Six Degrees of Danger

Chapter 1

            When I heard the bump, scrape, bump sound from the living room, I bolted out of bed and covered the ten steps to my closet in one silent leap. Knowing exactly where to reach, I pulled the handgun from between the folds of a sweater on the top shelf. Something had roused me from my sleep, wood scraping against wood. I had dismissed the noises at first, not wanting to open my eyes from the drug like sleep. I wondered how much time I had spent grasping for the bed covers while someone was roaming around my small apartment, only to realize I was sleeping on top of the bedspread. Naked. Well, not quite, I was wearing my bra and panties. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 3:00 AM.

            I peered into the living room. It was dark, but there was enough illumination from the streetlights for me to see that no one was there. The end table by the couch was no longer at a right angle to the wall. I edged back along the bedroom wall, through the odd little hallway and into the kitchen. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, I could see most of the living room and the door to the apartment. I backed myself up against the far wall, pressing my backside against the cabinets.

            Something bright and sparkling, like thousands of tiny lights flashed by the front door. At the same time, the scent of something burnt and orange scented permeated the air. “What the hell…” I breathed. I heard footsteps on the outside stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Watching the door, I saw the knob turn, and held my breath to steady myself. I forgot about the tiny flashing lights. The next second I heard a key in the lock and the door was pushed open. I was standing in the kitchen in my black underwear, pointing a gun at the front door when Six walked in. And he was pointing his own gun at me.

            We stood there, in the dark and silence, until he flipped on the overhead kitchen light. “Joni?” Then, “Joni.” This time he said my name in a deep drawl that made me blush. Leave it to Six to stand there ogling me in my underwear even while I was pointing a gun at him.

            “You scared the hell out of me.” I was breathing hard and felt like I needed to sit, but I didn’t. I lowered my gun, still holding it with both hands. Six lowered his also but didn’t holster it. He took two long strides to stand in front of me.

            “Joni.” Six grabbed my elbow and was shaking me. It’s not easy to shake someone as tall as I am more than a little, especially since I was frozen to the kitchen linoleum at that point. “What’s the matter?”

            “I thought I heard someone in the apartment.” Six stepped away from me and turned around, FBI agent on autopilot. He covered the entire apartment in less than thirty seconds, looking in closets, under the bed. There weren’t many hiding places.

            “Nobody’s here.” Six was scanning me from head to toe. I liked the look in his eyes.

            “I did hear something.” I laid my Glock on the kitchen table. I would have told him the end table was out of place in the living room, but I knew that would prove nothing.

            “What’s that smell?” Six put his arms around my waist while he was sniffing the air.

            “I don’t know. Does it smell like oranges to you? Burnt oranges?” I asked. The smell wasn’t that bad, but it was distinctive.

            “You don’t have any oranges in here, do you?” Six knew the extent of food in my apartment consisted of a handful of frozen pizzas and lime sherbet.

            “You’re not cooking?” Panicked, he glanced at the stove, relieved. It was still as spotless as I could get a hundred-year-old stove. Turning back to me, Six leaned in to give me the kiss I was expecting. Anticipating. He stopped, his lips about an inch from mine. I was already breathing faster by this time and would have leaned to kiss him if I hadn’t felt his right hand resting on my hip. He flattened his palm against my belly and put his hand down inside my panties, cupping me, giving a little squeeze. His left arm went around me and I felt cold metal touch my lower back. I did lean that one inch to kiss him then.

            “Joni…damn…” Six breathed against my mouth.

            “You can holster that weapon, now.” I moved out of his arms, stepped back a few paces, and stood with my fists on hips, glaring at him.

            “Babe.” Six holstered his Glock, picked up my gun, automatically looked it over, ejecting the clip, then snapping it back in. He knew what I was going to say. Which was something like never ever come in here in the middle of the night when I’m not expecting you.

             “I tried to call, where’s your cell phone?” Six looked around and picked up my cell, which was lying next to my gun on the old-fashioned chrome and Formica kitchen table and held it up in front of my face.

            “I tried to call you. You must put this thing on the charger for it to work.” He was exasperated. I always forgot to charge my phone. He reached behind the table for the charger cord and plugged my phone in.

            “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” I sighed and relaxed my hands, trying not to look defensive.

            “I finished in Oklahoma City and wanted to get back, so I came on home.” I could tell by the slight grimace on his face, that Six regretted mentioning Oklahoma City.

            “I didn’t hear your truck.” I said. I guess he could have driven up the gravel driveway before I woke up, but I usually heard him.

            “I parked at the office and walked. Didn’t want to wake up Mrs. Berryhill.” Mrs. Berryhill was the landlady of this rundown garage apartment. I was staring Six right in the eyes. Something didn’t feel right here. I wasn’t sure what, so I continued the grill.

            “Why didn’t you go to your apartment?”

            “I wanted to see you, babe.” Six moved toward me a few steps, and I backed up the same, crossing my arms under my breasts and shaking my head a little. He wasn’t exactly lying, I knew he wanted to see me, but there was something else going on.

            “What did you expect to find when you got here?”

            “Well, I sure as hell didn’t expect you to be standing there in your panties pointing a gun at me.”

            “Yes.” I was still shaking my head, but up and down now. “Yes, you did. You expected that or something else. What?” I folded my five-foot ten inch frame into one of the kitchen chairs, pulling one foot up to the seat and resting my arms on my knee. As Six stared at me, he eyes widened and he pressed his lips together. If I hadn’t been angry, I would have laughed. I knew I was in a provocative position. All the better to hurry an answer out of him if that were possible.

            “You want coffee?” I asked. Six automatically turned to the Mr. Coffee, poured in the water, and started it. I don’t drink coffee and I don’t make coffee. In fact, the Mr. Coffee machine was his. While the coffee was perking, he rinsed out the teakettle and put fresh water to boil.

            “You’re stalling,” I said as Six opened the refrigerator.

            “You have the cleanest refrigerator I have ever seen.” He closed the door and leaned against door of the fridge, his height dwarfing the already small and ancient machine. I smiled. I would indulge him for one more minute. Six put a tea bag in one of my delicate china cups and poured the hot water over it. He selected an old, chipped mug for himself, filled it with coffee, placed both on the table, and sat down.

             “Thank you.” Oh, he was a good one, making tea for me. But he wasn’t off the hook. We sipped our drinks, mine strong and bitter, Six’s strong and black, mainly because I never bought any sugar or milk. I decided it was up to me to find out why Six had paid an unexpected visit to my apartment in the middle of the night.

            “Come on, Six. Tell me what’s going on.” I never asked him about any of his cases, unless he said something first, and opened the door for me. “What’s in Oklahoma City?”

            “Babe, you know I can’t talk about my case.”

            “You mentioned Oklahoma City first.”

            “I know, but…” He leaned forward, reaching for my hands.

            “Am I in danger?” It’s what I wanted to know, so I went ahead and asked it. Six looked at me, his eyes serious, his mouth pressed in a straight line, not speaking. I pulled my hands from his and sat up straight in my chair.

            “What did you expect to find when you got here tonight, to my apartment?”

