bunny hop together to lure whoever we're attacking into a false sense of security before we jump him? Do you like that plan?"

Anna relented and smiled a little, pushing my knee away with hers. "That sounds like it would work. Just don't forget about the singing part before we let loose a flurry of blows on their unsuspecting head."

"Oh, please, like I would ever forget the need to sing with you right before commencing with some serious flurrying. Good God, next you'll be questioning my head blowing abilities."

Laying her head on my shoulder, Anna chuckled. "I would never question your head blowing abilities, but I think..."

"I think you two are completely bat-shit crazy, that's what I think."

At the sound of the caustic voice booming across the space like a cannon salvo, we both jumped sky high. Anna squealed and threw the entire afghan over her head. I sprang to my feet, turned to face the foyer, lost my balance, and nearly fell backwards over the coffee table. Only by windmilling my arms frantically was I able to stay upright.

"You scared us sneaking up like that!"

Jack stood surveying me with legs slightly spread, hands on his hips, and his ever present aviators pushed up on his head. He shrugged off his POLICE jacket and tossed it back on the bench in the foyer. "Three people come stomping up your stairs and you two were so loud you didn't hear us? Not my problem you were scared, Sheila Shit-kicker."

That was a gentle reminder I was doomed for eternity with a slew of new names to live down after today. Head throbbing like a bass drum, I massaged my temples.

Next to him, a grinning Stella held a tray with a trio of oversized mugs, steaming curlicues rising enticingly up from their depths. Her eyes were pink around the edges, but she was no longer crying or upset. Behind her was my hero. Luke had no expression whatsoever on his face while he steadily regarded me.

If I had thought I might be shy facing Luke after I'd passed out in his arms like a pussy, it paled in comparison to the embarrassment I was now feeling. It was cringe worthy to realize he had been listening to Anna and I act like the immature weirdinos we so often are. I wished for an afghan over my head.

I took in that Luke's short, black hair wasn't mussed 'just so', and his unbuttoned shirt over his T was wrinkled. I saw faint, dark shadows under his eyes. I'd never seen Luke looking so rumpled and unkempt when ambulatory. Usually, he looks sharp and put together, even when wearing his five o'clock shadow.

My blush of embarrassment quickly turned into confusion at being observed so coolly by this detached, expressionless Luke.

Stella walked around the sofa. She carefully set the tray on the low table. I was distracted when she handed me a cup of hot chocolate piled high with mounds of whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. I could now sit down and ignore Luke's strange behavior with some semblance of dignity. I could also ignore Stella's giggles and Jack's disgusted expression.

Jack came into the room and sat down heavily on the roomy club chair he always preferred across from me. Anna popped out of her blanket burrow and eagerly accepted a mug of chocolate. Stella served herself and then perched on the sofa on my other side. With spoons in hand, the three of us dug into the rich, cold cream atop the hot chocolate.

Still not looking back in Luke's direction, I moaned my gratitude. "Thanks, Stell. This is just what the doctor ordered."

"You're welcome, but it was your boyfriend's idea." Stella winked with a broad smile at my startled glance. "Dr. Luke said you'd need something 'hot and sweet' after you woke up." She wiggled her eyebrows and said under her breath, "That's what she said...."

Anna snorted into her hot chocolate, almost spilling the towering spoonful being navigated to her mouth.

I snorted, too. But only due to the fact that Stella looked so lascivious when winking and being suggestive it was quite creepy.

Jack, smacking the arms of his chair, stood up. "Fun time's over, girls. Junior, since you are feeling better, let's get down to business."

Anna set her cup on the tray and raised her hand tentatively. "May I go to the bathroom, Chief?"

Jack threw her an annoyed look and didn't bother with an answer. In his shirtsleeves and shoulder holster, crossed arms bulging with muscles and chewing rhythmically on a piece of gum, Jack was the embodiment of impatient, masculine authority. Knowing Anna had seriously been asking for a hall pass, I nudged her that it was okay. She took off in grateful relief for the guest bath. Chief Jack terrifies her.

Stella worriedly asked Jack, "That man won't be able to get out of jail and come back, will he?"

The law was one subject Chief Jack was happy to expound on at length. I lost track of their conversation when Luke sat on the sofa next to me in Anna's vacated spot.

I finally made myself meet his hard, dark green gaze when he leaned in, not touching, but with an arm behind me along the back of the sofa. Up close, his serious expression wasn't looking so detached. I could see he was extremely unhappy. I sighed inside, wishing I was wrong and that he wasn't mad at me, too.

Luke spoke softly, "I was relieved Anna was giving you a hard time until the end. Then I was disappointed in you both. Instead of admitting the correct choice was waiting in safety and letting the professionals handle things; you promise your friend she can help next time. How asinine can you be?"

When he paused, I was so dismayed at his unexpected words that I sat frozen. He was completely composed on the surface, yet I've never seen his eyes so coldly furious. Mine felt huge with surprise while I stared back into his face. The random thought crossed my mind that this was the Luke people saw on the job whatever that was. He looked so ferocious; I'd want him covering my six any time. I just didn't want him on my ass and disappointed in me.

"I'm a very strong man, Anabel. If we were alone right now, I would love to put you over my lap and spank some sense into your hard head via your ass until my arm was very, very tired. That's how pissed I am at your lack of care for your own safety."

At my sharp intake of breath, he pulled back and met my narrowing eyes with a serious, yet slightly mocking look of his own.

Now I was pissed. I couldn't believe he was casually mentioning spankings after what I had just done to a man who was hurting a woman. I couldn't believe he thought I was so stupid I didn't care about my own safety. I was here, wasn't I? I couldn't believe he called me asinine for joking around with my friend. That really hurt. Most of all, I couldn't believe everyone seemed to want a piece of me for kicking down that low-life wife beater.

He ignored my cold gaze. Taking his time, Luke's glittering eyes traveled over my face before settling on my mouth. He gave an odd half-smile then, as if the joke were on him.

I faced forward and sat stiffly.

' _The ass should worry over his lack of care for his own safety with me. He obviously didn't get me.'_

Luke leaned in close to my ear. "Or should I kiss you instead and then make love to you until you can't walk for a week?" I felt the whisper of his lips on my neck. "I wonder if you even know which you'd prefer."

' _What the hell?'_ Could Luke seriously think I'd choose to be spanked over being made love to? Until I couldn't walk for a week, no less?

His use of the words 'make love' penetrated through the mad. I hesitated a second in my offended thoughts. While getting to know Luke these last couple of months, I'd come to respect his perspectives on life. His observations on the world around him are sharp and concise. He's a logical thinker and a man of action. He expected a lot out of himself, and probably has similar high standards for those people involved in his personal life.

My shoulders relaxed as the defensive anger drained out of me. Luke didn't want to physically hurt me. With his broader experiences of fighting to draw from, he was upset at what I had done and scared at what could have happened. He cared about me. I shouldn't repay him with anger because he said incredibly dumb, male things to express himself in the aftermath of relief.

I stifled my shiver his mention of spankings and his light caress on my neck caused inside me. I decided in this instance he was way off base, but I understood why he was frustrated enough to need to say such things.

I think Luke had been hit over the head and stunned with the same feelings of unexplainable, inexplicable attraction that I'd experienced when we first met. I bet the women Luke previously dated were nothing like me and probably hadn't caused him any trouble or worry. They'd have a set role he assigned to them in his life. Luke would feel secure in the knowledge they'd be waiting for him in their dependably calm, quietly mature worlds while he went out and lived dangerously.

In case nobody's noticed, I am not that kind of woman. My independent ways will always taunt and challenge Luke. Also, weird stuff happens to me all the time. I don't understand why, but I'm some sort of magnet for the bizarre and the freaky.

I fear Luke is destined to be disappointed in me if that means I must sit back and never take risks to prevent his worry. I appreciate his shoulder, but I don't need a constant hero, or a daddy, or a nonstop control freak. In my past, those have been the main reasons why I'd dated perfectly nice men only once or twice before getting bored.

I know what I don't want in a man. What suits the real me has always been a different story. A man must consider me his equal, not in the sense of physical strength, but in the mind and spirit. And he must be my equal. Those are the traits I seek in a man, and have sensed, hoped for, in Luke.

Jack and Stella were still talking, but I noticed Jack's cop eyes strayed often to Luke beside me.

'Well, w _hat the hell again._ _Did I actually see a glimmer of approbation there, and not Jack's usual instant dismissal? Didn't that just figure.'_

This was turning out to be one humdinger of a weekend.

"Anabel, look at me."

I did look at Luke, but I kept my face politely inquiring, determined not to let him see how he affected me.

His expression had softened. "Bravery is being able to act even when you're scared. You are a brave woman, Anabel. Your friends are lucky to have someone care about them like you do." His lips tightened. "But you are also an idiot. The situation could have gone south and gotten real ugly, real fast. You need training to do what you did." He patted my thigh and made to get up.

His blunt words had reaffirmed all that I thought and gave me some hope we could find our middle ground. Except for the idiot part, but I was willing to work with him on his stupidity.

I put a hand on his arm and stayed him. "You are almost absolutely right."

Luke was surprised. I had caught him off-guard. "What, specifically, am I almost right about?"

Palms up, I shrugged. "Pretty much everything you've said."

He smiled a little and some of his tense grimness eased. "I am, huh? Everything?"

I ignored his innuendo and lightly stroked his forearm. "I definitely need some self-defense training. If you could help by pointing me in the right direction, that would be great. I did do something stupid on the face of it and I was lucky the good guys won." I kissed him softly on his cheek. I sat back and smiled up at his still face. With sincere gratitude I added, "Thank you for catching me when I passed out."

Luke surprised me by abruptly getting up, walking over to Jack, and putting out his hand. The big cop stood back up and they shook. "Jack, I'll get out of your way."

"Luke, we'll talk again soon." Jack let go of Luke's hand and thumped him lightly on the shoulder. I gawked in amazement.

' _Had there been an alien abduction while I napped?'_

Body snatching was the only explanation for Jack's easygoing acceptance of Luke.

Luke nodded. "I'll get Anabel back to you in a minute; I want her to walk me out. Maybe you could talk to Anna first?"

At Jack's nod, Luke turned back to me. He raised his brow and put a hand out. Feeling dazed, I automatically clasped his hand. He tugged me to my feet and led me around the coffee table.

Luke then grinned at my niece, his dimple flashing. "Stella, I'm sorry for the circumstances, but it was great meeting you. You were amazing down in the store today. I know you'll keep Anabel on the straight and narrow."

I huffed in disbelief as Stella laughed, blushing. She dimpled back at Luke as they bumped fists.

' _Okay, did Anna say I napped for one hour, or one week?'_

We passed Anna on our way to the stairs. Luke paused to say good-bye. Anna gave him a huge hug with many exclamations of thanks. Luke squeezed her back with one arm, smiling broadly at her laughing promise of free cookies for life. I stood numbly upright, tethered to reality by Luke's hand clasped tightly around my own. I didn't even wonder too much why Luke deserved free cookies for life while I, as part owner, had been eighty-sixed from any bakery freebies forever.

I felt like I was caught up in a waking dream where nothing was as it seemed or as it was supposed to be. I was half daydreaming myself how I'd like to demonstrate to Luke my appreciation of his being there for me downstairs.

' _Didn't I hear a blow job is the male version of a bouquet of flowers?_ ' It was an interesting daydream until reality slapped me awake. What I wanted didn't matter; there was no way I was going to start anything with three sets of big ears and eyes straining from the living room.

The responsible mean mommy voice in my head scolded me. I had to give my statement to Jack, get an update from Stella and Anna on the store and the welfare of my staff, and then get everyone out of here so I could be alone. I needed to contact my family and friends soon or they'd come charging over. Luckily, the customers witnessing the events were all elderly, so there would probably be no pictures or video posted on the internet. The staff I could trust. I thought about the news, what was being reported on the incident, and how it could impact business. Later on, I was still planning to go over to Mac's for dinner at seven.

It was 4:40 PM according to the Breitling on Luke's wrist. This day felt like it had lasted a week and it was only half over. I covered a small yawn behind my free hand. I was still a little groggy from my nap.

When Luke and I reached the top of the stairs, he surprised me again by not leaving but turning to the right. He led me down the hallway. He pulled me into the first open doorway which happened to be the bathroom. He shut the door behind us.

There was a charged silence in the darkness.

I reached up and touched his hard shoulder. I smoothed down his rigid arm. "Luke, nobody has ever been there for me..."

Luke cut in, "Don't you mean you've never had a man be there for you before?"

Struck by his words, I shrugged and touched my forehead to his chest. "I guess I do mean that."

There have been men who have wanted to be there for me in my life, but I didn't make it easy for them. I didn't know how to be anything less than self-reliant and independent. Putting it bluntly, there's never been a man in my personal life who has impressed me enough to make me want to lean on him.

Luke still held my one hand, so I reached and clasped his other hand. I found it easier to speak of these things in the dark. I wondered fleetingly if that was why Luke left the light off.

"Listen, it means a lot you came to check on me." I laughed ruefully. "I absolutely can't stand the thought of passing out and being carried anywhere, but if it had to be done, well, I'm glad it was you. I'm sorry I scared you."

Luke was silent for a long moment. I was starting to get uncomfortable, nervous why he wasn't answering when he finally spoke. "Quit being so hard on yourself; it's not like you fainted from seeing a mouse. You took on a man, Anabel." He added softly, "I didn't mind carrying you."

"Hey, I didn't faint." Recalling Anna's obnoxious description, I frowned. "If you say I was 'as light as a feather' I swear I'll wallop you."

I could hear the smile in his voice. "Why the hell would I say that? You were dead weight in my arms. It felt like I was carrying two hundred pounds of flopping female." He squeezed my hands. "I probably should apologize here for accidentally banging your head kind of hard against the wall."

"Oh, my Hero!" I laughed quietly. "That explains why I have such a sore head and headache. I was worried about stroking from high blood pressure. Here, close your eyes, I'm turning on the light."

I reached past Luke and hit the switch. The main bathroom in my apartment is divided into two, with a pocket door in between. Luke and I were standing close in the smaller room that's used by guests, and fitted with a toilet and vanity. Through the sliding door is my larger, personal bathroom that includes the mirrored vanity area, the shower and tub room, and then a huge, walk-in closet formerly a small bedroom I had redesigned with Reggie's help.

"Here we go." I straightened up with the bottle of Advil. Tossing back a couple, I turned on the cold faucet. Leaning over the tap, I took a gulp of the streaming water. It tasted so refreshing; I kept lapping thirstily for a few seconds. Finally replete, I stood up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I looked into the mirror and saw Luke's image behind me, his face amused.

"What?" I smiled back at his image, patting at the water droplets spilling down the front of my black vest and white blouse.

Luke put his hands on my hips, pulling me back closer to him. "You and Reggie hung out a lot together growing up, didn't you?"

"Yes, but it was from Jazy where I learned the useful habit of drinking from a faucet like a dog."

Luke's dark eyebrows flew up in surprise and I grinned.

I can't be around Luke for long and not be aware of his maleness. Actually, I can't be around him for even a second without my feminine instincts responding. It doesn't matter how much I enjoy talking with him, I'm always conscious on a deeper level of the hum of desire his presence arouses in me. Now was no different. I went with the pull of his hands, relaxing back fully against him.

Luke's hands slid from my hips and he hugged me from behind. I rested my hands on his locked forearms. He rested his chin on my head, a perfect spot for him. I didn't mind, despite the tenderness from my various head contusions from the last couple of days. We were silent, staring at each other's faces reflected back in the mirror two feet in front of us.

The contrasting images of his black hair and dark tan against my blondeness and fair skin were vividly erotic. I watched him bend his head and move my tangled hair aside with his chin, kissing my neck with his dark eyes still on mine. He kissed my cheek next, as if he was unable to resist the pink, flushed target.

Luke's glance came back to my face in the mirror. His smile started slowly and built to blatantly lecherous. I had no doubt what he was thinking about to give me such a leering look.

He didn't make me wait. "I was right about everything?"

I turned and slid my hands up his arms to his shoulders. "Well, sir, I was so wrong to say you were almost absolutely right about _all_ the things you said."

"I like it when you are polite and respectful. Yes, go on. Keep telling me how absolutely wrong you were." Luke lifted me so I was sitting on the vanity. He used his knee to spread my legs and stepped between my thighs. His hands splayed on my lower back urged me forward on the vanity until we were touching.

His expression was much lighter now, no longer so black and grim. The glint of desire in his hooded eyes and the small smile playing on his mouth were an aphrodisiac for me.

Is there any sight more tantalizing than the man you want waiting with obvious heat for your response?

I couldn't think of one, either.

I brought my hand up to cup his cheek. Eyes on my thumb, I rubbed it lightly over his lower lip and then rasped over the black whiskers surrounding his mouth. They were much softer than they looked.

"I think I'm sure which I prefer." I leaned back and smiled flirtatiously. "Most respectfully, I request the choice of being fucked for a week until you cannot walk."

Luke groaned softly, placing a hard kiss on my lips. "That was _not_ one of your choices."

I traced the outline of his mouth with the tip of my tongue and then sucked gently on his full, bottom lip. "Oh Luke, help me. I have such a bad time with details. Does that mean no?"

"I'm still deciding if I can make an exception in your case." His hands were at the buttons of my shirt, swiftly working his way down until the shirt parted. He spread the cotton fabric apart, taking my black vest with it, and pulling my arms down from his shoulders. Leaning back and smiling up at him, I braced myself with a hand on either side of my hips on the vanity. He pulled my shirt and vest halfway down my arms, and then stopped.

I was wearing a T-back style underwire bra that clasped in the front. The bra was not frilly or fancy, but the fabric was sheer. My round, full breasts and nipples were clearly visible.

Luke leaned forward and kissed a dark pink tip. He drew my nipple into his mouth through the shimmering nylon of the bra, biting gently and then sucking. With his hand, he cupped my other breast and his thumb rubbed slow circles over that stiffening point. Loving it, I tilted my head back, offering myself up to the arousing pleasure Luke's rhythmic kissing and sucking were drawing from my responsive, sensitive nipples.

At the press of his hand on my upper thigh, I opened my legs even wider and felt him move in against me. Through his jeans, Luke slowly stroked his erection over the thick middle seam bisecting the crotch of my jeans. He was putting pressure against the exact spot where I needed to be touched.

I leaned back farther, resting on my elbows. The back of my head touched against the mirror behind the vanity. I said his name on a low moan.

"Please let me know when you decide on my case."

Luke straightened up, eyes lowered and intently watching his hands on my breasts cupping and squeezing. My hands were trapped at my sides from my shirt and vest pulled tight over on my arms, but I couldn't care less right then.

Moving to hold my cheeks with both hands, Luke stared down at me with serious eyes. I smiled a little in uneasy question, not really knowing what his look meant or what he wanted to see in return.

Right at that moment, I only wanted to see and feel his hard cock with no jeans between us. I wanted him filling me up and satisfying the craving building up inside from his sucking and biting on my nipples and stroking between my thighs. I wanted to straddle him and ride him, our bodies touching and rubbing everywhere. I wanted to stare into his beautiful, green eyes while we did this and I wanted to watch him come.

"Undo your jeans."

Luke ignored my whisper.

"Please?"

He leaned over and kissed my mouth, but held his lower body away from mine.

"I want to touch you."

He started with slow kisses, only barely touching our lips together.

"Pretty please?"

Each time Luke kissed me, the kiss was fuller and longer, making me want more.

"With sugar..."

He kept denying me until I slowly sucked his tongue into my mouth. The soft suction triggered Luke, and the tempo of his kissing leapt from slow and languorous to fast and intense. He gripped my ass tightly, lifting me against him. His tongue was stroking deep into my mouth, matching the motions of his hips while he moved up against me. I rubbed myself back against the length of him in answer.

He turned his head and broke our kiss. Breathing heavily, his voice was rough. "I am still pissed at you, Anabel."

I rained his face with small kisses, answering tenderly, "Oh, I know, Luke. Never stop taking your anger out on me."

I kissed his wide grin and knew we were good.

Abruptly, Luke backed off. He latched my bra together so quickly, I didn't have time to marvel at his expertise of covertly unsnapping it during our passionate kissing. He pulled my shirt up off my arms and started buttoning me up even faster than he had undone the buttons a few minutes ago. He straightened my vest with a sharp tug and hopped me off the vanity.

He smiled at my agape expression, putting a finger to his lips as he pointed to the door. He glanced in the mirror, adjusted his jeans, and pulled the tails of his shirt smartly into place to cover the evidence.

There was a loud knock on the door. "Whatcha doing in there, June? Are you almost done? Jack's done with me and the natives are getting restless out here."

"Yes, I'm coming!" I pushed Luke and mouthed with a huffy, mock pout, "Not."

He covered his eyes with one hand, shoulders shaking.

"Anna, would you please get me a water from the fridge and I'll be right there, okay?"

"Sure thing." I heard Anna walking away and turned anxiously back to Luke.

He kissed me good-bye before I could say anything. "Go on, I'll slip out after you. What's the code for the back door in the store?"

I smiled my relief we weren't caught. I gave him the code, making a mental note to ask later exactly how he _had_ entered my locked building last night.

I flushed the toilet to be convincing, combed my hair quickly, and then checked over my appearance in the mirror for any telltale signs of lingering lust. Luke opened the door enough to be sure the coast was clear.

I spoke low to him, "Sneak out real quietly and watch out for the second stair down." His frowning disapproval over his shoulder at my orders made me grin. "Hey, it's how I heard you coming up the stairs last night, so I thought you might want to know. The code works for Bel's entrance doors and back door. Oh, and thanks again, Luke."

I started to edge by him to leave. He smoothed a hand down the back of my hair to my hip. He closed the door in front of me.

Green eyes glinted. "Don't thank me too soon. I'm still not sure what I am going to do with you. Can we get together later?"

I flashed on my vow to follow my rules. With a chair and a whip, I held back the sex kitten voice roaring in my mind. "I've got a thing with the girls tonight and it will go real late. Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, that's right, the Sunday dinner at five." He did not sound like a happy camper. By the look on his frowning face, clearly Luke was not a man used to waiting around for what he wanted.

He smiled invitingly. "You're sure we can't make it sooner than that? Dr. Luke thinks you're making a big mistake going out tonight with the girls. You need a quiet night at home. Dinner in bed, temperature taken that sort of thing."

I hid my smile at how appealing he looked. He was making this hard. "Oh, well, Mac is feeding me dinner and she's a nurse. I promise I'll take it easy tonight and make no sudden, sharp moves." Although, thinking of the way I danced this could be a falsehood. I patted his cheek, some devil prompting me to add insult to injury. "Dr. Luke doesn't have to worry his pretty little head over me."

I opened the door and scooted past a frowning, frustrated Luke. I went to join the others in the living room and take my licks from Chief Jack.

I was doubly glad I was sticking to my rules. Being the target of Luke's determined charm, which probably worked for him more often than not, caused me to laugh softly at the difference in the sexes.

When a woman wants a man to break his plans with his friends to spend the whole night with her instead, she's dismissed as clingy or needy. A man doesn't think twice to ask, since his needs come first. The fact Luke hadn't previously asked me on a date for tonight didn't cross his mind, or deter him if it had.

There was only one redeeming factor in Luke's favor for trying to coerce me into breaking my plans. The understanding that it was my fault a couple pints of his blood needed for normal brain functionality was currently coagulating in a more southerly spot in his body.

Except for catching considering looks from the three in my living room, I was not questioned about Luke. He slipped out undetected and we got away with our bathroom interlude unscathed. That was the only thing I got away with unscathed for the next hour.

Before Jack started in on me about the ex, Ron Hansen, I'd taken him aside to ask for the low down on Crookie's missing wife. Jack was closemouthed about police business, but he grudgingly verified he'd spoken with Reggie and knew of his involvement on that night. He relented enough to tell me he was coordinating efforts with the Edina police to find Cheryl. He counseled patience and I backed off. Jack wasn't much in the mood to share his cop intuitions with me right then. I even rose above it when Jack said the word 'patience' with a definite snarl.

I told the facts concerning my involvement in the assault on Larissa into a tape recorder and signed my statement. I suspected Jack was doing us all a huge favor conducting his interviews here in the apartment, but there has to be some benefits in having the Chief of Police as an honorary family member, especially considering what followed.

I dutifully sat through Jack's censorious tongue-lashing of the perils involved when a female civilian plays hero. I got through this with my good mood intact only because I was gleeful inside knowing Anna and Stella also had to sit through Chief Jack's pacing diatribe.

I didn't dream of sneaking a glimpse at their faces. Jack probably _would_ spank me on the spot if he detected the tiniest glimmer of amusement in my demeanor, he was really worked up. I deserve to be commended for keeping it together knowing the girls sat on either side of me staring at Jack with round-eyed astonishment.

Neither of them had ever seen this spitting nails, disciplinarian side of Jack. I'd seen it somewhat regularly over the years with my propensity to jump in where angels fear to tread. His words, not mine. Why Jack compared me to an angel quite regularly was beyond me. You'd think his dealing with the criminal element, Chief Jack would have gotten past the baby face and big, blue eyes years ago.

I pondered this anomaly, as I gazed up at him with a rapt expression while he spewed fire and brimstone. I also pondered why, as men age, they do not notice their eyebrows need trimming. Every time Jack passed by the light, I could see several eyebrow hairs sticking straight out. Yes, they were white blonde, but they were a good inch long. How he could miss those brutes when shaving or brushing his teeth is beyond me.

Jack finally calmed down from a frothing mouthed dictator into lecture mode, and I focused. I shifted my eyes for a quick glance at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes was shorter than most of Jack's tyrannical raves. I think the poor man was tired. With a final warning glare at my upturned face, Jack crabbily advised I may need to be questioned again, depending upon what legal action arose from Larissa's ex-husband's assault.

Jack had some concerns an attempt could be made by the ex to sue me for causing him a long term disability. After the taser effects had worn off, Ron Hansen was heard repeatedly screaming, "My balls, my back!"

Jack thought with Trent and Billy's eyewitness statements that type of case would not hold up for long. I was curious what he meant by this, but didn't ask him to clarify. I was in no mood to ask Chief Jack any questions and get him wound up again.

He did let slip Ron Hansen had been released only late this morning from Dakota County Jail after serving close to a year for third degree assault charges. It crossed my mind to wonder how Ron had arrived at Bel's Books. It was logical to presume he'd need transportation to get from the jail in Hastings to Northfield, thirty-two miles to the southwest. That detail spurred me to tell Jack about the van I'd observed in the parking lot when Anna and I had returned from spying. I had automatically assumed the man in the van was waiting for a customer in Bel's, but he could have been waiting for Ron to kidnap Larissa out of the store.

Unfortunately, I didn't get the plate number and could only tell Jack the make and model. Anna vaguely remembered seeing the van, but had nothing else to offer.

My description of the man driving was more detailed. He was pale white, and while sitting in a van made it harder to be sure, he looked very large and heavy. He appeared to be stuffed uncomfortably behind the wheel of the van. I'd place his age in his late thirties. He was wearing a light colored jacket, had a completely bald head, no facial hair, and a big schnoz.

Jack stepped into the foyer and called it in immediately for follow up. While he was on his phone, Stella overheard him verifying no first responding cops to the back store entrance had seen the van when they had arrived in the parking lot at Bel's.

We three girls reasoned the driver was a fellow parolee or friend of Ron Hansen's. If this was true, the cops would easily track him down by the physical description. If he was an accomplice, I knew Jack would find him. We all agreed it was too suspicious the van had not been spotted by any of the first responding police.

Anna thought it would be a smart idea to find out more details from Larissa. Maybe her ex had mentioned where he was taking her and if he had help. Stella verified the man had been yelling his head off at Larissa, so it was distinctly possible he'd told her things that could be of use.

Jack overheard us and looking alarmed, issued the stern warning, "Do not start playing at amateur detectives or certain heads will roll."

I promptly promised with Anna and Stella quickly following my lead and seconding their agreement.

Jack eyed the three of us for a long moment and then surveyed me with his cop stare.

"Swear to God, Anabel."

"What am I swearing to here, Chief?"

Jack thought it over. "Swear you will not play detective on your own. Swear if you find out any information by sheer chance, you will report it immediately to me."

I took my time, no need for Jack to be suspicious if I agreed too fast again. "Deal. I swear to God. But that was two swears, so you owe me."

Jack grunted. He continued to eye me carefully while searching for visual clues how he might have been hoodwinked. I smiled placidly back under his suspicious regard. Concluding he had covered his bases, he turned to Anna next.

"You!" He pointed a finger and demanded, "Swear to God!"

Anna immediately put a hand to heart and fervently swore.

Then she promptly smiled nervously and looked guilty as hell.

Jack scowled.

Anna kept swearing to God repeatedly and then kept smiling repeatedly.

Jack shook his head slightly to clear it. With a last warning glare at my anxiously grinning friend, he appeared satisfied Anna was sufficiently cowed. He moved on.

When his scowling face moved Stella's way, she held up a hand and stopped him before he spoke.

Stella, the daughter of my heart, was shakily courteous but firm. "Sorry, Uncle Jack, but I don't do swear to Gods."

Jack's mouth dropped at this statement. After a stunned moment, his brows lowered and he mocked her in a girly voice, "'I don't do swear to Gods, Uncle Jack'." Face like a thundercloud, he shouted, "You're an Axelrod, of course you do swear to Gods!"

Stella shrank back against the sofa and visibly swallowed, but held her ground in the face of his temper. "Umm...I am a DeVere, remember? I am the only kid in this entire family. I stopped doing swear to Gods before I was ten just on general principle."

Jack looked at me, an accusatory glower on his face.

"What?" I crossed my arms and smiled evilly. "Surely you don't blame me that our Stella's chock full of principles? Maybe you could trust her," I glared back at Jack, "if you asked her nicely."

Jack threw his arms in the air with an oath. He settled them on his hips. He locked eyes with Stella. "Do you promise, Stella _DeVere_ , to stay out of police business like a good girl?"

Stella lifted her chin at his tone. She replied coolly, "Sorry, Uncle Jack, I don't do promises, either."

Jack's stoic, cop face was a contortion of frustration.

In his everyday existence, he was The Chief. In his world, if Jack even casually glanced at someone in his employ they quivered and asked, "How high today, Sir Chief?"

He dealt with high-powered, muckety-mucks on a regular basis. He carried big guns, he captured dangerous criminals, and he dealt with life or death situations as a norm. Not to be able to control a couple of girls with his formidable force of will alone had to be unendurably tormenting.

Jack, probably longing for the simplicity of a rookie cop needing a new asshole ripped for some minor infraction, stabbed a finger at each of us and enunciated in an awful voice, "Stay. Out. Of. Trouble."

The cursing Jack departed down the stairs, thankfully taking his cranky mood with him. I got down to business with Stella and Anna.

Stella said, "Larissa really wants to speak with you."

I sighed; that was a load off my mind. "Good. Under the circumstances, I was worried Larissa would hate me for screaming and yelling abuse at her. She knows it was a distraction and not meant to be real?"

Stella rushed to reassure me, "Oh, she knows! It's the opposite, Aunt Bel. Larissa worships you for saving her. She was terrified because Ron was trying to force her to come with him. He threatened to rain down all sorts of nasty shit on her head for divorcing him." Stella continued, furious, "Can you believe in his fucked up mind the jerk blames Larissa for him being jailed for assault?"

I shook my head. "I see only two choices for a violently abusive man like him. Put him down or a total lobotomy. Men like him are wired wrong; plain and simple." I paused, stomach sinking thinking about it. "He's always going to be a serious threat to Larissa's life."

"You need to worry about him now, too, Junior," Anna softly reminded.

My eyes got big at that distinctly unhappy realization.

I also wasn't so happy hearing Stella and Anna change topics and start singing Luke's praises for taking charge downstairs when I passed out. I had let my people down by collapsing. After I'd zonked out and was napping in the comfort of my apartment, Luke had smoothly stepped in and organized the chaos downstairs.

I heard how he encouraged Stella to close and lock the store to keep away the gawkers. At his advice, she recorded a brief statement on Bel's Books voicemail greeting stating the shortened hours for today. It was essentially the same brief statement he coached her to give the woman reporter from the Northfield News.

Luke counseled the nervous Stella it was important we control the information being officially stated from the outset, and that I would want her to do so. He was absolutely correct. Stella was anxious for my approval she'd done everything kosher. I smiled brightly and thanked her profusely for her correct, quick actions.

I was grateful, but inside I was having a bitch of a time knowing I hadn't been there doing my job as owner and fearless leader.

Anna couldn't praise Luke's handling of the three lady customers highly enough. "You wouldn't believe how great he was with them. He encouraged them to tell him their part in what happened. He really listened, and then complimented them until they blushed." She laughed. "My God, after talking with the cops those ladies marched right out of the store feeling like super heroes, and not victims in the wrong place at the wrong time. Luke's such a good guy, Junior."

I nodded in agreement with her opinion, but for different reasons. He was a good guy. Good at manipulation. Knowing they were all women, even if over the age of retirement, I was sure it took him only seconds to have them eating out of his hand. It was masterfully done. It neutralized the negative comments those same customers could justifiably spread about their "shopping experience" at Bel's Books. I stewed broodingly over the fact I should be ecstatic for Luke's strategic thinking, not simmering with aggravation they were needed on my behalf.

Anna went on blithely, "He also talked with Trent and Billy before they gave their statements. They both felt bad they hadn't done more to try to save Larissa. Luke told them," Anna lowered her voice in a creepily accurate parody of his deep voice, "'Boys, you did the smart thing. Had you men interfered, it could have resulted in Larissa being seriously hurt like the ex-husband had threatened'."

Anna smiled at my expression while Stella was making noises on my other side. "When the guys sang your praises to Luke about witnessing the royal ass whipping, he just smiled and shook his head. You're gonna love this, Junior, because he told them," her voice lowered dramatically again, "'Remember, dynamite often comes in small packages and the same applies to a little woman'.''

My friend and niece snickered together at my distinctly unloving look. Anna continued on, "According to Luke, it was his experienced opinion you were only successful because no man expects a super-hot, little boss lady, even if she was screaming like a lunatic, to stroll up and kick him in the balls!"

Stella chimed in, "Yeah, Luke really got Trent and Billy laughing their butts off and no longer questioning their manhood. So, I guess that part was good, right?"

I sniffed. "Sure. I'd hate to have demasculinized employees running around loose and causing havoc in the store."

Stella fell back giggling on the sofa while Anna laughingly said, "But wait! That's not all!"

They both laughed harder when I said a choice word.

"Trent and Billy totally agreed with Luke that the man was a serious threat to you." Anna snickered and made a face. "Even while he was on the floor screaming in agony and even as you repeatedly kicked him. They definitely heard him yelling death threats if he got his hands on you. They definitely stood guard over you to make sure the ex couldn't attack you from the floor."

That sure cleared up Jack's reference earlier about Trent and Billy's statements to the cops verifying I had the right to protect myself from Ron Hansen. Based on his earlier comments, I could tell Jack had approved of Luke's assistance in "clarifying their thoughts" before the guys gave their statements. Problem was; I did as well. I was Grandmother Machiavelli's handmaiden and could pay homage when someone deserved credit. Luke, damn his diabolical brain, really deserved credit.

Misunderstanding my silence, Stella frowned. "We do think Luke is a butthead to talk to Trent and Billy about you like a sex object, Aunt Bel."

I thanked the loyal feminists before me, amused that they supported me despite their adoration of all things Luke Drake.

To be fair, I then explained Luke's strategy to them both, so they would understand his good intentions towards me and see how truly sneaky he was capable of being.

To Anna, I raised my brows. "You haven't forgotten our one hour lesson at Rueb's with Mr. Tricky?"

She shuddered and laughed. "Ugh, I'll never forget that lesson with Mr. Tricky! How was I supposed to know this was the same thing? You're right, he's truly sneaky."

I also confessed that I had used similar tactics on Ron Hansen. I explained it was my understanding of how a misogynistic, abusive man would think that made me approach Ron Hansen as I did. "He'd see me as harmless eye candy if my shirt was undone. It allowed me to get close enough to get my kicks in." I nodded in remembered satisfaction. "His reaction was what I'd calculated on. I had no intentions of coming out of that encounter anything but the winner against that little bastard."

I told the girls it wasn't worth trying to convince the men that swiftly calculating odds and taking action was anything but an idiotic move for a woman with no weapons and no training in fighting. Mainly, I didn't bother because it _was_ idiotic when you looked at it that way. For me, it boiled down to a simple choice. I'd rather regret attempting an action that I thought could be successful over agonizing later that I did nothing to help.

Stella and Anna were both nodding in thoughtful agreement when I finished.

There was a crease of worry between Stella's eyes when she asked, "I don't get something, though. Where did you learn to understand what an abusive, misogynistic man would be thinking?"

"The Oxygen channel, Oprah's book picks, and observing politicians," I promptly answered.

Anna's musical, deep laughter echoed off the high ceiling. "Hey, is Chief Jack an elected official?"

We held our sides laughing.

Catching my breath, I narrowed my eyes at Stella. "Don't even think of doing anything like I did today, if you value our lives. Your mom would pulverize me and ground you for life, or vice versa."

Blue eyes sparkling, my cheeky niece vowed, "I swear to God and promise I won't."

The three of us cracked up for a solid minute at that one.

Locking up behind them a little later, I wasn't smiling any longer when I thought over the last few hours. Hopefully, none of this would ever be an issue again. It wasn't like I had plans to romp on men's ding-dongs as a way of life. Well, there was one man's ding-dong I currently wanted to romp on. In my brooding, dangerous mood when thinking about Luke's involvement all over my life, I wasn't quite sure whether it was to inflict pleasure or pain. Cruel of me, I know, but I've never denied I'm a control freak.

I definitely needed a fun night out with my girls.