            “Nothing. Really, nothing. I just needed to check on you.”

            I jumped up and whirled around with as much dignity as I could manage, since I was nearly naked. “I want to know! What did you expect to find?” I was shaking inside. I had never spoken to Six this way, and the look on his face was somewhere between surprise and anger.

            “I saw Alicia Shotwell,” Six said, softly, his eyes closing slightly.

            Blackness, smothering and pressing, filled my head, sucking me back to the day Alicia Shotwell had kidnapped me. The woman had taken me to Oklahoma City from Bear Springs, Texas, and dropped me in an empty grain silo.

            “Alicia…” I pulled my hands from Six’s and rubbed my left thigh absently. The fall should have killed me and would have if I had not landed in a foot or rotting grain, resulting in two broken legs and five weeks of pain and suffocating heat, with never enough water. Or food. Alicia had only brought me enough to keep me alive. I had wanted to give up and die, but Alicia had other plans.

            “I had felt so sorry for her,” I whispered.

            Six knelt in front of me. “It’s not your fault, Joni, sweetheart.”

            “Why did you see her?” My head was a little clearer now, and I needed to get anything I could out of Six while he was still in a compassionate mood toward me. I could retrieve the memories later when I was alone.

            “Is she still there, in Oklahoma? I can find out, you know.”

            “I know you can,” he said, keeping his voice low and steady.

            “Is she still in that mental prison?” I was hoping Alicia had not been released. I was trying to leave the fear, and the hatred behind. If Alicia had been released, I would probably kill her. I didn’t want to be a killer.

            “Yes, she’s still in custody. Don’t worry about that.”

            “I will never stop worrying about it.”

 

Chapter 2

            “Another FBI Agent was killed. That’s why I went to see her.” Six looked at me as he said this. He hated to tell me, knowing I would feel responsible.

            “You knew him?”

            “Her. Maureen O’Malley.” Six glanced away for a moment. He looked exposed, and injured, and I knew I was seeing a part of him I had never seen before. Six had baggage--a past he hadn’t shared with me. We all have a history. I have a trunk or two of my own.

            “Is this related to three years ago?” I held my breath.

            “Yes.” Six laid his forehead on my hands. He didn’t move for a long time. I leaned down and put my arms around his shoulders, trying to comfort him the best I could, even though I was angry. I felt like I had been tossed into that hot silo again. Suffocating. Starving for air.

            “Go home.” I tried to make my voice soft and understanding, but I was afraid I sounded full of pity and resentment. “I’m okay.” I realized he had to mourn for Maureen O’Malley, and he had to do it without me.

            Six picked up my gun from the table and walked into my bedroom, where I knew he was returning it to the top of my closet. When he returned, he leaned over and kissed me. Even his soft and gentle kiss stirred me, but I wasn’t going to ask him to stay. He couldn’t be my protector tonight.

            “I’ll see you tomorrow,” was all he said before walking out the door, locking it behind him. I went into my bedroom and pulled on a cotton nightshirt. Before I got into bed, I got my gun from the closet and placed it under the pillow next to me. I lay in the dark, but instead of sleeping, I planned on how I was going to find out what Sixsipita Kinnaird was hiding from me.

 

            The next morning I tried to make my body bend in ways it should not so I could fully immerse in the steaming hot water. This outdated tub was not made for lying back and relaxing. There was no comfortable place to position my head, and the angle left my upper backbones bruised from leaning back against the tub. Plus, my feet had to stick out the other end and find a place to prop next to the faucet. But I did the best I could. I was leaning back with my forearm across my closed eyes when I saw the flash of light, or something like light, and heard a snap and crackle. I sat bolt upright in the tub, sending a wave of water and bubbles over the edge to the floor.

            Even though my skin was red hot I felt pinpoints of icy cold on my arms and shoulders, as if snowflakes had touched and melted. There it was again, exactly like last night, when I thought I was imagining things. It was more of a glowing arc, small at the point and widening at the end. I was standing now, surveying the large, outdated bathroom. The orange smell was heavy in the room. My bath bubbles were of the lavender variety, something my cousin Melanie had, I’m sure, regifted me for no occasion. I didn’t have any orange smelling anything—candles, soap, or even oranges.

            “Holy shit,” I muttered to myself. Stepping out of the tub, I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around me. I crossed the expansive floor space of the huge bathroom to get another towel and wiped at my eyes. Soap must have gotten into them because all I could see was spots. Not spots exactly, more like tiny sparkling lights in colors of black and silver.

            It didn’t occur to me to be afraid. I only felt regret, and sadness; the kind of sadness you would feel knowing you were seeing things that couldn’t possibly be real. I felt the darkness, the heat, and the smell of the silo, where I was prisoner years ago.

            I couldn’t hear anything in the apartment. I stepped out into the bedroom and moved the few short steps to the living room door. Empty. I backtracked through the kitchen and out the other door that opened into a space not big enough to be a room, but too big to be a hallway, that connected the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. Nothing there. My heart was still pounding and my damp skin had goose bumps. My vision had cleared, I no longer saw a trailing arc of sparkles, but I could still smell a faint scent of orange in the air. “

            is that?” I headed back to the bathroom intent on resuming what was supposed to be a relaxing soak. I was about to drop the towel and already had one toe in the now lukewarm water when I felt a light swipe at the back of my head.

            “Ouch!” It would later occur to me that I should have been more frightened than I was surprised. I just thought I was crazy with hallucinations again. I turned around just in time to see a few more of the black and silver flashes, but this time they didn’t disappear. In fact, they settled on the padded vanity bench, staying in one place but still shimmering with movement. Of course, I thought I was crazy. But since that was nothing new to me I disregarded it and stepped across the bathroom to stand right in front of the little cosmos of stars and light rays. I slowly reached out, intending to see if I could touch the little cloud of light, all the while wondering if life in a home for the delusional was as bad as I had always thought it would be.

            “Don’t.” I heard the voice, trying to sound firm and grown up, but failing. I snatched my hand back to clutch at the towel I was still wearing. Hearing voices now, are we. Don’t panic, nothing new. I stood there a minute, not moving, trying to be very still while planning a surprise attack. Instead of moving slowly this time, I jabbed my hand at the glittery blob, and received a good slap on the back of my hand.

            “Hey. Stop hitting me!” I jerked my hand back in time to see the sparkling black and silver lights pouf away and leave a young woman sitting on my vanity bench. I stepped back so fast that I tripped on the rug and smacked my head against the linen closet door, where I sank to a sitting position, still grasping the towel around me with one hand. I stared. I swallowed hard. I did all those things one does when confronted with a delusion. Except that after I had stared and swallowed for a minute, I realized I wasn’t terrified at all.

            “Who are you?” One thing about thinking you are insane, is that is makes perfect sense to go along with the situation at hand, rather than fight it.

            “Clotilde.” The young girl was sitting, hugging her knees to her chest with her head bent low. She had very long black hair that tumbled over her tiny body, past the seat cushion and onto the floor. She was pale and skinny, dressed in black pants and a shimmery black top. Small pointy-toed, purple boots completed her ensemble. Her eyes were rimmed with eyeliner and were wide and dark. She looked like cross between a Goth and Halloween witch. Her lips were bare and pale.