Chapter XI

"Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" by Cyndi Lauper

Saturday, 11/17/12

7:00 PM

Somehow, everything got accomplished on my mental checklist by seven o'clock. The quick shower I took had me raring to go. I was ready to put this day behind me and party.

Outside of Bel's Books, I was waiting to be picked up by Jazy. The November night sky was clear and the cold air was refreshing; I could see my breath. The temperature had steadily dropped over the day and now hovered in the high twenties. There was a big snow in the forecast for early tomorrow and I thought about sledding in the afternoon.

Pacing and rubbing my chilled arms, it was easy to conclude I'd come close to smothering in the birth canal as I arrived in this world. It's the only explanation for my irrational dislike of being bundled up in coats, or constricted in any way. I had reluctantly brought a light jacket tonight with mittens stuffed in the pockets, in case of an emergency. Not that I had any plans to wear it. It still took wind chill factors of around thirty below to get me to admit winter had arrived in all its frigid glory and dress appropriately. I was proud of myself that I'd brought a jacket along for the ride. This was a positive sign. Maybe by age forty I'd bring a hat, too.

When I was young, it had been a common winter theme in my life to endure endless trudges home from impromptu, fun sledding wearing only wet shoes and sopping jeans. In my own miserable world, I'd chant a mantra of negotiations with that higher power to "Please, oh please just get me home before amputation is necessary and I'll be a good girl forever."

I had regularly suffered through the pins and needles pain of frozen feet and ears thawing out. I often had chapped inner thighs that burned like a son of a gun. I worshiped the manufacturers of petroleum jelly. I was super depressed when Stella had found my hidden cache of Vaseline during her most recent "search and destroy" sortie into my apartment.

I slowed my pacing to admire the street before me. Like Bel's Books, many of the buildings lining Division Street had been built in the late 1800s and stood only two or three stories tall. Up and down the blocks, the buildings shared common walls in the thrifty, expeditious mode of construction popular during frontier times. Their storefront facades were designed to be unique from their attached neighbors by the different materials used, such as painted wood, brick, stone, and decorative awnings. It made for a quaint, charming downtown, even allowing for the occasional modern building thrown into the mix.

Division Street was fancied up for the holidays. The streets lamps were swirled with evergreens, red satin ribbons and bows, and aglow with white lights in the shapes of large snowflakes. Many buildings were similarly adorned; it reminded me of a village on an old-fashioned Christmas card dusted with glitter.

I love this time of year. Last week, Bel's staff had a party and decorated the outside of the red brick building. Spruce treetops and red holly berries were in the display window boxes, lacey garlands of evergreens draped around the entrance doors, and an enormous wreath hung outside on the turret that capped the corner of my building. All of these were intertwined with hundreds of tiny lights. When snow dusted the greenery, the blue lights twinkling at night through the sparkling white stuff was magical.

Interrupting my sightseeing, a Chrysler Town and Country minivan honked softly and pulled up to the curb. I recognized our friend Tre J driving with Jazy riding shotgun. The side door slid open and an old Led Zeppelin tune poured out. I climbed into the beckoning warmth, agreeing silently it had been way too long a time since this woman had rock 'n rolled.

I had earlier whipped off a mass text to my siblings and friends that all was fine, details to follow. NanaBel was out of touch in the desert for the next couple of days, so I'd email her in a day or two. I'd returned Reggie's calls and left a quick, comprehensive voice mail message with details on Cheryl Crookston and Larissa's ex, since I wasn't seeing him tonight like I would be my sisters. I'd spoken briefly with Larissa's parents; she was doing well, but sleeping. I made plans to visit her on Monday morning. The mean mommy voice should be happy with me and leave me the hell alone for the rest of the night.

With the dome light still on overhead, my youngest sister turned in her seat to do a swift eye balling of my person. I felt like a horse at a sale barn being appraised by an expert for soundness.

Jazy, satisfied I was not physically altered in any way, still wore a quizzical expression. This was for the mental checkup portion of the exam. If I was one of her horses, she'd probably make a clicking sound to observe how I responded.

I grinned crookedly in reassurance, at the same time I lifted one shoulder in a "What's a girl to do?" unrepentant shrug.

Jazy returned a wickedly devilish smile; complete with two dimples and an emphatic power fist for a job well-done.

Enough said. Sister whisperer gets me.

Jazy and I are two years apart in age. We are instantly known as sisters by anyone seeing us for the first time, or hearing us talk and laugh. We share the same sapphire shade of blue eyes we've been told match our mother's. The resemblances were marked between Jazy and me, but her features are all slightly larger, her body type less curvy. She's an auburn brunette to my blonde and tops out at an impressive 5'4''. Jazy's bangs are straight, but her hair waves and curls loosely atop her shoulders with no help from a curling iron. Good thing because Jaz is a wash and go kind of outdoor girl. She's passionate about three things in her life horses, Harleys, and heavy petting.

Tre J turned down the volume on the music and then reached back to pull me up into a huge hug.

I hung awkwardly on my knees between the seats while she enthusiastically gushed and thumped my back. "Bel, we are so relieved everything ended well. Jaz and I were just saying how we wish we could have been there to see you in action." She pulled back, a wide smile making her eyes crinkle. "Did you really unbutton your shirt, take off your bra, and show some nip to distract him? Awesome smart move! Girl, you are so my hero! Poor Larissa, how did she ever marry that skeevy mother?" Her face darkened. "He'd better pray I never meet his ass in a dark alley."

Laughing to myself in rueful weariness, I realized this was the kind of rumor humor I'd be dealing with all night. I patted her shoulder fondly in return, as I detached out of her smothering hug.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. You smell good tonight, by the way." I climbed into my seat and buckled in. "If it's all the same to you both, I'm not saying another word until we get over to Mac's. When Jazy mans the blender and I have one of her special Margaritas in hand, then we'll talk."

"I hear you." Jazy did a little drum roll on the dash in front of her. "See, told you she wouldn't want to talk about it until Mac's. Let's hit it, Tre. My ass-kicking sister needs a drink!"

"I'm hittin' it, I'm hittin' it!" The side door slid shut next to me with a click. Tre J was laughing as she sped off around the corner onto Fourth.

Tre's a Norwegian Valkyrie built like a brick shithouse with an easy belly laugh as generous as her personality. She has been a friend of both mine and Jazy's since we were little. They're roommates and work together on Jazy's farm at the Lazy j Stables. They board, train, and sell horses, plus give riding lessons. Tre J is also in school training to be a physical therapist.

"What's up with the van?" I could feel the maternal hormones oozing from the leather seats around me. I took in the requisite DVD player screens necessary for a child's entertainment while being driven somewhere for five blocks and I shuddered. I did not want to become infected with the highly contagious BiologicalClockTicking disease. Last I knew Tre J drove a monster truck capable of pulling a multi-horse trailer.

They laughed at my bewildered tone. Jazy answered, "It's Tre's turn for sober cabbie. She borrowed it from her sister thinking we might want to get in some serious partying tonight. We can easily all ride together in this van."

I leaned forward. "Way to be thinking, Tre. Oh, and just to be clear; I've never believed Jazy's trash talking behind your back. This proves you haven't taken one too many hockey sticks to the head."

Even playing around, Jazy packs a mean punch. I've seen her take on a misbehaving, twelve hundred pound horse. I successfully dodged her until Tre's long arm blocked off my sister's frustrated, laughing attempts to get me.

Although a year behind me, and for reasons still known only to her, Tre J had appointed herself my personal bodyguard when we were still in grade school. My budding career as a little smarty-mouth without a care to the recipient's age, gender, size, or disposition was already blossoming. I probably have Tre J's threatening stare to thank for my smooth transition into a fully bloomed, adult smart ass with all my own teeth still intact.

Tre is an amazing six-feet-tall, weighs a glorious two hundred pounds, and is famous for playing defense in college women's hockey. You do not want to piss off a woman acclaimed for wielding a hockey stick in comparison to that of a Norwegian war axe.

Tre J stood for January Jolene Jivers. In grade school, she had despised her first name with a passion second only to the disgust she had felt for her middle and last names. I believe the phrase "trailer trash and porn star" had been gritted out between her clenched teeth when asked for the explanation why she'd felt such enmity for her name.

Feeling her pain and learning to count in Norwegian at the time, I had suggested we change her alliterative, three banger of a name to Tre J. She was thrilled. Much to her mother's chagrin, the name Tre J had been officially adopted. We even presented Tre with a commemorative birth certificate, complete with my inked footprints representing her newborn feet. The dreaded January Jolene Jivers moniker had never crossed our lips again.

Laughing and chatting, we drove a couple of streets over to pick up Anna, and then it was a few blocks up Fourth to Mac's yellow Victorian. Elaborately trimmed out in white gingerbread; the house is a showstopper. The detached garage is as cute as the house. Above the garage is a studio apartment where Stella resides in solitary splendor.

The arrangement of Stella living in the garage studio works well for Mac and my niece. Stella has the relative privacy she needs as a commuting, college freshman. Mac has the relative privacy she needs to enjoy her new husband of less than six months. They both can still keep one eye on each other.

For eighteen years, Mac had remained single after Freddy's death. Six years ago, she'd purchased this house and moved out of the Division Street apartment with Stella.

Last May, on her thirty-sixth birthday, Mac had met twenty-four-year old Diego Dos Santos at the grocery store he owns in Faribault. She was shopping his wide selection of peppers. He assisted her with her choice. Sparks flew from their first glance. The flame grew as conflagrant as a forest fire after their first date. One month later, Diego had hot-footed Mac down the aisle.

I compare my eldest sister to a locust. She lies low and leads your normal, somewhat staid life, then bursts out with lollapalooza drama every eighteen years or so. Her fifties should be interesting.

Diego is Puerto Rican by ancestry, but was born in upstate New York. His family had moved to Faribault when he was a little boy and opened the grocery store. He's been the head of his family for several years, since his father died of a heart attack when Diego was twenty. He stepped up to take over the reins of that store and had recently purchased another small grocery market in Northfield. He's an intelligent man, an entrepreneur, and extremely pretty. Not that his sizzling Latin looks had anything to do with Diego being able to convince my sister he was the man for her. Really.

Does it make me bad that I snicker behind my hand at seeing my bossiest, prissiest, gearhead of a sister dueling her macho, movie-star handsome, youngster of an el esposo for supremacy on all fronts? And, often as not, losing?

I don't think so, either.

Diego and Mac openly bicker and banter over the seesawing role of Alpha in their marriage. He was used to running the show and so was my big sis. They could sell tickets; their power struggles are that fun to watch.

It's my guess the newlyweds quite often, and quite sensibly, took the issue to the mat in the bedroom where they wrestle over the matter to their hearts content. I give them until New Year's Eve. They'll figure it out, or kill each other by exhaustion. Either way's a win.

The four of us piled out of the van. We were joined by Stella coming down from her studio. Amidst the greetings and chatter, we started trooping up to Mac's back porch.

I couldn't miss the "SWEETAZ" vanity plate on the light blue Honda Civic parked in the driveway. I thought Candy's gun safety seminar in Duluth went through Sunday. I was never pleased to see Candy, but tonight was the rare exception.

Since birth, my cousin Candy has been spoiled shamelessly by her father, my Uncle Trevor. She runs roughshod over her fluttering, ineffectual mother, my Aunt Carol. The only issue I've ever seen my gentle Aunt Carol take an unswerving stand on was not allowing Candy to have any pets. I'm glad I don't know why. The general family consensus would have it that being spoiled was responsible for the ruination of whatever character potential Candy once had. Personally, I believe she was born a sociopath, so there had been no character potential to be had, or lost. However, what she lost by her unfortunate lack of parenting was the chance to become well-adjusted and perhaps develop her differences for good, instead of evil.

Candy hates she can't manipulate me and use her superficial charm to blind me to her real nature. I don't know why, but I have always clearly seen Candy for what she is. Had she not tried to tangle with me from the time I was five, maybe things would have been different between us.

Anna and I dubbed Candy's lying, conniving, cheating, and tantrum throwing ways being "Candy Coated." It's like getting slimed, only much worse.

NanaBel feels sorry for this granddaughter. Even though Candy is three years my senior and has tried her damnedest to make my life a living hell, NanaBel has asked me repeatedly to go easy on Candy since we were kids. It has proved impossible to like her, but for years I have avoided her, ignored her, and reluctantly turned the other cheek and kept quiet rather than destroy her all in honor of respecting my grandmother's wishes.

NanaBel wants me to have pity for Candy because she's an unhappy, empty soul and vastly needy. I say pity is a wasted emotion that benefits no one involved in the long run. The person being pitied learns nothing of value as a result of his or her actions, and the people doing the pitying get the dubious satisfaction of being condescending and feeling morally superior. Big whoop.

In this particular instance, I have disagreed with my grandmother's judgment since day one. Throughout our childhoods and into adulthood, NanaBel didn't know half of the shady shit Candy's pulled. Candy grabs anything she wants as her due and knows no boundaries in her pursuit of this belief.

I am a girl who believes in the motto of her forbearers from Scotland, _Nemo Me Impune Lacessit._ This is Latin that translates roughly, "None shall provoke/injure me with impunity. _"_ Combine that sensible motto with the proverb _, "_ Revenge is a dish best served cold" and I am good to go.

Candy and I were long, long overdue for a cousinly chat, and NanaBel was far, far away in Egypt. You see, Candy has pushed me to my wall. She hadn't asked to borrow my gun, but stole it out of my apartment last Wednesday. Leaving a "Got your gun" note on my kitchen island hardly constitutes asking my permission. Using the word stole is not too harsh or inaccurate. She knows I would not extend her a helping hand if she were drowning; much less lend her my gun.

Tonight Anna, looking very cute and cozy in a purple wool jacket complete with teal colored mittens, hat and a scarf, gave the Honda a scowling glance, as if reading my thoughts.

She touched my arm and held me back, as the others continued up the sidewalk.

"I've been meaning to tell you something all damn day, but kept getting sidetracked." Anna didn't wait for my response but rushed on, "I wanted you to hear this before Candy or Kenna told you. I ran into Mike last night at The Contented Cow. He's joining his uncle's law firm in Minneapolis and is back living here. In Northfield, I mean." She hesitated briefly. "He asked all about you. He wanted me to give you a message."

I stood frozen for a moment, processing what she had said. My brain felt as cold as my hands. I'd drawn a blank for a second when she said the name Mike, but at the mention of my cousin and my sister, Anna's meaning became crystal clear.

Mike McClain was my one awful aberration of a boyfriend. When we'd broken up, I'd talked about it only with Anna, and only once, so she'd understand why he was out of my life forever. My family had been extremely surprised initially when we parted ways, but soon forgot about it when I appeared disinterested and never spoke of him. Since I was nineteen, the name Mike McClain was rarely brought up again in my presence. It had helped that his parents moved out of state due to a job transfer his second year in college. He'd never come back to Northfield again until now.

This was officially the day from hell. Could it get any more unreal? It only made a terrible kind of sense that ten years later, this would be the one day the name Mike McClain waltzed back into my life. My life was turning into a "Final Destination" movie. Fate was trying its damnedest to kick my butt.

"Okay."

Anna anxiously peered at me in the moonlight. "Okay? What does 'okay' mean?"

I linked my arm through Anna's and started steering her up the sidewalk, snuggling against her for warmth. "Okay means okay. Now I know. Thanks."

Anna dug in her feet to stop me. "Wait, Junior. Don't you want to know what questions he asked? Do you want to hear his message? Do you want to know if he's fat or bald, or married to a heifer and has ten brats?"

"Nope." I pulled her forward again, and this time she walked with me up to the house.

Anna was grumbling, "I didn't tell him anything about you or answer any of his questions, if you were wondering."

I may be cursed and doomed, but I couldn't resist smiling at those grumpy words. "Never crossed my mind you would."

Anna grinned back while shaking her head. "Sometimes, I don't understand you. It would drive me crazy not to ask questions if I hadn't seen Reg in ten years. I want to know, June, how can you not be curious what he looks like now, if nothing else?"

Standing under the porch light with a hand on the back door knob, I stared at my friend in silent deliberation. I relaxed, rubbed my hands, and softly blew out a long puff of white, cold air.

' _What the hell, it was a long time ago and this was my best friend asking.'_

"You remember how it was for Mike McClain and me for over two years, right?"

I didn't know what she saw written on my face or heard in my voice, but Anna nodded solemnly, eyes serious.

I spoke matter-of-factly to get it over with. "I really thought I loved Mike with every fiber of my being. Yes, I was young and innocent, blah, blah, but I was never _that_ young. It wasn't some high school crush for me. I would have loved him forever, that's how sure and right it was for me then." I smiled wistfully at Anna, letting myself recall for a moment how it felt to be so young and completely in love. "I never doubted he felt the same way."

Anna's face softened, but she stayed quiet other than to nod in encouragement.

"I believed back then our bond, our connection, was something undeniably special. After all the men I've met since then, I know now how true that was." I shrugged lightly. "At least, for me it was. I could live to be a million years old and I would still never get why Mike did what he did. Why he threw me away. Of course, I never bothered to talk to him about it, but you know the really strange thing about it all, Anna? I've always suspected somewhere deep down that Mike didn't know why, either."

This was the hard part. I hated even to think about this period in my life, and rarely did anymore. I forced myself to push the words out. "At the time, I told you how he betrayed me. What I didn't tell anybody was how rough it was dealing. I had to cut Mike out of my heart, so missing him didn't eat me up like a cancer and kill me; it was that bad. I was sick to my core not having him in my life. My pride insisted I hide it from everyone." I shrugged and crossed my arms. "So I did. I hid it every minute, of every hour, of every day, week after miserable week.

"Finally, I cut off my feelings deep enough that it was actually true. I no longer needed him to feel whole and right. I thought about him less and less. I didn't have dreams about him at night that made me hate waking up to face reality in the morning. Sounds dramatic, right? Yeah, well, I wish I was being a drama queen." I smiled softly, reaching out to wipe a tear overflowing from Anna's welling eyes. "You are such a little crybaby today." She whipped off her mitten to give me the finger and I smiled again. "I say it's okay because he's nothing to me now, Anna, less than nothing. Alright?"

Anna nodded quickly, wiping under her eyes with her bared hand. "I did know how in love you two were. Whenever I've thought about it over the years, I still can't believe he did it." She smiled a sad, little grimace. "I gotta hand it to you, though, Junior. You succeeded in fooling everybody, me included. I thought you got over him so quickly it was weird, but I was so pissed off at him that I was relieved for your sake. I'm really blown away to hear how bad off you were inside. I tell you what; I wish you didn't have to be so freakin' strong all the time. Sometimes it makes me feel like a whiny bitch always blabbing about my problems when you don't, but I guess it's just who you are." She sighed and squeezed my arm. "Okay, I see what a dumbass I was to bring him up. Let's go in and get that Margarita. What do you say?"

"I say you, Miss Softie, are a gentleman and a scholar." Grateful she'd changed topics; I pushed open the door and entered the toasty heat of Mac's spacious back hall. "And don't ever call yourself a dumbass. I reserved that right, remember?"

Anna's laughter trilled. "I thought you reserved the right to call me an ass pants?"

"Well, duh dumbass, that too."

I was called a mean name and pushed from behind by an indignant Anna, only to be enveloped in a tight hug by my oldest sibling. I then got cheek kisses between getting harped at for wearing no coat. All this hugging today was wearing me down. I heard Anna close the back door. I also heard the sound of a car starting nearby.

I took my head off Mac's big sister shoulder. "Did we scare off Diego?"

Mac held me away and gave me a mock incredulous look. "You're kidding, right? Diego Esteban Tomas Dos Santos trying to escape from a house full of women?" She chuckled at the absurdity. "We'd have to force him out. No, he's working at the new market. That would be Candy you hear taking off. She stopped by to drop off that duffle bag for you on the bench, but didn't stay. She has," Mac raised her hand in quotes, "a mysterious 'man meet' tonight. Didn't you see her out back?"

"She must have left by the front door." I laughed shortly, briefly feeling sorry for the man. I reached for the duffle bag.

Mac slanted me an odd look, but turned to give Anna a hug. "Hi, heard you guys had an exciting day, huh?"

Anna, still wiping her feet on the doormat, held her finger and thumb up in a little bit gesture. They laughed together. Anna excitedly started in catching Mac up on the news about Cheryl Crookston's disappearance.

I checked out the contents of the duffle while Anna and Mac talked in the background. The Glock appeared to have been recently cleaned. I could smell the solvent and oil. The two magazines Candy had snatched along with the gun were in the bag. One ten round magazine was still full, the other had only five rounds left. Unless she had brought her own ammo, she hadn't shot the gun much. I idly wondered what her real motivation was for going on the Duluth getaway. Had to be man related, Candy was always chasing some unsuspecting sucker.

Taking the gun from the bag, I verified there was no round left in the chamber. I couldn't take chances with Candy that it was unloaded properly. Even while inspecting the Glock to verify no deposits were left in the chamber from earlier firing, I wondered why I bothered checking. This gun would be getting a thorough cleaning later again by me, no matter what I found. It went back in the duffle.

I looked up just as Mac swung her attention back to me. Dressed simply in a light blue wrap silk shirt and black leggings, my sister didn't look much older than Stella tonight. Every time she moved her left hand, sparkling color dazzled the eye from the four-karat diamond knob she calls a wedding ring. Eyes and cheeks shining, Mac's lovely face reflected the same light. She glowed with contented happiness.

I smiled, teasingly. "So, what's on the dinner menu tonight?"

"I made nachos." Mac laughingly rolled her eyes when Anna and I each shouted out "Nachos" at the same time she'd said the word. "Jazy's in the kitchen right now making Margaritas."

Mac doesn't cook your average, normal meals; her idea of dinner is appetizers. Her most frequent top choice is nachos, but sometimes she messes with our heads and it's a layered taco pip or quesadillas. We play a guessing game which of the three it will be. It's similar to Rock, Paper, Scissors. The game is all in good fun, but Mac's gently discouraged by all the family from hosting Thanksgiving.

Anna headed for the sound of the blender. I started to follow, I could hear the tequila calling my name. The minute Anna cleared the back hall doorway, Mac had other ideas. She gripped my shoulders. We were eye to eye because she was in flats and I had on high heels.

"Thank you from the bottom of my heart for watching over Stella. I know you'd take a bullet for her, but on Freddy's grave, I swear to God if you ever do, Bel, that bullet had better kill you or I will."

We touched foreheads lightly, even as I smiled. I love convoluted woman logic that makes such perfect sense. "Sure, Spook, whatever you say."

Mac smiled back. "What, Freak? You don't think I'll kill you? Try me." She pulled back. "Enough mush. Now, how come I haven't met this Superman Luke and what's up with the Candy Coater?"

Seeing Mac's sly, humorous smile, it struck me how much Mac and Stella look alike with their expressive, aqua-blue eyes and their matching noses, elegant with a slight bump near the bridge. Mac recently started coloring her dark hair a pale, golden blonde. She said it's to cover the gray. Since NanaBel was white by age forty, I'm not surprised. It still takes me a minute to recognize the blonde Mac in public. I have walked right by her on the street more than once. It looks good on her. I don't know why she gets mad that Reg calls her Malibu Barbie. I think it's a cute name.

My oldest sister is persnickety. She's immaculate, from her personal grooming and stylish clothing, to her overall spotless house. Nothing falls out of her kitchen cupboards in surprise when you open a random door and you can eat off the floorboards of her vehicles. I didn't let these flaws stop me from adoring her. I know it's that responsibility-driven, overachieving, first kid birth order issue that she can't help. Not everyone can be the well-adjusted middle child.

What Stella didn't inherit from her mother is Mac's clever ability to size up a situation in a glance, and her innate understanding of the words subtle and nuance.

Mac took in my outfit of choice for tonight and added, "Oh yeah, and I like the innocent cupcake look. Doing a little damage control, are we?"

Smiling broadly, I held my arms out and curtsied in obsequious response to her mental acuity. I was a sweet, feminine confection in a high ponytail, pink silk top and tight, winter white slacks. I was even wearing brown heels. No all black for me tonight; looking like a dominatrix was no way to help the cause.

I was sure the Northfield grapevine drums were beating loud along the Mohican. I'd be getting all sorts of crap from friends and acquaintances tonight. Waiting around to go out in public wasn't going to do me any good. Mac was spot on; I was planning on showing John Q Public things couldn't have possibly been as bad as they'd heard at Bel's Books just a few hours before.

I skimmed over the Luke part of Mac's question by saying he'd be at our family dinner the next night and could decide for herself if he was Superman or Jimmy. I pointed at the duffle and indignantly told her what Candy had done.

"That shit's so weak! She's out of control. You never mess with someone's gun." Mac shook her head in disbelief.

"I know, right," I agreed, smiling tightly.

From the doorway, Jazy said, "Candy needs her ass kicked up between her shoulder blades. Margaritas are served, my sisters. Now Bel, start talking."

I moaned while following them into the kitchen. "Ah man, can't we do a mind meld instead? I just want to eat, drink, and be happy. Then go dance and not say a word for hours."

Jazy patted my shoulder. "Embrace the suck, Anabel. Embrace the suck."

Mac and Jazy laughed merrily at my expression.

Kenna wasn't joining us and I was relieved. I love my second oldest sister, but there has been a constant strain between us due to old history and bad blood that prevents me from fully relaxing whenever she's around. It may have something to do with the fact she's pals with Candy. It may have something to do with the fact that she's changeable and unreliable. She and Mac get along like oil and water. Mac's pretty straight and Kenna carries around her own pharmacy. You could take your pick of reasons; I was simply glad she wasn't around tonight.

The six of us were a lively group sitting around Mac's kitchen island on bar stools eating nachos and drinking margaritas. Stella and Anna took turns filling the others in on the blow-by-blow recounting of the day, so I didn't have to talk much after all. I was able to kick back and mostly listen while my five favorite females excitedly dissected the mystery of the missing Cheryl Crookston and the horror story of Larissa's ex.

I smiled in the right places and occasionally commented, but I found myself still feeling like I was outside my own skin looking in. I wanted to relax, but I pushed away my drink. Apparently, the tequila wasn't calling my name. My right foot was jiggling my leg up and down like it was motorized.

I took a deep breath and tried to center in on what was causing my unrest. It was hard to determine if I was still experiencing an aftermath from today, or if I was anxious over something else. I concentrated on breathing slowly in and out, the girl's conversation a pleasant buzzing in the background. I emptied my mind of any conscious thoughts of Luke, or any of the other people bugging me from today.

I didn't come up with any answers, but I was ready to go when the dishes were stacked neatly in the dishwasher and Mac announced we should hit the road. I felt like a livewire strumming with energy.

Our group walked Stella out to her studio door and said our goodnights. She was having a friend over to watch a movie. We had to tease her when she confessed it was a male friend, who was not really just a friend, yet nothing more than a friend, at this moment in time. After that clear answer, the most she would say was his name was Eric George Jasnik and he was totally cute.

Everyone climbed into the van, leaving me the front seat. I guess it was my special night.

Before I opened my door, I whispered to the waiting Stella, "Hey, is this the dude you've been helping so much lately in the Sci-fi section?"

She grinned, putting her hand up above her head. "He's about so tall with blondish-brownish hair and a butt courtesy of lacrosse?"

I grinned back. "Ah, male sports are a wonderful thing. Don't do anything I would do, you hear?"

"When am I going to be old enough to do what you would do?" Stella laughingly demanded.

Squeezing her shoulders, I gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. I opened the van door. "Silly girl, when you're my age, of course."

Stella sputtered, "You've been saying that for years, Auntie Bel, you damn brat!"

I laughingly waved and Tre J honked lightly as we left. Stella waved back before climbing the stairs to her studio. By habit, like a well-rehearsed dance move, all five of us craned our heads to watch until we saw her door close and Stella was safely in her apartment.

Chapter XII

"Smackwater Jack" by Carole King

Saturday 11/17/12

8:40 PM

We were on our way to the Castle Rock N' Roll Bar and Grill, or The Rock as it was called by us locals. It was about ten minutes north of Northfield. The bar sat at the lonely junction of two county roads miles from nowhere. It was a hot spot known for hiring local bands great to dance to on the weekends. The Rock packed the house nuts to butts, but not until closer to ten o'clock most Friday or Saturday nights.

With all the pent-up energy I was feeling, I didn't care if we were unfashionably early. We'd get a table and I could lose myself in dancing for a couple of hours on a less crowded dance floor.

A Colbie Caillat song came on and Anna started us off "I do, I do, I doing" from the back. Soon the van was swaying on its axles, as Tre J whizzed us out of town.

It was fun to cut loose and act wild, singing to the loud music and seat dancing from the waist up. It didn't take long for Mac and Jazy to start changing the words of the song to something nasty. Anna was screaming with laughter from the very back seat while Tre J pounded the steering wheel. Tre's belly laugh was so contagious, soon we were all screaming in our laughter.

I don't think any of us knew what had happened when our van was first rammed abruptly off the road. Dangerously tilting, it changed our wild laughing into real screams of confused terror.

The front and back wheels on the passenger side hit the sloping, asphalt shoulder at sixty miles per hour, causing the van to violently rock and sway.

"Hold on!" Tre J bellowed. She did not use the brakes, but took her foot off the gas to slow us down to a safe speed. At the same time, she fought the steering to keep the van steady and not roll or flip us, as we sailed half on and half off the road. The shoulder was paved here, and not the deeper gravel that would have almost guaranteed the van rolling at this sloping grade.

Glancing in her side view mirror she shouted in enraged disbelief, "That van rammed us!"

At the word "van", I whipped my head around. It was dark. I couldn't see past everyone's heads in the back, or through the tinted van windows. I could only see headlights racing up behind us again.

"He's coming after us! Hold tight everyone!" I shouted. Tre J was scowling with concentration. "Can you get us back up on the road and go faster?"

"Oh, hell yeah!" She instantly wrenched the wheel to the left.

The passenger side of the Chrysler followed and shot up over the ledge of the blacktop shoulder.

We were level on all four wheels again, but were soon shrieking and yelling in terror because the van went barreling across the middle line and into the headlights of oncoming traffic. Tre J immediately compensated by punching it while sharply yanking the steering wheel back to the right. Fishtailing wildly at first, the van straightened out. We'd made it back into our own lane right before a semi-truck bearing down on us had sailed past in a whoosh of rushing air. The semi's blasting horn sounded off angrily. The truck had narrowly missed creaming us by a split second.

Swiveling to look behind, I snapped off my seatbelt while cheering on a white-faced but determined Tre J. "You're doing great! Go, you wild woman! He's right on our tail GO!"

Jazy screamed a rebel yell while Mac shouted over her, "What's going on, why is this guy after us?"

Anna screamed frantically from the back, "It's the man in the van from today! He's trying to kill us!"

I had the duffle bag in my lap, but had to fall on it to keep it from flying when another smack hit us from behind as the killer van crashed into us again. The hit was hard on the back left bumper and caused us to swerve sharply, but not hard enough to knock us off the road this time. Thankfully, Tre J has experience driving big rigs. Now that she knew what was happening, there wasn't a better person to have behind the wheel. She didn't panic. She held the van steady and we were pulling ahead while flying at over ninety.

Jazy yelled out a warning. "Curve's coming up soon!"

Tre J nodded grimly. She reluctantly eased her foot off the gas pedal. "Damn! He's catching up again!"

There were no headlights in sight coming towards us, so Tre J kept to the middle of the road.

The three girls in back cried out, "Hold on!"

The van was rocked violently from the left side, rear bumper once more. The back end tires were hopping and stuttering as they slid out to the right. Tre didn't hit the brakes, but again took her foot off the gas and went with the slide, only lightly steering. I thought we were going off the road and would flip this time for sure, but then the tires gripped and shot us out forward in the right direction. We all held on for dear life, and then cheered in noisy relief while screaming encouragement to Tre.

She kept ahead of the van behind us, swerving back and forth in a random pattern to not be such an easy target. There were no oncoming headlights, but the curve was fast approaching. We couldn't take it going this speed without serious problems.

Tre was chanting furiously, "Shit, Shit, Shit!"

I finally had the duffle opened and my Glock out. I slapped in the full magazine and racked the slide to chamber a round. I hit the button to lower my window.

At the sudden blast of cold wind, Tre J dared a quick glance over at me. A beaming grin the size of the Mississippi broke across her tense face at the sight of the gun in my left hand.

Jazy saw it and pounded her seat. "Yes! Shoot the crazy fucker, Bel!"

Mac sat forward to see around my chair. "Get him, Sister!"

Shouting to be heard over the sound of the air screaming in through my open window and the louder screaming coming from behind me, I instructed Tre. "Go ahead and slow down. Keep to our right to lure him. Let him almost catch up, and then I'm going to hang out the window and shoot back at him. When he gets close you have to swerve to the middle of the road so I have a better shot at him. Got it?"

Eyes on the road, Tre J let loose a war cry. "Got it!"

Jazy unbuckled in a flash, knelt between the seats, and faced back. "Don't worry, I'll tell you when to shoot!"

Anna and Mac yelled they'd tell me, too. I quickly turned to the open window and sat on my right knee, angling myself to face backwards. I put my left leg straight out and down, sticking it into the space between the seat and the door, planting myself. I held the gun tightly in my left hand, resting the barrel on the window ledge. I held onto the top of my seat with my right, hugging the headrest.

Tre slowed down abruptly. The wind had whipped stray strands of my long hair into my face. It was a good thing it was up in a ponytail tonight, or I'd be blinded.

Anna was saying prayers and shouting play action from her lookout seat in the back. "Let her get him, let us be okay, here he comes, let her get him...here he comes! Oh man alive, Junior, HERE HE COMES!"

Pulse racing, I was amazingly not scared or nervous. I visualized how I was going to shoot back at the van and where I was aiming. Then I was AWOLing, wondering whether it was possible a person could use up all the adrenaline in their adrenal glands before the body could produce more. I focused abruptly when I felt the van veer over to the left. Bracing myself, and holding tight onto the headrest to prevent falling over between the front seats, I heard three yells of "NOW!"

I leaned out with the gun. Aiming behind us and to the left, I started pulling the trigger with no hesitation. When shooting, my gun makes the expected booming sound. The noise was deafening without ear protection. That was the last thing I heard for a while.

The gun jerked in my left hand with the small recoil from each shot, but I knew what to expect. I religiously practiced shooting my weapon on the range at the Dakota County Rifle Club. I held on as steadily as possible with just one hand and fired behind us until the ten shooter clip was empty. I saw tracers from bullets meeting metal or pavement. I couldn't tell where they were hitting in the blinding mix of glaring headlights and black darkness of the night.

I leaned back in and ejected the empty clip. I snatched the half-full magazine off the seat under my knee, and prepared to keep shooting.

That was when I realized our van had slowed to a stop on the side of the road. We were parked under the pool of light cast from one of the infrequent lamp poles along this lonely stretch of highway, about twenty yards past the curve.

When I had first started to shoot, I'd felt a hand slip down the back waistband of my slacks and firmly clutch a bunch of fabric to hold me steady. I didn't believe I'd been in danger of falling out of the window, but I now had one heck of a wedgie.

Squirming on my knees in discomfort, I felt a tap on my right arm. Mac's face was relieved and smiling. She was motioning behind us.

I read her exaggeratedly enunciating lips. "He's gone! He turned around and left!"

I nodded, grinning widely. I took my finger off the trigger, but still kept the gun in my clenched grip. I wasn't ready to trust he wouldn't come back. After a few moments, my hearing was returning a little. Everyone was exclaiming over what had happened and talking at once.

I raised my voice. "Did I hit him?"

Anna was jumping with excitement. "I saw sparks bouncing off the van, so you hit that. I don't know if he got hit, but the maniac slammed on the brakes and turned around. He drove off like a bat out of hell right as we came out of the curve."

I grinned over at Tre resting across the steering wheel. "Guess who now has to be sober cabbie all the time? You were unbelievable, girl!"

Tre J blushed while we all extravagantly complimented her driving skills.

Jazy smacked my shoulder, laughing. "Speaking of sober; good thing you didn't drink your tequila tonight or this could have ended much differently." She shook her head in wonder. "To think we have Candy to thank for stealing your gun in the first place!"

I swore so fluently, Reggie would have been proud. They all burst out in hysterical laughter.

Tre J calmed down enough to say, "My sister isn't going to be happy."

That set us all off again, and we let out our relief with laughter and jokes about what we'd tell her sister. Seriously, I reassured Tre J that I would take care of her sister's deductible and rental car if need be. That set off another round of debates, but I held firm. Since I was probably responsible for the man in the van trying to smash us to pieces, I'd pay for any resulting out-of-pocket costs. Tre J's a struggling student without a pot to piss in until she finishes her schooling and starts work in her field.

Not knowing when the man in the van had started following us, Mac called and checked in with Stella. She told her an abbreviated version of what had happened. Her friend, Eric George was over, and Stella promised the door was deadbolt locked. She'd put a chair under the knob for insurance.

We all then climbed out shakily to inspect the damage to the van. I still clutched the Glock tightly in my left hand, but with the barrel pointing down along my thigh.

Circling the vehicle, we were pleasantly surprised to see only minor damage; a broken left taillight reflector, a few small dents, and white paint scrapes on the back bumper. It had felt much worse.

In the silence, we all stared at the white paint scrapes. It brought home how close we'd become to being road kill tonight. Strangely, no cars had passed us since the semi that had almost crushed us, and it was eerie standing out in the cold night on the deserted county road. We were all crammed together, so close our arms were touching.

Tre asked, "Did anyone call 9-1-1?"

We all looked at each other, nobody saying a word.

Groaning, I said on a laugh, "Ah, we are SO in trouble!"

Again, everyone started speaking at once. Mac finally had the loudest, definitive last word. "It happened so fast and we had to save ourselves. It wasn't safe to try to call the police! What would they have done? Talked us through it?"

"Good, then you can call Jack and tell him exactly what happened," I suggested magnanimously. "A call to the police might have nabbed this guy before he could drive away in his killer van and disappear."