            “Did you forget your lipstick?” I asked, since that was the first thing that popped into my mind. She smiled and ran one finger over her lips, immediately coloring them blood red. I raised my eyebrows.

            “Too much?” Clotilde asked. I nodded, not really believing I was having this conversation with a creature that had materialized from a cloud of lights. Clotilde simply swiped her mouth again and her lips turned to a sweet cotton candy pink.

            “Who are you?” I asked again. I should have asked what are you. Even though manners shouldn’t be a concern at this moment, I still had them.

            “I’m Clotilde. You can call me Clo. I’m…” Clotilde stopped talking and sat up, her eyes glancing around the room, almost as if she were frightened.

Chapter 3

“Ruth Ann!” she yelled directly at me before she disappeared right before my eyes. No lights, hovering or flashing, remained. Only the strange scent or oranges. Oranges and cream, I thought, like a burnt orange creamsicle.

            “Well fuck,” I gasped as I jumped up from the floor. The realization hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks-she had given me Ruth Ann’s name. I could think about the apparition Clotilde later, but I had an overwhelming sense that I needed to deal with Ruth Ann right now.

            I sat on the bed and woke up my computer and got online. “Ruth Ann Chamblee,” I said to myself as I typed the name into Google. I should be looking up crazy goth Clotilde, I thought. Over a thousand matches. Of course I hadn’t filtered. Out of the thousand how many could contain valid information? Not more than five hundred, surely. After scanning down the first page of results I clicked on the link for the newspaper, Lubbock Liberty. Not enough happened in Bear Springs to warrant its own newspaper.

            Besides, it would be a waste of paper and ink since any news worth repeating would make the grapevine long before a newspaper was ever printed, much less thrown at someone’s front door. Of course, I didn’t hear much from the rumor mill. Not that I’m too Miss Goody Two Shoes to gossip, but I didn’t have that many friends to chitchat with. Never mind that I had been the subject of tales gone wrong more times than I care to remember. My cousin Melanie was too self-centered to engage in conversation about anyone but herself. Posey Tidewater, my best friend, barely gave me the time of day anymore. Some best friend she was. I think she still liked me even though I was poor now, but I guess it was hard for her to get past my own scandal to actually sit around and gossip with me about someone else’s misfortune.

            Once I realized that my crises, even though no fault of my own, embarrassed her, I conveniently lost her phone number. Funny, I guess she lost mine at the same time. So it was easy to keep to myself. I had my own business and my own office. Not much business, but enough to keep a roof over my head. If it weren’t for renting half of my office space to Six Degrees Private Investigations I would probably have to work out of my apartment. I could work from home, but I felt much better when I could meet clients, especially new ones, at an office.

            Sometimes, with new clients, especially if I didn’t think I was going to take the job, I would meet them in Lubbock at the Barnes and Noble bookstore. That place made a great branch office and I didn’t even have to make coffee. Which I never did anyway. Not many people had been in my home. Home being the tiny one-bedroom apartment over a garage. Apparently, Mrs. Berryhill needed the rent money more than she needed to concern herself with my reputation. The apartment was run down, with an excuse for a kitchen. That suited me, I didn’t cook. As for the shabbiness, well, the rent was right. And the bathroom was bigger than the kitchen. That spoke volumes about me, Josephine Nichole Seighin.

            “Bingo.” Yes, that was her, staring at me from a newspaper article. I had to glance through eight articles before finding one with a photo. Ruth Ann looked different now, but I thought I had recognized the woman, not so much from her features—shoulder length chestnut brown hair that curled around her shoulders, dark brown eyes—as from another familiarity about her. How did I know Ruth Ann Chamblee? Well, I didn’t, exactly. I was only thinking about the woman who had been in Six’s office no less than five times in the last week. Did I count? You bet. Since Six Kinnaird, the Six in Six Degrees, was one of the handful of people I did let into my apartment, and the only one I let into my bedroom, I noticed when a beautiful woman kept showing up at his office.

            And no, I didn’t exactly spy. The office had one entrance door that led into a waiting area. The two inner offices had glass fronts, so I could see anyone who came in to see Six Kinnaird. Six had some blinds he closed over his big window for privacy, which I guess is essential in the PI business. Seighin’s Print and Web Design had no need for such secrecy. Most of the time Six would leave the blinds shut, so I naturally looked to see who had come in when I heard the outside door open, and more likely as not I would knock on Six’s door if the client was for him. Neither of us had secretaries or receptionists, business wasn’t that good. Six had a lot more business than I did, and I didn’t mind playing receptionist once in a while.

            Ruth Ann Chamblee had been at Six’s office three days ago. I had rapped on Six’s door to let him know she was in the waiting area. Now that I think of it, I never did see her come out. That’s when Six left for Oklahoma City. I guess they both could have left out the back door. Each office had a door that led to another back foyer area. This room had the restroom, a small refrigerator with a Mr. Coffee on top and a supply closet, and a door that led outside. Six let clients enter and leave from that door sometimes, mostly when there was another client in the waiting area. Which wasn’t often. Six tried not to book appointments back to back.

            I studied Ruth Anne’s picture a little longer and bookmarked the web page. Ruth Anne had disappeared two and a half years before. She had turned up at a resort in Gulf Shores, Alabama six months ago. No one knows the whole story of how she got there, or why her appearance was slightly altered. Nothing drastic, Ruth Ann was beautiful before she disappeared and certainly didn’t need plastic surgery. But her nose was a little thinner, her cheekbones higher and chin a little more pronounced. Most women wouldn’t mind looking like Ruth Ann either before or after.  

            I appreciated Ruth Ann for more than her beauty. When she vanished, the sleaze and shock reporters had found another interest, and took the focus off me. I would have to thank her for that someday. I didn’t butt into Six’s business or ask him about his investigations. Unless he said something to me first, then I would ask. He had not said a word about Ruth Ann Chamblee.

Chapter 4

            The annoying ring music I had accidentally selected on my cell phone, and kept meaning to change, interrupted my thoughts of Ruth Ann. I went to the bedroom, grabbed the phone from the nightstand and looked at the caller ID. Six. I fell across my bed as I flipped open the phone.

            “Joni.” He didn’t even wait for me answer, as usual. My damp skin turned all pink again at the sound of his voice. Probably because I was lying here on my bed in only a towel.

            “Hello Six.”

            “Did you have your heart set on take out Chinese tonight?”

            So, was this how he was going to do it? Dump me, I mean. I have expected it for the last five months of the six months we have been dating. And after last night, the way he had looked when told me about Maureen O’Malley and I sent him home to deal with it, well, maybe he has finally had enough of me. Six had always been good to me. He treated me like he had never heard the gossip or seen the local news. He treated me like I wasn’t defective, in a crazy way. We were an easy fit. And he could make my toes curl like nobody’s business. But I was always afraid he would leave me when he decided he didn’t want to deal with my peculiar little quirks. And my fears.

            “Joni?”