In the hushed quiet of the night, we stood contemplating our close call and the call we knew we needed to make to Chief Jack. The loud ring tone made everyone jump. By habit, I'd slung my purse over my shoulder when we'd exited the van and it was my phone.

I saw who it was and answered, "Good God, it's only been two minutes and I was going to call!"

Jack Banner's reply was brusque. "What are you talking about? Never mind, where are you, Anabel? I'm calling to advise you to stay home and locked in tonight, preferably not alone. Make sure your gun is nearby and loaded."

He hadn't heard my news yet, but his didn't sound so good, either. "Why, what's going on?"

"We think we've identified the man from today in the van. I have a mug shot for you to check out. If it's this man, I don't want to take any chances you might become a target after he saw you in the parking lot today." Jack's voice was deadly quiet, a clear indicator of how serious he considered the situation. "He's a very bad customer, Anabel. He's a known homicidal-serial rapist."

"Holy Crap! Okay Jack, listen to all I have to say before you freak out. First off, we are all fine. I am on the side of Highway 3 a few minutes from Castle Rock. I'm with the girls in Tre's sister's minivan. We were going out dancing. On the way, this van came out of nowhere and tried to run us off the road. To make a long story short, I think I'm a target." Jack was no longer calm. He was swearing loud and long under his breath. "Wait, let me finish. I had my gun in the van because Candy had dropped it off over at Mac's after she...uh... borrowed it from me, so I shot at him after he rammed us. I shot a full clip. He drove off. We're alive and the van is okay. What should we do now?"

"Hold on a minute." I thought Jack was going to be irate that I was in trouble again, but I heard only concern in his voice. This psycho must be really, really bad. I heard the sound of a door closing in the background. Jack spoke again. "It was lucky for you girls that you had the gun tonight. Christ almighty, why did Candy have your gun in the first place? Have you lost your mind? You know what, never mind. I don't want to know right now." I rolled my eyes at Jack's impatient, unflattering assumptions. "Are you out of ammunition? I assume you didn't kill him?"

"I have five rounds left, but he's gone. Like I said, he took off, so he probably wasn't dead."

Jack sounded irritable. "Let me rephrase. Did you hit him?"

"No way of knowing." I was feeling equally irritable.

"Okay, okay, you did right." He sighed. "Note where you are for my team and then go to Castle Rock's. I want you all safe off the road. Stay in the van double-parked near the entrance. I'm sure the man is long gone and you'll be fine, but keep your eyes out and your gun handy. I'll be there in five minutes."

"Police are on the way," I told everyone. They had all silently listened to the phone call from my end. I cleared my throat. "Jack said the man is a majorly bad dude, a killer-rapist."

We all scurried into the van and locked the doors.

Tre started the engine and turned on the heater.

"Jack's crime fighters will probably need to do whatever they do to the van. I bet we can't drive it tonight."

Tre groaned at my comment while pulling onto the road and heading north once again. I held the loaded gun in my lap. My gun permit is for Concealed Carry, but I don't believe anyone minded the reassurance of seeing the weapon.

"Should we keep a look-out in all directions to be sure he doesn't sneak back? Until the cops come?" Mac suggested.

"YES!" was the unanimous answer. Everyone was happy to have something to do, even if it was to watch a dark road and the darker fields around us.

Mac brought up a point I was silently mulling over. "He had to know forcing us off the road while going that fast could kill us all." She caustically added, "Not that I am complaining he didn't try to rape us first, but I wonder why he wanted us dead?"

Anna's voice was raised and angry. "If he's partners with that Ron Hansen butthole, I think he wanted to get Anabel for saving Larissa today."

"He's a fucking insane individual, that's why," Jazy stated.

"In a nutshell!" I agreed wholeheartedly, shivering. I peered down the black road behind us, in case talking about the killer conjured him up again like in a Jeepers Creepers flick. Nothing would surprise me tonight.

There were no further sightings of the van the last couple of miles to the bar. We followed Jack's instructions and stayed in the van without parking, although we stopped down a few car lengths from the entrance.

Mac was on the phone with Diego. Jazy was also talking to someone. Tre J and Anna were staring diligently out their opposite windows, scanning the lot and people around us.

I kept watch out on my side while I was silently debating if I should call Luke. Jack had said I shouldn't stay alone, and I sure agreed with him. I was seriously freaked out by all that happened. The idea of being stalked by a killer serial rapist was terrifying, even with a loaded Glock 9mm in my hand.

As if reading my mind, Jazy ended her call and spoke from the back. "Reggie's insisting we go to his house after we're done here. I don't feel like dancing anymore, even if Jack says we can. What do you think? Reg's having a poker party tonight." She grinned. "The idea of being surrounded by lots of men sounds appealing."

Tre J chuckled. "When doesn't it? I'm spooked as all hell right now. I vote for your brother's house."

Mac ended her call and had been listening to us. "Diego is picking me up. He's offered to have one of his employees drive my car here if they are keeping the van. You girls can have wheels," her big sister gene won out and she went on, "or maybe you all should come home with me? It's too bad our night out is cut short, but I agree with Jazy. I want to feel safe at home with my man."

Jazy coughed into her fist, "Your boy."

Mac stared her down. "What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything."

"I know you said something."

Helpful middle sister that I was, I piped in. "She said 'your boy'."

Mac glared at Jazy with slitted eyes.

Jazy grinned in return. "Oh, don't give me that look. You call me your baby sister, right? Is Diego not younger than me?" Jazy continued triumphantly, "Ipso Fatso he is 'your boy'!"

I helped again. "Now she's talking fancy smack. She's calling your boy toy a 'fatty' in Jazy Latin."

Anna burst out laughing while Mac and Jazy turned on me.

I held up my hands in defense. "Just translatin'..."

Tre turned in her seat and growled a scary "back off" warning at my sisters.

We all laughed. It lightened the tense atmosphere in the van. Jazy told Mac she wanted to borrow her car for the night and head for Reg's. She loved poker. Mac agreed and texted Diego our plans.

Anna spoke up from the far back, "Mac, if you could drop me off, I want to go home."

Tre J peered at her worriedly through the rearview mirror. "Anna, what's up with that? You don't want to go to Reg's and be surrounded by seven or eight dudes with bulging muscles?"

"Not when I can have Aunt Lily and her cane," Anna deadpanned.

We were still snorting when Jack pulled up in his SUV, a uniformed cop riding shotgun. I was relieved to see his craggy, grumpy face. With this psycho on the loose and gunning for me, I was more worried about my sisters and friends then I realized. I didn't know why this man was after me, but I'd never forgive myself if they were hurt because of something I did. I unloaded my gun and zipped it away in the duffle.

Jack opened the side door, leaning in. "Girls, tell your statements to Officer Nelson. I have drawings to show Anabel."

Climbing out into the chilled air in the well-lit parking lot, I chuckled seeing the young, dark haired cop swallow manfully. He was trying not to look overwhelmed in front of his chief when four talking women bombarded him before he even got near.

With my back to the girls, I paused long enough to say in a voice only the young rookie could hear, "Tell them oldest talks first and all will be well." He gave me a surprised, grateful look of relief and I nodded solemnly in return.

Jack grabbed my elbow and escorted me into the passenger seat of his truck. He climbed in behind the wheel and immediately shoved a single paper under my nose. There were six pictures of different men on the paper. I instantly recognized the man in the van from my parking lot this afternoon and tapped that photo. In this picture, his eyes looked deadly malignant staring out at me. Was it because Jack had told me the guy was a monster or did he really look that heinous? I sent up a silent plea never to be close enough again to find out, and pushed the paper away.

I concisely described to Jack what happened from the beginning. None of us had seen the driver tonight or gotten the van's license number. Anna said she tried to see the front plate from her perch in the very back, but had no luck.

Tentatively, I asked, "Am I in trouble for shooting my gun?"

Jack squeezed my knee. "Not on my watch, Anabel. You have four eye witnesses stating the van was deliberately hit with intent to harm you." His next works erased any relief I was feeling. "Listen, I know that's your only handgun and you have it all legal, right and tight. I really don't want you without a weapon while this joker is out there, but I have to confiscate your gun as evidence. It may become necessary for ballistic tests." He squeezed my knee again. "We need to follow the rules, so that when we catch this guy it sticks, understand?"

I gulped and nodded. I didn't know why I wasn't expecting this and felt a moment of panic. I hit the button to roll down the passenger window halfway. The cold air helped calm the anxiety of being left defenseless. I knew many people with guns. I would not be defenseless for a second longer than it took to borrow one. It wouldn't be registered in my name, but if it came to me defending myself or being killed, I guess I'd worry about the fine print later. For tonight, there were seven or eight guys with bulging muscles at my brother's.

Or there was Luke across the road.

Jack was watching my face. His lips twisted in a knowing way. "We'll get you a legal replacement immediately. Until then, what has Uncle Jack always told his little angel?"

"How would I know what you've told this creepy, little angel you refer to so often? You've always told _me_ to get them coming, not going." I must be feeling more myself because I was a tiny bit happy to see the smirking look on the Chief's face replaced with his usual snarl. "Since you are absconding with my gun, are you having us tailed to Reggie's to make sure we aren't killed on the way?"

Jack turned his face upward, contemplating his choices.

I waved a nonchalant hand. "Hey, it's no problem. I can take care of myself. I'll walk into that bar and borrow a gun from someone I know in two minutes."

"I should have horsewhipped some respect into you when you were young." Jack's shark grin was a scary, rare sight.

I smiled sweetly. "Oh, excuse me. Let me rephrase. I can walk into that bar, borrow a gun from someone I know, and take care of myself, Sir Chief!"

Jack reached over the center console and patted my cheek. "That's better, Nancy Sinatra."

I suffered the pat and cocked my head. "Nancy Sinatra, hmm?"

"Aha! Will wonders never cease...I got you! Miss Know-it-all doesn't know everything!" Chief Jack crowed so loudly that the girls and Officer Nelson looked over our way in surprise.

He waved them off in scowling irritation.

I saw Mac fold her arms and give him a slow stare. I laughed to myself. Jack Banner was in trouble now. Nobody waves off MacKenzie Angelica Axelrod DeVere Dos Santos in irritation. Pain and suffering were sure to follow.

I got out of the SUV and went over to the van, reaching in to grab the duffle bag with my gun. Walking back to Jack's driver side, I handed it over with a sad little shake of my head at his gloating expression and quirking lips.

Keeping eye contact and backing up, I started humming. Then I started snapping my fingers, shaking my shoulders slowly, and singing in a low voice to a few bars of, "These Boots Are Made for Walkin."

I flipped my long ponytail behind my shoulder in farewell and wheeled around to join the group around Officer Nelson.

Walking away, it felt great to let loose a huge grin when I heard Jack's deep voice threaten behind me, "Why, you little...One of these days, Anabel, one of these days."

Chapter XIII

"Don't Speak" by No Doubt

Saturday, 11/17/2012

9:45 PM

I was finished talking with Chief Jack and Officer Nelson about police business. Other cops were around doing their police work, but our parts were done as witnesses or victims, or whatever we were this go around.

The third time better be the charm. I was fed up with everything I wanted to do being interrupted by potential crimes and criminals. It was supposed to be my weekend off; not a never ending episode of Reno 911, Northfield-style.

Mac, Anna, and Officer Nelson had been whisked off by Diego, but not before Mac's husband shot me an accusing glare for putting his precious in danger.

I was also really fed up with the men in my life being pissed at me. It wasn't like counseling a friend over his missing slut wife, kicking an abusive ex-husband for attempting to kidnap my employee, and shooting at a serial rapist intending vehicular homicide was my idea of a fun Saturday.

I'd held out my arms to Diego, palms up in supplication. "Hey, I didn't PLAN for this to happen! Mac, don't let your husband look at me like that!"

While Mac scolded Diego in my defense, Anna and I hugged. "Ah, June, don't let Diego get you down. What does he know?" Her smile was still a little shaky. "I will say you sure keep your promises. We were singing before we broke out flurrying."

I squeezed her and stood back, shivering as a cold gust of wind swirled around us. "Yes, we were. I'm sorry about missing the bunny hop part. I feel crappy about that."

She sniggered, straightening her teal scarf around her neck. "Next time we'll get the dancing in." She patted my shoulder consolingly when I groaned dramatically at the thought of a next time. "I'll call you tomorrow."

It wasn't hard to conclude why she'd rather go home versus hanging at Reggie's. Poker party night probably wasn't her idea of the perfect venue for a State of the Union relationship talk with my brother.

Tre J, Jazy, and I took off in Mac's family sedan, a Honda Accord. We were being shadowed by Jack in his SUV on our way to my brother's.

We were getting close to the turn off for Lake Roberds. I still hadn't made up my mind if I was going to ask Tre J to stop by Luke's first to see if he was home, or go with them to the poker party.

Seeing Diego so lovingly concerned over my sister made me wonder how Luke would react to tonight's fiasco. This unusual thought made me wonder next how I hoped he'd react. Due to the overactive, filthy imagination I was blessed with, I couldn't help but picture Luke's image in the mirror in my bathroom when he had his arms around me with such bold hunger on his face. Still feeling a bit queasy over the rapist's attempt to end our existence; it played over again in my mind how warm and safe I'd felt with my Hero's arms around me before I'd passed out downstairs in Bel's.

Both emotions were extremes, one all about driving, sexual desire and the other about blissful, sweet comfort. I couldn't deny tonight I wanted to be wrapped around Luke and receiving a combination of both reactions.

I didn't need him, but I wanted him.

Guess I had made my decision where I wanted to go. Now I only had to figure out how to accomplish this without Jack, currently attached to our rear bumper like a barnacle, knowing what I was up to. I didn't have much of a choice whether Tre and Jaz knew where I was staying tonight, but if I could manage it, they'd be the only people knowing. After tossing around ideas in my head and mumbling to myself, I came up with a plan.

The music was on low in the car because the three of us were back to hashing over what the man in the van's ongoing connection was to Larissa's ex.

Despite my curiosity, it was par for the course Chief Jack hadn't divulged much info on the dude to some pesky, female civilian. I was told his name was Gustav Hammerschmidt. I was warned 'not to run my mouth with my friends too much and keep my eyes open' since I seemed to have caught his eye."

' _Where was Luke when somebody really needed to be called asinine?'_

From his viewpoint, I understood Just-the-Facts Jack reasoned what more did I need to know once the words 'very bad customer and homicidal serial rapist' were spat past his tightlipped mouth?

From my viewpoint, why do men find it so hard to comprehend us girls like any scrap of detail we can get to gnaw over as we build a big, fat case of anxiety driven what-ifs to stress uselessly about in the short term?

Even Gustav's name was scary. We all heartily agreed due to his violent sexual propensities, he probably had a prison nickname of The Hammer. How would your average man, if he was a woman, like knowing he was being stalked and attacked by a female-hater known fondly by his slammer companions as The Hammer? Girls crave all the details. Details allow us to make intuitive leaps to conclusions that sometimes make no logical sense whatsoever, but were often unerringly accurate.

Jack was right about one thing Officer Nelson was a very nice man. After I had given my statement, and while Jack had his back turned, Mac and I had double teamed the blushing cutie. We quickly persuaded him to tell us every fact and opinion he knew about this Gustav Hammerschmidt.

Officer Nelson, Brad, had some good stuff to share. Gustav Hammerschmidt had a long history of being in and out of state mental hospitals and jails. He and Ron Hansen had been cellmates in Dakota County Jail for the last year. They had also participated in jail inmate programs together. Anger Management was the latest program. (We were all silent a beat after Brad told us that fact.) This meant they had spent a heck of a lot of jail time together. The Hammer had been in Dakota County for almost two years. He was doing time for a third degree assault charge resulting from a fight in a strip joint off Highway 52. In the meantime, Wisconsin tried to get their case together to prosecute him for nine rapes occurring around the Madison area in 2010. The last rape resulted in the girl dying from the beating he inflicted. They knew without a doubt he was their man, but the chain of evidence was compromised on the DNA samples. Careers were ruined, and the prosecution refused to charge him if they couldn't make their case. Having him off the streets in a Minnesota jail was better than nothing.

Driving through the night to Reggie's lake house, we talked over those details. Jazy tried to get some more dirt on The Hammer's background, but her cell didn't get internet service in the car where we were. It seemed improbable to me this man would feel the need to hang around town and terrorize me because he gave a fellow inmate a friendly lift. He should have beat cheeks to avoid police interest. Of course, this was a man who had chosen to be a serial rapist and a murderer as his major hobby. What seemed probable to me might not apply here.

Jazy suggested The Hammer could want to date me and this was how he got a girl's attention. Tre J's opinion was he was in the Aryan Brotherhood. Ron was his butt buddy and fellow brother, and so now he was out for revenge. Both of their comments had me thinking, analyzing, and leaping.

So I called Jack's cell.

"Wait, Quickdraw, don't tell me. Somehow, even as I follow your vehicle, you've got another crime against mankind to report."

I nobly ignored his flesh ripping. Secretly, I always appreciated some good, old-fashioned sarcasm to lighten up my night. It made me feel better to know Jack started it when I inevitably retaliated.

"Have any of your minions checked on Larissa tonight?"

There was dead silence and I thought I'd lost the call. Then Jack exploded. "Did you swear to God to me not five hours ago to not get involved in police business?"

"Mmm...sort of, but yet, not exactly. So moving on, I did swear to tell you anything I found out." I spoke to him nicely without stooping to his level of sarcasm. "Can you go with me here, Jack? Would that be so hard? You're just driving along singing to the oldies on KQ and reliving your glory day, anyway."

That's right, I stooped even lower.

I heard his grunt and decided that meant yes. "Okay, we know Ron Hansen was intending to kidnap Larissa out of Bel's today while threatening he was going to make her very sorry. Meanwhile, out in the parking lot, Gustav was waiting. Do you think Ron promised Gustav a poke at Larissa for his help? Could that be why he is after me now? I ruined his fun and must die? Have you verified Larissa is safe?"

Jack swore quite loudly, but nowhere near as inventively as my brother. "I meant you should report FACTS to me, if you learned any. Not call to trade theories, or question if I am doing my job!"

"Here's a fact. You are acting very rude tonight. Why shouldn't you listen to my theories for two seconds?" I was part amused and part offended at his obtuse hard-headedness. "Have you conveniently forgotten it was me that noticed his van in the parking lot today, Chief Yellsalot? If I hadn't theorized we'd be clueless who attacked us."

I heard Jack's cell beep and a faint background squawking from his police radio in his truck. He sounded distracted when he ended our call.

"Listen, Larissa's fine. Stand by."

My phone buzzed a moment later.

Jack spoke without preamble. "Something's come up. Eyes open, Anabel. Call Reg and let him know you're turning onto the lake road. Text me you're safe within ten minutes."

Fun and games aside, I reassured him instantly, "Roger that. Thank you, Jack."

"I've notified the locals of the situation. They'll be keeping an eye out around Reggie's place throughout the night."

"Great, I'll warn the drinking poker players."

Jack slowed, flashed his lights, and did a U turn. We all watched his fast retreating taillights disappear down the dark county road behind us. The clock on the dash read 10:09 PM.

"I wonder what's happening that would make Jack leave us before we get to Reggie's. For all his grouching, I know Jack thinks of us girls like we're his special needs kids." Jazy hurried on, "Not that I'm worried about Hammerschmidt."

Turning onto the road circling the lake, Tre J located the switch for the car's brights and lit up the narrow road ahead of us.

She was chuckling at my sister's comment. "Anabel's lucky she's not his kid. She'd probably walk with a permanent limp."

There was a snigger from the back seat. "I bet Jack dreams of spanking her."

"You twisted sister!" I exclaimed in disgust at my deviant sibling over Tre's laughter.

I had no idea what police business had Jack peeling off, but I was keeping my fingers crossed they had picked up Gustav Hammerschmidt. My life was going to suck until this dude was caught somehow and put back in a cage.

Sinning and moral debates aside, was it terrible of me to wish it would be a coffin and not a cell?

I don't think it was, either.

However, Jack's leaving did make my life simpler right now.

"Before we go to Reggie's, do you chickies want to see where Luke lives?"

Jazy leaned forward between the bucket seats. Tre J stopped the car. She turned on the dome light. Both women were staring at me in astonishment.

"What?"

I could see the shock plain on Jazy's face. I think it was the wide-open mouth and wider eyes that clued me in.

She finally said, "You realize we've never met Luke, and only heard about him for the first time..."

Tre J interrupted excitedly, "I've _never_ heard you even mention a man's name you're dating! Now that I think about it, I don't remember you even going out with the same man more than a couple of times since what's his name..."

I interjected to avoid, avoid, avoid. "Give me a break, I only asked if you wanted to see where he lives. I never said anything about going out with anyone. Luke's become a friend of mine." I diverted. "Hey, just what the heck do you mean by I've never gone out with a man more than twice?"

The girls started guffawing at my righteous protests.

Jazy answered first. "Oh, Bel, puh-lease. It's been your pattern to stop going out with men after one or two dates for years." Her voice turned musing. "I'm envious of your talent for keeping them as friends. I haven't mastered that feat and I'm feeling the hate lately." Her voice got brisk again. "Not that it's a bad thing, but it seems like you're always in control. We've never seen you fall for anyone, have we, Tre J?"

Tre agreed with a smiling shrug at me and took her foot off the brake. "She's right, we haven't."

Jazy poked me in the arm. "Who do you think you're talking to here, huh? You think we're brainless and couldn't figure out why you want us to see his house?" She impatiently shook her head. "It's a classic move, Sister. It's the smart way to check out if a man's home without having to call him. Also, you don't have to tell your friends what you're really up to or how much you like him." She paused and it was so pregnant, birth was eminent. "What exactly are you up to, Bel?"

Tre J nodded again in agreement. "It is a classic move, Bel."

"It is? Huh."

Jazy's blunt statements certainly put to rest any question in my mind where Stella had inherited her lack of subtleness and her rat terrier tendencies.

I leaned my head against my window, covering my eyes with my hand. It was my turn to laugh at me. I might not like hearing what my sister said, but that didn't make her wrong. I was performing a classic move and checking out a man.

I had never checked out a man before in this way. I mean, I do criminal background checks, sometimes credit checks, and even mental health checks, but didn't everyone?

This house checking was a new concept for me. I was a novice at the classic moves since I had never cared what a man was doing when I wasn't with him. Nor did I worry about losing face when stopping over, probably because I never did stop over. It was an unsettling feeling.

I didn't think performing a classic move signified I was falling for Luke. It only meant I was going to take him up on his earlier offer to hang together tonight due to my own plans falling apart. I didn't want to interrupt by calling him if he had plans with someone else. That could be awkward. That's all I was up to.

No, the thing that floored me most was realizing I must be seriously losing it to have come up with this unworthy plan to put one over on these two worldly, talented fiends. There was no excuse for it. I knew perfectly well what these two girls were like.

Everywhere we go, Goddess Tre fights off men throwing themselves at her size eleven feet for the fruitless chance to worship at the altar of her voluptuous magnificence. I say fruitless because Tre J was a twenty-seven-year old virgin saving herself for Mr. Right and marriage.

No lie.

Tre just may be the oldest voluntary virgin, next to Aunt Lily, in Northfield, or perhaps even Rice County. Not that I thought any man would voluntarily put it to Aunt Lily unless under the threat of death. But to give the Behemoth her due, she has been the most zealously faithful bride of Christ outside of a Carmelite convent a woman could ever claim to be.

On that note, is it wrong to be sorry as hell for poor Jesus Christ?

I don't think it's so wrong, either.

My little sister approaches life a little differently. Jazy treats her men like she works her horses. She expertly culls a prime piece of flesh out of the herd. She saddles him up and rides him relentlessly until he breaks to the bridle to her satisfaction. Then she cheerfully gives him back to his owner, a more submissive, well-trained mount that could now even perform a showy trick or two.

The glass of the car window felt cool against my cheek. I was feeling sleep deprived, yet full of strange, manic energy a disturbing combination. My fun weekend off kept throwing me curves. Feeling punchy with relief at surviving the latest near miss, it was no wonder that all my filters and fences were down. That was the only explanation for me so clumsily messing up my need-to-know rule like an amateur with Jaz and Tre.

When life throws me curves, it's only logical to bend and acknowledge what my choices are to achieve my goals. In this instance, I might have to flex my beloved, control enthusiast rules just a smidgen and not go it alone. I might have to take on partners and form a temporary triad.

' _Okay_ , _I can do this. This is my sister and good friend, after all. Not a couple of enemies at the gate.'_

I dropped my hand and smiled. "So, was there a 'Yes, you do want to see his house' somewhere in all that?"

Tre J whooped and Jazy laughed, punching my shoulder in camaraderie before sitting back. The Dome Light of Truth was turned off. We passed my brother's driveway on the right and kept going. Absently rubbing my sore arm, I cautioned Tre J to be on the lookout on the left for the unique mailbox of a John Deere miniature tractor identifying Luke's turn off.

I had been to Luke's house once before when he had needed to pick up his wallet. I had waited in the car that time. I was curious to see the inside of his house tonight. It was odd to know him so intimately, yet not know such basic things about his everyday life. My stomach was fluttering in anticipation of seeing him so soon again.

Jazy was the resident expert on classic moves. "Let's kill the headlights and coast quietly up the driveway."

I didn't comment on Jazy's directive to go in dark, this was their bailiwick, but I flicked off the radio. I knew Luke was hyper-aware of his surroundings. If he was home, I was counting on him to ask questions first and attack second. Hopefully, he believed in taking prisoners.

I had a suggestion for my new partners. "Let's wait a second here in the dark just to be doubly sure we weren't followed. I'll text Jack we're okay, so he doesn't freak and call Reggie."

Jazy whistled. "Crap, I'd already forgotten. Good idea. I'll text Reggie to expect us in ten. I'll text Mac we're safe, too, or else she'll be all over our ass."

Soundlessly, I whistled back my admiration. What a team of competent connivers we made.

We waited a few anxious minutes in silence. Not seeing any vans lunging out of the darkness, we decided the coast was clear around us. I texted Jack as he'd instructed.

Tre, guided only by the light from the moon and stars overhead, slowly drove the bouncing Honda up the open, rutted lane. The tree shrouded farmyard was fifty yards ahead of us.

As we crept closer, I turned and grinned at Jazy in the backseat. This was fun being sneaky. I couldn't believe I've never tried this before. She grinned back, a flash of white teeth in the dark interior of the car.

We entered the inky darkness under the canopy of dense trees. Tre J slowed to a stop until her night vision further adjusted.

Here the road did a loop into a big, circular driveway. I recalled in the grassy center of the circle were massive groupings of huge lilac bushes. It was late autumn and they were bare of their leaves, but the tangle of thick branches still created a barrier preventing us from seeing the other side of the driveway and the whole house.

From where we were stopped, it was possible to see a front porch light was on outside. It spotlighted the cement stoop and iron railing of the mid-century style rambler. The bushes blocked a clear glimpse of the whole house, but enough lights could be seen twinkling through the branches that it appeared Luke was home.

After a moment's thought, Jazy directed Tre J to go slowly to the right. Tre J turned the wheel and crept towards the house.

Clicking open her seatbelt again, Jazy scooted forward and softly explained her logic to me. "We need to be able to see what's going on without committing you. It's a rambler, so there's probably a picture window in front, right?" She must have sensed my nod in the dark car. "We can't get out of the car here to surveil. It's too far away. It would be uncouth if we were caught looking in his windows." I giggled at the word and the image. "If we can get the car close enough, then maybe we can verify Luke's home alone without getting out. If we can't, having the car close makes it acceptable to be out walking near his front window like we were going to the front door."

"Hot diggety, Jaz, you really know your stuff! I had no idea classic moves need so much devious strategy." I was in awe at the unforeseen depths of my baby sister's ninja stealth knowledge. "Here I thought if he's home, I'd just go blundering up to the door and ring the bell."

Jazy and Tre J let out similar oaths of whispered surprise, "Don't be such a stupid ass!" and "Oh, that wouldn't be smart, Bel!"

Not offended by their words, I found myself smiling to be creeping up on Luke's house. I was holding my bated breath while Tre J inched us closer to the dwelling and it became more visible.

Tre buzzed down her window partway, head cocked and listening. We could all hear it then, the sound of loud music playing.

"He must have a window cracked somewhere."

Jazy murmured, "This makes life easier. You hear that song? It's Radiohead, good choice."

Tre fervently agreed in a quiet undertone, "I love Radiohead."

She inched the car to the end of this leg of the driveway, right before it jogged left within a few feet of the foundation of the house. Tre J had hugged the left side of the lane. We were quietly idling, a dark car shadowed by the giant, looming lilac bushes.

I was dutifully peering ahead, trying to see inside the living room through Luke's picture window. It was lit up like a small theatre stage. From our angle, I couldn't see too much. Only the back of an empty chair, a lamp, and an arched doorway leading into darkness were visible.

My cell phone buzzed loudly in the quiet car. I quickly grabbed it. Using my purse as a covering, I saw a text from an unknown number. Curious, I read it quickly and blew out a surprised breath.

I have important news. Please allow me to tell you. All I ask is 5 min. Mike McClain

Glancing up at the sudden tenseness in the air, I heard Tre's cautiously murmured, "Well, well, what do we have here?"

"Tre."

Shoving my phone in my purse, I forgot Mike's text to concentrate on what was happening. At my sister's one word instruction, Tre smoothly put the Honda in reverse and we were backing up.

The car stopped. Jazy then made her move. She slipped out and shut the car door with a soft click. Poised for Jazy's action, Tre J was on it. She had reached up and covered the dome light with her gloves. When I glanced back in the direction my sister had gone, there was no sight of her in the black night around us.

I didn't know yet what had them curious, but I was impressed with their tandem movements. They worked together like a well-oiled machine. I speculated on what these two were up to in their spare time. Did training horses together and being roommates explain why they'd be so in sync, or could Jazy and Tre be a couple of Peeping Thomasinas?

"What's going on, Tre?"

"Look over my way at about ten o'clock. It's through the bushes on the side of the house. Can you see it?"

I sat forward and strained to see where she pointed. It didn't take me long to see it, too. Staring fixedly, I couldn't look away from the sight of Candy's light blue Honda Civic parked in Luke's driveway.

My mind scrambled to comprehend. I thought back quickly over the past two months for clues to understand why I was seeing Candy's car at Luke's. My cousin had been over at Reggie's on the Saturday morning I'd first met Luke last September. I had to assume Luke met Candy at least that once. I would have definitely remembered being sick if Luke had mentioned hanging out with Candy in any of our ensuing conversations. I didn't vomit frequently enough not to distinctly remember the experience when I did.

As if to prove my thoughts, nausea now replaced the excited butterflies in my gut. Staring at her car, I had to conclude this meant one of two things; Luke was dating Candy or he was friends with her. Either way, he hadn't mentioned her name to me. I never told him anything about my past with Candy, so he didn't know I despised her.

' _Holy Hell! Was Luke Drake the "mysterious man meet" Candy had bragged to Mac about earlier tonight?'_

Luke and I had no agreement of exclusivity, but would he be so crass as to be with my cousin? I also realized, exclusivity clause or not, those had to be jealousy pangs twisting up my innards at the idea of Luke being with another woman. Mixed with the pangs of horror that the woman could be my cousin Candy, and I was fighting the need to hurl.

I guess there was a third, remote possibility that could not be overlooked. Candy had shown up out of the blue at Luke's house. He wasn't seeing her, or friends with her. Maybe he'd let her in because she was selling Girl Scout cookies at ten o'clock at night and he was a good citizen.

Did I say earlier Fate was trying to kick my butt? Obviously, I misspoke. Fate was trying to kick my ass, my gut, my head, my ankle you name it. This was a total body slaughterama of a weekend. I was stuck here watching my past comingle with my future. It was like having to sit through the repeated telling of a cosmic bad joke.

I fell back in my seat while muttering darkly, "Why does everybody think Radiohead's so frickin' great, anyway? They're nothing but a bunch of New Age Pink Floyders."

Chapter XIV

"Rolling In The Deep" by Adele

Saturday, 11/17/12

10:37 PM

With gentle tolerance, Tre reprimanded me over my Radiohead comment, as if I was a cranky preschooler who knew not what she said.

I sat waiting with outward calm for Jazy's return. Inside, I was a snake pit of seething emotions, barely hanging onto my temper. Not racing to the door and finding out for myself what was going on took every ounce of self-control I possessed. I really despise waiting around.

I practiced my yoga breathing. I came to a decision. Luke would get the benefit of my doubt unless proven untrustworthy, but not Candy. She knew exactly who she was messing with tonight.

Candy and Reggie were aware I had a first date with Luke minutes after it was arranged last September. I hadn't been very subtle grilling Reggie about Luke when he'd left. Reg had teased me unmercifully in front of Candy about Luke and me sniffing after each other like dogs in heat. There was no way Candy didn't know I was dating Luke.

Candy Anne MacKenzie has been living on borrowed time for the past nine years and now she needed to die.

Candy takes after her mother's side of the family in looks. You would never guess we're first cousins or even related. She's fond of informing people she resembles the celebrity, Tori Spelling. It's true Candy has bulbous, brown eyes.

During our teens, she'd acted possessed over the fact that I had a larger bra cup size than she did. Candy threw tantrums and made my uncle's life miserable over this issue. It goes without saying, her daddy soon bought her a new set of boobs. It also goes without saying, once Candy got her way she went big as in ginormous. Two porn stars would be envious. Paired up against her thin, slight frame, Candy's melon-sized breasts appear painfully huge in proportion.

At first glance, my cousin is an attractively packaged woman, complete with factory warrantee. Candy's skin is tanned mahogany, her hair's bleached white blonde and long with extensions, the teeth are whitened to that weird purplish-white hue, the make-up is always piled on, the eyebrows are plucked to thin, black half circles, and the eyelashes are false. She dresses and accessorizes expensively with Uncle Trevor's credit cards, but her taste continues to be questionable. That's from years of Anna and me indirectly influencing her fashion choices, but more on that later.

I'm sure Candy sees herself as a desirable hoochie mama that every man lusts after.

I saw her as a walking toxic dumpsite.

Satisfying as it would be to pull Candy out of Luke's house by the roots of her Chernobyl blonde hair, and give her a dermabrasion treatment she'd never forget on the gravel drive tonight, it wasn't going down that way. My beef with her was of long standing duration. It was not going to be about Luke.

As far back as I could remember, Candy has gone to extreme lengths to get whatever I have. If she could take it from me while doing so, even better.

She's three years older, so this caused some problems for me when we were kids.

It was no fun having my G.I. Joe go disappearing from my room, only to later show up at her house, in her room. She vehemently denied taking it, of course. Since her parents bought her anything she remotely desired; Candy had some wiggle room to smugly squirm out of trouble with the adults.

Not with me, though. I knew every inch of that G.I. Joe. I'd paid for that man doll out of my hard-earned Chore Chart money. He was mine.

After seeing her smile of evil satisfaction at the look on my face when first seeing her completely redecorated bedroom, I had Candy's measure. It was crammed with the entire collection of the Princess Pink Ruffles canopied bedroom set that I'd drooled over endlessly.

When I'd woken up from a kitten nap in my room after a big, Sunday dinner to the sight of my nuttier-than-a-fruitcake cousin about to snip off my waist-length braid, it was all out warfare.

My age, or size, has never stopped me from scrapping when necessary. Jumping up with a shout that day, I'd tripped Candy to the floor and sat on her. I was planning on shearing her like a sheep in retribution. The scissors were a hairsbreadth away from taking the first hunk off her scalp when NanaBel had burst into my room in response to Candy's hysterical screams of terror. Biting her lip, our Grandmother had coaxed me down from the heights of my nap-groggy fury. It was later that same day NanaBel had exacted my first begrudging, disgruntled promise to go easy on Candy.

Since I had given my word to not physically take her down, Anna and I spent many constructive hours on the serviceable bunk beds in my room devising ways to watch Candy dance on our strings like a Tasmanian Devil puppet.

Our strategy back then was laughably simple and almost always worked. We'd first allow Candy to eavesdrop on our private conversations. I would profess to desire something like a certain person, or a really cool sweatshirt with bejeweled cat eyes. Anna and me would then sit back and watch the fun unfold. My kook of a cousin moved heaven and earth to acquire any objects or persons of my supposed affection.

Were Anna and I wrong to believe Candy had a moral choice? If she hadn't spied, then she wouldn't know what I wanted, and it wouldn't work for us to be puppet masters extraordinaire.

That's what we thought, as well.

Candy had dressed very strangely for years. Anna and I had felt kind of bad for siccing the seventeen-year-old Candy on the thirteen-year-old boy with the terrible acne problem. But he'd actually dumped her first and moved on to become quite the stud.

As we got older, I learned to avoid Candy. I was busy with my own life and friends. We hung with different people and our paths crossed only occasionally at family functions. There were enough people at those gatherings to easily ignore her presence. I grew unconsciously adept at being wherever Candy wasn't. I'd almost forgotten she was demonic.

Until I was nineteen.

I was working long hours at Bel's while my one and only boyfriend, Mike McClain, was going to school his sophomore year at the U of M. Mike and I'd been hot and heavy for over two years, wildly in love. I would visit him on campus as much as I could get away, and he'd drive the hour commute to be with me several times a week. Our relationship together had been as close to perfection as I could imagine at nineteen, and we've already established the status of my imagination.

Mike and I had been planning to spend that upcoming weekend at a big blowout party at one of his friend's cabin up north. The day we were due to leave, NanaBel and several of the bookstore staff came down violently ill with a nasty stomach virus. It was impossible for me to take off the time to go to the cabin. Totally bummed, I had still encouraged Mike to go ahead and have fun with his friends. I'd be working all the time that weekend, anyway.