            “I’m here. You know me, I don’t care what’s for dinner.” It was true. My favorite meal was hot, you had to use a fork to eat it, and somebody else cooked it, but other than that I wasn’t that particular. I tried not to sound like someone who thought she was being dumped.

            “How soon can you be in a little black dress and ready to go the Erickson’s for champagne and lobster?”

            “What?” I sat up. Hell with the Erickson’s, he wasn’t dumping me.

            “Good, I’ll be there in an hour.”

            “Okay.” I didn’t know Six was such a buddy of Thad Erickson that he could score an invite to one of his fancy receptions. I didn’t know about Erickson’s parties because I gossiped either. Mrs. Erickson had hired me a couple of times to design some invites and programs for one of her over the top affairs.

            “Uh, Six? I don’t have a little black dress. Would green be okay?”

             “Nope, it must be black, and elegant.”

            “Oh well, thanks for the invite, but I guess I’ll have to pass.” I pictured Six with Ruth Ann on his arm ascending sweeping steps into a big white mansion. I only had two cocktail dresses, one was emerald green, and Six had seen it a couple of times. The other was red and he had never seen that one. I had worn it as a bridesmaid at my cousin’s Christmas wedding the year before. It wasn’t a hideous bridesmaid dress, but it was very red and sassy. You’d have to know cousin Melanie.

            “Joni, don’t get mad.” Six’s deep voice had that placating tone.

            “Hell Six, I’m not mad. I can understand why you would want to go to Erickson’s shindig rather than pick up food from Chan’s…”

            “Listen.” He was well familiar with one of my greatest flaws, jumping to conclusions. I was trying to stop doing that.

            “It’s work. I need to be there for a few reasons.” I knew I wasn’t going to be privy to those reason, so I let him talk. “And I would like you there with me. It’s not dangerous Joni. If you don’t want to go, I understand, but I need to, and I want you to go with me.”

            “I still can’t go; I don’t have the requisite little black dress.”

            “No problem, I’ll bring you one. Size ten, right?”

            Damn, when your guy knew your dress size, you should have no fear, right?

            “On a good day,” I said. On bad days it could be a twelve, and when I splurged on more expensive clothes it could be an eight, so who really knew.

“Joni, don’t get mad.” Six was speaking more slowly and softly into the phone now.

            “You already said that, and I said I’m not mad.”

            “Well, I may need you to do a little snooping for me.”

            “Ah…you do realize that the last time I snooped around I sort of…uh, upset the apple cart?” More like uprooted the whole damn orchard.

            “Yeah, it’s nothing heavy. Nobody there knows you so you could probably ask questions certain guests wouldn’t expect, catch them off guard. I’ll fill you in when I pick you up. You have shoes?”

            “Shoes, uh, sure, yeah.” I was surprised that a man had even considered shoes. “Unless I could score a new pair since I’m working for you now.”

            “Size eight, right.”

            “I was joking Six. And by the way, they may not have met me, but most people know who I am. You’ve heard the gossip. Even if you are too much of a gentleman to mention it.” I heard his laugh as he hung up the phone. Thirty minutes later I had finished drying my hair and ran the flat iron over it so it hung down my back in straight and shiny panels that I knew would swing when I walked. I put on more makeup than I usually wear, after all this was a high falutin’ party. I had been the poster girl for fancy parties in my late teens, so I wouldn’t embarrass Six. Not too much, anyway.

            “Oh hell, probably a lot,” I said out loud. I didn’t know what kind of bra, if any, to put on since I hadn’t seen the dress Six was picking up for me, so I selected a low cut black push up variety with skinny straps a little bit of lace. Matching panties, of course. I didn’t care about a lot of things, but I did like to match. I sat on the little bench at the end of my bed and began to touch up my Passion Pink toenail polish. Just in case I got to wear my black satin peep toe pumps. I had just finished when I heard a noise coming from the front door/kitchen/living room area, which was kind of all rolled into one.

            “Six.” No answer. “Six?” Now my voice was a little weaker, almost shaking. What was the matter with me, I was never scared. And what’s more, I had already had a conversation today with a disappearing Goth/witch stick of a girl. A conversation that had led me to Google Ruth Ann Chamblee out of the blue. I would replay that later. Along with the am I crazy/not crazy, a lot/little unstable game that I was prone to play.

            “Damn.” I whispered more curses because I had dropped the bottle of nail polish on Mrs. Berryhill’s faded and fraying rug when I jumped up from the bench. And it had to leak out on one of the blue flowers, not a pink one. I slid my hand under the bed pillow and picked up the gun. I would have felt silly, but I know I had heard someone in the apartment last night, I swear I had. And then Six had told me about seeing Alicia Shotwell.

            I tiptoed through the hallway and into the kitchen, wearing only underwear and holding a gun, for the second time in less than twentyfour hours.

            “Who’s there?” Nothing. More light footsteps and a bump. “I have a gun!” My voice wasn’t shaking any longer. “The cops will be here in less than a minute.” I called out. Again, nothing. “I am not imagining this,” I said under my breath. I heard tires crunch on the gravel outside. Oh crap. Six, where are you? “Come on come on come on,” I was muttering under my breath and I nearly sank to the floor when I heard footsteps on the outside stairs. The door opened and Six walked in, dropping the package he was carrying and drawing his gun before I could even take a breath.

            “Joni!” His teeth were clenched, and he sucked in air. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

            “There was someone, or something, in here.” I spoke just as emphatically as Six had. “I heard them. It.” Six checked out the apartment exactly as he had yesterday, stepping around my spilled nail polish and even pulling the stopper from the tub to let my bathwater out. I should have gone ahead told him that apparently, I was having migraines or was suffering from a brain tumor. Wouldn't he think that something was wrong with me if I told him I was seeing black and silver stars that turned into a stick thin Goth girl?

            I forgot about the Clotilde and my intruder as soon as I got a good look at Six Kinnaird. I would tell him about her later. Maybe. “Sixsipita No Middle Name Kinnaird.” My voice became husky as I looked him over. He was dressed in a black tuxedo that looked like it had been made specifically for the six foot three tower of muscle that he was. I blinked a few times and was glad I hadn’t put on any lipstick yet.

            “Thank you.” I put my hands on his shoulders kissed him on the mouth. I wanted to put my arms around him and wrap my legs around his waist so he would have to hold on to me, but he looked so gorgeous I didn’t want to wrinkle him. Jet black hair hanging straight, just past his shoulders, high cheekbones emphasized by the dark Native American skin tone, eyes dark as night, slanted ever so slightly. And a mouth, right now wearing a smirk and turning up at one corner. I couldn’t help smiling at him then.

            “Do you really want to go to this party?” I whispered. Six looked at my pushed up breasts for a minute.

            “Babe, don’t you know better than to answer the door like that?” He kissed me back and I was so glad he wasn’t angry about last night.

            “I didn’t answer the door. You used your key. Remember?” I was a stickler for details. And I didn’t think for a minute that Six Kinnaird had forgotten he had opened the door and found me pointing a gun at him. For the second time.

            “Oh, yeah. But still.” Six breathed deeply, but was smiling as he stepped away and reached for the garment bag.