Mike went to the cabin on Friday, and at first, I had been amused as the reports started trickling in from concerned friends late on the following Sunday afternoon. Nobody knew the precise details, but several people called or came into the store to exclaim over my break-up with Mike. Candy had been boasting she had been with Mike up north over the weekend. The grapevine was working at top speed. Casual friends assumed we'd broken up and they just hadn't heard yet.

It was news to me, too. Mike and I had talked briefly on Saturday afternoon and there had been no talk of breaking up. It was the opposite. Giggling, I had to beg him to hang up and let me get back to work while he continued to say very sweet things to me. He hadn't even mentioned Candy and my sister Kenna were at the cabin party.

I'd checked my cell repeatedly and had no calls from Mike, but I still blew off what I was hearing. I was sure he'd come over Sunday night the minute he got back in town. He'd tell me what was up, if anything, in regards to Candy's gossip. There was no way Mike would ever be seduced by Candy.

Not too long after I had closed the shop, my sister, Kenna, came to see me. I'll always give Kenna credit for facing me and telling me the truth. She had understood I'd be hearing stories and had come immediately to the apartment after the store closed.

"Yes, it is true," Kenna had uncomfortably confirmed for the second time. She was miserably sticking to her guns. I had gotten in her face and accused her of bullshitting me, despite the swear to God I'd hotly demanded from her at the start of the conversation.

When push came to shove, Kenna had shown up at the apartment to tell me what she knew out of loyalty as my sister, and to clear herself of any wrongdoing or involvement in my eyes. She may be buds with Candy, but she has no problem looking out for number one.

Kenna had sheepishly admitted she'd noticed Candy was flirting quite a lot with Mike, but he hadn't seemed interested. She hadn't thought anything of it really, it was just Candy being Candy. She said Mike had spent his days boating on the lake and his nights hanging with a group of guys.

Everyone had spent Saturday night drinking around a bonfire. After her second beer, Kenna started feeling really wasted and tired, probably from all the exercise and sunshine. She had gone to the tent she shared with Candy and passed out.

Kenna woke up early the next morning to go pee and she had been shocked speechless to see a nude Candy atop an obviously naked Mike. They were going at it. She'd realized then it was his disgusting moaning and groaning that had jarred her awake. She said it was like he was being tortured.

Not knowing what to do, Kenna had crept out of the tent. She ended up in their car. She had slept in the backseat until Candy found her a few hours later. Candy assured my pissed off sister on their drive home that Mike had come on strong after Kenna took off for bed. He had informed Candy that he was planning on breaking up with me and had always wanted her.

After my initial burst of enraged disbelief, I never said a word during Kenna's recital. Once I knew Mike had fucked Candy, the rest of the story didn't register past my numb misery. Except maybe the bizarrely odd detail of Mike's tortuous moaning and groaning. I never knew him to be such a moaner, but if I was a dude; I'd find it tortuous to screw Candy, too. They'd have to draw and quarter me first.

Unfortunately, there were no circumstances I could come up with that could mitigate what my sister had seen with her own two eyes. Believe me, I tried.

Mike McClain, the love of my young life, screwed my cousin. The moment Kenna appeared at the top of the stairs and I saw her guilty, evasive expression, my brain knew Mike McClain was not worth another moment of my time.

It just took a couple of years for my broken heart to catch up to my brain.

Other than briefly telling Anna what Kenna divulged to me that night, and informing my family we'd broken up, I never said Mike's name again. I never spoke to him again. What was done could never be undone with words.

That bleak, Sunday evening, I learned I am not a forgiving woman.

Maybe some people can truly forgive, or forget, such a personal smack down. I'm not one of them. I am not forgiving, but I will forget you until you cease to exist. Not like I never knew you or what you did, but more like you are now a nothing to me.

When Mike had called several times, or came to the apartment and the store, I had ignored him and walked away. He was dead to me.

There's a whole world out there of people willing to treat you decently, so why stay with anyone willing to betray you?

Stay out of love? Love yourself enough to deserve better. People who love you don't betray you the first time. Unfortunately, if you stick with them, the odds are high they will do it again.

Stay out of friendship? Adults who are your true friends do not betray you, or throw you under the bus. Your true friends care enough to never seriously want to bash you around with words or actions.

Stay out of fear of being alone? Accept it and get over it. We are all ultimately alone.

Stay out of pity? Don't get me going on pity again.

I look at the people I love in my inner circle as beautiful gifts on loan while I trek through my life. I try to treat them with affection, respect, humor, interest, and understanding. They need to return the honor, or else why are they in my inner circle?

Sure, nobody's perfect and you don't dump someone for quirks or minor faults not if you value them. You need to be understanding of their issues, too. But the level of betrayal I'd been dealt from Mike McClain went far beyond a minor flaw or quirk. Time had proven that I could forget he'd ever existed, but I'll never forgive him for teaching me that terrible lesson of personal betrayal.

My unpleasant jaunt down memory lane was cut short when a light tap sounded on the back window of the car. It was Tre J's signal to cover the dome light. Jazy slipped into the back seat.

I couldn't see her shadowed face in the darkness, but her voice said it all. "It's not platonic. You want details?"

"No." I turned and faced the front. "Let's go."

I sensed Tre J's concerned glance, but she put the car in reverse without commenting.

"Wait!" I whispered fiercely. Tre took her foot off the gas immediately. I swung around to Jazy. "One."

Jazy didn't hesitate. "She was bare-assed on his lap with his face buried in her tits."

Tre J whispered in abhorrence, "That is fucked-up!"

I didn't say anything, but sat forward again and made a curt motion for Tre J to drive.

We were slowly bouncing back down the rutted lane. The headlights were still off. Tre J wasn't using the brake, so no indicators of our presence would be visible out in the open as we were. Keeping my mind a blank, I flipped the radio back on to fill the charged silence until we pulled into Reggie's a few minutes later.

There were several cars and big trucks in his lot. He had an outdoor light mounted high on a pole overlooking the parking area, so the side closest to the house was well lit. Tre J parked near the porch and turned off the engine. None of us made any immediate moves to open our doors.

From their expectant air, it must be customary to say something in closing to your classic move triad partners. After all, they couldn't help but notice you were still in the car due to your target having his face buried in your almost dead cousin's balloon breasts.

I felt cold with rage. Not a very pleasant emotion I particularly wanted to share with anyone. Luckily, I was an old expert at hiding those types of feelings.

Reflected in the yellow light shining down from the pole above, I smiled ruefully at their serious expressions. "I don't think classic moves are such a good idea for me; they are stressful."

While Jazy and Tre J were laughing in relief at my quip, I reached for my purse and opened the car door. "Come on, ladies. Don't we have something like nine men with incredible biceps waiting for us a few feet away?"

They followed me out of the car and Jaz called over the Honda's roof, "Nine? Are you including our brother in that total? Gross!"

"I'm gross? Au contraire, Miss Lucrezia, you are the one with the incestuous thoughts tonight. First it was Jack and now Reg. Where does your sick mind dwell?"

Tre hooted, slapping Jaz on the back and sending her forward a few steps. "Her mind is in the gutter, like always."

"We can't all be Vested Virgins like some woman I could name," Jaz sniped back while squaring her shoulders. "Tell me again, how is it fun holding back from the buffet of life?"

Meeting them at the front of the car, I teased my word challenged sister, "Try Vestal Virgin, not vested. Unless you meant Tre's a western-style, cowgirl virgin?"

Tre shouted with laughter and Jazy grinned, taking my correction in stride with aplomb after years of such abuse.

"Jazy, do you really think Tre holds back at the buffet of life? I'm thinking she may not partake in a full plate of happiness, but she sure gobbles up the appetizers and desserts!"

Our guilty, blushing friend Tre commanded us to stop. "It's not fair being Axelrod tag teamed!"

Ignoring Tre's cry for fairness, Jazy kept laughing. "I know, right? If I hadn't known Tre J since we wore pull-ups, I'd believe she was one of those females raised very strictly to be a virgin until they are safely pawned off and married. You know, the girls that pretend to be goodie two-shoes, but they're actually slut monsters? They perform every sex act known to man, except vag penetration." Jazy posed angelically, her hands together in prayer. "Then they get married a pure, innocent virgin."

"What! You bitch!" Tre J shouted in outraged laughter.

"Do you remember Lydia Lee in my class?" Jazy asked us. She was wiping her eyes and barely able to speak over her laughter.

I nodded vigorously up and down. "Holy Crap, who could forget Lydia Chlamydia? She was famous for having anal sex with any boy who had a car in our high school. That crazy chick was something else."

"Ahhh, but was she still a pure virgin, my sister?" Jazy asked archly.

"How dare you girls talk about anal sex while on your brother's property!" Reggie's deep voice calling from his front porch interrupted our huddled laughter. "Now, who is this Lydia Lee and where can I reach her?"

Tre J was groaning and shaking her head as she strode up the front steps. "Not another Axelrod to gang up on me! Besides, you probably 'reached her' back in middle school and have long forgotten, Reggie."

"Well, I know I've never reached you before, honey. When are you going to admit you want me bad?"

I watched Reg get knocked off kilter a couple of steps by Tre's playful punch. As we joined them on the porch, Jaz cheered her on to take our brother down.

I was getting chilly without my jacket on. Under the laughing and joking front, I ached with a heavy sense of miserable loss. I was also livid with anger every time my mind touched on the image of Luke across the road with my cousin.

I tried to shake off the depression, reaching instead for the fury. At least that kept me strong. I thought Luke was a man of character. I had given him credit for having way more depth than the typical player using any woman that crossed his path.

Upon first meeting him, I'd known Luke was driven and highly sexed; the testosterone rolled off him in waves. My mistake was underestimating Luke's level of control of his appetites if he didn't get what he wanted, when he wanted it. I'd also given him credit for a level of maturity and discrimination he obviously hadn't possessed. Even in my disgust, it wasn't like I thought he wanted a "relationship" with Candy, unless it was with her humungous mammaries.

' _My God, this sucked!'_ I shuddered in repugnance at the thought of Luke being with me and then going to be with Candy a few hours later. I took solace in the thought that since Luke was that kind of man, it was better to face it now and move on. It justified my inner voices telling me to stick to my rules and walk away intact, like always.

Jazy squeezed my arm, and I glanced over to see her watching me. I dredged up a smile. "Let's go raid Reggie's kitchen."

Reggie stepped over and enveloped us in a group hug. "I thought you were scared little chickens after tonight. Instead, you three are out here laughing it up without a care in the world. Don't I finally get to be the tough, protective brother?"

Jazy snorted. "Did hell freeze over tonight when I wasn't looking?"

Tre J and Jaz were giggling at Reggie's offended expression as they entered the house.

"She's so fresh. I try hard, but you can't be nice to that girl." Reggie sighed sadly, and then peered closely at me. "So, Shooter, how are you?"

I made a face. "Why don't you distract me and tell me how much money you've won so far with your cheating ways. Let's do it in the house, though. I'm really freezing my butt off out here."

"Cheating?" Reg scoffed. "I see you're still bitter I took your money last month." His voice turned cajoling. "Come on, Junior, tell me what happened tonight. Hell, it's not every Saturday night a man nearly loses all his nemeses, I mean his sisters, at once." He grinned and opened the storm door for me. "It's not like I paid the idiot to miss."

I sniggered a little and obligingly filled him in. Sticking to the bare facts, it took only a minute. The house was not overly warm, but definitely better than standing outside in a thin, flouncy shirt and no coat.

Absently listening to Reg rant and rave on the ways he was going to inflict damage on The Hammer's sorry ass if he found him first, I gazed distractedly around my brother's place.

The entire first floor, except for the tiled bathroom, was now installed with gleaming, oak hardwood flooring. The living room was furnished with two leather sofas, a big recliner, and two end tables with lamps. Reggie had a giant flat screen TV where, lo and behold, a cable sports channel was on with the volume turned low.

Winding down on the butt kicking scenarios, Reggie headed to the kitchen for a beer. I stood back in the shadow of the doorway between the living and dining rooms, unnoticed by the boisterous group in the next room. Leaning a shoulder against the wall, I smiled faintly at the scene I observed.

A pedestal dining table and chairs had replaced the temporary card table and chairs. The table was extended open tonight to a large oval. Several men sat talking and laughing, sprawled out comfortably in their chairs. Richly fragrant cigar smoke curled lazily up through the air to be disbursed in the slowly rotating ceiling fan. Full ashtrays, beer bottles, and short glasses of hooch were scattered around the table. Bowls of chips and pretzels were at their elbows. Cards were lying face down in front of each man, and piles of poker chips in staggered heights and colors were stacked near their drinks.

It was the quintessential setting of a group of men having a good time together with no fussy female interference. The traditional male normalcy of it all made me glad I'd come over here after the last few hours of craziness. I wouldn't dream of emptying their overflowing, smelly ashtrays.

I idly noticed the patio door was ajar to let in some fresh air, which accounted for the cool temperatures. Two chairs at the table were currently unoccupied. One had to be Reggie's, since it had the TV remote planted front and center and the chair faced the living room. As I skimmed the room with a quick glance, I saw a few of the guys looking my way. I waved my hellos in return to their various greetings.

Jazy and Tre J were in the thick of things in the dining room, entertaining the men with our Death Race 2012 adventure. From the looks on their faces, nobody seemed to mind the break in the poker action.

Jazy seemed unusually animated. Her arms were gesturing in emphasis with her words. It reminded me of Stella a zillion years ago this morning talking to Eric George Jasnik in Bel's. From my post of leaning against the doorway, I soon figured out the reason why she was so energized. Jaz was chatting primarily with a man I'd never seen before, a very attractive American Indian. The man wore his hair pulled back in a long, thick braid. On him, the braid did not seem one bit feminine. Instead, it only emphasized his chiseled profile and high, broad cheekbones.

Reggie came from the kitchen carrying three bottles of beer, handing two off to the girls. He toggled the third in my direction, but I shook my head no. Beer's not a favorite of mine. I motioned I'd get something in a minute.

Reg slid into his chair. My eyes went to the empty chair where a larger pile of chips was stacked. I pantomimed a sad face at Reg, pointing out how he wasn't in the lead. He rubbed his cheek with his middle finger in a brotherly gesture.

It reminded me of the last time I had given him the finger that way, and I sighed in disgust with myself. I wasn't doing such a bang-up job of coldly putting Luke out of my mind. The problem was life had been really fun these last couple of months. Luke gave brightness to my days that I hadn't known I'd been missing for a long time. I felt depressed knowing Luke was an asshole and not going to be part of my inner circle. I was starting to get ticked again thinking about Luke turning out to be a dickhead.

' _What a jerkface, buttwad, tailchasing...'_

Sam Sheedy, a friend of Reg's from school, stood to unfold a card chair from the pile leaning against the wall. Sam faltered when he got a glimpse of my dark scowl, but then he recovered.

He spoke with bluff heartiness, "Why, it's the beautiful Anabel. Don't be shy and hide back there. Here, sit down next to me. Heard you girls got yourselves into a spot of trouble tonight?"

His attitude set my teeth on edge. I always expected Sam to be wearing a bow tie and suspenders to match his projected air of pompous superiority. He was three years younger than me, but by his jocular tone you'd think he was my grandpa. He was the last asswipe I wanted to be around tonight.

"Well, Sam Sheedy, we girls didn't "get" ourselves into anything. If you're referring to the attempt at vehicular homicide by a murdering serial rapist attacking us for insane reasons we may never understand, then the answer is yes that did happen tonight." I smiled grimly and politely excused myself. "I'm going to make something to drink in the kitchen."

I turned around and decided to go use the facilities first. My ponytail could probably use a redo, as well. I was back to fiercely calling Luke names. I timed them to my footsteps down the short hallway off the living room leading to the first floor bathroom.

' _Idiothole, assclown, bitchtard, fuckblossom...No, that one was too nice...duckfucker, dicklicker. Oh yeah, Mr. Manly would hate that one!'_

I said it aloud for my own cheering up entertainment, "Luke Drake is a duckfucking dicklicker." Happy with the result, I said it again louder, "Yes, it is true. Secret Agent Luke Drake is a big, fat, lying DICKLICKER."

The bathroom door abruptly swung inward at the same time I was knocking to see if it was occupied. I stumbled into the room and threw my hands out to keep from falling. They landed against a hard chest. I looked up. The word DICKLICKER died on my lips as I stared up into puzzled, but amused bottle-green eyes _._

Chapter XV

"Brighter Than the Sun" by Colbie Caillat

Saturday, 11/17/12

11:07 PM

I know the least I can about quantum physics and theories, but even I couldn't help knowing a body can't be in two places at one time in the Northfield area. To be absolutely sure Luke could not accomplish the feat, I'd verify with Crookie tomorrow what the advances were in this field. In the meantime, my heart was singing and I was doing back flips down the hallway in my head, of course.

My life was again blazing in Technicolor brightness. I needed sunglasses to keep staring at Luke and not be blinded by my reflected exuberance that he wasn't The Betrayer 2.0.

Luke had stepped back into the bathroom. He was leaning against the vanity with his arms crossed on his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles. He no longer looked tired and rumpled, or amused. He lounged back with a glint in his eye.

He reminded me of a sleek panther ready to pounce, but in his own good time after he'd played with his prey. I could easily imagine his tail snapping lazily back and forth as he contemplated me. He had changed clothes from earlier today and was wearing a long-sleeved, black shirt and jeans. The T-shirt was pushed up his forearms and fit close on his chest. With his arms and legs crossed over pulling his clothes taut, I was admiring his ripped body. Maybe he wouldn't wait too long to attack.

Luke was giving me the dark once over I was becoming used to that signaled he was not happy with me. The one where his black eyebrows met, and there was a crease in his forehead, and his eyes glittered, and his sensuous mouth got that slightly cruel twist. The fingers on his right hand were drumming where they rested on his upper arm, a sure sign he was in think mode. I love it when he goes into think mode.

In an idly musing tone, Luke spoke first. "I have not the remotest clue why you're calling me a...duckplucking dicklicker, was it?" He glared down at me. "Aside from that, I didn't think it could be possible, but I'm even unhappier with you now then I was this afternoon."

His last comment broke the spell of my lustful meanderings. I nodded in fervent agreement. "Ha! You're telling me! Why, I positively hated you until one second ago, you disgusting creep. It was duckFUcking, not plucking. Now, come with me."

I took hold of Luke's hand. I forcibly pulled him with me, waving off his glowering "What the hell!" expletive.

Instead, I laughed at his irritated expression. He wasn't done reaming me for not calling him about The Hammer. Well, he would just have to wait before he got to exact his pound of flesh and I got the fun job of soothing his savage beast.

"Quit bellyaching and come with me. There are a couple of people you absolutely have to meet." I skipped down the hallway with him in tow, urging him to hurry.

"Bellyaching?" Luke repeated ominously. Curious, he allowed me to pull him along, but squeezed my hand in warning that I was pushing it.

Squeezing his hand right back, I grinned at him over my shoulder. Then I couldn't resist stopping to reach up and kiss those delicious lips of his. I pulled back and lightly stroked my fingertips up and down his lean, bearded cheek. I took in his black scowl.

"You, my big, pissed-off, tail snapping, black panther of a sweet, little kitty cat are so unbelievably cute!"

Taking advantage of Luke's stunned silence while he processed my latest endearments; I peeked around the corner into the dining area.

I called an urgent "come here" to Jaz and Tre J.

All the men turned to watch as the girls hurriedly worked their way towards me around the crowded table. Their two faces were wearing similar questioning looks at my excited, laughing tone. I was grinning from ear to ear and probably looked loony, but I didn't care.

' _This was going to be so good!'_

I waved to the room at large. "We'll be right back." I then whispered, "Female stuff."

Predictably, six of the men immediately put their heads down at those words. They all suddenly felt the pressing need to study their cards carefully. Except for my brother, but he was used to female stuff and weird behavior from his sisters. He only cared the girls didn't block his view of the TV for too long.

The other exception was Jazy's friend with the long braid. I was surprised to notice he was slowly scrutinizing me over his cards. When he caught my eye, the man lazily leaned back in his chair and lit a thin cigar. Each slow draw hollowed out his cheeks and accented his strong, prominent bone structure. As he puffed, eyes black as midnight met mine with an inscrutable stare. He didn't do anything overt, yet I felt as if I was being measured or evaluated. He looked down at his cards, but I had the impression he was smiling slightly even though his face hadn't changed expression. Not that his face had an expression to begin with.

' _Okay then, strike very attractive. He was gorgeous. Jazy better watch her step with this one or she'll be the filly learning new tricks for a change.'_

Luke was standing impatiently behind me out of sight in the dim hallway. When he went to move, I forgot all about Jazy's potential problems to give his arm another yank.

I hissed on a laugh, "Please, will you stay put for just one blasted minute?"

Luke was literally growling when my sister and friend rounded the doorway.

Tre was first in the hallway. "What's up, Bel?"

I didn't answer immediately, but switched on the overhead hall light.

I stepped aside with a flourish. "Jazy and Tre J, meet Luke Drake!"

I chuckled at Jazy's immediate frown of confusion and Tre J's tentative glance of puzzled confusion. I turned to Luke and saw his polite, wary confusion.

"Luke, meet my little sister, Jazy and our good friend, Tre J."

They did the "Heys" and "Hellos" while I rubbed my hands together.

"So Jazy, does Luke look familiar to you? Have you seen him around town before? Perhaps sitting around somewhere, hmm?"

My sister started chuckling. "No, Bel. I can honestly say that I have never seen this man before in my life."

Tre J threw me a questioning widening of the eyes. At my smiling nod of affirmation, her confusion cleared. She was soon laughing as hard as Jazy.

Luke stood silently. He coolly observed the women introduced to him laughing like hyenas for no discernible reason. It wasn't very courteous they were laughing at him, but he'd understand why soon enough. It was minor suffering compared to the amount of misery he had caused me for twenty-three minutes and forty-two seconds.

Jazy got control and casually said, "Nice to meet you. I feel like I know you already."

Beside her, Tre J choked on her breath. Luke shot her a concerned glance before looking back at Jazy and nodding a curt greeting.

All business now, my sister gave him a quick appraisal. "So, have you boys been playing poker long tonight? Or did you just get here, after slipping in through the patio door and you can't really say what time they started?"

I had no trouble deciphering Luke's glance my way. He thought my sister and her questions were odd. He knew something was overall odd. I couldn't wipe the grin from my face.

He was leery of answering the openly skeptical Jazy. His already creased brow lowered more when Tre J took a protective step nearer to me at his hesitation in answering.

"I've been here since about seven tonight." With a smile that didn't reach his eyes, he added dryly, "Through the front door."

The girls visibly relaxed. Jazy disappeared back around the corner without another word. I had no doubt she was off to corroborate his story.

I patted Luke's arm. "Of course you used the front door. Do you have a gun on you, Luke?"

At this non sequitur, Luke was finished cooperating. He put his arm around my waist and spoke to my friend, "Tre J was it?"

At Tre's wide, brilliant smile Luke paused, struck. He was taking in her Junoesque stature and Mount Olympus beauty. Being one determined and focused man, he resolutely shook it off. "It was...nice meeting you, but would you excuse Anabel and me?"

Without waiting for her answer, he led me back down the hallway the way we'd come.

Over my shoulder I called to Tre, "Goodbye, I'll be with Luke Drake!"

Before returning to join the others, my tall guardian suspiciously watched Luke marching me away. "You scream if you need me."

I laughed as Luke muttered, "Christ."

He opened the door across from the bathroom. He swore when it proved to be a small room impossibly jammed full of boxes and tools.

He pulled me over to the last door and impatiently threw it open. Before this door bounced back off an obstruction and slammed shut in his face, we caught a glimpse of another disorganized room. It was full of random exercise equipment and more boxes. All the boxes were wedged tightly around a pool table heaped high with sporting equipment.

Luke blinked twice at the closed door two inches in front of his face. He had caught a tantalizing vision of a treasure trove. Then he was right back on point and demanding irritably, "What is wrong with your brother? Does he have any rooms that aren't stuffed with crap?"

He was heading for the bathroom door again and I protested through my laughter, "Wait! Please, not the bathroom again! Not in my brother's house."

Without a word, Luke suddenly turned and kissed me.

There was no soft, leading up kisses and no tenderness. The kiss was explosive and white-hot, and exactly what I needed.

In response to his powerful onslaught, I threw my arms around him. I met his hungry mouth with all the tempestuous emotions I'd kept inside all evening. Somewhere in our impassioned kissing, I was aware of his hands grasping my ass and hiking my body up higher against him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on tight for the ride. This was a dangerous, pushed out of control Luke letting go. He didn't give a damn about anything but showing me a thing or two. I thrilled at this side of him, and then I went up in flames and let him consume me.

I don't know how many minutes he kissed me, and then swore at me in a fierce undertone for driving him crazy. Then he roughly caressed me, all while threatening me with extreme punishments for being in danger. Then he rocked against me with such raw aggression that our wildness caused my head to bang back loudly against the hallway wall.

The thumping sound of my head smacking the wall caused a millisecond of clarity. I remembered we were in an open hallway with ten, noisy people around the corner.

The pain in the back of my head reminded me that I'd lost my mind. Unless I wanted ten curious people seeing me with my pink flouncy top twisted up around my neck and my pink lace bra cups pulled down to fully expose my breasts, I'd better stop Luke before I was stripped naked and done against the wall. I was regretful only my head was getting banged, but I was not into extreme exhibitionism; or at least not when I was lucid.

I was also not into denial and I wanted to be horizontal. I softly kissed the top of Luke's bent head.

"I asked if you had a gun so we can go somewhere for privacy, but we could shoot The Hammer if he pops up."

Luke's mouth was on my shoulder and working his way down. It wasn't easy to stop his determined hands while being pinned on the wall like a butterfly with his body as the large, hard pushpin.

I felt his tenseness when he slowly returned to reality at my words. He reluctantly let his hands slide off my breasts to hold my hips. He watched my hands with heavy-lidded eyes as I wiggled into my bra and pulled my shirt back down.

His eyes closed briefly while he rubbed his jaw with one hand. After a moment, his eyes opened and he smiled wryly. "Okay, I'm listening. I understood some of what you said, except the hammer popping part."

Unwrapping myself slowly from around his waist, I let my legs slide to the floor. I nudged him slightly away from me, so I could stand on my own two shaky legs.

"The Hammer is the rapist who tried to kill us tonight. Since I shot at him, Jack took my gun as evidence."

Luke's fingers smoothed escaped strands of my hair back behind my ears. I sighed as one curling length sprang right back again into my eyes. I had to be a mess after the last couple of hours.

His touch was gentle, but I had reminded him of my evening's adventures. He laughed shortly. "Yeah, I've been waiting to hear from you about this guy since Reg told me earlier tonight. The Hammer, huh?" He shook his head and repeated, "Christ."

Curious how he'd respond, I was breezy. "Let's go to your house right now and get your gun. I can tell you there all about what happened tonight."

"Oh, we don't need to go to my house. I always carry my weapon with me. The job, you know." Luke shrugged insouciantly. His voice didn't betray one flicker of hesitation in answering, the little devil.

"Do you have two guns with you?"

"No, but I can get you a weapon tomorrow." He put his hands on my waist and pulled me closer. "Don't you think I can protect you tonight?"

Okay, he was a big devil. "Hmm, weren't you telling me it's better to be prepared?" I gave him my best beguiling smile and ran my hand up his arm. I softly traced and massaged his biceps. I was fascinated by this man's muscles, so that was no hardship. "You only live right across the road," I lowered my voice, "and we want to be alone, right? I do need a gun, too. Doesn't it seem like a perfect idea to go to your house?" I caressed his other arm. "You don't want me defenseless, do you?"

Restlessly tapping a finger against the wall above me, Luke wouldn't meet my eyes. He was looking down the hallway with a harried air. "Of course, I don't want you defenseless, but I think..."

The look of intense relief on his face when his cell phone buzzed was so damn funny, I had to cover my smile.

Luke took a step away to talk, but I could hear the sound of a deep, strident voice that reminded me of Jack Banner's. I didn't even bother pretending I wasn't all ears, not that it was worth it. The one-sided conversation lasted a few minutes, but Luke was mostly silent on his end.

Luke mainly listened for the first minute and then quietly said, "Yeah, it's covered for tonight. By early morning it will be full on."

He listened again, this time for much longer. He glanced my way and met my eyes, but his expression was closed and revealed nothing.

Into the phone, he snorted a humorless laugh. "You have got to be shitting me? No, this is the first I've heard of that." He listened even longer, and then ended the call with, "Not a problem, I should be thanking you. I totally agree. I'll be in touch tomorrow."

After the call, Luke was staring off and scowling, deep in his own thoughts.

I tried for nonchalance when I asked, "Everything okay? Do you have to leave tonight?"

It was obvious he wasn't thrilled with the news he'd just heard. It was also obvious he was choosing his words when he focused on me and answered only the second question.

"I'm not going anywhere tonight."

I only cared he'd be around. It didn't matter right now about his ongoing secrecy concerning anything job related. Normally, I'd have figured out the details of a person's job that seemed so top secret, hush-hush long before now. Something strange was happening to me. As our relationship grew deeper, it was now a matter of pride I didn't do an end run to know Luke's private business. I certainly don't want unsolicited interference in my business. Sometimes, I get cranky over my stupidly inconvenient sense of fair play, but I have to offer him the same respect. The strange part for me is that I want him to tell me what he can, when he can because he trusts me, and not due to me playing Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps I need Dr. Watson to examine my sore head.

I smiled slowly. "I'm so happy to hear that. I'll get my purse and we can go over to your house."

' _Hey, I never said I have a sense of fair play about everything!'_

I started walking up the hallway after this gauntlet. I wanted Luke to voluntarily tell me about the man at his house with Candy, and not be so evasive about absolutely everything. He had done a great job of avoiding, but I was still feeling somewhat battered from the surge of earlier negative emotions from my past, and from believing Luke was a total, cousin-humping loser.

Was it too much to ask for reassurance he valued honesty between us when confronted directly?

I don't think so, either.

I heard his impatient sigh behind me. "Wait a second, Anabel."

I faced him and waited.

He ran a hand through his hair as he came towards me. "It's not cool to go to my house tonight. I have an out-of-town friend staying there and he's not expecting me back until late."

I remained silent and waited.

He threw his hands out. "Do you have to drag every word out of me? He's got a woman over and I don't want to take you there, okay?"

I cocked my head inquisitively to the side, and still I waited.

Luke fixed me with a glare. "You wanted to know, so don't blame the messenger. It's your cousin, Candy MacKenzie."

I nodded encouragingly. "So?"

He sighed in resignation. "When I was at your store this afternoon, my friend was waiting at Rueb's. He met your cousin there. He informed me later that he'd made plans to hook up tonight and was staying back at my place." He paused, weighing his next words. "My friend's not a very nice guy to women. He relentlessly goes after anything on two legs for sex and most girls end up hating his guts."

I chuckled at his wary look, as if I might haul off and slap him for Candy's sake at his friend's predatory sexual practices.

Relaxing, Luke smiled a little. "I don't claim to know your cousin, but she probably doesn't deserve John. I love the guy and he's got my back. I can trust him with my life, but then again," he made a rueful face, "he doesn't want to fuck me and run."

Laughing at the man-whore description of his friend, I took the last two steps to Luke and wrapped my arms around his middle. I snuggled close and ran my hands up and down his strong back. I was blissfully content at this moment in time, even withstanding the fact I was really tired of enduring interrupted make-out sessions.

I grinned up at him. "Oh, believe me; your friend John deserves her. I won't let Candy near my back. It's been her life's work to fuck me and run any chance she gets."

Luke cupped my shoulders and held me away from him. "I thought your family meant everything to you. That's why I didn't want to tell you Candy was with John."

My smile was huge. "I can't stand her! He can do anything he wants to her with my blessings."

Luke seemed a little unnerved by my cheerful declaration. He gave me the squint eye. "Which reminds me, what's with saying you hated me earlier?" He added dryly, "And calling me a dicklicking whatever?"

"I did say something like that, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." He raised his brows. "Do I want to know why?"

"Since you are definitely a man, normally you would not. Tonight is an exception. You will be incredibly pleased why I took your name in vain for a solid twenty-three minutes when I hated on you."

Luke laughed softly, rubbing his warm hands up and down my bare arms. "I will never be pleased if you hate on me, but go on and tell me why the hell you did."

"I didn't call you earlier tonight because I'd asked Tre to drop me off at your house after playing bumper cars with the rapist." I nodded knowingly at his surprised expression and spreading grin. "Uh huh, see what I meant about you being pleased? Guess what else I did?"

"What?" Luke pulled me close again, his face as lighthearted as I've ever seen. For once, there was not a dark look, severe frown, or cruel mouth in sight.

I stood on tiptoes within his arms and kissed his smiling lips, savoring the moment. Knowing me, it wouldn't be too long before he was 'disappointed' again. I was shamelessly taking full advantage of the lull and basking in his affection.

Even though it was against the rules of womanhood to reveal our secrets, I couldn't resist bragging a little. "I did a classic move tonight. We ninja'd your house. It was so much fun! Up until we saw Candy's stupid car, that is." I gave him a stern look when he started laughing at me. "Pay attention here. This is the start of the me-hating-on-you part. Jazy snuck out and investigated. She peeped in your windows and then reported back to us."

I shook his arms. "Stop laughing. This is why I also called you a disgusting creep. She peeped on some gross sexual action going down in your living room. Jazy told me you were not platonic friends with my cousin. I hated you, but it wasn't you, and so here we are."

Luke shook his head while openly smirking. "I'm worried about my manhood. Not only did I follow everything you said with no problems; I'm shaking in my boots thinking what you might have done in revenge to poor, innocent me. I'm relieved the mix-up got cleared up so fast," his sparkling green eyes narrowed at me, "and that I passed your little test just now." He snorted. "It had all the makings of a farce."

I momentarily set aside his bashing of my storytelling abilities. I also set aside his foolish disrespect for the scary depths of my revenge capabilities. The "little test" reference I would wisely disregard permanently. Instead, I looked up at him in amazement.

"Hey, I just said that to Anna this afternoon!"

"Now I feel better. I'm confused again," Luke murmured.

' _Okay, that was it. Game on. You know me and sarcasm.'_

I put on a dreamy smile and patiently explained, "You and I both used the word "farce" today, Luke. How often is that word even used in the world, much less by two people that are dating?" I gushed on, "It must mean we are metaphysically linked and thinking on the same wavelength. Do you suppose we knew each other in a previous life?" I put my hands to my heart. "I've always been convinced I was a princess. What do you think you were? Wait a sec, don't tell me. Hmm, I could see you as a dark prince. You'd be wearing black tights and one of those teeny-tiny codpieces covering your privates. How cute would that be? What's your sign, anyway?" I gazed at him adoringly, even as I implored, "Whatever you do, please don't tell me you're a boring Virgo. I hope you are a Leo. Leo men are so dramatically hot. I'm meant to be with a Leo man or an Aries man. A Gemini could work. Have you ever told me your birthday?" Not waiting for an answer, I asked in a hushed voice brimming with portent, "Luke, do you think you are my spiritual destiny, my soul mate?"

I saw the initial wince of horror flash over Luke's face that I could be one of those alternative, horoscope-reading females, and this on top of a risk-taking, shit-kicking loose cannon. I barely kept my worshipful expression in place. Then his flash of horror was instantly replaced by a donned mask of careful interest to humor my cute, if nutty, beliefs. I bit my tongue hard.

"My birthday is August 6th. I haven't thought about it much, but I guess I believe in spiritual destiny."

I couldn't hold back. At my peal of wicked laughter, Luke's whole body stilled. Then his eyebrows lowered. "Clearly you don't have a soul, Anabel, so that's a pointless question."

"A valid point, my Dark Prince, but I couldn't resist! Hey, now where are you taking me?"

"Horoscopes aside, we need to talk." Luke expressionless voice was calm and serious.

Not liking the sound of that, I reluctantly followed as he led me down the hallway by the hand. This time it was back towards the living room. Luke didn't take me to join the crowd in the smoky dining area, but turned right.

At the front door, he stopped. His face had that detached look again. I didn't like that look.

"I know how you value keeping your personal life private. I respect you. I wasn't going to take you openly out to my truck to the only place it seems we can be uninterrupted."

Opening the door, he checked out the porch and then turned back to me. "But clearly we need to talk about a few things. These issues are too important to ignore. One of them is a deal-breaker. Your privacy and my respect will have to take a back seat because it needs to be addressed immediately."

"What issues do you mean?" I asked cautiously, nervous at his serious, cool tone. I wondered if he was still mad at me not calling about The Hammer incident tonight.

Luke held my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes. "I won't put up with any crap from you about this." I gasped up at him in surprise. He gave a sharp nod. "You heard me right, Anabel, so listen very carefully. You've got me completely confused with some other Prince if you think my codpiece would be 'teeny-tiny'."

After a shocked second, I bubbled over with delighted laughter, pushing with both hands at the chest of the devilishly grinning man in front of me.

He shrugged a shoulder, still smiling. "I couldn't resist, either."

We didn't get a chance to take another step before several voices called to us, halting us in our tracks on the threshold of the front door. Startled at our audience of ten, I quickly turned out of Luke's hands to face them.

"Where are you two going? Bel, shouldn't you stay here under our protection?" Tre yelled the loudest.

A few of the other men sang this chorus, catcalling and giving Luke good-natured crap to get back to the poker game, instead of chasing after me.

Sam Sheedy's distinctive voice was starting to slur from too many beers. "Drake, come on, we've been waiting. Get your ass in here so I can win my money back."

Luke and I shared a quick smirk over those ridiculous words. I didn't feel like smirking any longer when Jazy, with Reg a step behind her, walked into the living room. Their bodies blocked us from view of the rowdy, shouting bunch in the dining room.

Luke's mouth twitched at hearing my little sigh of frustrated exasperation at being denied our escape when we were so close. His hand behind me privately soothed over the curve of my ass and squeezed lightly. That did not help.

"Tre's right." After shooting Luke a dismissive glance, Jazy ignored him and spoke directly to me. "It's the smart choice to stay here tonight with us to be safe, not off with one man. We've all decided the best operating plan is for us to know where you are at all times. No more taking off on your own, okay? We're not leaving you alone and unprotected until this killer is caught."

Luke face was expressionless at Jazy's attitude. His lack of reaction spoke loudly to me. In defense of my sister's plain speaking, she knew nothing about him. She didn't assume he could protect me like my own family would. Although, I must admit, even if she knew more about Luke's abilities she still wouldn't trust him with my life.

Jasmyn goes through men like tissues. She has no concern if they're single or married. She doesn't let the minor detail if a man is involved in committed relationships to get in her way when she set her sights on a man. If she can sway him to cheat, then that's his lack of character problem, not hers. It is understandable Jaz doesn't have the highest opinion of a man's reasoning and reliability capabilities. She causes them too regularly to lose their heads and make poor decisions. It's one of those vicious circle scenarios.

Plus, we Axelrod's have a slight tendency to stick together and depend only on ourselves at crunch times.

I didn't know if Luke planned to respond to Jazy's implication he was some random idiot that couldn't find his ass with two hands, or protect me if I was alone with him, but Reggie hurriedly jumped in.

He looked curiously from me to Luke. "Where were you two going?"

I glanced quickly at Luke. His eyes were glowing with malicious amusement against the bronzed skin of his face. His slight arch of an eyebrow told me he was leaving it up to me to tell my family members what I wanted them to know. As an only child, and a grown man in his thirties, it had probably been a long time since Luke had to answer to anybody over his actions. The wicked man was enjoying my predicament.

I sighed again, this time in defeat. The habit was too ingrained in me to keep my private life private. Besides, I shouldn't take stupid risks. I'd be endangering Luke, too, and not just myself. The measurements needed to settle the dispute of the princely codpiece dimensions would have to wait.

I answered my brother truthfully, "We were not leaving. We were just going out to Luke's truck to check out a little something." Luke snorted, and I quickly changed the subject. "I haven't even had a chance to tell him what happened earlier tonight."

Reggie cast Luke a quizzical look, as if he was also starting to question Luke's smarts. "Why don't you wait for Luke inside and let him go check his truck by himself? You probably don't even have a coat, do you?" He shook his blonde head in exasperation and held out an arm. "Come into the kitchen and I'll fix you a drink. Then we can get back to the game." He brought out the big guns. "I have brownies, Junior. Frosted brownies."

"What color frosting?" I asked, taking a small step towards my brother.

"Hell, they're brownies so black, of course."

Jazy's relief at my easy capitulation was evident. "See Bel, doesn't that sound good? You love chocolate frosted brownies. Do you want to play poker, too?" She added snidely, "I know all the boys are waiting for Luke to remember why he came over here tonight."

Hearing Luke's low chuckle at our well-intentioned, interfering gatekeepers, I hoped his dark amusement meant he wasn't too offended at my sibling's aspersions on his lack of character and choices. Actually, I was plenty offended enough for the both of us. They were treating me like I needed to be talked down from the ledge.

Giving her a warning nudge, Reggie interrupted Jaz again. "Yeah, they do want Luke to come back and play. He's got all their cash." He snapped his fingers. "I know, the guys will get started playing cards again and I'll tell Luke all about what happened earlier tonight. You and Jazy can get everyone drinks."

"Why would you be the one to tell Luke about what happened tonight when you weren't even there?" Seeing Jazy's elaborate eye roll, the truth dawned. I glared at my brother. "You don't care if I go off anywhere and get killed by a crazy rapist. You only want Luke to get back to playing poker!"

Reggie held up his hands in denial and laughed, dimples flashing. "Now, Junior, that's just not true. You did tell me the pertinent facts, and I wouldn't be an Axelrod if I couldn't easily make up the rest."

Feeling like a crabby preschooler for the second time in an hour, I irritably suggested to the grinning Luke that he go play freaking cards. I informed them all I needed to use the bathroom alone. I snatched my purse up. I started walking back past the trio of grinning baboons, but not before I used my gift and had the last word.

I stopped and opened a door in the living room near the hall. "Luke didn't know this door led upstairs to your big, uncluttered bedroom area. He really wants a tour to see how much privacy you get up there, Reg."

Walking away down the hall, my bat-like hearing caught my confused brother saying dubiously, "Okay...umm...do you want a tour of my bedroom right now, dude?"

Chuckling soullessly while using the bathroom with the utmost relief, one voice was still doing back flips and high kicks like a deranged cheerleader in my mind.

' _Yippee! Hooray! Luke didn't betray me! I didn't misjudge him!'_

There was much cheering and rejoicing in this vein until the measured voice of the practical accountant piped in to put a stop to any more emotional nonsense.

This worried voice was saying that while all of the above was accurate, I needed to slow down, add things up, and study the bottom line. Was the farce with Candy a wakeup call I needed to answer?

On the left hand, was I ready for the first time in a decade to make a decision to keep going forward with a man at this level of intensity?

On the right hand, should I use tonight's misery as a lesson and protect myself by backing up a giant step and ending things between Luke and me on a good note? Before one of us does hurt the other?

Somewhat disheartened I was having a dreaded relationship discussion, if only with myself, I finished my business. Washing my hands, I had a brilliant thought that had me grinning at my messy, windblown image in the mirror.

While I teased my hair, fixed my ponytail, and reapplied my lip gloss, I mulled over an amazingly simple concept. I could do all my thinking with that favorite area between my legs. I could keep my interaction with Prince Muscles all about the S-E-X.

After all, that's an area where our compatibility together requires no calculation and is as combustible as a Fourth of July fireworks finale.

When Fate doesn't do its best to cock block us, that is.

Chapter XVI

"Giving Him Something He Can Feel" by En Vogue

Sunday, 11/18/12

6:00 AM

Somebody had left the lamp on all night. It sat on the end table in the corner between the two sofas. Except for that soft glow above me, the living room was draped in shadows when I opened my eyes. It was still dark outside. Sunrise wasn't for another hour.

I'd definitely woken up on the wrong side of the couch. I felt testy and not my usual sunny self. I was finally horizontal with Luke. Too bad it was in my brother's living room. Tre and Jazy were snoozing away on the other sofa. Their heads were at opposite ends and Jazy appeared to have stolen their shared blankets. She had them clutched up possessively to her chin. She lay on her side, perched precariously close to the edge to accommodate Tre's larger bulk. It seemed like a fair trade in discomfort.

I was half lying on my back, partially on top of Luke behind me. His arms were loosely around my waist. My legs were in-between his, and my head rested on a small pillow nestled in the crook of his neck and shoulder. It was very comfortable. I still felt snappish.

I peered over the edge of the cushion to figure out what the loud racket was coming from that direction. It was that blasted Sam Sheedy. He was zipped to the neck in a sleeping bag directly along the sofa below me, and snoring up a storm. The noises he made sounded like a wild animal caught in a trap. His wide-open, slack mouth was not the most attractive sight to see at any time, but definitely not before my first cup of coffee. If I had any change on me, it'd be tempting to drop a penny down the well of his gaping maw and wish him to shut the hell up. I laid my head back down in annoyance.

I'd gone from never having sleepovers in years to waking up two days in a row next to the same man the second time appearing to be a veritable pajama party.

Last I remembered I'd been listening to the girls debating the perfect crime disposal method of a butchered body (namely Cheryl Crookston) while I was industriously licking chocolate frosting off my fingers. We were sprawled on the sofas after getting smoked out of the dining room. I had no desire to play poker last night. After sitting restlessly for a few minutes with the boys, I'd forced the girls to come with me into the living room. They wanted to protect me and keep me indoors; they could damn well follow where I lead.

We'd raided Reggie's closet for T-shirts to sleep in. The girls also borrowed boxers that I hoped were joke gifts Reg had received. I didn't want to think my brother would seriously wear a pair of undies that said, "Here pussy, pussy" across the front. My borrowed shirt hit my knees, so I'd skipped the boxers. We'd arranged pillows and blankets on the sofas. We found a fan to drown out the poker playing noise and cracked a window to get some fresh air. After arming ourselves with beers for Tre and Jazz, a hard cider for me, filling a bowl full of potato chips, and snagging the whole pan of black frosted brownies, we were ready for a slumber party.

I must have been more exhausted from all the fun events of the day than I realized. I hadn't moved a muscle when Luke had joined me on my makeshift bed. I'd missed knowing I had been horizontal with him all night. I couldn't believe he hadn't woken me up. Also, several people had to know he thought he had the right to sleep with me. That was part of the reason I wasn't my usual chipper self.

Another reason was thinking over the text I'd received last night from Mike McClain. I had no idea what could be so important that he needed five minutes of my time. We've had no contact for years, so what could possibly be of any significance between us at this point? I wasn't happy with the cryptic drama of his message, but I figured I'd hear him out if it didn't inconvenience me. I didn't want the man in my life, but I was way over any feelings for him other than indifference.

I was also ornery knowing I had to deal with Candy on my weekend off. I didn't go looking for confrontations, but I wouldn't back down from one either. She wasn't getting away with stealing the gun from my apartment, fortuitous or not. She'd probably continue trying to avoid seeing me, yellow-bellied coward that she was, but I didn't want to put it off. Since I wasn't chasing her down, I had to orchestrate a meet. It made sense it would need to be at the family dinner tonight. She'd smugly think there was safety in such numbers and that I'd be too busy being hostess with the mostest to get her.

This made me think about her hook up at Luke's last night. Again, not an enticing image anytime, but especially bad before the morning caffeine. Maybe I'd ask Luke to bring his weekend guest, John the Fuck-and-Runner, to liven things up tonight. I'd sic Jaz and Tre on him.

That thought alleviated a little of my crabbiness.

Then thinking about The Hammer possibly hunting me, even as I lay here, spiked the cranky levels back up again.

I carefully turned around in Luke's arms and faced my sneaky prince. I propped up my head with my left arm and studied his sleeping form in the soft light from the lamp. Our blanket was pulled partially up to his waist, but one muscular leg stuck out over both of mine. He had on a T-shirt and undecorated boxers. The white shirt was in stark contrast to his dark skin and the light trail of silky black chest hair revealed by the V neckline. I could see the brown, flat discs of his nipples clearly through the thin fabric. Even in repose, his biceps were cut with muscle. I clutched the bottom hem of my shirt to stop myself from reaching my free hand up to trace their outline.

Being infatuated can be explained as an actual biochemical reaction occurring in the body. But if I found out that I also suffered from the ongoing, extreme reactions the psycho-babblers termed Limerence; it would be the last straw. I'd commit the Hokey-Pokey, Hari-Kari hands down versus mooning endlessly over Luke the way I was right now. Even his short beard was a turn on to me, and I hated beards.

"What are you looking at, Princess?" Luke asked softly without opening his eyes. I smiled at his use of my royal title, so in tune with my own thoughts of him a moment ago.

"Please, it's Princess Ruffles," I whispered in correction.

On the floor behind me were wild thrashing noises. Sam Sheedy gasped, choked, and snorted like a huge pig at the trough before groaning and falling back asleep.

Eyes still closed, Luke swore succinctly. "That prick kept me up all night."

I smiled and leaned back. I gave in and trailed my hand up his arm. "So, you can see with your eyes closed? What else do you have? X-ray vision?"

Luke opened one eye and squinted down the length of my body. His hands tightened on my hips, squeezing. "Yes, Princess Muffles, I can see through your shirt. It's useless as cover. Take it off."

I didn't take it off, but I did slowly lift the thin material up high in the front, so that I wasn't the only one doing some endless, infatuated mooning.

"It's Ruffles, Princess Pink Ruffles, to be precise." I then answered his original question, "I was just looking at you. I like you in a beard and longer hair."

I left my shirt hiked up while I trailed my fingers lazily down from his arm and over my exposed bare breasts. My thumb lightly brushed over a soft nipple and I felt the tip hardening. "I've been wondering why you are looking so...drug dealerish since I saw you last."

Luke's focus was concentrated solely on watching my wandering, plucking fingers when he murmured absently, "I needed to look like a dirtbag for a couple of weeks." He took his left hand off my hip and rested it on his thigh. "Have I told you lately how much I love how you mind me, Princess Fink Ruffles?"

"Mmm...Dirtbag, it's Pink, not Fink. Is this what you had in mind for me?" My fingers continued playing over my skin. They strolled unimpeded down my side, and spread across my stomach before moving lower. I lingered along the top of the narrow strip of tight silk barely deserving the name panty. I stroked one finger leisurely up and down the middle of my lips. I allowed my long fingernail to slip under the edge, and then paused.

My voice was low, "Of course you got the bad guys."

"Don't stop. I want to see you touch yourself."

I waited. A few beats of silence later he answered, "Yes. Of course I got the bad guys."

I smiled a little at his arrogant, impatient murmur. I dipped my finger all the way under my panty and lightly petted myself.

I wiggled my hips a fraction.

Luke moved his heavy leg off mine, stretching out full length on his side and facing me with his back against the sofa. Freed, I lifted my right leg slightly, sliding my foot up the sheet covered cushion towards my left knee. Luke decided I needed to move my leg higher. He put a hand around my ankle and brought my foot up, planting it flat above his slightly bent knee. The draping blanket covered me completely along my backside and raised leg. It created our own little world. As long as we were quiet and moved slowly, nobody would know what we were doing.

Luke's other arm under me glided down. His hand started caressing and kneading my ass with strong fingers. Then I felt those long fingers reaching. They slipped under my panties and touched me from behind. He began rubbing my wetness over my own finger stroking deeper between my parted legs. I moved the tiny swatch of silk to the side, so Luke could see how well I was minding him.

Luke glanced up from staring between my thighs and smiled lazily. "You're right. It is Princess Pink Ruffles."

I had to close my eyes and suck on my bottom lip to keep my answering, moaning laugh contained. My left hand clutched onto Luke's arm. It was maddening having to hold my hips perfectly still to avoid detection. Every instinct was clamoring to rock and writhe against the fingers rubbing and flickering over Queen Victoria. Like good managers everywhere, I believe firmly in immediate feedback. I have been known to tell Luke if I like his performance on the job by screaming and cursing his name to the heavens, or threatening horrific consequences if he stopped.

I stayed quiet even when Luke started doing my third, or maybe fourth, most favorite thing in the world; he began toying with my breasts with his other hand not busy between my legs. Without haste, he ran the back of his hand over my stiffened nipples. He languidly teased, and then captured one distended point between two fingers. I somehow remained silent, but I couldn't help arching my back for more when those fingers tightened their grip. His clever fingers pinched and pulled one erect peak and then moved to the other, each time squeezing a little harder and tugging a little farther. I swear the man has magic fingers; he touched me precisely how I desperately needed it, even before I knew I did.

Call me weak, but when Luke's finger down below started dipping and circling, and then slowly penetrated from behind in my tied-for-third-place favorite move; I did moan softly in the back of my throat. It was torturous ecstasy. I went AWOLing. I thought hazily if there truly was a God; men would have been given three hands.

I didn't think my low moan was noticeable over the noisy snores from the floor behind us. When Luke added a second, large finger while his wonderfully intuitive thumb stayed busy, my louder moan was in sync with some loud choking and gasping from Sam.

I slipped my hand out from inside my panties and into Luke's tented boxers. My hand could only form a C around his hard on instead of an O, but I could live with that problem.

When I pulled his eager penis out to play through the front panel of his boxers, I smiled with empathy into his eyes at his tense expression. He was having a great time, too, trying not to move against my firm grip and slow wrist action.

Looking down, the creamy drop glistening on the tip of his cock beckoned. I massaged it all over while pulling on the thick head. I stroked around the rim, and under. I love how Luke's penis felt like hot, silky velvet sheathed over the hardness of steel.

Luke's hand left off fondling my breasts and glided under the covers to join the other cupping my ass. Both hands explored and fondled QV from behind; his two lubricious fingers inside me moving to the slow rhythm of my fist moving up and down on him.

He drew me up against his lounging body stretched out along the sofa. With my leg canted up on his thigh, the hard length of his erection in my hand was added to the mix of his fingers and thumbs. Forehead tilted against mine, it took Luke only a few deliberate, rubbing strokes for the friction against my clit to send me on my way to orgasm heaven. Tingling, I stiffened. Clenching spasmodically around his fingers, I tried not to cry out, tried not to move. Luke kissed me with a deep thrust of his tongue. The rippling waves of pleasure kept building throughout my body, even as I craved to feel the large fingers inside me replaced with his thicker, much larger erection.

My mind-reading consort was still on my wavelength. He pulled his fingers out from inside me to tightly grip my bottom. He entered me, slowly thrusting in and out, until he worked fully inside me. Then he stopped. I groaned against Luke's mouth at the incredibly tight, stretched almost-too-full sensation that was exactly what I desired. The waves peaked and crested. I came and came gloriously around him buried deeply inside me.

He growled low in my ear, "The feel of you gripping and clenching around my dick is driving me crazy."

Luke and I froze at the same moment. We both reared back a few inches to stare into each other's faces in mutual, shocked disbelief. He was inside me to the hilt, skin on skin and unprotected.

I couldn't tell from Luke's still face and quickly lowered eyes what he was thinking, but I was dazed and freaked. I had never allowed a man's penis to penetrate Vicky unprotected, not even as a virgin queen with Mike McClain. I hadn't been kidding when I said I wasn't a trusting soul and was never _that_ young or _that_ innocent.

Sam Sheedy chose that inopportune moment to erupt on the floor like the reenactment of Mount Vesuvius destroying Pompeii.

Jazy sat up and threw her pillow at him while shouting, "THAT'S IT! I have had it, you damn, snoring fuckhead! Wake up, Tre! Come on, we are leaving this hell-hole!"

My sister stood up and swiped a kick at the spluttering, befuddled Sam in his sleeping bag. She grabbed her things off the end table and marched off down the hall towards the bathroom, yelling over her shoulder, "Anabel, get up. We're out of here in five!"

I quickly pulled my long T shirt down in front as best I could. Luke's face was against my neck. His shoulders silently shook, while his dick still throbbed inside me and his hands squeezed my ass as he held me close.

I didn't know if he was laughing or crying, but flustered, I pushed at his shoulder. I hissed under my breath, "I can't believe we did that. Let me go!"

His hair was a disheveled mess from my hands. His sensual mouth was twisted with sexual frustration, but as Luke leaned back, the eyes that met mine were tear-free and lit with laughter. He slid his hands up from under the covers and respectably cupped my shoulders. With a smile as slow as his withdrawal, Luke didn't take his eyes off my face as he pulled out of me inch by inch. Hands clasping his forearms, I closed my eyes and went still at the sensation. The receding aftershocks of my personal seismic activity continued to shake me up inside. It caused me to clench and grip him harder, instinctively wanting him to stay put.

"Stop it, Anabel," he ordered softly on a laughing groan.

"No," I murmured, not opening my eyes.

Tre J sat up, swinging her legs to the floor and pulling the blanket over her lap. Yawning wide she asked, "What's going on? Was that Jazy yelling or was it a dream?"

As Luke circumspectly adjusted his boxers, Sam sat up right behind me.

"That's what I want to know! I was sleeping when she woke me up with her bitching." Affronted, he whined, "Can you believe she kicked me?"

I slid up to a sitting position until my back was leaning on the rolled armrest of the sofa. Luke sat up beside me and brought his longer legs to the floor beyond the end of Sam's sleeping bag below us.

"Hey, watch what you say about my sister. You're lucky I don't kick you, too, the way you snore like a banshee." I threatened Sam without heat, lazily aiming my foot at his shoulder while running my hands through my hair and working out the tangles.

Sam avoided my foot and glared at me. "What? You women are nuts. I don't snore!"

I raised my brows.

He was starting to protest more volubly when he caught sight of Luke's hand slicing the air. Correctly reading the dark look on his face, Sam Sheedy wisely decided to shut up. I was going to have to learn that part karate chop-part snarl move for at the store with unruly customers.

Tre J went for her turn in the bathroom when Jazy opened the door and came out. Jaz was dressed and no longer resembled the scary Medusa of a few minutes ago.

I got up on my knees and reached over the back of the sofa to close the open window letting in the draft of cold air. I turned back and caught Jazy flipping off Sam Sheedy before continuing her way into the kitchen. My little sis was definitely the grudge holder in the family.

Unable to avoid it any longer, I looked over at Luke.

We stared at each other warily without speaking. Sam stood up, and grumbling under his breath, gathered his belongings. We were alone a minute later when he stomped off to wait his turn in the hallway for the bathroom.

Silently, Luke put on his jeans. Looking down to fasten his belt he said gruffly, "Listen, about...," he straightened up and made a waving motion at his groin area, "earlier. That's never happened before, but I'm okay with it. We should probably talk about some things." His face was serious when he met my eyes. "I trust you."

My amazed, "Really?" burst out before I thought to stop it.

Luke's eyebrows were meeting in a black frown when the door to the upstairs opened and Reggie came whistling into the living room.

"Good morning, friends and family! Looks like those dickheads got the weather report wrong again; there is not one flake of snow outside. Frigging unbelievable, isn't it? To get paid the big bucks to be so routinely wrong."

My brother wakes up like me; disgustingly, cheerfully chipper in the dawns early light. Or more accurately, like I used to wake up.

"Junior, when do you want to get going? Jazy said I have first shift, so my Sunday is cleared to make sure you don't get murdered today before three o'clock."

I was grateful for Reg's typical bull-in-the-china-shop entrance. I was touched he was going to keep me from dying, at least during first shift.

I jumped up eagerly and scrambled into my slacks. I'd go anywhere at this particular moment to avoid talking with Luke. It didn't take a genius to get he might be feeling a tad disappointed with me again. I had inadvertently implied he couldn't trust me. I was too confused over my own actions and feelings to want to get into it now.

Reaching on the floor for my purse, I opened an inside compartment.

I answered my brother, equally chipper, "I'm ready to go when you are, Reg. I have a ton of stuff to do this morning at home." I babbled on, "Except for needing to make a grocery grab, my plan is to stay home today. If you want, we can hang out at the apartment and watch football this afternoon."

Reg was taken aback at my enthusiasm to get going so fast, but his expression showed immense relief at my proposed plans. "Sure, I'll need a little time to do a couple things, but then we'll go. An afternoon of football sounds better than a sharp stick in the eye."

Eyeing him thoughtfully, I realized I should have led him on first and said I wanted to go shopping at the Mall of America. I really was rattled. I popped a piece of cinnamon gum into my mouth. It would have to do until I got home to my shower and toothbrush.

I looked up to offer Luke a piece.

He quickly gave me a neutral, inquiring look, but he wasn't in time. I pretended I hadn't noticed the quick exchange of smirking grins and self-satisfied nods between Luke and Reg. Throwing him the gum, I shook my head at their conspiring together over their covert protection plans.

' _Did it seem like I wanted to die? Did they ever think to tell me straight out what the plan was and why? Men can be such idiots.'_

I really wished now I'd taken a minute to string Reggie along and make him work up a sweat to get me to follow their plan. I shrugged it off with my own private smirk. One thing I could count on; there would never be a loss of opportunities to terrorize the men in my life for my own viewing pleasure.

Luke announced he had things to do today and needed to get going. I felt relief he was leaving, and relief he didn't seem mad at my avoiding any talks. It was nice he'd shown me his medical report weeks ago, and nice that he trusted me, but my head was still spinning. I could not believe that I'd forgotten myself enough to let a naked Lawrence of Mylabia anywhere near Vicky. Or that Luke had forgotten himself.

Snagging his leather jacket off the hall tree, Luke shrugged into it while I walked him to the front door. We were alone again. Everyone was busy in the bathroom or kitchen. I heard the welcome gurgling of a coffee maker.

I gave in to curiosity. "Do you think Candy will still be at your house with your guest, John?"

He snorted. "Candy being on Pluto has a greater chance of happening."

I liked that answer.

He gave me a lingering cinnamon kiss and then stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. He regarded me a moment before asking, "You're cool staying with Reggie today? You feel safe enough?"

"Yeah, I'm sure it will be fine, but thanks for asking." I was a little surprised he hadn't offered to spend the day with me, but it was probably better this way. It sounded like we both had things to do.

I didn't tell Luke, but I had toyed with the idea of closing the store for today. I was nervous as hell with The Hammer running around out there plotting my demise. Last night before we'd left The Rock's parking lot, Jack had said two plainclothes cops would guard the doors inside Bel's for the Sunday store hours. Even with the police presence, I still thought I'd be doing my employees and customers a disservice by opening today versus closing the store. I could always cite a broken water pipe needing repairs.

The problem with that line of thought was what if it took days to catch Hammerschmidt? I couldn't stay closed for more than today, even one day would impact my profit line unfavorably. Not that an employee, or customer, or yours truly getting killed wouldn't have a somewhat negative impact on the business, as well.

I need to man up, go on the offensive, and be bait to help facilitate The Hammer's capture. Closing up shop and hiding was tempting, but it wasn't the answer. It didn't mean I would parade around town with a big target on my back. I figured since he was out of jail only recently and had immediately tried to attempt a kidnapping and murder, brains weren't his long suit. For some reason, Gustav Hammerschmidt had set his psycho mind on me last night. He knew where I lived and worked. If I didn't make myself publically available as an easier target, he'd come to me at my home instead, in my territory.

I reminded Luke dinner was at five. I grinned and invited John to tag along. Luke smiled at that and said he'd pass on the invite, but wasn't sure of John's plans.

He didn't leave, but stood staring down at the floor. When he raised his eyes and I saw his implacable expression it made me uneasy at what was coming.

"Listen, Anabel. We are going to talk."

' _I knew it! Damn.'_

He tilted my chin up and stroked a thumb along my cheek. "Tonight after everyone leaves your apartment, I plan on staying over for second and third shift guard duty, alright? We'll talk then. I promise it won't hurt," he nipped my bottom lip, "much."

I tried to smile while keeping my eyes closed, waiting for another kiss and less talk.

Luke's voice was amused. "Anabel, Anabel, my strange and different woman. I want you to think about two things today for me, okay?"

I opened my eyes, curiosity winning out.

He softly tapped my chin. "One, I _know_ you. I've recognized you since the minute I first laid eyes on you in your store last spring." He paused, smiling faintly. "Why do you think I stayed away for months?"

His steady gaze held mine while his surprising declarations whirled through my head. I turned my cheek into his hand while nodding again without answering. I didn't know what to say. I admit to experiencing a romantic thrill at his unshakeable tone of confidence.

What woman wouldn't want to be told they were known in such a way, by such a man, and only moments after returning from subspace at his touch? I hadn't given much thought as to why I hadn't seen him from my first glimpse last April in Bel's until late September at my brother's house. I was speechless he'd stayed away deliberately. I couldn't help but wonder why he had, and then what made him change his mind. Maybe talking later could be interesting, but I felt too confused to say anything now.

His words did send a longing through me. Maybe he can want and accept me as I truly am. Maybe he has been showing me all along how he knows me, and I'm only now starting to be able to see. Maybe he is the one man that does _know_ me.

It would be nice to be known.

Luke pulled his other hand from his pocket. It held a sealed envelope with my first name scrawled across the front in a black, bold script. The envelope was the size of a small birthday card. I was only the teeniest bit curious about what was on the inside.

"This is the second thing I want you to think about today." His eyes were gleaming dark with secret promise. I was struck anew by how attractive I found Luke, even though I know many men much better looking. He slowly waved the envelope to and fro. "This is my turn."

I sighed with the boredom of it all. With careless unconcern, I reached for the envelope.

Luke held it aloft out of my reach. The tricky man effortlessly held it higher when I unashamedly climbed his body quicker than a spider monkey and jumped for the card. Twice.

White teeth flashed while he laughingly shook his head. "Not so fast. In order to receive this envelope, you have to agree to some basic conditions."

Standing back with my hands on my hips, I felt my own smile blossoming wider. "I can't believe you had that in your pocket all evening. I can see you may need frisking in the future. Okay, I'm listening."

"Anabel, to accept this card, you must first give me your word that you will follow these rules." He tapped his finger on the envelope in emphasis. "You will not open the card until I tell you to open it. You will do precisely what it says to do, and follow any and all instructions. No exceptions." Luke eyes were intent on mine. "Will you do this?"

My eyes widened in return. I realized I was a little apprehensive what his fantasy might be about from the terms he listed. I licked my lips nervously, as visions of Torquemada's dungeons danced through my head and not like sugarplums. There was no way I was getting racked, or branded, or hung up on a hook somewhere like a side of beef. I had images of tools, knives, and Makita drills. If my tough brother cried like a woman over a finishing nail, I didn't stand a chance against a scalpel or an electric cattle prod. Luke had seemed a little too casual over the subject of spankings yesterday. If he thought he could smack my ass until it chafed, and me with no petroleum products, he has another thing coming. Those sorts of tortuous fantasies did not put me in a positive frame of mind for fun and frolics, or oath swearing.

As I thought, I gathered my hair and twisted it on top of my head. I desperately wanted to ask for my caveats, get my reassurances nothing would hurt, or be told of a safety zone. I wanted to rip the envelope in half to end my fears, and then I wanted to grab it and rip it open to begin His Turn.

Then I remembered the first thing Luke wanted me to think about today.

He claims to _know_ me.

I believe I know him, too.

If you know somebody, in certain circumstances, you put their motives, needs, and desires ahead of your own. You let go and trust them a little bit not to be a torturing psychopath.

This was Luke's turn. This was his secret fantasy I was going to find out. For him, the fantasy had already begun in the way he was delivering the envelope.

I let my hair fall. I stepped closer into his arms, sliding mine around his neck. I looked up into the challenging gaze of his green eyes. I knew mine were glittering with promise back at him when I solemnly answered, "Yes, Luke, to everything. I give my word."

Chapter XVII

"A Man's World" by Joss Stone

Sunday, 11/18/12

7:20 AM

Sipping coffee at Reggie's dining room table, I stared warily at the square envelope with my first name on the front. I probably was imagining things, but the card seemed to be staring back and taunting me. It appeared Luke was also an experienced expert at taunting. Thinking of his level of experience made me vaguely uneasy. Were these the sort of games he played with every woman? I wasn't sure if I wanted to know.

I was alone. Everybody had left within minutes of drinking a cup of coffee. Reg was taking a "quick shower" before we left to go to my house. I had been sitting here waiting for the slowpoke for over twenty minutes. That was after he'd sat and browsed the paper while he drank three cups of coffee before ambling off to his upstairs bathroom.

Jazy and Tre were taking their guard duties seriously. They had decided to pick up the groceries on my hastily written list rather than allow me go shopping in a public store. After their horse chores and errands, they were meeting us at the apartment to drop off the food.

I could tell this day off was going to be much more relaxing than yesterday. The lovely way it had started guaranteed it couldn't be worse, that was for sure. I frowned, though, recalling how it had ended on the sofa with Luke and I.

Ultimately, I take full responsibility for my own body. Having unprotected sex comes down to having complete faith in another human being. You were betting your health, and maybe your life, your partner was one hundred percent trustworthy and honest. Not only right then, but every time you have unprotected sex going forward in your relationship. Even if they were honest, they could have a disease and not know it. Any way you looked at it, I didn't like the odds.

Luke had made the bad judgment call to enter me unprotected. He'd done so without my express permission, or even reassurances that I was safe. I should have stopped him. I was very troubled over his actions, and mine. I was actually extremely dismayed at the reality of exposure I was now subjected to from our risky behavior.

While it was true I was safe, it seemed way out of character for a pragmatic man such as Luke to say he trusted me with no basis in fact. While I believe he was safe, having unquestioning faith that a man won't lie or cheat was not an attitude I would probably ever possess again. I was okay with that.

My phone buzzed, surprising me out of my brooding reverie.

Picking it up, I read Crookie's name on the screen.

"Morning, Crook."

"Anabel, can you talk?

His tone of voice had me sitting up straight. "Sure. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I am, but Cheryl's body was found last night. She is dead. She was murdered."

"Holy freakin' buckets! Oh, Crookie, I'm so sorry!"

"I know. Thank you..ah...thanks," Crookie stuttered nervously. "I was leaving to go work out and the police pulled up. They informed me of the news she had been found and was dead. They did not have any answers to most of my questions." He cleared his throat. "The Edina cop I mentioned married to my friend at work? He is going to be calling me sometime this morning with more details. At this time, I only know she was found in her car in an abandoned barn somewhere outside Northfield by two teenagers. She must have been dead for some time because I do not have to identify her body, or whatever the police procedures would be in the situation of a," he paused, looking for the right words, "recognizable corpse."

"Ah man, how awful it must have been for those poor kids that found her body. Crookie, I'm shocked here. I mean, I know she's been gone two months, but I only found out yesterday about your married life with her. Now, she's dead. Murdered! It's one thing to talk about it, but the reality is..." I trailed off. Seeing a positive light in the gruesome news I asked, "Since your cop friend is willing to share details, does this mean they don't think you're a suspect?"

"It was nothing really, but I helped this couple out of a personal bind and we all became friends." I smiled at his humble attitude. Crookie is a good friend to have in your corner. "Even so, I would not expect him to tell me anything if I was under suspicion for murder. My friend implied they did not consider me a suspect. I was with many people that entire Saturday and Sunday after I saw Cheryl last, so maybe that lets me off the hook. I think I told you yesterday the locksmith was over early on that Saturday, and then I was at Ecolab." Crookie's voice turned contemplative. "Although, I am curious what proof exists to indicate she died that day, or that weekend. That was the only weekend I gave the police a detailed alibi for my whereabouts when I reported her missing. I had gone over the details so many times, it was easy to recall specific times and dates. I cannot believe they have had time to perform an autopsy and report the findings this fast. Can I call you back after he contacts me with more details?"

"Sure. Would you prefer I keep quiet about her death until then?"

"No, I do not mind if you tell people. As far as any details learned from my friend later, I will have to let you know. I would not want him to have any repercussions on the job for confiding in me. Umm, Anabel, do you still want me to come over later?" Crookie sounded tentative and lost. He's another only child, and has no family close by. I know how the shock of death makes you want to be with people who care. You may not want to talk, but you want the warmth and the reassurance of normalness.

"Yes, I absolutely insist you come here. I'll be holed up at home all day, so please come down whenever you're ready."

Crookie didn't pretend he wasn't relieved and eager. "Thank you, I will then."

"Were your plans to stay in town for Thanksgiving or go to Florida?"

"No, no, I have no plans to leave town." Crookie sounded bemused. "Is Thanksgiving soon?"

I laughed softly. "This Thursday, Crooks." I thought quickly for a second and then suggested, "If you'd like, why don't you pack a bag and stay with me for a few days? I have a guest bedroom with your name on it. We'll be helping each other out like in the old days."

Crookie jumped at the idea. "Oh, Bel, if you are sure, I would be really happy to stay. I have been dreading the thought of doing this alone with no moral support. I will be taking off several days from work to deal with all the formalities." He sighed loudly. "I guess there will have to be some kind of funeral service. I am still legally next of kin. I will have to call Tina next and meet with her this week in Northfield." He groaned. "Anabel, this is surreal. Cheryl is dead."

"I know, and I can hardly believe it. I'm trying real hard to not be a hypocrite here, but we never seriously wanted her dead, just gone from your life." An anxious feeling was stirring in my guts again. There were now two murderous people out there running around connected to my life. Surreal was right. Sunday morning was going downhill fast. "I don't mean right this minute, but are you going to be okay, Crooks?"

"You know, I think I am," He replied slowly in his thoughtful, serious manner. "Yesterday, when you said the Cheryl that I fell in love with never actually existed, you were correct. I think I always knew this at some level. I no longer loved her, but I never wished her harm." Crookie blew out a deep breath. "Once the anger dissipated over all the lies, pity was all I had. It must have been terrible for her going through life endlessly using people and lying constantly." I murmured something noncommittal in agreement. "She was a broken human being, Bel, and I cannot hate her for that." Crookie laughed ruefully. "The thought of the publicity I can expect due to Cheryl's sexual proclivities and murder fills me with anxiety. I have hives, Bel."

I exclaimed in sincere, laughing sympathy over the hives. "Try not to stress over things out of your control. It might not have anything to do with an affair. It's possible she was the victim of a random act of violence by some passing weird-o." I offered that up not really believing it myself, but you never know. "You sound like you have your shit together, Crookie, and you're a generous man. I'm glad for you. Cheryl was a pathetic woman, and what a terrible epitaph that is to sum up a life. No matter what happens, you can count on me to help you, okay?"

"That means a lot, thank you. Wait a minute, Bel, explain how my staying over is helping you out?"

I laughed a little at my forgetfulness. It was becoming harder to keep track of who knew what about all the crazy stuff happening in the last day. "Oh yeah, I guess you haven't heard the latest. Before you decide to stay, you should know a serial rapist tried to kill me and the girls last night. He's still on the loose. If that makes you too nervous to come here, I'll understand."

Crookie exclaimed incredulously, "What? A serial rapist! I received your text about your employee's ex-husband, but there was _more_?"

"Yep, it was the ex-husband's jail partner. He tried to run us off the highway last night. Nobody knows why. I guess I pissed him off. Imagine that, huh?"

He demanded, "He tried to kill you all and he is still on the loose? How did you get away?"

I recapped the bare bones details of last evening to catch Crookie up on events.

He was freaked over our narrow escape and adamant he was coming down. "Thanks for the warning, but it does sound like I definitely would be helping you out by staying. We will be each other's keepers." He added dejectedly, "Although, I should be nervous. The way my life has been going, if anyone ends up getting raped and killed by this man I am sure it will be me."

I tried to stifle my giggles at that image, but Crookie wasn't fooled. He protested he was a seriously depressed man at the moment and his luck had been totally crappy. I promised him The Hammer would have to get through me to get near his bum.

I shoved Luke's teasing, taunting envelope into my purse while I thought about Cheryl Crookston. After all my joking with the girls yesterday, somebody really had murdered her. I knew she was terrible, but who hated her enough to actually commit murder? Possibly it was someone I knew in Northfield; another unbelievably weird thought.