            “And hell, no, I don’t want to go to this party, but it’s going to speed up a case that I want finished.”

            “Hey Six,” I was talking to his back now, as he was already headed to the bedroom. “You sure look mighty pretty in that tux. Think I can wrinkle you up a little later?”

            He looked back at me, his eyes narrowed and smoldering. And let me tell you, Six could smolder.

            “Babe, I don’t care if you rip it to shreds.” My knees wanted to buckle and land me in the floor. I think I kept my floors swept and mopped just for that purpose, because one day I knew I would get noodle legs and just land there after he had given me one of those kisses, at the least expected time, as he often did.

            “Come on. Let’s pick you out a dress.” Six picked up the garment bag he had dropped by the front door and headed for the bedroom. He had brought four dresses. The third one I tried on was the winner. It was silk, had narrow shoulder straps with a scooped neckline that showed just a hint of cleavage. The back was low and square. The cut was empire with a small tuck of velvet at the waistline. The dress stopped right above my knees. I had to lose the bra—this dress had a built in.

            “How did you manage that?” I asked. Off the rack dresses were usually much too short on me.

            “I borrowed them from the buyer at Goldblumes. We have to return them.”

            “No problem.” I was preening and admiring myself and the beautiful dress in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door.

            “But I don’t understand. Aren’t the mannequins a size zero or two or something? How come he has these beautiful dresses in my size?”

            “They’re for the Lubbock Garden Club charity fashion show next week. Some designer donated them. Cyrus will probably be at tonight’s party, and he knows you will be wearing the dress.”

            “The women will ask me about it, you know.”

            “They will?”

            “Of course, this is designer. They’re society women, they will ask.”

            “Well…” Six had apparently used all his fashion sense in picking out the dress I was wearing.

            “I’ll just tell them that Cyrus has extremely good taste in little black dresses.” I turned around, smiling. “Oh…”

            Six handed me a pair of suede pumps, peep toes, and three-inch heels. Beautiful. But would I be able to walk in them?

            “Uh…Six?” I was starting to worry about this playing dress up with the rich folks. It had been a long time since I had hobnobbed with the society crowd, and I remembered why I don’t like to do that anymore.

            “Babe,” he had that husky drawl again, which I knew could undo all our work at getting me dressed, and in a hurry. “You’re gonna knock ‘em dead. And trust me, nobody there will try any intimidation crap with you tonight.”

            He kissed my bare shoulder, working his way over to my neck. “Of course, I might end up shooting anyone who tries to get to close to you.”

            “Oh, I better…” I started to wiggle myself from his arms. “I already put it away, darlin’.”

            It wasn’t hard for me to climb up into Six’s truck, even wearing three-inch heels and a dress. Six did raise his eyebrows—I think he got a peek at my underwear.

            “Relax. That was only for your benefit. I will be much more modest and ladylike when I get in and out at the mansion.”

             Six’s briefing was short. “Listen in, I know you’re good at that. Only ask questions if the subject has already been brought up. I know you’re good at that, too.” Six looked over at me for a split second before turning his eyes back to the highway. “Listen. Don’t ask about anything that hasn’t already been talked about. Got it?”

            Simple enough, I thought.

            “Darlin’,” he glanced my way again. “You’re got the looks. And the sex appeal, use it.” He sighed knowing he would get an earful from me.

            “I will not lead anybody on, and I won’t….”

            “I know babe, that’s not what I meant.” He reached for my hand, but I wouldn’t let him move it from my lap.

            “But men are…well you know how they are. They’ll talk without even realizing it. All you have to do is listen.”

            Since I was about ten years old, I have had this weird ability to recall conversations word for word. It’s sort of like a replay button in my head. Do you realize how many songs and movies I have stored in there? I can recall visuals also, but it’s a little harder. I have learned that if I verbalize the scene to myself, then I can recall it. A workaround I developed when the ordeal with my family happened three years ago.

            I never thought of myself as sexy. Maybe in an Amazonian way. And I guess some went for that. Thank God Six did. He didn’t care that I was just under six feet tall and not a size four. My most striking feature, which I admit I played to the max when it suited me, was my hair. Long, straight and very blond. Natural, thanks to my Nordic ancestry. The lightest blond possible while still maintaining some color. It hung over a foot past my shoulders. Three years back, when all my family troubles started, I had cut it to shoulder length and dyed it brown. If one less person recognized me during that period, that was worth it. What wasn’t worth it was the upkeep. Blond roots on brown hair seem to draw attention. I have never figured out why it is okay for bleached blonds to have two inches of brunette roots showing and it is okay, but a brunette with blond roots was a cause for alarm. Damn double standards. When I decided to quit coloring my hair brown, I just let it grow out and kept cutting it shoulder length until the brown was all gone. I think people thought this was a style statement of some kind. When they stared at the Amazon woman with half brown and half blond hair, I just pretended not to notice. I was used to being stared at by then.

            “So I guess I’m not going to be decorating your arm for most of this party.”

            “I wish that were the case. But be sure to enjoy the champagne and eat plenty of lobster. I don’t know how long we will be staying.” He ran his hand from my bare knee half way up my thigh. I didn’t answer. I was trying not to think about where Six’s hand was headed.

            “We’re on the clock, right?” My voice was weak as I gently moved Six’s hand, smoothed my dress and then held it in both of my own.

            “Why, Jo, if there’s something you want, we could punch out for a few minutes.” He smiled his wide, crooked smile and his eyes were smoldering again. For some reason I didn’t think he was kidding.

            Once inside the mansion, Six snagged me a glass of bubbly, and put his hand on my lower back as he led me further into the crowd. Marking his territory, I thought. Both men and women were looking our way, and there were more pairs of raised eyebrows than I could count. Six gave me a brief kiss on the lips, and a wink as he pulled away from me and headed for a small group of men gathered on the far side of the room.

            Wow. The man was a chameleon. He looked like a million in the tux, but I think I liked his usual jeans, boots and either a long-sleeved button shirt, or a tight-fitting tee. And with a few days’ stubble, he could transform into the perfect picture of a bad ass. Which he did on occasion. I sighed and turned around to head for the buffet service and came face to face with a pair of eyes I had stared into not so long ago. Ruth Ann Chamblee.

            “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Ruthie Chamblee.” She looked gorgeous. Her hair was pulled back in a twist, which made her cheekbones look even higher and more chiseled than they already were. “Or have we? You look familiar.”

            I extended my hand to Ruth Ann. “We haven’t formally met.” Her hand was thin, but she gave me a worthy handshake. “You saw me at Six Kinnaird’s office. I let him know you were there for your meeting.”

            “Oh, I didn’t know Six had a…um…assistant.”

            “Oh, no, I don’t work for Six.” Except for tonight, right now in fact, since he did bring me along to snoop. And he was a professional snooper.

            “My office is the other one in the suite. I have my own business.”

            “Are you a private detective also, Miss…”

            “I’m sorry. Joni. I’m Joni Seighin.” I could see the wheels turning just as clearly as if her head had been made of glass. “I have a web and graphic design business.” I watched her face, but she wasn’t giving anything away.