So that's what Jack's emergency call had been about last night when he took off abruptly from following our car. It gave new definition to even his very thick blue line between police and civilians.

I sighed, dispirited with Jack's insistence on keeping me out of the loop. It was getting ridiculous. I truly get the cop angle, but it isn't only me being a civilian that causes his attitude. I am a female, his little Angel, no less. Chief Jack's male chauvinism is alive and well. It's deeply ingrained, not only from his generation and upbringing, but also from the natural inclinations of his personality type. I could usually blow it off and laugh, he didn't really affect me. This weekend, whatever his reasons, his issues were proving to be a major pain in my rectum.

Reggie swung around the corner carrying a long shotgun case in one hand, and a smaller, padded case that held his handguns in the other.

"I'm bringing three weapons total a Ruger for you, my .357 and my 12 gauge shotgun. You'll have the varmint gun if anything happens, but you can't get into any trouble with the law in the mean...Whoa! What's wrong?"

I stood and faced my brother. On a hunch, I pointed to my cell. "I heard the news about Cheryl Crookston." Choosing my words carefully I added, "Not that Jack gave me any real information, I only know that she was found dead."

When I saw the fleeting look of comprehension pass over Reg's face before he glanced down to set the gun bags on the table, I knew my hunch was right. He had heard the news about Cheryl.

It's demeaning to be protected and patronized because of my gender. It's worse to realize I am never going to change Jack's viewpoint. Possibly a female police officer would be allowed into the inner sanctum boys club, but even that's doubtful if he has a choice. It is bitterly ironic a possible suspect like my brother gets the courtesy of a heads up because he's the male in my family, but not me. The idiocy of Jack's logic tickled my bizarre sense of humor, despite my disgust.

Reggie was busy loading .22 caliber rounds into two magazines for the Ruger. That also allowed him to avoid looking me in the eye.

I laughed. "What the hell, Reg. Why wasn't I told when it's obvious you've heard of her death?"

Reggie held his hands up in mollification. "It's not my fault. I wanted to tell you. Luke told me that Jack called not long after you got here last night. They thought you'd dealt with enough crap yesterday. Luke told me I couldn't talk about it. Besides, I don't know any details other than she was found murdered in a barn in her car. That's it, Bel."

I stood motionless. It _had_ been Jack's voice I overheard on Luke's phone when we were in the hallway last night.

Talking more to myself, I repeated quietly, "Luke thought I shouldn't know, too, huh." I regarded my brother. "Murdered how?"

Innocent eyes the color of a clear, summer sky opened wide and Reggie shook his head emphatically. "Truly, I know nothing more."

I laughed shortly. "Come on, let's go."

Reggie slapped a full magazine into the Ruger and put it back in the bag, along with the spare magazine and bullets. He kept his loaded .357 out for the drive. He grabbed all the gear and followed me at a trot to his truck. I slipped on my sunglasses while he hurried to tell me what went down.

"When you girls went into the living room last night, Luke told me about Cheryl's body being found. Jack wanted him to fill me in on the news. I was under the impression Luke and Jack decided none of us should say anything to you since you'd been through a rough day, what with Larissa's ex and the van man."

Now I wanted to maim someone. Preferably a man named Luke Drake. Jack being Jack was one thing. Luke being Jack was another. I silently climbed into the truck after Reggie clicked open the door locks. He handed me the handgun bag, but placed the shotgun case in the back.

Luke had looked me in the eyes after Jack's call and not said anything. He might not know of my friendship with Crookie, or all the pertinent details of my involvement, but he knew enough to agree to keep it from me. The tired little woman was strong enough to get her head bounced off a wall, as he virtually did everything but screw me against it, but couldn't be trusted with the news of Cheryl Crookston's death due to her rough day? When and why did Jack and Luke exchange cell numbers and start their let's-protect-Anabel-from-herself bromance?

I drummed my fingers on the console between our seats.

This overprotective behavior had to go. Jack and Luke teaming up was not a positive development, it was a catastrophe. Chief Jack was a terrible influence on a man like Luke. I was having a hard enough time getting Luke to jump through hoops, and now Mr. Man from LaMacho was coaching him? They must not be allowed to play together.

Reg ventured, "Luke seemed to know the whole story about Crookie and Cheryl, but I'm guessing it wasn't you who told him, eh?"

I shrugged dismissively in answer. That tidbit only made it worse Luke didn't tell me about Cheryl. I continued looking out my passenger window and thinking of my own plans. Reggie went on talking to himself.

"It must have been Jack who filled him in."

At my lack of response, his tone of voice got wheedling. "Come on, Anabel. No shitting you here, you're the most reasonable of my sisters. You know Luke was only looking out for you. What's so wrong with that? You got a good night's sleep and they told you this morning."

I faced my brother then. "I didn't say 'they' told me. 'They' told me nothing."

I snorted at his "Oh Shit!" expression.

I made a face and lifted a shoulder. "Somehow, I'll manage to take care of myself, despite those big-balled, buttheads cramping my style. I'll tell you what; those stupid men shouldn't plot to deliberately keep information from me. It only hinders me. So, you said you wanted to tell me last night. Why, Reg?"

Starting the truck, my brother slanted me a cajoling grin. "Uh, because you scare the living crap out of me when you're mad at me?"

Not smiling, I waited.

He put the truck in gear and started down the driveway. "Okay Junior, I get why you are disgusted. It must blow to be a girl." He smiled sheepishly over at me. "Don't tell Jack or Luke because I will lie and deny it, but I'm on your side about this nondisclosure crap. Yesterday, you kicked a dude in the balls, and then shot at a man trying to kill all you girls. Damn right, I think you should be told things. I snuck away from the game to tell you about Cheryl last night, but you were passed out on my couch with my brownies smeared all over your face." He thought a second. "I guess I should have said something before I went to shower, but I was thinking about what guns to bring today. I must be one cold bastard," Reg laughed ruefully, "because Cheryl's murder never crossed my mind."

"You're not cold." At his glare after that comment sunk in, I reached over and pushed his shoulder. "You sneaky, adorable, ratfink of a brother, do you swear to God you came to tell me last night?"

Reggie promptly put a hand to his heart and flashed me the infamous MacKenzie double dimples. "I hereby swear to God."

"Then thank you for that. By the way, the brownies were delicious. Oh, and Reggie," I pulled my sunglasses down on my nose to give him some sister-brother eye contact, "do you think by now you've given Jack and Luke enough time to search my building to be sure it's safe?"

Chapter XVIII

"Born This Way" by Lady Gaga

Sunday, 11/18/12

8:00 AM

Reg performed some groveling along the way to Northfield. Well, I consider it groveling when someone repeatedly calls me 'a damn bloodhound' with a certain tone of admiration in their voice. We made it to my apartment without incident. I didn't say anything more about not being clued in on the events concerning my own life, but Reggie must have felt bad.

Approaching my building on Division Street, Reg brought it up again. "Jack called and told me some of his cops were searching the building before you went home. My orders were to wait for his all clear. Luke wasn't involved in this, as far as I know." He glanced over at me to see how I took this confession. "I never thought about if Jack was wrong or right to do the search without telling you, I was only damned relieved he was making sure it got done.

"Jack mentioned the ex has lawyered up and isn't talking. Hansen won't say why his asswife, old Hummerschmidt, is after you." Reggie then scoffed, adding in his forthright manner and sounding an awful lot like Jazy, "It seems obvious to me the fucker's nuts, and so who cares about the why. We only need to concentrate on trying to keep you alive until he's caught."

"Super. By all means, let's try."

The definition of the law of averages would indicate sometime today a piece of news I'd receive would have to be good. I didn't bother mentioning that Jack was able to enter my building without my consent because I gave Luke the codes to the doors yesterday. I considered Luke involved.

Now that I was thinking about it, what _did_ Luke have to do today that was so important he had to take off, instead of staying with me when a homicidal rapist was on the loose? Disgruntled, I imagined he was taking his houseguest out to breakfast so that over pancakes, his man-whore friend could find another woman to line up for a hit and run.

Sure, I was perfectly fine staying with Reggie. However, if Luke was so concerned about my emotional well-being and physical safety; you'd think he would have insisted on sticking around. On the job, he prevented and secured. It may be his weekend off, but if anybody could use a little preventing, it's me.

Was I wrong to believe I am worth the unpaid overtime?

I don't think so, either.

I wallowed in my pity party for a minute more while Reg parked directly in front of the entrance to the shop. I blew it off then to concentrate on my goal of the day staying alive. Glancing up and down Division Street reaffirmed this early on a Sunday there was little traffic and plenty of parking spots.

Reggie interrupted my progressively crankier thoughts. "I know what it means when you get quiet. Tell your little brother, what are you planning in that pointy head of yours?"

"Hard as it is resisting your suaveness, I'll tell you in the lobby. Let's go inside."

"Not so fast!" He reached behind for the shotgun case and awkwardly maneuvered it into the front seat and across my lap. "Here, you carry both these bags in so my hands are free."

Reggie came around to my side and opened my door. He reminded me of a secret service agent in his sunglasses. His head was scanning the street while his right hand was in his jacket pocket. He crowded behind me when I carried the gun bags, my jacket, and my purse to Bel's front entrance. He used his larger frame as cover until I unlocked the door and we were inside. Using his body as a shield to protect my life almost made up for his earlier treachery, but not completely.

The main doors were locked behind us, and I plunked everything down on the bench near my apartment door.

"Can I have the gun you brought for me, please?"

My amiable brother complied, taking out the pistol from the padded gun bag. When he handed it over, I automatically checked the safety before relaxing with the gun in my hand.

He inclined his head, indicating the Ruger at my side. "The clip is loaded with ten rounds. This gun will feel about the same as your Glock to shoot."

I examined the weapon. "I have to say, this Ruger is quite cute. This skinny, little barrel is sexy. Maybe I can keep it?"

"Guns are not cute or sexy, Anabel, you little freak. They are tough and masculine. No, you can't have it, that's my varmint gun." His smirk disappeared and he frowned in worry. "I thought it was smarter to give you a gun closer to your Glock, instead of my .357, but I'm really stupid sometimes. We should have stopped at Luke's pasture on the way here and let you practice shooting a few rounds."

"Don't sweat it, we're only being precautionary here. You have the big guns and we're sticking together, right? I doubt a little practice would make much difference in the scheme of things. Besides, I've been target shooting at the range and have become pretty accurate with my Glock, so if they aren't that different," I shrugged, "I should do okay."

"I guess you're right." He pointed at me in warning. "You remember I get first dibs on shooting any fuckers that get in our way today, and we'll be fine."

I meekly gave my word. I then told him my plan.

Frowning in confusion, he rubbed a palm over his unshaven chin. The scraping sound was loud in the quiet of the lobby. "Jack already had the building searched. Why do we have to do it again?"

Patiently, I explained, "We know every crack and crevice in this whole building. You want to bet our lives Jack's cops checked the old dumbwaiter behind the cupboard door in Bel's staff kitchen? Or the hidden storage room in the basement behind the shelving? Unless we call Chief Jack and verify those cops searched in every nook and cranny I can name, I sure as hell don't."

Shaking his head in laughing frustration, my brother begrudgingly agreed. "Let's make it quick then, I'm starving." He brightened. "Will you make me some pancakes or scrambled eggs when we're done? Or wait, how about French toast?"

"Perhaps that could be negotiated." I cautioned, "Now don't have a kitten, but I'm carrying this gun ready to shoot."

Reg's face grew serious at my statement. "Damn right you are. I'd be freakin' out more if you didn't, Junior. While we search, I want you to stay on my left side and not behind me." He took the revolver from his pocket, shrugged out of his jacket and laid it on the bench. Out of the duffle he removed extra bullets for the .357 and the spare magazine for the Ruger. He put the bullets in his jeans pocket, and handed me the spare. He unzipped the long bag and took out the Remington 12 gauge shot gun. He checked the safety, loaded the magazine tube with five shells, racked one in the chamber, and put the sling strap over his neck. Loaded for bear, he stuck his cell in his shirt pocket.

"Just remember that I'm a friendly, practice muzzle control like you've been taught, and be aware you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for brother-slaughter."

"You act like I haven't shot you before and don't know the drill."

My brother gave me a dirty look, but we were both chuckling while I set my weapon and spare magazine down for a second. I slipped out of my high-heeled shoes and socks. Barefoot, but more slip-resistant, I was longing for a shower, my sweet smelling lotions, and my cosmetics bag. I felt about as appealing as something the cat dragged in. But I had to deal. The cream colored slacks and pink blouse I still had on from last night had no pockets. I was nonplussed where to carry the extra magazine for the Ruger, and also my cell. Shrugging to myself, I agreed with Plato's practical words, "Necessity, who is the mother of invention." In went the extra magazine under the tight waistband of my slacks, and down sideways went the cell phone into my cleavage.

Reg blinked, but was smart and said nothing. He went over a few tips about stalking game quietly together and using simple hand signals while I listened attentively. Then we entered Bel's Books, relocking the door behind us, and started searching.

Silently as possible, we thoroughly searched the basement and then the first floor. Reggie did mouth the occasional grumble to be duplicating the cop's efforts.

I firmly believe there was still a dab of admiration in his tone when he whispered for about the fourth time, "You're a damn paranoid, little tyrant."

After clearing the second floor apartment, Reg and I agreed the guest bedroom would serve as the Axelrod's last stand, if it came to that. We stored the gear in there. Unlike my room, the guest bedroom has a sturdy lock on the door. There's a heavy dresser against the wall to push in front of the door. I took the rope ladder from under my bed and left it next to the guest bedroom window. This side of the building is a sheer drop down to Fourth Street.

There's a sizeable balcony off the back of my apartment. The balcony is higher than a normal second story due to the lofty proportions inside my building. It has a retractable fire escape ladder attached to the side. I stood on alert while Reg, after scoffing in brotherly disgust, secured the ladder with a swaddling of duct tape. I wasn't taking any chances with areas I could control.

The back door onto the balcony has a safety bar lock and only a small window. The laundry room window looks out onto the balcony. It's large enough for a man to enter, but it's locked and wired into my security system. Our reconnoitering had me mentally adding several more items to my personal, self-defense check list. Nothing like a little brush with death to make a girl reevaluate her security needs. An arsenal of guns and ammo, a bar lock for my bedroom door, and permanent bars for the laundry room window are now at the top of the list.

On the bedroom side of the apartment, the long hallway dead-ended at a door leading up to the third floor. At the top of the steep, straight staircase, a long storage room runs back the length of the apartment over the bedrooms below. The high, loft-like ceiling throughout the other side of the apartment prevents the attic from spanning the entire third floor.

The attic storage room has finished white walls and dark stained plank flooring. It's an easy space to search and not your typical scary, cobwebby attic. It is possible to see over the entire space in a glance. There are the same original tall windows along three sides of the room as throughout the rest of the building. Covered only with light-diffusing, sheer curtains, the morning sunshine poured through the bank of east facing windows at the top of the staircase. When we reached the top of the stairs, it was bright and cheerful. The overhead lights I'd flipped on automatically were redundant.

At the opposite end of this very long attic, on the northwest corner above Division Street, is the turret room. It's a three-sided appendage jutting out of the building with a wide, six-foot tall window set in each portion. The open, cross beam ceiling above the turret area soars high into the shadows.

Another reason the attic's an easy space to search is because NanaBel's not a hoarder. There are shelves built along the south wall on the left. The shelves are wide enough to hold a series of clearly labeled, small storage boxes. Aside from a few odds and ends of furniture stacked neatly against this wall further down, the space is entirely empty. I am more of a collector than my grandmother, but haven't overflowed up into the attic yet.

Guns hanging loosely at our sides, we looked around. This space would make a very cool workroom for some of my future projects.

Reggie voiced echoed when he wondered, "How come we never did anything up here when we were growing up? This is an awesome room."

"I was just thinking the same thing. I guess NanaBel kept us too busy down in the store." I gave my brother a droll look. "Either that, or she was working our tails off cleaning something in the apartment."

He chuckled as he walked further down the room, peering at the furniture. "Yeah, she's a wily one. I'm thinking about doing a chore chart for my own work crews." He pulled out an elaborately carved, heavy wooden chair. "Can I have this?"

"Sure, if I can have Miss Sexy here." I answered, holding up the Ruger.

Reggie shot me a "get real" look, and I shrugged an "Oh well, then" look back at him.

He placed the chair back in position against the wall. Following him to the front windows, I ignored his pouting and asked his opinion on something I'd been thinking over.

"Do you think I should I cancel the dinner here tonight because of The Hammer?"

Reg scratched his head. "If everyone coming knows about this Hammershit loser, and they park in front where the streetlights are bright, there shouldn't be a problem."

He went on to say, "No asshole ass bandit is going to keep me from doing what we always do. If it'll make you feel better, I'll go down and man the main doors around five." He grinned and toggled his revolver. "Since I'm the one packing heat, baby."

I laughed at Reggie's confident swaggering. "Thanks, I won't cancel then."

My friends and family could always choose to stay home. With a swallow, I silently reminded myself I was bait. If it was The Hammer's intention to specifically attack me again, the more coming and going he saw, the greater the chance we'd draw him out. He needed to think it would be easy to come after me.

I parted the curtain with the barrel of the gun and peeked down on Division. I noticed traffic was picking up and a few walkers were on the sidewalks scurrying to their destinations. It was sunny, but the balmy weather of yesterday was a distant memory. Today was in the low teens with a nippy wind. They were still predicting a big snow, but no way would I get Reg going on that subject again. Weather forecasters make him irrational.

Reggie meandered towards the turret room on our right. "Man, these are some amazing windows!"

About to reply, I noticed a man with a bald head wearing a bulky, light-colored coat across the street. I stiffened to attention and unconsciously tightened my hand around the gun. Nervously, I made sure my finger wasn't near the trigger, and then looked out again. The guy was sitting on the marble park bench facing my building, and directly across from Bel's front doors. He was much more focused towards the front entrance of my store rather than the newspaper in his hand.

Without taking my eyes off the man, I called out, "Reggie, check this guy out across the street on the bench. Does it seem weird he's sitting outside today? I can't say if he's Hammerschmidt," Frustrated, I had my face glued to the window trying to decide if the man could be the same dude I saw yesterday in the van and in the mug shot, "but should we do something?"

Reggie leaned down to look out the left turret window to get a view of the park. He teased, "Do something like shoot him? It's a good thing I'm the one with the shotgun or you'd probably have the man in your sights. You mean the guy with the paper?"

"Keep talking like that and I'll have you in my sights. Yes, Einstein, I mean the guy with the paper, since he's the only person sitting on a bench..."

I broke off giving Reg a hard time when I saw something go swooping by out of my right peripheral vision. I had the impression of a huge, black moth flying down from the turret's ceiling. Startled, I turned. I let out a surprised shout of confusion when I saw what appeared to be a bulky comforter blanket land on my brother's back and envelope him. It landed with enough force he was smashed against the glass of the window with a resounding CRACK!

The culminating crescendo of glass noisily splintering and shattering in the attic had me screaming Reggie's name and instinctively running towards him.

I couldn't see the top half of his body from this angle, but I saw his boots on the floor underneath whatever the hell had fallen from the beams and covered him. I was terrified it was his head that had broken the window and shattered the glass.

In my bare feet, I abruptly halted a few feet away. I screamed his name even louder when I saw his boots were still. I hesitated a moment going closer, scared I'd find his neck stuck through on a pike of sharp glass under the massive bulk covering his body from my view.

I quickly glanced upward, but I could see nothing in the rafters above him. When I looked back at Reg only a microsecond later, the comforter bulk on top of my brother's still form was rising up. I was close enough to recognize the covering was some sort of down filled sleeping bag, but the fact it was moving while my brother's boots stayed still had me rooted in place in puzzled, growing horror.

The bulk turned my way and I screamed out, "HOLY FUCK!"

The Hammer stood straight and flung off the sleeping bag.

Time stopped. My stunned, petrified impressions were that he loomed enormous. His head, his trunk, his legs everything was gigantic. He had on a bizarre T-shirt that was so tight fitting across his over developed arms and chest muscles, and so short over his hairy stomach protruding out like a watermelon, that it appeared he had put on a child's size by mistake. His jeans were baggy and drooped low under his gut that looked hard as a rock, even though it stuck out like he was nine months pregnant. A wave of the foulest smelling body odor hit me, causing me to gag as I breathed in frightened gasps. Even in my complete terror, the thought flashed it was unbelievable we hadn't smelled him long before he jumped down from the beams.

I was paralyzed. I was staring into those malignant eyes that had horrified me in the mug shot. They were bloodshot red, bulging out of his head, and crazed with aggressive hate. The man was a monster. I could see a thick, snaking vein throbbing in his forehead. His pale face was mottled with purple. Then he opened his mouth wide and roared in fury. The raging echoes filled the attic and were the most terrifying sounds I have ever heard in my life.

He didn't pause when flinging off the cover, but charged me.

He was twelve feet away, incredibly fast, and coming at me like a freight train.

I let loose shrill, ear piercing screams as I backpedaled away, tripping over my clumsy feet and trying to stay upright.

My heart was beating so fast I thought it would burst from my chest. I was in a confused, mind-numbing panic over everything occurring so fast. One minute Reggie and I were talking, and the next moment my worst nightmare was a few feet away with my brother dead at his feet.

I fumbled to raise the Ruger in my left hand and then my brain seemed to switch to slow motion like a slide show. I was seeing everything happening before me in sharply etched detail. The rampaging man with widespread, enormously muscled arms inked with full sleeves of the crudest tattoos, the drops of spittle spraying from his screaming mouth fixed in a rictus smile of awful, yellowed teeth, and the sheer, linen curtain floating in the air current off to his side.

I was hearing the booming sound of a gun from far away. Each boom was distinct and hung in the air cloud-like, as if the deafening noise was manifesting itself physically. I was sure I was shot, but I felt no pain anywhere.

Just as suddenly as it had gone into slow motion, my mind snapped back into real time. My brain comprehended it was me shooting the gun. I swung the weapon up from my left side. Incoherent with frightened panic, I fired repeatedly. I was wildly out of control and reacting with no conscious thought. My arm continued rising higher after every shot instead of correcting. I was recklessly shooting without aim at the bellowing horror show bearing straight at me and now only a yard away.

Then Hammerschmidt was off his feet and flying through the air. His protruding, hairy stomach smashed into me first with bone-crushing force.

Instinctively, I flinchingly twisted away to my right while protectively throwing up my hands before he hit me. My body was flung backwards into the room from this massive body blow. I landed hard on my butt first, captured under his stinking, sweat-soaked body. Momentum from the smashing blow continued thrusting me backwards in motion. Upon impact with the floor, the wind was knocked out of me with a WHOOSH! At the same time, the spine-jarring landing caused my elbow to crack sharply against the floor. An excruciating pain screamed down my left arm and my hand holding the gun went numb. An instant later, my head was forcefully bounced off the floorboards.

Everything went black.

Chapter XIX

"Fact and Friction" by The Nearly Deads

Sunday, 11/18/12

8:45 AM

I heard a voice gasping in a painful chant, "Oh, my head, my elbow. Oh, my head, my elbow."

A few seconds later, I realized it was me.

Another voice to my right said, "Your head and your elbow? My head is ready to come off!"

I didn't want to open my eyes. "Reg, is that you? Are we dead?"

A third voice right above me stated, "Axelrods don't die from getting their thick heads thumped."

I recognized that low voice. I felt a gentle hand sweep the sweat-soaked hair from my perspiring face. I lifted my eyes open to see Luke glaring down at me.

I murmured, "Hello, Mr. Secretive. How was breakfast? Were they serving women on the menu?"

Again from my right, a fourth voice asked, "She concussed or what?"

My brother's voice stuttered, "Of course she ca...can cu...cuss."

I giggled and then winced. "Shit!"

"See."

"Stop making me laugh," I beseeched plaintively. "It hurts too badly!"

"No, I'll tell you what hurts too bad. It's searching a building with you that the cops have already searched now that hurts bad."

My brother and I both started laughing, and then groaning.

Holding the back of my head, I tried to sit up more. I gave up the attempt for now when a stab of pain pierced my skull. I settled back, closing my eyes. My left elbow really hurt, but I tested and could flex my arm and fingers. I didn't know if that meant anything, but it made me feel better.

Giving me a slight squeeze, Luke's amused voice answered the fourth voice, "No, she's not concussed; she's always this way." He stated firmly, "You'll both live." To me, he murmured, "We'll talk about the secretive comment later, in private."

His tone was even and composed, but I opened my eyes and dredged up a tiny grimace of a smile to alleviate the anxiety I'd seen on his face. I stuck my tongue out about the talk later in private part. Having my brains scrambled regularly must be making me extra-immature, but it made me feel better, too.

I was on the floor in the attic. Luke was sitting with me in his arms. I was half in his lap with my legs sprawled out. My toes were pointing to the bank of windows in front of me.

Green eyes clouded with worry searched mine. Luke ignored my smart-alecky tongue and asked quietly, "How are you feeling? Should I take you to emergency? When I got here, you were unresponsive to my voice, but flailing to get out from under Hammerschmidt. Reggie said the bastard landed on you like a ton of bricks."

"I'll be fine. No hospitals are needed," I assured him firmly. I had no basis in reality whatsoever for reaching that conclusion. But on general principle, I have a rule to avoid doctors and hospitals unless I'm at death's door or stitches are involved. It tees me off so much to wait around forever to be seen, I'd rather cure myself or die first. I moved and wriggled various body parts. This was a close one, but I'd survive. My diagnosis was I'd be bruised up, but nothing a shower and a couple of aspirin shouldn't fix right up.

I turned my head slowly to the right and felt a drop of sweat roll slowly off my cheek. Reggie was slumped on the floor several feet away from where I was lying. He was on his back, his legs bent at the knee, and feet flat on the floor. He was cradling his head, as if preparing to do a crunch. I was incredibly relieved to see it was still connected to his neck.

Standing next to him was the bald man from the park. He was shifting from one foot to another, nervous energy coming off him in waves. Our eyes met for a second. He gave a slight nod and an encouraging smile. Up close, I could see he was much shorter and really bore no resemblance to The Hammer at all, except for the shaved head. The man standing before me here could be Middle Eastern, complete with golden skin, dark, liquid eyes and a hooked blade of a nose.

' _Well, damn. Anna was so wrong; clearly I did need glasses!'_

"The Hammer!" I cried out, feeling like an idiot I hadn't asked immediately. "What happened? Where is he?"

Luke's calming fingers stroked my cheek. "Relax, Anabel, he can't hurt you. Hammerschmidt's over there, dead. Shot about eleven times." He added dryly, "I think it was Reg's shot through the back of the head that might have finally decided matters."

The bald stranger chimed in, speaking in a fast, clipped voice, "I don't know, Luke. I'm partial to the nice grouping in the groin area myself. From the amount of blood gushed; the femoral must have been hit."

My brother's voice was emphatic. "John, if you're speaking of having a femoral partiality that would definitely be Anabel's work."

Luke laughed shortly while I gave Reg the finger. Thankfully, I could manage that without too much effort. Introductions must have been performed while I was unconscious. Since John was the nasty man doing my nastier cousin Candy last night, and I was already feeling nauseated enough from the lingering stink of the dead Hammer, I didn't mention their lack of manners when they didn't introduce us.

I turned my head to the left. A few yards away lay the enormous body of Gustav Hammerschmidt. He was draped under the sleeping bag he'd been wearing when he had jumped on my brother like Moth Man. My terror hadn't exaggerated the enormous size of him or the rank smell. I shuddered, bile rising in my throat.

It sank into my brain that Reg and I had been moved away from the windows and the broken glass, but it appeared the Hammer lay right where he must have landed on me.

Luke followed my gaze. "Jack will be here any second to take over the crime scene. You were only out for a minute."

I nodded slightly and looked away from the dead man. In the turret room, the curtains on the shattered window snapped to and fro on the cold, morning breeze. Crushed glass littered the floor.

Questions crowded my mind. Why were Luke and John here before the police? How had The Hammer gotten into my building without leaving a trace of breaking in? How come my brother's head wasn't sliced off, or at least bleeding? Most importantly, did the falling glass hurt anyone on the sidewalk below?

For once, I was too overwhelmed to ask. I was filled with relief Reggie and I had survived the ambush. I was even more ecstatic the stinking, homicidal Hammer hadn't. I lay back and nestled my aching skull into the warmth of Luke's chest, letting his fingers lightly rubbing my temple do their magic. I hurt everywhere, but the drumline banging away in the back of my head was the worst.

The apartment doorbell starting ringing, the shrill, buzzing noise distinctly audible even up here.

Luke stated, "Circus time begins. You two ready for this?"

Reg and I groaned, but we both agreed we wanted to get it over with immediately.

John strode off quickly and went downstairs. The three of us sat quietly in the lull before the shit storm heading our way arrived. Over the last twenty-four hours, I'd become an old pro at handling police investigation procedures.

A minute later, Luke's cell buzzed. When he answered, Jazy's yelling voice could be heard clear as a bell. "I don't care who you are, you damn well better let me up these stairs. Anabel! Reggie!"

Reggie started laughing. My head rose and fell with Luke's chest when he sighed loudly in irritation.

His response was a deep rumble against my ear. "It's the sister. Let her up, but only to the top of the stairs, so she doesn't fuck with the crime scene." I could hear John's voice raised in question. "Yeah, it's the friend. Let her up, too. Yeah, John, she's gorgeous. Yeah, sure, like Xena, Warrior Princess is about right." Luke ended the call on a muttered, "Christ."

Reg snickered. "Tre J has that effect on all men, don't worry."

Luke gave a snort. "You'd better worry. He was talking about your sister, Reggie."

After that, we were all snickering and snorting, Reg and I interspersing our mirth with the occasional moan of pain.

Jazy and Tre were at the top of the stairs in no time. John had to use his body and outspread arms to ban them going any further towards us. Luke added his warning to the mix, and the girls settled down after seeing Reg and me in one piece, more or less, lying in the sunlight at the other end of the room.

I had to sit up and turn around to face them. Groaning under my breath, I made this slow maneuver. Actually, it felt better moving around. I carefully flexed my shoulders. Even with all the extra padding, my butt ached almost as much as my head.

Peering around the human fence, Jazy took in the scene before her. She glared at John accusingly and shouted, "What the hell? I thought you said she wasn't hurt!" Jaz called down to me, "Anabel, are you shot?"

I reassured her quickly, 'No, we're banged around some, but only The Hammer got shot. He's dead."

Whistling in admiration, Jazzy sang out, "Hallefuckin'luelah!" Then her voice turned wondering. "Tre, take a look at Bel. That's gotta be The Hammer's blood and guts totally covering her. How cool is that!"

"Waaay cool!" was Tre's enthusiastic reply.

I vaguely heard Tre in the far recesses of my mind. I was looking down the length of my body. I heard more yelling start from the direction of the stairs and my mind registered Chief Jack had arrived, but only from a far-off galaxy in another world. Woozily, I stared down in growing horror at the sight of myself. There was wet, gooky stuff on me everywhere I could see. I twisted painfully to get a better look. It was on my chest and stomach, and continued down the length of me to my bare feet. My slacks were dark purple-red with it. I could not begin to imagine the origin of what some of the slimy chunks might be.

I was dizzy and gagging in disbelief that I had been laying here oblivious to the effluvium of the bloody gore I was coated with while we chit-chatted about concussions and whatnot.

I swiped my dripping, sweating forehead with a forearm. Glancing at the glob of bloody, gelatinous substance now smeared on my bare skin, I started making tiny gasping, squeaking noises. Tingling and swaying, I finally comprehended that it wasn't sweat or perspiration I had on my face, in my hair, and drenching my body. It was the brains, blood, and guts of Gustav Hammerschmidt.

Everything went black.

Chapter XX

"Haven't Got Time For The Pain" by Carly Simon

Sunday, 11/18/12

3:45 PM

I survived the police investigation...barely. The yelling I'd heard was Chief Jack kicking Jazy and Tre out immediately from the third floor. Under escort, they were allowed to deliver and put away my groceries on the second floor. Once the evidence techs checked out the apartment, the two girls helped fainting me into the shower.

Yes, I have to face the unbearable truth and admit I freaking fainted. The men upstairs were lucky I did that instead of tearing them apart from limb to limb, and then beating them over their heads with their own arms. It was seven hours later, and I was still shaking my head over Luke or Reg saying nothing about the filthy crud covering me from head to toe. John didn't count. Luke let me touch him and actually held me in his arms. He voluntarily touched my hair and my face. I might have to reexamine the whole concept of thinking I know men, much less like them.

After taking Advil, I sat on the ledge seat in the shower under the hottest water I could stand. Above the noise of the pounding water, I told Jaz and Tre about The Hammer, and about Cheryl Crookston's murder. I needed to be distracted from the slime I swear was still circling down my drain while I compulsively washed my hair for the fourth time.

When I was done, the girls left. They gleefully promised to contact Mac, Anna, Stella, Kenna, and Billy to share all the news since last night. The store would be closed today, but I was still planning on having our family dinner at five. I did beg them to tell everyone not to come over any earlier than four this afternoon. I needed to be alone and recharge my batteries. Then I'd be ready to celebrate surviving another Final Destination attempt this weekend and give friendship support to Crookie, even if it killed me.

Happily, I was right about the shower diagnosis. After finishing scrubbing myself so shiny clean I squeaked, and after the pills kicked in, I was feeling more human. After repeated gargling, vigorous teeth brushing, and lavish applications of Japanese Peony body lotion, I finally got my sniffer back in order. I've discovered the hard way, not smelling death every second was necessary before you could start not thinking about it every second.

Chief Jack was ominously silent after shouting his orders at the girls, but anyone knowing him could tell he was in a towering, black rage. The cops and assorted personnel were busy on the third floor, but it was a solemn, carefully quiet busy.

In the organized confusion of the first hour after the police arrived, Luke and I had been separated. With his special talent of observation, I felt he always had his eye on me wherever I was, even if we didn't speak.

The County Attorney, Wade Patterson, showed up in my dining room to listen to Reg and I give our statements and answer questions on the shooting death of Gustav Hammerschmidt. Mr. Patterson is a high strung, anxious gentleman. When he saw Luke, a stranger leaning a shoulder against the wall and quietly listening, the head prosecutor of crimes in Rice County peevishly suggested Luke go wait somewhere else.

Luke straightened up, pulled a chair out beside me, and quietly informed Mr. Patterson that he was representing me until it was determined conclusively that I didn't need to hire a criminal attorney. This was how I found out Mr. Secretive has a law degree.

That announcement was a double dipper of a good time for Chief Jack. His grim countenance lightened up briefly for the first time since arriving at seeing the stunned look on my face at Luke's reply to Wade's invitation to leave. In addition, Luke had no way of knowing Wade Patterson has been in love with my grandmother since before we were both born. Mr. Patterson was an old sweetheart, and while he'd probably draw the line at letting me get away with cold-blooded murder, even that's debatable if NanaBel was in town. Shooting a full magazine at a known bad man in self-defense while being attacked in my own home was a slam-dunk, even with a weapon not registered to me. I learned chances were high it was Reggie's bullet that killed him first. As Chief Jack liked to say, this meeting was strictly for crossing the fucking Ts.

Once they were done with my interview, I made no effort to speak with Jack. He seemed to be avoiding me, too, and I didn't care why. His insistence to keep me in the dark had almost accomplished that very thing, but permanently. At the moment, I didn't give a rat's ass about Jack's emotional well-being due to his professional embarrassment. I was okay with being alive due to my decision to trust my own instincts. It was one of those times when my silence would speak much louder than any words.

My brother would try to lord it over me the rest of our lives that he saved me with one headshot compared to my ten fired below the belt. I informed him that would be true, except for one fact; I was aiming based on my theory that most men's brains were in their pants. Reg proved my theory by only needing one bullet to the man's head. He was still thinking that over when he left.

I assured Reggie, in fact I insisted, that he should go home to shower and relax. I wasn't up for cooking any breakfast right now. He said he'd be back for dinner and took off as soon as the cops were done with him. Turns out his head wasn't sliced to ribbons because it never hit the glass, it was his shotgun that broke through the window. His head had been smacked hard against the wooden frame of the window when Moth Man landed on him. It stunned him insensible for a few seconds. It probably saved his life. The Hammer didn't mess with him anymore, but came right after me.

Luke and John left soon after my brother. They were the first on the scene within seconds because they weren't out ordering women for breakfast like I had grumpily imagined, but had been keeping my building under surveillance. It was too bad Gustav Hammerschmidt hadn't gotten the memo he was supposed to come from the outside to attack me.

Luke had seen the turret window shatter. He'd been on the stairs when the first shots started. It was over by the time he burst into the attic. Like he'd told me earlier, he known right away I was still alive. I'd been doing the croppy on the floor. I was wriggling like a fish out of water while trying to get my wind back and squirm out from being half buried under The Hammer's revolting body. That image was nearly as pleasant for me to contemplate as fainting twice this weekend.

I had no idea what Luke was thinking about today's events. He'd been closemouthed on the subject of The Hammer being overlooked in the police search when Reg brought it up. He was silent in general, he and John staying in the background as the police took over the scene. I had also kept silent. It hadn't been the time or place to discuss any personal issues. But I had a feeling this near death experience might drive home to Luke the necessity to lighten up on the macho madness with me in a way no casual discussion could ever get across. If not, he's too thick to ever get it.

When I was done being questioned, John waited by the stairs to leave while my unsolicited Solicitor took me aside in the foyer.

I didn't say a word, but Luke held up a hand, as if I had barraged him with a firestorm of questions. "I need to take care of some business and then I'll come back in an hour. We'll talk about everything then."

I shook my head. "No, please don't come back before five tonight for dinner."

Brows meeting in surprise, he rapped his knuckles against the arm of the church pew bench while digesting my blunt refusal.