            “Six and I sort of assist each other with visitors and appointments, if there’s a need.” In truth, I did most of the assisting. Six had brought me a cup of tea a time or two, mostly when he was in between appointments and leg work. “

            I don’t get involved in his cases, Miss Chamblee. His work is confidential.” I wasn’t sure if I needed to say that, but I could see Ruth Ann’s face relax considerably, and the wheels might have slowed.

             “So you aren’t here as his…I mean, on a…” Ruthie trailed off, moving her hand holding her wine glass in a little arc, as if that covered what she couldn’t say.

            “I’m here as his date.” Uh-oh. Ruthie’s wheels turning again.

            “Oh, so you’re dating Six?”

            “Yes. I have been his girlfriend for the last six months.” I don’t know if that was spoken too boldly, for having just met Ruth Ann, but I wanted to let her know just where I fit in. Ruthie took a moment to consider that last remark, then she smiled. I thought she was going to tilt her head in one of those little head bows you see people do, while they are looking you right in the eyes. I was at least a half foot taller than her, so the physics of the action were just impossible.

            “Miss Seighin.” Ruthie was dismissing me in that way that people who thought they were better than you did.

            “Call me Joni. Miss Chamblee.” I smiled politely back at her.

            “It was nice to meet you.” She turned and walked herself and her slinky dress toward the bank of open French doors at the far end of the room. I could see guests milling about out there, along with many waiters with silver trays of beverages and bite sized meats and cheeses. Maybe I better see what’s going on out there. I was thinking about my Goth vision, Clo, and trying to keep my long legs from making unladylike strides to the doors when I felt a hand on my arm.

Mirage of Thunder (Princeton McKinney because I can't use my real name)

 

 Mirage of Thunder

            Victoria felt the vibration of the big bike travel up her thighs and into the innermost regions of her belly.  The deep rumble in her ears further intensified the feeling that she and the bike were one being, each needing the other to act and react.  Victoria wanted nothing more than to exhilarate in the power and speed at her fingertips, savor the wind whipping her face, the sun burning hot and fiery on her arms, and even the sting of the sand that blew across the desert highway.  She focused on the throttle, her hand firm, yet relaxed, and kept steadily moving toward her destination.

            She had been riding all day in the desert.  The last one hundred miles of road was a forsaken, uninhabited stretch.  Unless one enjoyed being alone, surrounded by nothing but tumbleweeds and a flat, brown landscape for company, one should have stayed on the main highway instead of venturing onto this old and broken stretch of pavement.  She knew there were some desert dwellers out here—occasionally she passed narrow, rutted lanes that looked like they led nowhere.  But for now, there was only Victoria and the deserted highway.

            That’s the way she liked it.  Victoria liked her solitary travels across the desert.  If she had someplace to be, she thought, why not get there on her bike.  She was independent, free, and would never bend to the unwritten rules associated with females and motorcycles.  She would never be anyone’s old lady.  Victoria wasn’t rebellious, nor was she a troublemaker.  She didn’t believe she could solely control her destiny, but she sure wasn’t going to let anyone else control her.

            Ah, not long now, Victoria thought as she passed an ancient and crumbling post that held the remnants of a decaying billboard.  Now, knowing she was near, Victoria wanted nothing more than to stop the bike, wash the dirt and road grime from her sunburned body, and enjoy that tingling feeling that comes after a long, hard ride.  She wanted to nap for a few hours, and then, once the moon was high in the sky, continue through the wilderness in the cool of the night.

            Seeing the small building up ahead, she let up on the throttle and began slowing the Harley in order to look for a smooth place to exit the pavement.  The old, abandoned gas station stood about fifty yards from the edge of the road.  The openings where doors and windows had once been boarded over, although now most of the boards hung by one nail, or had fallen away completely, revealing an empty and dark interior.  Creepy looking place, Victoria thought.

            But Victoria wasn’t concerned with the interior of the building.  She maneuvered the bike past mounds of rubbish piled where the old gas pumps had once stood, to the back of the decrepit shack.  A smile filled her face as she stopped the bike and made her observations.  Yes, he had been here.  Well, she assumed that he was he.  Victoria couldn’t think of another woman that would travel alone in the desert like she did, let alone maintain a rough campsite in the middle of nowhere.

            There wasn’t much to the place, but when you were crossing the isolated sunbaked terrain and running on fumes by the time you reached this point, it was an oasis.  Victoria sat for a few moments before getting off the bike.  She had killed the motor and lowered the side stand, but she still felt the rumbling and vibrations.  She closed her eyes and removing her hands from the handlebars, stretched both arms high above her head, and waited for the tingling to subside.  Then she lowered her arms and hugged herself, breathing deeply of the late evening desert air.  Satisfied with her accomplishments so far, Victoria got off the bike and looked around.

            She headed first to the corner of the building and peered into what once must have been a storage closet of some sort but was now just a dark hole with no door, and litter on the floor.  After her eyes adjusted to the dimness inside, Victoria kicked cautiously at the pieces of broken lumber lying on the floor before stepping inside.  Looking deeper into the small, dark room, Victoria spotted what she was looking for—a plastic gasoline container in the far corner.

            Victoria reached the gas can without stirring up any critters of any sort and carried it outside to the bike.  After placing the spout on the can, she filled her gas tank, leaving a small bit of gasoline in the can.  She returned the container to its spot in the littered closet, and arranged the debris across the floor again, so it looked as if she had never been there.

            She didn’t know if this was her secret alone, or if others knew about the Good Samaritan who left the gasoline.  Victoria figured that one reason there was never any other bikes traveling this highway was the lack of available fuel.  No matter how liberating a ride down this highway might have made any rider feel, the stretch was too far to make it on one tank.  She knew she took her chances each time she made this trek into the desert, but for five years now, the mysterious benefactor had not failed her.

            Returning to the bike, Victoria unfastened the cords holding the duffel bags on the back.  Removing the smaller bag, she made her way back to the dark closet, and set it inside the door.  The bag was filled with junk, or treasure, depending on how you looked at it.  Victoria figured if you lived in a big metropolis with stores left and right, it was junk.  If you were a nomad of the desert, it was treasure.  Nuts, bolts, lights, chrome bits and pieces picked up here and there, remnants of leather, bandanas and gloves, and whatever other biker parts would fit in the bag, were stuffed inside.  She couldn’t be one hundred percent sure the gasoline provider was a biker, but she strongly felt that he was.

            With the bike taken care of, Victoria could now look around her little oasis.  There was an open shower, just a pipe with a nozzle at the top, and a raised platform constructed of 2x4’s to stand on.  She noticed a new, wooden picnic table with attached benches about twenty feet away, set in a flat area that was clear of large rocks.  Good place to put the sleeping bag and grab a short sleep, Victoria thought.  She was tough but didn’t really care for sleeping on the ground.  An open sleeping bag on the ground was an invitation to share said bag with any desert creature that slithered, hopped or crawled inside wasn’t her idea of fun.

            Grabbing the other duffel and her sleeping bag from the bike, Victoria carried them to the table.  Unzipping the bag, she reached inside and rummaged through the jumble of jeans and shirts until her fingers touched the soft leather she sought.  She pulled garments from the bag and carefully spread pants, vest, and jacket on the table, thinking about the moment she would slip into the supple black garments.

            Realizing the sun was much closer to the horizon than it had been when she arrived, Victoria urged herself to hurry, so she could be tucked into the sleeping bag when the sun went down.  She bent to unlace and remove her dusty boots and socks, then peeled the faded jeans and t-shirt from her body and tossed them in a pile on the ground.  Her white, lacey undergarments were added to the pile, looking a bit pure and pristine among the dirt and grime of the jeans and boots.

            Victoria reached into the bag again, this time to get shampoo and a comb.  Her long, dark hair would take forever to untangle, so with the thought of showering first and untangling later, she headed for the pipe and platform.  Turning the old-fashioned handle, she waited for the cold rain water from the cistern to hit her. The pipe gurgled and sputtered for a minute, but then, the pure, sweet, clean water poured from the showerhead. Surprisingly, it felt warmer than she thought it would, probably due to having been contained in a metal cistern in the sun all day, and, she was showering at a time when the air was just beginning to chill for the night.

            She felt cooler splatters as the water drops hit the wooden platform and bounced back upon her bare legs, then shivered as goose bumps covered her from head to toe.  What would her friends and family say, she mused, if they could see her out here in the dusky light, naked and showering in the wide open.  She smiled to herself at the thought.

            Victoria vigorously rubbed at her arms, then crossing her arms over her breasts, she held her breath and stepped directly under the spray.  Victoria tilted her face up into the flow of water, letting it wash away the sand and heat and grime of the day, ending one day, and getting her fresh and new for another.  Standing perfectly still, she delighted in the primitive bathing, and felt totally free, even a little wild and primal.

            Turning to let the water flow over her back and buttocks, she opened her eyes to take in the sweep of the wilderness laid out before her.  The muted and ever-changing colors in the western sky hinted of a heavy dusk.  The wispy clouds formed patterns in the sky, the colors almost hypnotizing Victoria as she stood under the flowing water.  She breathed deeply and returned to the process of washing.  Washing her hair quickly with the scented shampoo, she closed her eyes and let her sudsy hands linger first on the back of her neck, and then drop to cup her full breasts, her thumbs rubbing each erect nipple for a moment.  She tilted her head back slightly, her lips parted as her pent-up breath escaped, and she gasped in surprise as the water, which was now not so warm as it was icy, splashed in her face, trickling across her tongue and cooling her parched throat.

            Quickly stepping back under the spray to rinse off, Victoria was rushing now because the sun was sinking quickly, and the air was taking on the night chill of the desert.

            Victoria was attempting to comb out her tangled hair as she hopped around to drip dry, since she had no towel.  As soon as she was dry enough, she forgot about the tangles, and moved to the table for her clothes.  As she slipped into the soft leather pants, Victoria thought about her near obsession with leather, and how she loved wearing it, and nothing else.  The softness against every part of her bare flesh was almost as good as a lover’s touch against her skin, she imagined.  As far as she was concerned, nothing was closer to pure bliss than riding her motorcycle wearing nothing but leather.  It felt as if there was nothing between her and the machine, nothing to interfere with the pulsating feel of the roaring motorcycle.

            She sighed deeply, and decided she had better think of something else, especially if she wanted to get a few hours sleep before continuing her journey.  Spreading the sleeping bag on the tabletop first, she then set the vest aside, and slipped her bare arms into the supple black leather jacket and pulled it close around her without zipping it.  This is perfect, she thought as she sat on the edge of the table, with her feet dangling off the end.

            Victoria watched the remains of the sun disappear behind the western horizon, and felt the temperature drop with every inch the sun dropped.  The small foothills that met the sky in the west had a pink glow behind them.  Knowing that pink was very soothing, Victoria made the best of it, and watched until the glow faded, and she could barely discern the outline of the foothills.

            Preparing to lay back on the sleeping bag and close her eyes, Victoria took one last look around.  The bike was parked securely out of sight behind the old store, not that anyone would be along to see it.  The table was not visible from the road, she knew, because she had not noticed it until she had ridden around to the back of the building.

            Spotting her pile of dirty clothes on the ground, Victoria decided she had better gather them up so nothing would decide to make a home there for the night.  She eased off the table, setting a bare foot on the ground.  As soon as she did, she sensed it.

            There was a quivering, a low vibration from far away.  She stepped back upon the bench.  Nothing.  Was she imagining things?  This time she placed both bare feet on the ground.  Yes, there it was, a pulsating beat, coming up from the earth.  She took a few steps.  Turning, Victoria looked in all directions.  There was nothing.  Nothing but the odd way the moonlight made illuminations and shadows on the tumbleweeds, and the way the desert floor looked even flatter in the moonlight.

            Suddenly the thunder coming from the ground was stronger, and she turned toward the road leading from the west.  She felt it before she saw it.  Him.  She knew it was him.  She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.  She felt it.  Just as he had known she was coming and had the place ready for her.  She knew.  She listened, straining to see, but could see nothing.  Still staring intently at the highway, Victoria concentrated on the feeling emanating from the ground, and the sound.  Steady, strong, rumbling, pulsating.  It didn’t waver.  It was constant, like the simple beating of a heart, never changing tempo.

            There.  There it was.  He must be near the old signpost.  There was a slowing, and the sound of the bike downshifting.  The she saw the light.  It seemed to appear out of nowhere.  The light was bright, yet appeared diffused, with a halo effect, reminding Victoria of how the moon looks before an evening rainfall, with a halo surrounding it.

            Wondering how she had felt, and then heard, what must be a big, monstrous machine, before she ever saw the headlight, Victoria wasn’t frightened as she stood there on the cool ground, waiting.  She knew he would come.  She didn’t know what he would be like and didn’t even wonder. She zipped the jacket, put her hands in the pockets, and stood still, waiting for him.

            He turned off the road and drove around back much more quickly and sure of himself than Victoria had been earlier.  The moonlight flashed off the chrome of his bike as he brought it to a stop.  Not hurrying, he swung his long, lean leg over the bike, removed an old, worn jacket, and laid it across the seat of the bike, and turned to Victoria.

            Not knowing what to expect, she didn’t say a word.  She stood without moving and waited.  Although she wanted to look at the bike more closely to see if she recognized any of the parts on it as anything she had left on one of her prior visits, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his face.  From her brief glimpse, she could tell that it was a man’s bike, customized to a degree that it was truly unique.  His and his alone.  She would be willing to bet that no one had ever ridden that bike but him.

            He stopped about ten feet from where Victoria stood and stared at her for a full minute.  He seemed to be taking in everything about her, from her tumble of dark tangled hair to the small, bare feet.  Victoria’s fair, sunburned skin and her green eyes were illuminated by the moonlight, and dressed completely in black, she gave off a rather surreal appearance.  This didn’t stop him from looking though.