"I know we have things to talk about, Luke, but I am simply not up to it. I'm all yours later tonight after dinner. Frankly, I'm not feeling very cooperative or compliant. You won't be happy with anything I have to say right now." I frowned up at him. "I know I won't be happy with anything you have to say to me right now, that's for sure." I almost patted his jacket arm. "I'd love to kiss you good-bye, but I know you are disgustingly smeared with dried gook in spots under your jacket. Please have a heart, get the hell out of here and let me be alone for a few hours."

For some reason, Luke's face lit up and he grinned broadly at my words.

I heard a muffled laugh from the stairs and shot a questioning glare John's way.

His face was bland and he shrugged innocently in return.

I sniffed.

We still hadn't been officially introduced, but I begrudgingly thanked him politely for his efforts on my behalf, fruitless as they were.

He bowed slightly in return.

Luke laughed as they departed down the stairs.

By eleven o'clock everyone was gone but the police. While the police followed their protocols and did their thankless, routine work, it felt good to keep busy doing my own thankless routine of work around the apartment.

The housecleaning service came on Fridays, but any woman worth her salt could always find a load of laundry that needed doing. I changed the sheets on my bed and did a pass of the guest bedroom before Crookie showed up. I found myself humming as I slowly worked. My head still hurt a little and I was going to be one sore, whining baby tomorrow, but it was interesting how having a death threat off the table made a girl appreciative of the mindlessly mundane.

Finally, the police left after taping closed the door to the attic. A few hours went by. Keeping busy helped me sort my muddled thoughts. Not that I came to any great conclusions because I was still me. I didn't really want to change the status quo of having no definitive status quo in my life. Regardless of where Luke and I were headed, I knew I couldn't take the "protect me for my own sake" attitude. It was a matter of trust, in my opinion, and nonnegotiable. I realized it could take some time, but Luke had to be willing to compromise on this and mean it.

Anna texted her plan of the day was to break it off with Jim Mardsen this afternoon. Mum was the word on that score; Anna wanted to see Reggie's face when he heard. Today, Mum was my middle name, so no problem there.

Kenna texted she was happy we were still alive as of ten o'clock this morning. She was at a friend's in White Bear Lake and not coming to dinner.

This led to me calling Mac about Candy. That led to a thirty-minute conversation about The Hammer and Cheryl Crookston, but talking with Mac was good. We've always been sounding boards to each other and talked over life's issues together. My sis could be depended upon to be practical and levelheaded, except for the going crazy every eighteen years part. The upside to our conversation was her reaffirmation I probably wasn't in any imminent danger of catching some foul plague from the grossness plastered all over me upstairs. I didn't think I'd eaten any of Gustav's guts, or absorbed any through my eyeballs, open sores, or Queen Vicky.

The downside to my call was that it led to me being blackmailed into doing a dessert for tonight. I was making an apple crisp with a crumble topping about three inches thick. This was Diego's favorite dessert. It was also the vig for Mac agreeing to get Candy over here sometime before five no questions asked.

If I needed any further proof Mac was wild about her husband, her choice for dessert said it all. She was a chocolate girl all the way. This was giving it up for love in action.

I worked in my home office for an hour on store business. Thankfully, no pedestrians were nearby when the glass fell from the turret window down onto the sidewalk. The mess was swept up and the window had been boarded shut. Due to my freakish need for control, I was happy to be the one taking care of any store related issues concerning The Hammer's death. So what if I was basically followed the same format as Luke had yesterday. That splitting-hairs detail had a way of making everything sunshiny in my world.

Jazy and Tre had done themselves proud and didn't miss an item on my grocery list. I cranked the music and got busy cooking. If I was banging pots and pans around a little louder than I normally did in the kitchen, it was for a good cause.

"Beat a Pan, Save a Man" was my new motto.

Not knowing how many would show up tonight, I'd decided on soup, salad, and breadsticks for the menu. I finished the chicken wild rice soup, with a smaller pot of mushroom wild rice soup for the non-flesh eaters. My salad greens were washed and chilled. I whisked together the raspberry vinaigrette, sliced strawberries, red onion, and a Gouda cheese, made cracked black pepper croutons, and toasted some walnuts in a little honey. I prepared rosemary breadsticks ready for the oven and I whipped up several pots of herb butter.

Cooking was Zen-like for me. I wouldn't want to cook three squares a day for a large brood, but I loved having dinner parties and entertaining in my apartment. As I whisked, diced, sautéed and stirred, I let my mind free fall where it would.

' _Geez Louise, we've had long phone conversations. What could possibly be the reason for Luke keeping a law degree hush-hush? Did he have so many talents and degrees he couldn't keep track of them all? Who can keep secrets like that, anyway? Most men bragged their butts off until you wanted to pay them to stop! He was a damn, tight-lipped freak of nature was what he was.'_

Peeling and cutting up the Honey Crisp apples, I absently munched on a juicy slice while I recalled a comment I wanted Reggie to expand upon from yesterday. It niggled and wouldn't stop, so I called him.

He was vegging out watching the game but it was a commercial break, so I was absolved. We agreed we each felt much better now. We agreed we would refer to The Hammer's murder as a joint effort to keep the peace between us.

Courtesies exchanged, I asked, "What did you mean yesterday in reference to Cheryl Crookston when you said she was a 'ditch-digging whore'?"

"Ah, yes. How erudite of me. Jack nailed Cheryl for a DUI a while back. She got fined and sentenced to do some community service hours. It was picking up trash in the ditches on the side of roads. She tried to get out of it."

I smiled at that scenario. I also complimented Reg on his impressive usage of last Friday's Word-of-the-Day. Jazy had jokingly given us all the same calendars last Christmas in our respective stockings.

"Oh yeah, how did that work for Cheryl?"

"I think she offered up her services to Jack in another capacity. Well, you know ol' Jack," Reggie's voice was ripe with innuendo, "the job always comes first. Cheryl did her time in the ditches."

I snickered, but my hands stilled for a beat in the process of combining the crumble topping ingredients. I thought of my brother's streaked blonde hair and husky, muscular build. I couldn't believe where my detective voice in my head was leading me. No wonder his comment had niggled in the back of my mind.

Reg's hair was like mine. It was streaked with different colors from the darkest brown to the whitest blonde. The white blonde streaks dominated the more sun we got. Since he worked outdoors primarily throughout much of the year, his top layer of hair was often bleached platinum blonde by the sun.

"Huh." was my less than erudite reply. I got busy again cutting in the softened sticks of butter with the flour, brown sugar, chopped pecans, and spices. This was going to be the mother of a huge pan of apple crisp happiness.

I asked casually, "Off topic, do you ever lend out your truck to friends? For instance, speaking of Jack; does he ever borrow your work truck to get supplies when he's doing projects around his place?"

"Tell me you aren't thinking of borrowing my truck?"

"You're a funny guy."

Chuckling, he said, "Sure, he's used my truck lots of times. Why do you ask?"

With perfect timing, I heard a roar of cheering from the television in the background. "I hear the game's back on, so I'll talk to you later. Bye!"

' _Was I really thinking Jack was the man in bed with Cheryl Crookston the night Crookie spied on her?'_

I didn't want to even contemplate Jack could be Cheryl's killer. I shook off that disquieting thought after telling my detective voice it had better shut up, or we would tangle. However, if he was the man Crookie saw it sure explained why he was so determined to control what information I received on her murder. I could easily see him writhing in embarrassment if I found out he had been screwing her. She was a girl my age, not only married to one of my friends, but a woman he had also arrested.

My smile outdid a Cheshire cat. ' _Jack, Jack, Oh Jack.'_

With a lighter heart, and singing along with Sara Bareilles because she begged me from my iPod, I cautiously danced around and cleaned up. Finished with KP duty, I went to change out of my flour dusted yoga pants and shirt. I had fun over the next hour doing girly-girl stuff.

Scrutinizing my closet offerings, I chose a royal blue, gauzy peasant blouse stitched with black velvet embroidery. The shirt has an empire neckline and sheer, black embroidered sleeves. It was an exotically fanciful shirt; and it billowed when I twirled. I felt like a pregnant, gypsy queen. A perfect choice it you planned on eating a lot, or dancing around a campfire. I lazily wove my shiny clean hair into a side braid that hung down my front and tied off the end with a black silk ribbon.

Going with the gypsy theme, I put on make-up to accent what I consider my best features, my eyes. Not only have I been blessed with two of them, but they're a dark blue color with touches of gray. I have long black lashes and dark, naturally arching brows. Otherwise, I like my face, but it's nothing extraordinary to write home about.

NanaBel and her friends say I have the look of a young Ann-Margaret. Most people my age have no clue who a young Ann-Margaret is unless they've watched old Elvis Presley movies. I don't know who I resemble, but I would best describe my looks in more modern terms as the girl-next-door type, only with a D cup.

Putting on dangly earrings made of lapis lazuli, I heard the ringing of the apartment doorbell. Checking my cell, I saw it was 3:45 PM. It was Reg and I buzzed him up.

He arrived at the top of the stairs with two six-packs. "I was bored after the game, so I decided to come over early to bug you."

"Oh, lucky me." I scooted past his half-hearted swipe with a laugh, we were both still moving a little slower than normal. "Do me a favor? Go taste the soup and tell me if it needs anything, would you please? I'll be right there." I called back over my shoulder, "But do not add anything yourself, Salty Sam, or I'll go for your femoral."

"You can try, but it may be awfully hard with the back of your head blown off," Reggie responded cheerfully as he went to taste.

From my bedroom, I heard the TV flipped on in the living room. Sports blared. My alone time, rejuvenating afternoon was officially over. I was leaving the bathroom when the doorbell rang again. Reggie beat me to the master station.

He threw me an odd look as he spoke into the intercom, "Hang on a minute." He motioned me over with his head. "Junior, come here." Reg stepped aside for me to peer at the small screen. "Is that Mike McClain?"

I took a quick glance and saw a tiny image of Mike McClain for the first time in almost ten years. My first reaction was to stand back, as if burned.

I recovered from my shock. "He's moved back to town recently."

"Hey, that's great! Should I buzz him up?"

I heard the note of eagerness in Reg's voice. When he was in his teens, my brother had hero worshiped Mike. He was the older brother Reg never had, but always wanted.

I had triumphed over a murdering rapist today, Mike McClain was small potatoes. "I guess."

Reg pressed the intercom. "Mike, this is Reg. I'm buzzing both doors unlocked. Come on up, man!"

I waited at the top of the stairs, but Reggie went down to the landing in his excitement at seeing Mike. Their hearty greetings and backslapping echoed loudly in the stairwell. It was strange hearing Mike's voice again in my apartment after all this time. Luke's voice was low and deeper, a baritone. Mike's was a tenor. He still sounded laid back and friendly, a man at his ease in any social situation.

"Reg, look at you! Good job, man, you aren't a shrimp like your sisters." He and Reg laughed together and bumped fists. "It's great to see you. What are you up to these days?" When his eyes looked up to see me at the top of the stairs, Mike stopped speaking. A smile burst across his face. He recovered his stride and came up to where I was standing. I didn't return his smile, but waited politely.

"Hello, Bel," he said softly.

Mike's about six-feet tall, athletic, solid, and muscular. Anna would be happy I could see for myself that he was neither fat nor balding. The scumbag looked great. He had fully matured into the man he was just promising to become at twenty. Back then, he was considered boy-band worthy by my girlfriends. Mike was one of those rare golden blondes with dark brows and a dark brown beard, not blonde or red. I could not watch the TV series "LOST" when it aired, even though Anna and Mac raved over it and never missed a week for years. Mike was a dead ringer for the character Sawyer. The resemblance was too eerie and too much of a reminder.

"Mike," I replied evenly, stepping back a little.

Mike ran a hand up the back of his head. His hair was shorter now and more golden-brown than blonde. He probably didn't spend the summer outdoors working construction anymore. The nervous gesture was familiar, though, and I felt a tug of remembrance before I shut it down.

He flashed a self-deprecating smile. "Thanks for agreeing to see me today. I know it's rude to stop by this way, but I couldn't wait to talk to you. I took a chance you'd be here, or in the store. I noticed the store's closed early today."

His glance moved past me. He was taking in the yellow police tape on the attic door at the end of the hallway.

"Not too big a chance you wouldn't find me here." I ignored his inquiry about Bel's hours. I looked at Reggie standing off to the side and clearly curious. "Listen, Mike is only here for a few minutes to talk about something." I raised my brows at Mike. "I assume you want your five minutes of talking in private?"

Mike gave my brother's shoulder a friendly punch. "I did come by to see your sister for a minute, but let's you and me get together later this week. Does that work for you?"

Reggie grinned broadly. "Sounds good, Mike. I'll have you out to the lake house. It's getting cold as a witches tit out there, but we're men and can still grill on the deck, am I right?"

Mike laughed and agreed. Reggie fished out one of his business cards from his wallet and then went back into the living room to watch football. My brother wasn't being disloyal to me. It had been too long for him to give the past a thought. He and I had never talked in detail about why Mike and I broke-up. He had been on a camping trip up in the Boundary Waters at the time and missed the gossip. I had never brought Mike up, Mike's parents had

moved, and Reggie got on with his busy, teenage life. To him, Mike McClain was just a fond memory of one of his sister's boyfriends.

"Follow me." I didn't wait, but went down the hallway. I passed my closed bedroom door. The next room on the left was Reggie's old boyhood bedroom, now serving as my home office.

I could feel Mike's gaze on me as I lead the way. It figured that I was wearing my pregnant, gypsy shirt and jeans, instead of something tight or short. He probably thought I'd gone to fat. Not that I cared what he thought, but this weekend really sucked.

I opened the door and waved him into the office. As Mike passed me by, I caught a whiff of the clean scent integral to him that always reminded me of a sunny day outdoors.

Suddenly I felt sad and drained; I wanted this next five minutes over. Mike could take his prosperous, golden boy looks and get back to whatever life he'd been leading these last ten years. It wasn't going to shake up my life he'd chosen to move back to Northfield.

Mike waited politely until I sat in my desk chair before he took a nearby chair. After I endured a moment of his silence while he stared at me without speaking, I frowned and motioned for him to get on with it.

He sat forward, hands lightly rubbing up and down on the tops of his thighs. "I'll get right to the point. I have come across some information that reflects on what happened all those years ago..." I started to get up, but he talked louder, "No, wait Bel. I know we never spoke of that time and you don't want to now, but please, hear me out completely. Please?"

Reluctantly, I sat back down and lifted my chin. "Hurry up then."

Mike didn't visibly react to my impatience. His voice was calm. "I have a lawyer friend that works for the D.A.'s office back in Atlanta where I have been living for the past five years. She called me a month ago, and in the course of our conversation was telling me about a recent rape case she was prosecuting. What made it unique; she was prosecuting a woman accused by the man of raping him. With the rise of easily obtained date rape drugs, apparently this is not unheard of." He nervously got up and leaned back against the closed door, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his jacket. I was such a terrible hostess; he still had his coat on. "The more details of the case she divulged, the more interested I became." He met my eyes with a direct look. Warily, I realized his were burning with some emotion other than nervousness and that I really hadn't been listening much to his actual words. "I've always been stymied at what possessed me to cheat on you with Candy MacKenzie. I didn't like her and I seriously did not harbor some secret, sexual desire for her. Point of fact, it was the direct opposite."

Mike moved from the door and came over to stand by my chair. Gazing down at me, there was sincerity written all over his smoothly shaven, handsome face. My snarkiness disappeared. It was replaced by a roaring in my head. Now that I was really paying attention, it was clear this story could only be heading in one direction.

He shrugged one shoulder and faintly smiled. "I was in love with you. I've lived with the knowledge that I cheated on you, someone I loved and planned to marry. At twenty, I pictured our future together. You were going to own this store and I was going to be the next Alan Dershowitz." His voice went quieter. "You were going to have my babies and teach them to read inappropriate novels by age three. I'd teach them how to skateboard and ride bikes because you'd kill yourself, and them, if you did. We'd both teach our kids how to cheat at cards, but only so they'd recognize cheaters." He paused, and I had to look down. I stared at my clenched hands as he continued, "I've beat myself up for years for destroying our life in a moment of weakness I don't even recall. That night was a blurry nightmare. I haven't touched a drop of alcohol since that weekend. How could I? What if I did it again, and had sex with a stranger or attacked some woman unknowingly?"

Mike sat on the edge of my desk, facing me. Honesty radiated from his voice and filled the air around me. "Anabel, all these years and it's never made sense. I thought it had to be because I was blackout drunk, even though I would have sworn I didn't have more than three or four beers. Why else would I have done such a ridiculously stupid thing? I'm now convinced, without a doubt; Candy drugged my beer. I think I have proof."

Mike once again stopped talking. This time it was because I stood up and did something in one fluid motion that flabbergasted us both.

I kissed him.

I didn't need proof. Instinctually, I knew with a conviction born of certainty that everything he had said was the absolute truth. It all clicked into place and it was that simple. After ten years of my world being sideways and wrong, it was suddenly righted.

All during that day from hell, and the weeks and months that followed, my heart and my gut screamed at me it couldn't be true. I wanted desperately to be justified in my belief of Mike's honorable character, but how can you doubt the evidence of your own sister's eyewitness account from two feet away? Instead, I had to deal with the repercussions that someone I chose to love proved how mistaken I was to trust in my own instincts. I had felt worthless and degraded knowing he had sex with Candy. Now, I could only imagine what Mike had gone through back then.

Like Mike, once I heard this news, there wasn't a shred of doubt in my mind Candy had drugged him a decade ago on that fateful weekend. She'd viciously instigated the event that made our young, happy lives go careening off course in separate, miserable directions.

It was the smallest of innocent kisses, no more than a soft, tender lingering of my lips against his. There was no carnal intent. The impulsive kiss was a healing balm meant to soothe our shared years of sadness. It was meant only to demonstrate a connection that I also felt bad our life together had been so maliciously destroyed and we'd both been hurt.

It was a kiss of forgiveness for us both.

Somewhat numb, I sat abruptly back on my chair.

Mike stayed still as a statue. He leaned on the desk next to me while his warm, caramel- brown eyes searched mine in growing wonder.

He started smiling, and it kept spreading until it took over his whole face. His voice was rough with emotion when he stated, "You believe me."

"I do believe you."

He jumped up and threw his fist, punching the air. "My God, that's fantastic! I can't believe it was that easy." He paced the small room. "I was prepared to present my whole case with every shred of proof, and I thought you'd still end up doubting me." He frowned anxiously. "You're not pretending so that I'll leave faster, right?"

I pointedly looked at the clock. "You have two minutes left."

Arms outspread; Mike threw back his head and started laughing ebulliently. He came over and reached for my hands, pulling me out of the chair.

Whirling me about, he was beaming. "I love it! You're still a smart-ass!"

I smiled at his joyful demeanor at my faith in his words. It was incredibly strange to be facing Mike without thinking he was The Betrayer. The twists and turns life could throw your way were astounding. One minute, Mike McClain was a distant memory of a young, cheating asswipe I was stupid enough to believe in. The next minute, he was standing before me as a grown man. He was not only redeemed, but he was a victim of a sex crime by one of my family members. It was a bizarre personal betrayal at a level much worse than any I suffered. The sheer unexpectedness weirdness of it all had me spinning in my head, as well as around the office with Mike.

Suddenly, he stopped. He gripped my elbows to steady me when I stumbled against him. He didn't let go, but pulled me in closer.

"Before you decide not to hate me any longer, I'll tell you what action I'm seriously contemplating as my next step. I've decided after seeing you again, it's important to me that you agree I'm doing the right thing."

Uncomfortable with being so close, I stood back a step out of his embrace and crossed my arms over my chest. I met his eyes. "What action?"

Mike's face hardened. "I've been advised to bring a civil suit against Candy. I'm planning on suing her for rape."

It was my turn to laugh with ebullience. I twirled him around the room.

Chapter XXI

"We Are Family" by Sister Sledge

Sunday, 11/18/12

4:00 PM

The dining room table I'd reluctantly inherited from NanaBel when I bought the apartment was monolithic. Without leaves, it sat fourteen. When fully extended, it opened to seat twenty-four comfortably. I cannot carry the heavy leaves on my own. I'd have to hack the brute to pieces with an axe to get it out of the apartment.

I didn't do anything formal for my Sunday night dinners. It was all about coming together for comfort food and relaxing. Tonight, the long sideboard in the dining room was set up as a self-serve buffet.

My only rule at these Sunday dinner parties was no fighting. I smirked while loading a few dirty dishes into the dishwasher. I had a feeling I'd be breaking my own rule tonight.

I turned back to the crowd sitting on stools around the granite island in my kitchen. They were keeping me company while I finished preparing our dinner. Crookie had stopped to pick up corn chips and salsa from a CoOp in Apple Valley, swearing they made the best salsa in town. Reggie and Jazy, mouths stuffed full, were in fervent agreement.

I had hurried Mike out of the apartment when his five minutes was up. We agreed to get together on Tuesday after the store closed at eight to talk more details, and to catch up on our lives. After giving me a long, tight hug, Mike had left whistling out the front door.

Happy as I was Mike was exonerated from being an evil dickhead; it was a lot to take in. With everything else going on, I needed time to process. My mind could only handle so much mayhem and I needed to prioritize. My current top priority was slowly savoring the thought of my cousin Candy being sued publically for rape. I was hugging this thought close to my heart like a girl with a secret love letter.

' _Wait, I had one of those, too!'_

Thinking of the envelope now stashed in my dresser drawer, I came to the conclusion maybe this weekend didn't completely blow after all.

I had gotten Crookie and his gear squared away in the guest bedroom and was listening with half an ear to him and Reggie getting reacquainted. He seemed to be in good spirits.

Crookie, being a logical guy, wanted to wait until everyone arrived to tell us all at once what his cop friend related about Cheryl's murder. The details didn't need to stay secret, but he and I agreed we wouldn't say it was a cop who had told him. It was easy to ramp down my curiosity for now. I was still pretty freaked at the thought of Jack boinking Cheryl, and was almost afraid to hear anything more pointing to Jack as a suspect. I wasn't sure how Chief Jack was going to take Crookie discussing details of an open murder case, but last I checked it's still a free country.

Tre J, Jaz, and James Byrd were talking on my right. They were getting to know Stella's friend, but not yet a boyfriend, Eric George Jasnik. He was younger, only about twenty, but laughed in all the right places and carried himself with a friendly maturity and confidence.

Stella was sitting close at his side, eyes sparkling. When not batting her eyelashes in his direction, she was shooting me little questioning looks. This included tilted head nods and flaring eyes towards him. I may have mentioned subtleness is not her strongest suit. I had all I could do not to spit my wine out in laughter watching her facial movements become more grossly exaggerated the more I pretended confusion as to her meaning.

Eventually, I'd had enough of my own private fun and relented, signaling he was a real cutie. Finally satisfied, she smiled back up at him. The look of heated adoration passing between them had me hoping I did need glasses. I didn't want Stella to find the man of her dreams at eighteen. Thirty-eight was a nice round number. I thought it'd be very educational if she spent her J terms going to school in Europe being chased by frisky Italian and French men, maybe even a swaggering Spaniard or two. That would be the epitome of my Bel Curve Mind, Body, and Soul concept in action.

James Byrd made me uncomfortable with his speculative gaze following me around. It felt like I was providing the night's secret entertainment for him. This guy could say more with his silences than most men talking nonstop, but I shrugged it off and kept busy. I didn't know why my sister had brought him to dinner, but Jazy never kept a man around for long not even one as hot as this dude. Chances were I'd never be graced with his presence again after tonight. I'd give him this; the man did have great hair if you happen to like a man with long hair the color of midnight and the shiny texture of luxurious satin.

I poured myself another Riesling and relaxed.

Amidst the conversation flowing around us, James leaned towards me and said quietly, "Jasmyn told me about the man attacking you again this morning. You seem to be coping fine, but I hope you know in here," James put his hand to his chest, "a man like that deserves death. He seeks death. He was driven to end his own existence. I'm only sorry it was you, and your brother, that drew that unpleasant task to perform today."

I took a sip of wine while thinking over his odd words. Skeptically, I wondered if he was some sort of Indian Shaman wannabe. Killing someone rated stronger words than 'unpleasant task.' For me, an unpleasant task is taking out the garbage. Shooting Gustav and being physically smashed under him, and his stinking body fluids, will wake me up gasping in terror for years to come.

James was right, though, in some respects. It _had_ felt like Hammerschmidt kept coming after me against everything logical. I'd probably never know the why of it, nor did I care. The load off my mind that he was no longer a threat to me, or to anyone else, was immense. I felt like I had carried the weighty menace of him around my neck for twenty-four years, and not just the twenty-four hours since I'd glimpsed him in my parking lot yesterday.

I smiled politely at James over my wineglass. "Thank you for your sympathy. Maybe you can tell me how I can get out of ever drawing _that_ short stick of a task again?" I shuddered.

His eyelids lowered seductively. "Maybe I can be persuaded."

My eyelids blinked from the effort of not rolling them into the back of my head. Just when I'd thought maybe Mr. Gorgeous wasn't a total douche bag.

When Reg buzzed Mac and Diego up a moment later, I ran to the top of the stairs. I wanted to get the first battle of the night over with immediately. I saw them round the staircase landing. Diego was carrying a bulging bag and I caught a glimpse of several bottles. What I didn't catch a glimpse of was my cousin Candy's bulging eyes.

Seeing my face, Mac spoke first and sounded irritated. "I know what you're thinking, but she wasn't at home when we swung by. Aunt Carol and Uncle Trevor are out of town for a few weeks, so nobody was home. I just now got a text from her that something came up. So sorry kiddo, she's not coming." She reached me and gave me a quick hug. "On top of all her other wonderful qualities, Candy's got the manners of an inbred."

Talking of manners, I waited until Mac and Diego had left the foyer to go get a beer before I let loose with a "Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!"

Reggie laughed at my mini temper tantrum, but was confused why I cared Candy wasn't here. It was customary to be thankful for her absence at family functions.

I waved my brother off while saying distractedly, "Oh, I just wanted to discuss her stealing my gun."

"Discuss?" He grimaced knowingly. "Discuss her one for me, the thieving bitch."

Sometimes it's rather nice having a little brother.

I could guess what had come up. Candy was going over to Luke's house again to have gross sex with John. I did not like that man. He'd done nothing but cause me trouble the entire weekend. Plus, I was getting irate that my cousin was spending so much time at Luke's house. I didn't want her anywhere near him or his property.

It was schizophrenic to be overwhelmed with happiness Mike that had been drugged, but then be filled with rage he had been drugged. I'd held it banked inside waiting for the moment to confront my cousin. I've never hated anyone in my life before. I could honestly say that I hate Candy. I was elated at Mike's plan for public retaliation against Candy for her rape, but I'm a hands-on kind of girl. I prefer the personal touch and need to confront her.

Once back in the kitchen, I took a deep breath and let it out. I guzzled some wine while agreeing with the vengeful mean mommy voice in my head. I'll hunt her butt down if needed, and then rub her face in some yellow snow as a starter. Candy has a phobia about getting her face wet. She's probably afraid it could cause a mudslide.

I made myself think on the positive side. I could now enjoy my night surrounded by a majority of people I like and look forward to a nice, normal evening. I try to have the wine glass half-full mentality whenever humanly possible.

The doorbell started ringing nonstop and I waved Reggie back to his seat. As I crossed the apartment to the intercom, I was positively ecstatic how great it felt to not worry that a killer was out hunting _my_ butt.

While I waited at the top of the stairs, Reggie came up beside me and shot me a sheepish look. "I'm still not cool sitting back without keeping an eye on things, you know?'

I slung my arm over his shoulder. "I do know, brah. All of a sudden I'll tense up, and then relax when I remember I have nothing to be a scaredy-cat about anymore."

Jazy came sliding across the hardwood floor of the foyer in her socks like when we were kids. She halted near us at the stairs. "I'm feeling left out, you two. Who's here now?"

Grinning, I put my other arm around Jaz and gave her a squeeze. "Miss Anna Lynn."

Reggie tensed up at her name. He walked casually over to the master station of the intercom and started being busy.

Jazy shrugged after my brother with a questioning look at me, but then she and I were diverted when we heard loud clomping coming up the stairs. We also heard heavy, labored breathing.

"Is Anna sick?"

"Don't think so." I saw Anna turn onto the landing. My mouth dropped when I caught sight of Aunt Lily behind her, breath heaving in and out like the bellows for a fireplace in hell.

Jazy's whisper was appalled. "This is fucked up!"

My lucky sister slid quietly away from me and disappeared.

Reggie took a step and peered over the ledge. He reared back and then shot me an accusing look, as if I was to blame for this oddity.

Anna saw me waiting and gave a shrug of helpless apology; a smile flitting on and off across her face. It wasn't that Aunt Lily has never been to dinners at the apartment; it had just been a long, long time. Long enough that I had complacently thought my apartment was a Behemoth-free zone.

Anna reached me and gave me a hug. 'I know what you're thinking, but she insisted. You could have picked me up off the floor. My God, I have so much to tell you!" She pulled back, checking me over hurriedly. "You doing alright? You look great, but I know you've got to be hurting after getting tackled. You did the right thing to shoot him, Junior, don't ever doubt that."

I brushed off her sympathies. We had too much ground to cover to worry about my sore butt, or the state of my being for having committed a co-murder today.

I squeezed her back while whispering, "I have so much to tell you, too. Hell, I have forgotten some of it already that's how much has been going on since you went home last night."

She grinned. "Me first!" She kept her back to my brother still standing over by the intercom. "Ask me where Jim is...hurry."

After her urgent order to me, Anna trilled with laughter, not a care in the world. She angled herself so she had a clear line of sight over to Reg out of her peripheral vision. She was wearing tight jeans and a shirt showing off plenty of plumped up cleavage. My brother didn't stand a chance.

Hearing Aunt Lily clomping closer as she sucked the oxygen out of the stairwell, I hurriedly played along with Anna and asked brightly, "So Anna, where's Jim tonight?"

In a suggestive move I could only admire, Anna threw back her head and shook her brown hair out. All while wiggling her shoulders back, pushing her breasts out, and posing with a hand perched on her hip. She opened her mouth to answer with whatever Reggie-devastating response she had memorized, but Aunt Lily beat her to it. The Behemoth had reached the top stair and leaned her bulk against the half wall.

She shook her cane at my head. "That pawing beast was sent on his way with his tail between his legs when I caught him forcing himself on Anna in our front room." She paused to catch her breath. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly under her shapeless winter coat. She roared, "I will NOT tolerate that kind of lewd behavior under my roof!"

I didn't know if seeing Reggie doubled over with laughter was the reaction Anna was hoping for, but I could only stare back at Aunt Lily in disbelief. Lately, she'd been treating Anna more and more like a young virgin needing a chastity belt, instead of a grown woman pushing thirty. In my current mood at being thwarted from ripping off a piece of Candy's beef jerky hide, I was not feeling tolerant.

"Remove that cane out of my face."

Anna quickly reached in front of me, pushing Aunt Lily's walking stick down while saying, "Oh Aunt Lily, lighten up. It wasn't like Jim was attacking me. We had just broken up. He was simply giving me a final hug good-bye."

Anna shot looks towards Reggie, but I didn't take my eyes off Aunt Lily. When Anna had said the word 'hug' the woman was distracted from glaring at me. Her sour lemon mouth puckered into such a parody of extreme disgust, I realized she really was off her rocker when it comes to men/women relations.

Crookie walked into the foyer calling out Anna's name. He opened his arms. Smiling, she ran over to him and was enveloped in a huge, swaying hug. Anna patted him and said consoling phrases while at the same time shaking his arms and telling him how much she had missed seeing him.

The doorbell buzzed and I darted a quick glance at my brother. He had been watching Crookie and Anna with no hint of his previous laughter. Reg hit the button, shot me a thumbs-up, and then stalked by the laughing couple to go back to the kitchen.

My attention was pulled away when Aunt Lily hissed in a venomous undertone, "His murdered whore of a wife recently found dead and this is how he acts?"

I rounded on her. I looked into her hard eyes and threatened in a low voice, "Let me be perfectly clear. Anna's my friend, while you not so much. You will keep a civil tongue, and you will be polite, and you will not talk badly about any of my guests. I don't care if it kills you. If you can't do this for one evening then _go home_."

I held her murderous glare. Aunt Lily heaved off the wall. She didn't say a word, but her scowling face was a caricature of twisted fury. She thumped off, muttering once she was past me. She approached the oblivious, chattering Anna and Crookie. Without a pause or apology, she jarred Crookie with a heavy shoulder in passing.

Rubbing his arm in surprise, Crookie and Anna looked after her retreating bulk in bewilderment. Sharing a shrug, the two resumed their animated conversation as they slowly followed the Behemoth into the living room.

I shook my head. _'There goes someone else that doesn't have a problem hating.'_

A throat cleared. Luke was standing on the landing. He had a shit eating grin on his face.

I folded my arms and frowned down at him. "And that goes for you, too."

Luke laughed and bounded up the last few steps. I met him at the top and threw my arms around his neck. I was happy to see him, and it didn't escape my notice he had a gift bag in his hand.

After I gave him the big kiss promised earlier today, Luke demanded, "Who in the hell was that woman?"

I didn't lift my head from the crook of his neck. It was quiet in the foyer. I was enjoying my one minute respite before rejoining the fray. "Evil Aunt Lily."

Luke whistled above me. "THAT was Anna's Aunt Lily?"

"The one and only."

"Christ!"

"Pity him. I know I do." At Luke's shout of laughter, I grinned too and lifted my head. "Come on, let's go get you introduced around and then I have last minute dinner stuff to do."

I started to walk away. Luke pulled me back.

His eyes scanned my face. "Hey, everything okay?"

I snorted, laughing a little. "Honestly, some things are okay and some things are not okay. None of which we need to discuss right now."

Luke's hands ran up my arms and cupped my face. He leaned down and kissed me again, slowly and thoroughly. He pulled away and it took a second before I opened my eyes.

Smiling a little at my dazed expression, he asked, "What do you want to discuss right now?"

I frowned. "Certainly not that large gift bag with the pretty silver bow hanging on your arm." I laughed shortly. "I remember the gift bag you brought me on our first date. Do you really think those tactics would work twice, Counselor?" I practiced Anna's move with the hair and threw my braid behind my shoulder while wiggling. "I'm not that easy."

His eyes glinted. "I like your blouse."

I reluctantly pushed at his roving hands. "That's because, Mr. Attorney, your hands can travel unimpeded underneath. Now quit; I have serious hostess duties that need tending."

"I like your braid, too." He ran his hand down its length until his fist was resting over my right breast.

"Thank you." I tossed the braid behind my shoulder again, dislodging his hand. "I have plans to whip you with it later on."

His smile was growing as he put his hands on my hips and pulled me closer. "I like that you're a planner."

I felt the shiny, black gift bag with the glittery, pretty silver bow nudging my thigh.

I brushed off his hands and stepped back while laughing in amusement. "Oh, do you now? I'll be holding you to those words for a long time, Luke Drake, Esquire."

"You can hold anything of mine you want, Anabel."

Rolling my eyes as he laughed, I put my palm up towards him and sighed heavily. "Oh, okay then. Just to make you happy, I'll open my present now."

Luke ignored my wiggling fingers and walked around me. He set the gift bag on the church pew in the foyer and slipped off his black jacket. He carefully draped the jacket over the gift bag, covering its beckoning, siren call from my view.

He then gave me a teasing sideways look from under his brows. "I never said it was for you."

Walking back towards me in dark jeans and a white shirt, Luke crackled with vitality and energy. Since I'd seen him last, he'd shaved off his beard and his coal black hair had been cut short. No more Dirtbag.

"But if it was for you, it would be a present to open sometime when we're alone."

Spell broken now that the gift bag was safely out of sight, I ignored his taunting and complimented him. "I like your shirt."

He arched a brow. "Do I have to be scared you are going to whip me with it later on?"

"It's always safe to be scared of what I may do."

I took his hand, swinging it between us. I don't know why the man has such a problem sharing things like his past, his present, surveillance plans, advanced degrees, and condoms, but I like him more often than not.

How could you not highly respect a man astute enough to bring gifts when it wasn't for the typical, boring occasions of my birthday, or quelle horreur, Valentine's Day? A man smart enough to figure that out on his own without a peep from me deserves to be cut some slack with a very long rope. Before I use that long rope to tie him up or whip him, of course.

"Jack asked me to tell you that he's unable to come tonight."

"I see. Thanks for the message."

' _Dammit, tonight's going to be fun. The possibility Jack Banner is a Cheryl-screwing killer, or Luke's best buddy can wait. After this weekend, Luke and I deserve a fun, normal night together.''_

Still holding his hand, I started walking with Luke through the foyer. "Hmm, that's too bad. Guess that means you'll have to sit in Jack's big boy chair at the head of the table."

"You're referring to the big boy chair of the highest respect and consequence at the table, correct?"

"Uh...sure," I agreed dubiously, but then brightened. "More importantly, it's the chair next to Aunt Lily and nobody else will want to sit there."

I squealed when Luke abruptly sat down on the church pew and swung me onto his lap. I squirmed when he tickled my sides and kissed loudly down my neck.

"Admit it's the big boy chair of respect."

Laughing, I grabbed his shoulders to hold him off. "Not even if you kiss me for hours, strip off my clothes, tie me up, tickle me with a feather, insert foreign objects into my orifices, and then use your tongue to lick every square inch of my body will I ever admit such a thing."

Luke paused and stared at me.

"Aha, Bel! The mystery is finally solved why an ugly little thing like you gets so many dates." Mac's dry comment came from a couple feet away.

Luke's crack of laughter echoed sharply in the foyer, as he stood up while depositing me on my feet.

He stuck out a hand to Mac. "You could only be Stella's mom."

"Luke, meet my number one sister, Mac."

Mac smiled and shook Luke's hand briefly. "I think she introduces me that way so she can say Kenna is her number two sister and get away with it." He laughed again and Mac looked back at me. Her blue eyes were twinkling mischievously under the light from the chandelier. "I was wondering where you were. Do you want some help with dinner?"

"You know it's not Mexican food, right?" I teased, slipping my arm through hers. As she laughed and elbowed me in the side, I motioned to Luke. "Come on, Big Boy, let's go eat. I need me some vittles."

Within fifteen minutes, everyone was around the table and serving themselves family-style. Some people consider thirteen an unlucky number and I did consider asking Aunt Lily to leave for this reason. I settled for sitting her far away on the opposite end of the table. Luke stayed glued to my side until we were all safely seated. Poor James and Diego got the honors of being Aunt Lily's chair partners tonight. If those two perfect examples of male magnificence couldn't keep her speechless with wonder, nothing could.

We'd barely dipped into the soup when Jazy leaned forward to address Crooks on her right. "Okay Crookie, if you don't want to talk about it I get it. We all get it. Otherwise, I'm shamelessly asking, do you know anything more about Cheryl you can tell us?"

Mac exclaimed, "Jazy, quit being so shy and sensitive!"

Crookie was on my left with Anna between us. He held up a hand and replied seriously, "No, Jazy is perfectly fine, Mac. A guy never has to worry about what she is thinking." He smiled at her. "I like Jazy's plain way of speaking."

Everyone laughed at this understatement, even Jazy. She shrugged, comfortable in her own skin. James smiled slightly from his chair next to her and I realized I'd never seen him touch my sister, or even flirt with her. I guess being super good-looking and inscrutable is all the effort he needs to put forth with the women. Too bad he hasn't had reasons to develop some interesting qualities in his personality to make him more genuinely appealing for the long term. I've concluded extreme physical beauty seems more often a curse than a blessing.

When Crookie cleared his throat and started talking, everyone stopped to listen attentively. Even Aunt Lily sat forward in morbid anticipation.

"So there are no misunderstandings, I am not a suspect in Cheryl's murder." Crookie's voice cracked a little on her name. "The police routinely operate by keeping information out of the public domain for their own reasons. Please do not name me as the source where you've heard these details I'm about to tell you. I trust all of you." Crookie paused and looked at James. "Well, I do not trust you since I do not know you, but it appears you are a reserved man and not a chatty type. You are not from Northfield?"

Smiling, I met Jazy and Tre's eyes. They both adore Crookie and were openly grinning. Reggie snorted into his beer bottle.

James nodded calmly. "Correct on all accounts."

Crooks nodded back. "Good." He spoke to Aunt Lily down at the foot of the table, "Ma'am, I do not know you well, either, but as Anna's aunt it stands to reason you must be a good person."

Reggie laughed softly this time. Anna shot him an emphatic bird with her left hand while she forked up salad with her right. I giggled, and Luke squeezed my thigh under the table in shared amusement.

Aunt Lily slapped the table loudly with an open hand. The unsuspecting Diego startled. His breadstick dropped to land in his soup with a small splash. His spoon went clattering to the floor.

Diego's eyes widened comically in dismay when Aunt Lily turned the force of her dark glare on him and shouted, "Pick it up, pretty boy! Don't they teach you table manners where you come from?" Without taking a breath, she looked over at Crookie and sneered with a mocking gesture of disdain, "Good person, good schmerson. I'm a Christian woman and gossip is a sin."

In the vacuum following this outburst, Crookie cleared his throat. Appearing doubtful, he nevertheless answered amicably, "Very well. Eric George?"

Luke squeezed my thigh again but when I peeked up at him, he was sitting back and listening with fascinated amusement.

Stella's friend leaned forward and smiled shyly across the table at Crookie. "No problems, man. I'm not Christian, but say what you want. I can keep my mouth shut."

Stella patted his hand at his answer and Eric George smiled down at the Junior Jezzie with worship in his eyes. Mac was busily soothing an angry Diego, but she and I exchanged rolling eyes and grins at Eric George's expressive face. Luckily, Eric George missed the sight of a scandalized, angry Aunt Lily staring his way. Good thing he wasn't sitting closer to her, or she'd snap his blasphemous spine in half as easily as one of my breadsticks.

Crookie turned to Luke last. He grinned shyly. "Anyone here knows if Anabel asked you to dinner, you must be..." Crookie paused, at a loss for words.

Mac supplied with a straight face, "Superman?"

Stella dimpled at Luke. "Steve Jobs."

Anna's laughter was deep. "A secret agent!"

Tre J winked. "Strong."

Reggie, his mouth full of salad, pointed a fork at Luke and stated decisively, "Nuts. You're brave, man, but certifiably nuts."

We all laughed at that, but I think Luke's cheeks were actually a little pink.

I leaned over and spoke low in his ear, "How strange, but it's really true. Men _are_ always right."

Aunt Lily couldn't contain herself and erupted, "You fools, look at him! He's Satan incarnate!"

Eleven heads at the table swiveled in Luke's direction to see what they'd missed. Make that twelve. I had to look, too.

Anna cried out in embarrassment, "Aunt Lily, what's with you tonight? Please, stop! Luke, just ignore her. I'm sorry. We know you're not Satan."

As Anna argued over proper etiquette with her crazy aunt, I struggled to contain my laughter at Luke's carefully blank expression. I well remember the first time I was scathingly called Delilah at age eight for encouraging a classmate to get a Mohawk within hearing range of the Behemoth. Luke's reaction to Aunt Lily's bizarre accusation was no reaction. But his eyes were narrowed in thought as he gazed down the table in her direction.

I squeezed his thigh. I should say, I tried to squeeze his thigh but it was rock hard, so I stroked his thigh. "In some cultures, the elderly are known to be always right, as well." I nodded seriously when he switched his gaze to mine. "It's a known fact she's not an idle gossip or a sinner."

We smiled at each other.

Tilting my head, I tapped my pursed lips while I looked him up and down appraisingly. Meeting his amused eyes once more, I nodded again. "Personally, I'd name you more of a demon versus a devil. Yes, I think Baal fits nicely."

He raised a black brow slowly. "I thought you were a heathen?"

I scratched my fingernails up his inner thigh and warned under my breath, "Don't be raising that brow at me at the dinner table. Where _are_ you from, hell boy?"

Luke chuckled as I went on to answer him, "Yes, it's true I'm not religious, but not from lack of curiosity or illiteracy." I took a sip of wine and shrugged a negligent shoulder before meeting his eyes again. "If you aren't fed it first with mother's milk, the concept of faith isn't easy to swallow when you're older."

He put his big hand over mine on his thigh. "My father is going to really like you."

I laughed and looked away, confused but warmed by his words.

Everyone around us had started talking at once to rush in and fill the awkwardness, but Aunt Lily's fanatic ways were familiar to most of us here and taken with a grain of salt.

Reggie called a halt to the chatter by dinging his wine glass with a spoon. "Can we let Bob tell us what he found out about Cheryl, please?"

Stella spoke up, smiling shyly around the table from on Luke's right. "Yes, we'll be quiet, Uncle Reg, but only if Luke will promise me something first." I know that winsome look. She'd learned it at my knee. I watched her suspiciously. "He has to tell us all about his first date with Anabel when Crookie is done."

Mac chuckled wickedly and dinged her glass. "Hear, hear, I second that motion."

Luke's easy, smiling expression as he listened to Stella's request didn't change by a flicker, but I felt him tense up at my side. I laughed silently into my soup. He swiftly recovered.

"I'm sorry, ladies, but you'll have to ask Anabel about our first date." He shrugged with a "Gee, shucks" grin. "Men never get that sort of thing right, no matter how hard we try." He stroked his chin in thought. "I'm sure it must have been a fun, first date. When she begged me to take her out a second time, I obviously agreed."

My family and friends laughed uproariously, even as they complained at his answer.

Anna's voice was the loudest. "No fair pulling the 'I'm a man' card, Luke. Everyone here knows Junior won't say squat. No offense, but she probably doesn't even remember your first date."

Tre J was looking at me like I had two heads. "You _begged_ him, Bel?"

"I think she remembers." Stella smiled at me around Luke. She asked sweetly, "Will you tell us, Auntie Bel?"

I finished my bite of soup and laid down my spoon. Ignoring the man with the straight face at my side, I smiled back. "I would love to, Stell, but it's X-rated, so I can't tonight."

Jazy didn't doubt me for a second, but raised her wine glass in grinning salute.

Stella giggled. "Oh, don't be a hold out. It was your first date. It can't be that bad!" She smiled quickly at Eric George. "Besides, I'm not a baby."

"Of course it wasn't bad. Didn't I just say it was X rated? And of course I didn't mean _you_ , sweetness." I gave a nod towards Aunt Lily slurping up her bowl of soup at the other end of the table. I made a throat-slitting motion, crossing my eyes.

Eric George laughed. I smiled at him thinking maybe he's a keeper.

Anna muttered a "Yeah, right" on my left while Stella narrowed her eyes at me on my right.

Mac was laughing, even as she impatiently shook her head. "Stella, honey, no matter how tempting it may be to beat it out of her, you can't force your aunt to tell. You must learn to barter."

My niece opened her mouth for a rat-terrier rebuttal, but suddenly stopped. A small smile played on her lips. Although it might be used against me at a later date, it's always fun to see our Stella learning the ropes. I still shot the grinning Mac a glare that promised revenge. After all, she had announced a trade secret in mixed company which broke all sorts of sisterhood rules.

Tre J and Crookie laughed together at this byplay and then she gave a little elbow to Crooks to continue.

I took the opportunity to pinch Luke hard under the table. He didn't flinch, but his lips turned up when his gleaming eyes met mine. I hadn't been lying. Our first date really was rated X. Luke wasn't lying, either. I wouldn't call it begging exactly, but it was true that I was the one to ask him for a second date first.

Luke leaned in and spoke low, "You remember every single minute, Anabel."

With a small, secret smile, I turned away from his look of masculine confidence to give Crookie my attention.

"Here is what I know. Cheryl was found by two teens about ten o'clock last night when they went to a conveniently unoccupied farmstead to probably have sex in the barn." Crookie had come a long ways socially in ten years. He didn't even blush. I heard Aunt Lily revving up a deep grumble at the word "sex", but didn't take my eyes from Crooks. "They discovered the car with Cheryl still in the driver's seat."

There were groans around the table at this revelation. Tre J, being one exception to my beauty-is-a-curse rule, covered his hand with hers. She nodded encouragingly with a small smile. Her Nordic blue eyes were soft with sympathy. Crookie smiled sweetly in return.

Nibbling on a soft breadstick, I paused in speculation while marveling at the two of them together. ' _Holy Moly, the potential! Their offspring could be beautiful, kind, ass-kicking giants with monster brains practically a new species of human.'_

"Thankfully these were decent people." Aunt Lily grumbled under her breath at Crooks words, but we all ignored her. "They called the police immediately and didn't touch or take anything from the car. Cheryl's cell and her purse with the cash inside were recovered. In her purse they found a receipt dated and time stamped from a Saturday morning in September. It was the fifteenth, the day after I had seen her last. The receipt was from the Northfield Bakery. The bakery owners were questioned earlier today and they remembered her even two months later." Crookie shook his head remorsefully. "Cheryl had been terribly rude to the woman owner. She came in early, about seven in the morning on that Saturday, and bought coffee and rolls. She made a scene by claiming their crullers were stale and demanded her cash back. They do not get too many customers calling them 'motherfuckers' at the bakery."

At his wry tone, we all groaned and chuckled in sympathetic disbelief. Aunt Lily shook her finger at Crookie. Watching her from my end of the table, it was obvious she was riled up. Her whole chest rose and fell with each breath.

"How dare you curse on the Sabbath? There will be NO profanity at this table!"

Anna was trying valiantly to be patient. "Crookie's not swearing, Aunt Lil, he's repeating a story."

Crookie ducked his head and shrugged apologetically in Aunt Lily's direction. "Cheryl always kept her phone charging in her car, and that is how I am cleared. When she was stabbed..." At our collective sounds of shock, his eyebrows raised. Then comprehension dawned, and he rushed to clarify while running a hand through his light brown hair. "Oh, I am sorry! Yes, that is how she was murdered. Her heart was punctured by a sharp, unknown weapon most probably a knife of some kind. I apologize again; it has been a long day. I don't mean to sound callous, but I have had hours to become accustomed to this news." He leaned forward to look down his right at Luke and I. "The police found her phone between the seats. They interviewed the person she called last. I don't know who that was, but the report was they had heard strange, gasping noises. Unfortunately, that person then ended the call a few seconds later when there was no other response from Cheryl. This person had one earlier conversation with Cheryl at 7:05 AM. I was not told all the pertinent details, only that somehow those calls cleared me." He shuddered. "I am definitely not arguing with that conclusion."

Tre J squeezed his hand in agreement. Nobody spoke right away. Around the table, everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts. I had no clue how much he knew beforehand of Crookie's latest details, but Luke was silent on my right. I could discern little from his closed expression. I was hoping he'd share his insights later when we could speak freely.

I turned back to my left and asked Crooks, "What time was the second call, do you know?"

Crookie's forehead wrinkled. "Yes, it was right before seven-thirty that same morning."

Jazy asked, "Did your friend tell you where the farm's located? Was it out my way south of town?"

"No, I am not sure where it is located, but east off Highway 19 was mentioned. I do not know the names of the teenagers, so I have no point of reference."

Surprisingly, James spoke up. "What would cause a woman to leave a bakery in Northfield at approximately 7:00 AM, make a call at 7:05 AM, and then drive to a deserted farm in the country east of town, only to be murdered in her car while making a call to that same person by 7:30 AM?"

Reg nodded vigorously. "Couldn't have put it better myself. Cheryl wasn't a country girl, that's for sure, right Crookie?"

"That is definitely for sure. Cheryl hated anything to do with the country."

Tre asked tentatively, "She wasn't raped?"

Aunt Lily made a loud, snorting explosion from her nose, but before she could speak Crookie rushed to reassure Tre, "No, nothing like that happened. I was told there were no signs of an attack or a struggle. Only the single stab wound." He picked up his fork again, sighing quietly. "That is all I know. It is no secret that my marriage to Cheryl was over. My only hope is the police catch the murderer quickly, so I can put this behind me and move on."

After a moment of silence, I raised my glass of wine. "Here's to peace for Cheryl and closure for Crookie."

Everyone seconded the toast and took a drink, except for Aunt Lily who didn't look up from her soup and salad.

Reg raised his beer. "Here's to police proficiency. Good luck with that!"

We all laughingly cheered and took another drink.

I nodded towards James. "Your statement made a strong case for someone hijacking her out to this barn to purposely kill her, since nothing else was stolen. Or she went willingly, and was killed by someone non-threatening to her."

"Thank you, Anabel," James replied, expressionless as always.

I didn't respond to his lightly mocking tone but looked out towards the living room, my gaze turned inward. "It's interesting the killer didn't take her phone. Having it found under the seat makes me question if the killer was aware of the last call. I wonder if it was an attempt to call for help, or if Cheryl was already making a call when the killer stabbed her and she then dropped her cell. Does anybody know how quickly you die if your heart is punctured?"

Over a mouthful of soup Tre J immediately mumbled, "Seconds to minutes, depending where in the heart you're stabbed. It also depends if the weapon is left in, or pulled out."

I blinked at her unhesitating answer, but then Jazy caught my interest when she said to Crookie, "Okay, I've been thinking. Cheryl's killer could be the man you saw her with at Tina's, don't you agree?"

Crookie thought it over. "It could be him, but Cheryl," his head shook in sad reflection, "was too indiscriminate to pin it on that particular man without knowing more facts."

Visibly shaking, Aunt Lily shouted from her end of the table, "She was the great Whore of Babylon!" She stood up, her cane rising in the air. "And there came one of the seven angels, and talked with me, saying unto me, Come Hither; I will shew unto thee the judgment of the great whore that sitteth!"

Everyone was stunned speechless while Aunt Lily stood and spewed out these words. It was extremely strange behavior, even for her. She seemed overcome with violent emotion, but I doubted she even knew Cheryl, except maybe in passing.

Luke showed off his bible study talents when he said in an undertone, "Interesting. She's misquoting Revelations 17:1."

"Hush, Baal, or anyone could think you were a pastor's kid."

A large hand sliding up my thigh and squeezing with no problem was his response to me. Luke was chuckling softly at hearing Crookie's placidly agreeable response to Aunt Lily.

"Yes ma'am, that is probably as good as description as any to describe Cheryl's unfortunate behavior."

Standing at the end of the table, her features brutally hard, Aunt Lily regarded Crookie in silence for a long moment before speaking. Her voice started low and rose in volume with every word until she was screaming, "You should be thankful she is dead! The scripture said she deserved to die! She was an Adulteress, a terrible wife, and she broke every sacred commandment!" She stopped abruptly, leaning both hands on the table and gasping. She looked up from under her heavy, caterpillar brows and hissed, "She made Anna cry."

Unlike discussing the details of a murder religion, politics, or being publically named a Crybaby were not relaxing topics for the dinner table. Anna's face was stricken. Even Crookie was at a loss how to respond courteously to this latest proclamation. Everyone was uncomfortably silent, and a few mouths were hanging open. I glimpsed Diego crossing himself and reaching for my sister's hand.

Her words had brought to my mind Aunt Lily's special visit to Bel's yesterday with the same bakery item to lord over Anna. Since I was an admitted tormentor that does not rest, even on a Sunday, I sought to lighten the mood.

"Speaking of terrible things, I told you their crullers were terrible at the Northfield Bakery, Aunt Lily. Even the great Whore of Babylon could figure this out after one bite."

It flashed through my mind the date of Cheryl's death was the same day I met Luke at Reggie's house. Not that I had recorded that September date in my Dear Diary, but our first date later that night was rather hard to forget since it was rated X. I recalled Aunt Lily had brought us a bag of cookies that morning to the store right when we opened at ten. I had taken the cookies to Reggie's house knowing he'd eat them.

I opened my mouth to pour salt in the wound and remind her of the "dry, tasteless cookies" also from the Northfield Bakery, but Aunt Lily had grabbed her cane again. She was whacking it on the floor beside her in time to her thundering, bellowing words. "Those cruellers were not stale, Anabel Axelrod! The Pastry Chef went to school in New York City, not some two-bit..."

The Behemoth's yelling continued unabated, but I heard Anna's gasp next to me. She was ignoring the latest ranting from her relative because she must have been thinking the same thing I was. The date for her was probably etched in her heart. After all, she and Reggie broke off their new relationship because of the now murdered Whore of Babylon that previous night.

Aunt Lily's cane slamming and whacking was taking place on James' side of the table. He slid his chair far to his right side and crowded Jazy to save his feet. He glared reproachfully at me for riling the Beast. I couldn't hide my grin fast enough behind my wine glass. I wondered if he was happy he'd joined us for our little family dinner.

I observed James, Jazy, Reggie, Tre J, and Crookie on one side of the table, along with Diego, Eric George, Stella, and Luke on the other. They all had round eyes the size of their soup bowls. Their heads were swiveling back and forth in time to the conversation, it was like watching a tennis match broadcast from Hades.

Anna's loud voice interrupted Mac's appeasing attempts to calm down Aunt Lily's screaming, incoherent tirade on culinary schools and whores. Jack was really going to be bummed he'd stayed away tonight.

Anna bellowed to be heard over her aunt's screams. I could practically see Anna thinking out loud. "Hold on a minute, wait a minute! SETTLE DOWN, AUNT LILY!" Miraculously, Aunt Lily quit screaming, although she was still furiously wielding her cane. "Didn't you bring cookies to the Fare that day from Northfield Bakery? I know it was in the morning." Anna bounced forward enthusiastically in her seat. She spoke even louder in her growing excitement. "Don't you go to the bakery early before Saturday church? Oh, my God! Think, Aunt Lily! Did _you_ see Cheryl there at the bakery that morning before she was murdered?"

Luke stiffened beside me and murmured, "I'll be damned."

Aunt Lily's face drained of color before us. Her small black eyes, burning with spiteful hate, looked everywhere but at Anna while she mumbled, "I did the right thing. The Angel came...that whore made Anna cry. That whore deserve..."

Her cane stilled, and then fell out of her clenched hand and onto the floor with a thud. She stared wildly around the table, her mouth opening and closing but with no sound, except the gasping of her heavy, labored breathing. Skin ashen gray, her eyes rolled into the back of her head until only the whites showed. I thought Aunt Lily was about to speak in tongues. To be fair to myself, she had been known to do that upon occasion.

Instead, she let out a long, unearthly groan. Hands pressing convulsively against her chest, Aunt Lily dropped heavily with no other warning. Her chair was previously pushed back behind her. We all heard the horrible smacking sound when her skull connected with the wooden edge. She was out of my sight on the floor.

James, Diego, and Mac reached Aunt Lily first.

Mac's even voice calmly declared, "I think she's had a heart attack. I can't find a pulse. Somebody call 9-1-1. Here, Diego and James, help me turn her slightly."

Before Aunt Lily had even hit the ground, Luke had shot out of his chair with his phone to his ear. He strode swiftly around the table. "I'm calling, Mac. Nobody touch her cane."

He plucked a few linen napkins off the table and bent over. Straightening up with the cane wrapped in the napkins, he placed it carefully on the sideboard. He rapped out clipped instructions to 9-1-1 when they answered. He stepped a few feet away and observed Mac's ministrations while he made another call.

Anna and I were right behind him. He said quietly to us, "I'm calling Jack."

In the confusion of the next moments, I stood silently arm-in-arm with Anna. She was rocking back and forth in agitation while we kept watch on the activity occurring around the stricken Aunt Lily. Every few seconds, we'd look at each other with the knowledge of what we suspected on our shocked faces. My mind kept repeatedly playing the last few minutes before Aunt Lily crashed to the floor.

My brother came up on the other side of Anna. He put his arms around her. With a cry, she turned gratefully into his sheltering warmth.

Reggie met my eyes over her shoulder. I nodded in approval at his move.

He mouthed in disbelief, "Aunt Lily killed Cheryl?"

Shrugging, I mouthed, "I think so."

I realized we were all arriving at the same conclusion. Luke only reinforced our belief when he'd snatched up the cane and put it aside as the probable murder weapon.

I looked around me at the drawn faces. Everyone's attention was on the life and death drama occurring on the floor before us. Jazy and Tre J stood silently across the table from us. They had Crookie between them, each holding onto an arm of my tall friend in protective support. His mouth was a tight, grim line. Crookie and I shared a look of understanding. He could be getting his closure faster than we ever dreamed possible. The surreal was becoming commonplace.

Stella and Eric George stayed seated down on my left, but huddled together. I went to stand by my niece. I squeezed her shoulder in soft question and patted Eric George. They nodded to show they were fine, Stella reaching up to rub my hand in return. After a final pat, I turned away.

I walked back over to Luke. "I need to do something. I'll be over opening the doors for the ambulance."

He was watching Mac and Diego performing CPR. James knelt next to them, ready to assist if Mac gave the word. I could tell by her voice as Mac worked that my sister knew Aunt Lily was dead, but was following the correct emergency medical procedures for a heart attack victim.

"Good idea." Luke walked with me.

At the intercom, I unlocked the doors for the EMTs and police.

Luke pulled me close. "Her cane really is a sword stick, huh? You mentioned her slicing and dicing a few weeks ago. I took it as a joke until tonight. Then it hit me when Anna asked her if she was at the same bakery that morning."

"Yes, it is." I swallowed. "I've haven't seen the blade in years, but it's something we've always known. Are we really thinking Aunt Lily stabbed Cheryl Crookston and killed her?"

Luke tightened his arms and replied, "I'm leaning that way based on what I've heard tonight. The police will investigate, but that's my take. Do you think she murdered Cheryl?"

"It makes a weird sense." I sighed. "Too bad she keeled over before finishing her last sentence. She appeared to be heading in the confession direction. My guess would be that something about Anna being so hysterically upset late that night before triggered Aunt Lily craziness when she saw Cheryl at the bakery that next morning. "

Luke bent his head to mine for a lingering, soft kiss. "How are you holding up?" His voice was dry, "Still think our dates are ho-hum?"

I pressed against him with a short laugh. I thought over how I was holding up. "Maybe I should be more shocked. I should at least be sorry she's dead, but I'm neither." We were so close together, I had to tilt my head back to see his face when I confided quietly, "I've always considered her an evil troll and I'm not going to pretend I'll miss her just because she's dead." I frowned at my next thought. "I do feel bad for goading her tonight, if she was sick." I ran my hands distractedly through Luke's hair on either side of his face. "I didn't realize how off the deep end she really was until recently. Was it obvious to you?"

Luke's smiling gaze was warm. "I can always count on an honest answer from you, can't I?" Before I had time to answer that tricky question, Luke continued speaking, "She was out of control long before you said anything, so don't worry over that, Anabel." His warm hands massaged my sore lower back. "Yes, the more she yelled, it became pretty damn clear she was eight up. I'm not surprised she had the heart attack. Her stress levels had to be off the charts."

I arched my back under his capable hands. I was sure if he'd only continue touching me like this, I'd never worry again about anything. I was about to ask Luke what 'eight up' meant, when his cell vibrated. He released one arm around my waist to answer. Looking at the message, his face darkened and he swore softly. His head came up and I knew.

I joked halfheartedly, "I want to meet the schedule Nazi on the other end of these texts. Their timing is becoming ridiculously annoying."

He closed his eyes briefly. Opening them, he sighed and nodded. "Christ, I'm sorry. I wish..." He stopped and his mouth tightened. "Listen, I don't know how long I'll be gone, but there was a lot I planned on talking with you about tonight."

' _I knew there had to be a silver lining somewhere in all this.'_

Holding my hand, he started walking over to the church pew where his jacket waited.

"Hold on there, Luke Bond. You are not going anywhere until you answer one question. Make that two."

He smiled slightly, and let go of me to shrug into his coat. He placed the gift bag on the floor. "Shoot, Princess."

"First, are you taking the little predator with you?"

Luke snorted. "Yes."

I nodded in satisfaction. "Good."

He patted his pocket for his keys. "Second question?"

I slid my arms up around his neck and widened the baby blues. I whispered, "I know I'm shallower than a wading pool, but I don't have to wait until you are back in town to open my beautiful black gift bag, do I? After all I've been through this weekend?"

Luke's dimple appeared. "Yes."

I smiled. "Yes, I can have it?"

"Yes, you have to wait."

At my disgruntled pout, his mouth kicked up. "Think of it as a joint gift. You won't appreciate it without me." He slid it under the pew with his foot until it was tucked away.

His black brows met and he warned, "I'll know if you peek, Anabel."

"Yeah right, mean Santa."

Leaning down, he kissed the pout off my lips while pulling me tightly against the full length of him. Our bodies touched from my head to my toe. He ran his hands slowly over my ass, up my back, and along my upraised arms. Taking my hands, he unclasped them from around his neck. He kissed across my knuckles on one hand, and then the other. He put me away from him.

"Now, no begging me or whining. It's beneath you."

He ignored my disgusted cry, kissed my cheek, and gave my ass a final squeeze before heading towards the stairway. Watching him walk away, I thought I heard a siren outside. Pausing momentarily, Luke turned back. Gleaming green eyes traveled over me while his fingers drummed along the top ledge of the half wall. He appeared to be having an internal debate. He looked so hot when he was so serious.

So I blew him a kiss.

He held my eyes for a long moment and then he started down the stairs.

I was just turning away when I heard his voice call back, "Forty-one thousand, five hundred and thirty-four."

I cocked my head to the side. I ran to the ledge and saw only the top of his fast descending head. "Was that new with no trade-in, you demon bastard? If it was, I want to bow at your feet in eternal worship!"

"And eighteen pennies!" His deep laughter echoed back up the stairwell to me.

Grinning most inappropriately considering the circumstances, I turned back to the foyer and went to rejoin my family and friends. The ambulance was here and Chief Jack wouldn't be far behind. Call my mean mommy voice uncaringly practical, but she was right. I know men and I know women. After all the excitement died down, they were going to be starving. I should get the apple crisp in the oven to serve warm later on and make some coffee.

Passing the church pew sheltering the smug, shiny gift bag, I stopped long enough to say, "Oh, be quiet. That wasn't me begging to worship him. I was simply stating a fact."

Chapter XXII

"Raise Your Glass" by Pink

Tuesday, 11/20/12

11:56 PM

I was aware of a vibrating, buzzing sound annoyingly loud near my ear. It continued relentlessly until I rose up on my elbow, grabbed my phone, and turned it off.

I felt a hand cup my bare shoulder, slightly shaking me. A muffled voice a little slow on the uptake said, "Bel, answer your phone."

Confused, I glanced back and saw only a wide, masculine shoulder and a golden-brown head buried in a pillow next to me.

I looked down at what I was wearing and groaned. I fell back on my pillow with a moaning curse. The evening came rushing back.

It was Tuesday night. What had started out as Mike McClain coming to the store to talk over the details concerning his plan for Candy had turned into a welcome back party. Mike had been well liked when he'd lived here and Anna and Billy were excited to see him. Trent, Stella, and Eric George had been there in the store, too. Stella remembered Mike a lot more than I thought she would. Tre J had stopped in for a coffee and an hour of studying before the store closed, so she joined in the partying. Crookie had been there until he left to go meet Tina. Mac and Diego, coming to pick up Stella and Eric George for a late dinner, had ended up staying and adding to the impromptu fun.

My muddled mind flashbacked on the last couple of days leading up to this moment. On Sunday night, Anna had stayed overnight with Crookie and me at the apartment after the ordeal with Aunt Lily's death was over. Surprisingly, Chief Jack had not been one of the police at the scene. We were told he was busy elsewhere. After the hullabaloo died down, everyone had left but Reg.

To distract my slumber party friends from their individual doom and glooms, I hooked them up with second helpings of apple crisp à la mode. Then I told Crooks, Anna, and Reg all about Mike's visit and Candy's nefarious deed. I kept the possibility of the pending civil suit action to myself. Since Anna and Crookie were the two friends that had been the stalwarts in my life back then, it seemed like fate they were the first people I told all these years later at a sleepover.

It worked as a distraction. They were blown away by the news. Anna thought it was incredibly romantic for Mike and me to reconnect after all these years. In a weepy state anyway, she tearfully demanded to be part of the posse to help me hunt Candy down. Passing her tissue after tissue, I hurriedly agreed she could drive. Crookie, thankfully, shed no tears but was truly incensed. He offered me several good ideas on how to get Candy's face wet. Boys truly do think differently than girls. I never would have thought of the toilet. Reg thought we should just drown her and be done with it.

By the time I'd crawled into bed on Sunday night, I was drained completely dry of energy from my weekend off. I didn't let myself dwell on the fact I had co-killed a man that day, even if he had tried to kill me first. You start thinking about the right or wrong of being responsible for ending a life and it can became a slippery slope. So I didn't start. I slept like a baby all night. Not even one selection from the menu of nightmare possibilities from my weekend off surfaced to deny my exhausted brain and body their much-needed rest.

After Crooks and I went to our rooms, Reg and Anna had stayed up and had their talk. Word is they're a thing again.

It had snowed double digits on Monday, but tapered off by the evening. That was great because I got a day to recoup from the weekend with very few inquiring minds in the store asking questions. Crookie hung out with me all day at Bel's. He had fun working on reports.

By Tuesday morning, all the roads were plowed. By early afternoon, most people had dug themselves out and it was business as usual. Mike had gone over to Reggie's. They bonded over red meat on the grill before coming to the store later in the evening for Mike to meet with me as we'd planned. Reggie had tagged along with Mike to meet up with Anna.

Earlier tonight at the store, Anna was giddy with running the full spectrum of emotions over the last couple of days. She'd gone from losing her only known relative to death and facing she has killer blood running through her veins, to finding her way back to Reggie. Now she's worried if they ever have children what mutants their Axelrod/Johnson gene pool might produce. Anna had been through the wringer. When Mike and Reg arrived, she decided breaking out a couple of celebratory bottles was the ticket. The shots started flying. Soon I was feeling no pain. I'd quickly passed my usual one drink of the night and then lost count of the shots. When someone turned on some music, our last minute party really got going.

During the party, watching Mike laughing and joking with my family and friends had been cathartic. It wiped away any lingering pain lodged in my heart until it disappeared entirely.

I never dreamed it would feel so wonderful to be able to reclaim the lost years we'd been a couple. I'd done too complete of a job erasing from my mind any of the fun and romantic memories of that time in my life. I was getting back an important piece of me and I could be whole again. Listening to them all reminisce about those times was bittersweet, but in a good way.

Mike is an impressive man. He's everything I always knew him to be years ago, only ten years better. He is the total mature package of what I admire and respect in a man smart, confident, and funny. His personality is easygoing and affectionate, despite being so desirably good looking and built.

Every time our eyes met, I'd smiled in secret happiness to myself. I could almost feel the healing taking place deep inside me. Or maybe that was the vodka. Either way, he'd never been the dishonorable man I thought him to be all those years. Like mine, Mike's feet are made of clay up to the knees, but that's a fact I never doubted. It's always been that damn disloyalty showing the true lack of character that was my deal-breaker.

After a couple of hours drinking and dancing, my cheeks had gotten rosy hot; a sure sign I was beyond tipsy. Starting to see double was the second clue, and way past time I should have cut myself off. Everyone booed me for being a spoilsport, but I had laughingly kicked them all out and rounded up the grinning Mike to go upstairs to the apartment.

Crookie had left a short time before that to meet with Tina after her late shift finished at her job. He would probably be gone for hours yet, so I figured if Mike and I were actually going to talk in private, it was the best time. My revenge on Candy still took precedence over anything else in my mind, even when smashed and smiling like a goofball.

As I now lay in my bed holding my head, in retrospect, that probably wasn't one of my better plans.

My wandering brain stopped there when the ringing of the doorbell penetrated my drunken thoughts.

All the lights were on in my bedroom, so it was no problem seeing my phone. Being able to focus was a different story. Pushing back waves of hair off my face, I held my cell away from my eyes and then brought it closer. The time was 11:58 PM.

I stared at the short text. I read it again. I stared over at the man sprawled next to me in my bed.

My apartment doorbell kept shrilly buzzing.

I read the text a third time. It finally sunk in.

It said: _Open the envelope._

THE END...for now!

####

_Dear_ _Lovely Readers,_

_Thank you for reading my debut novel,_ _A Date with Fate_ _, Volume I in The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod ongoing series. I hope you had a great time getting to know Anabel and Luke. The exciting news is there are several more exciting, steamy, and action-packed books published in the series for you to devour! Read more about_ Courted by Karma _,_ Volume 2 or go here for your choice of bookseller sites to purchase your copy.

_But wait! Before you go order the next book, please write a review on_ _A Date with Fate._ _I'm a self-published author. You probably know this already, but you are definitely my most important marketing asset. A first book in a series can never have enough reviews; be they short and sweet or as long as you feel inspired to write. Positive support from each and every reader who recommends my books is a very big deal for an indie writer like me. I read every review written, too. I am so grateful to those of you generously taking the time to give feedback and help spread the word of my books. Your help is invaluable. Thank you!_

Until we meet again, happy reading,

Tracy Ellen

_Courted by Karma_ is the second volume in The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod ongoing series and picks up where _A Date with Fate_ left us hanging Tuesday night at 11:59 PM!

First it was Her Turn and now it is His Turn, but will it ever be Our Turn for Anabel and Luke? Or is it Anabel's karma to get burned by the scorching hot flames of her passion for the dangerously seductive man?

Choose your bookseller site for Courted by Karma HERE

If you liked _A Date with Fate_ , you're going to love Anabel's continuing adventures!

The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod, an ongoing series:

_A Date with Fate,_ 1

 Courted by Karma, 2 (Get your copy today here!)

In Love by Design, 3

Adieu to Destiny, 4

Family and Fortune, 5

Coupled with Chance, 6

The Kiss of Kismet, 7

A Wedding Written in the Stars, 7.5 Novella

Honeymoon & Happenstance, 8

A Marriage with Mojo, 9 (Preorder Now/ Dec 2018 Release)

Love, Lies, & Ninja Missions Series

All Jazzed Up, Book 1

Experienced at sex, Jazy Axelrod knows nothing about love. She takes what she wants from most men but she's always kept her hands off her best friend, Max Byrd. But after Max coerces her into a pretend marriage, Jazy discovers her real desire to have Max for her own. Being friends with no benefits has never been hotter as Jazy gives it her all to seduce Max and win his heart. A steamy, uproariously funny, and sweetly touching romance about falling in love you won't want to miss!

_All Jazzed Up is a stand alone book, but also a spin-off novel from The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod series. For those who've read Anabel's books, Jazy's love story takes place after Volume 6, Coupled with Chance._ Choose your bookseller site here!

Undying Love Series (Zombie Apocalypse Romance)

How would YOU survive? Thrills, chills, and toe-curling romance as the world explodes in a global pandemic! Don't miss this highly-rated apocalyptic-romance series!

_Acadia's Law: Book One_ (Go HERE to read more!)

Acadia's Revenge: Book Two

_Acadia's Apocalypse: Book Three_ (Coming Soon in 2018)

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tracy Ellen was born in Indiana to middle-class parents, the third out of five hellions. Currently, she lives in the suburbs of St Paul, Minnesota with her incredibly tolerant, wonderful husband and awesome family. Actually, she's lived in the Midwest almost her whole life in a small town, on a farm, and in the big city. Growing up in a large, rambunctious family, Tracy often used her supernatural powers to compel family members to listen to her talk and tell stories. When that tough crowd laughed of their own free will, Tracy knew the world would someday, somehow be her stage. Always an avid reader of many genres, now Tracy's passionate about her writing career. She's living the dream as a self-punished...er self-published author and typing away at another novel even as you read this. Whatever the sub-genre she's writing, Tracy loves her romance a little twisted but always a lot of fun. Happy reading!

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