            He continued to visually examine her.  Victoria’s face appeared to be expressionless, except for her eyes, which sparkled in anticipation.  Her dark brows above the wide set eyes lifted only the slightest, a movement that would have been imperceptible if he had not been staring her right in the face.

            Suddenly Victoria was hot inside the jacket, and felt her skin become damp.  She wanted to reach up and lower the zipper, but she couldn’t do that now, surely not with him standing right there, so close.  How did he get so close?  She didn’t remember him walking to close the gap between them.  Her pants felt like a second skin, and stuck to her thighs, hiding nothing.  Victoria was not embarrassed.  She was, however, frozen to the spot and couldn’t move.

            He took a step toward her and stopped again.  This time it was Victoria’s turn, and she returned his stare.  Victoria prided herself on always looking to see what is on the inside, and truly believing that outside beauty was skin deep, and it was the beauty on the inside that mattered.  But what she saw standing there, right in front of her, merely inches away, was nothing short of what must be the perfect man.

            Looking up, she figured he must be about a handful of inches over six feet tall, although she will never know why she was being so precise right at that very moment.  He was muscular, with very black hair that fell straight, past his shoulders.  His golden eyes were dark and deep set, reflecting the moonlight.  His face too was dark, smooth and angular, and his mouth was, well, tempting.  That was the only word she could think of—tempting.  He was wearing a soft looking denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, jeans and black boots.  His clothes looked new and clean.  Not at all like the desert hermit that she had halfway been expecting.

            Victoria opened her mouth, not to say anything, but just to breathe.  She felt as if she had been holding her breath for hours, waiting for him, although it was only a few minutes since she had felt the vibrations, heard the roar, then saw the light, and waited.  He smiled, showing a mouthful of beautiful, white teeth.  Victoria said a small “thank you” in her thoughts, and smiled back, a small, tentative, almost smile.

            “It’s you.”  He said softly.  “Did you find the gasoline?”

            “Y-yes,” Victoria almost stammered.  Surely, he didn’t come all the way out here in the dark just to make sure she had found the gasoline.

            “Victoria,” he spoke again, this time with a knowing glint in his eye.

            “How did you….” She started to ask how he knew her name, but he just shook his head with a smile in his eyes, and a slighter smile on his tempting mouth.

            “You’re just as beautiful as I thought you would be.”  He said, continuing to look her directly in the eyes.  “I’m glad you’re here.”

            Victoria didn’t know how to respond, so she just stood there, looking back at the beautiful man in the moonlight, and wondering who he was.

            This time, it was Victoria who inched closer to him.  She wanted to say something, but absolutely could not think of anything to say.  Nothing.  A first, probably.  The longer she stood there before him, the more she felt her insides melting.  She wondered what it would feel like to be held in those muscular arms and kissed by those luscious lips.  Most of all she wondered what it would feel like to be possessed completely by this stranger, who was, moment by moment, feeling less like a stranger. 

            She also wondered what his name was.

            “Sam,” he said.  Oh God, could he read her mind too?  How had he known she was there?  Who was this man?  Sam, that’s what he said.  Sam.

            “Sam,” she repeated.  Why couldn’t she think of anything to say?  Suddenly Victoria realized that her arm was extended toward him, and her hand was resting on his arm, just below his elbow.  His skin felt dry and clean.  Come to think of it, his hair was neat, his clothes weren’t rumpled with travel and heat, and standing this close, she could even smell the sweetness of his breath.  Oh, thank you God, she thought again.

            Victoria started to move her hand from his arm, but he grabbed her hand in his and held it tight.  He pulled her a step closer, so now they stood, barely touching, looking at one another, eyes to eyes.  Victoria needed to breathe, she thought, but if she did, the tips of her breasts straining against the leather would be pressed to the denim of his shirt.  She closed her eyes and took the deepest breath she could.

            Never in all her fantasies did Victoria ever imagine there would be such a man that could arouse her with just a touch.  Sam did that.  His touch was like fire, melting her from the inside out.  She felt her insides fill with pressure, desiring release, and wanting Sam to be the one to claim it from her.

            He reached around Victoria and pulled her even closer to him, so that her entire body was now pressed against the length of his.  She caught her breath as she realized that he was aroused also.  She wanted to reach down and place her hand there on the hardness of him but was pinned tight against him and couldn’t move.  Victoria concentrated on the feeling, and the sensations that Sam was stirring in her.  She felt that she couldn’t be this close to him for another moment without bursting, yet at the same time, she wanted to prolong each new sensation he was arousing.

            He moved his mouth to her ear lobe, and then to her neck.  She felt his hot tongue trace its way down to her collarbone, and then to her shoulder beneath the jacket collar.  All that kept Victoria from writhing in pleasure was the fact that he had her still pinned to him, holding her tightly with both arms.  At that moment, his grip loosened slightly, just enough for her to wiggle her arms free.

            She instinctively reached up and placed her hands behind his head, in the silkiness of his thick hair, and pulled his face closer to her own, stopping just before her lips touched his.  Victoria thought she wanted nothing more in this life than his kiss, to savor his strong, hard mouth with hers, and to taste the very air that he breathed.

            Sam let her want for only a moment longer.  He watched through half closed eyes as she opened her mouth slightly and her tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip.  Breathing deeply, Victoria decided she had waited enough, and pulled him to her.  He covered her soft lips with his; a kiss so deep, so strong, that Victoria thought she would drown in it.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if this was what it felt like to drown, to have all your senses consumed in this one sensation.

            She felt his tongue again, plunging deeper into her mouth, taking all she had.  Just when she felt her knees buckle and she felt sure she was going under for the last time, Victoria felt the warmth of his breath and the cool night air mingle on her wet lips.  He was breathing as hard as she was, and when she opened her eyes to look at him, his eyes were reflecting the fire from within her now, instead of the moonlight.

            Sam tried to breathe slow and steady as he released Victoria from his arms.  Her hands moved from his neck, along his shoulders, and down to the fabric of his shirt, stretched across his broad, muscular chest, feeling for the buttons.  With shaking hands, she unbuttoned each one, pulled the tail from his jeans, and pushed the shirt off his shoulders.  As her hand brushed over his tensed shoulder muscles, she felt a burning sensation, like she had touched something on fire.  Victoria leaned close to him, and saw the tattoo, there on his shoulder.  It was a big cat, black and sleek and wild, crouched and ready, with gleaming golden eyes, seeming to watch her every move.

            Her hands were still trembling as she placed them on his smooth chest, and slowly moved around to his sides, and then encircled his waist with her arms.  If Sam showed any surprise at Victoria’s boldness, he didn’t show it.  He did let a smile of anticipation show for a moment, but only for a moment, because when Victoria let go of him and unzipped her jacket and her breasts spilled out, he didn’t waste a second in reaching for them with both hands.

            Wavering between wanting to watch the moonlight and shadows play on the curves of her breast and wanting to take one of the hard nipples between his lips, he let his hands linger for a moment, cupping and massaging.  One long, low groan from Victoria decided for him.  He lowered his head and let his mouth surround her nipple, using tongue and lips and teeth in ways Victoria had never fathomed could be possible. 

            Gasping, she grasped both of Sam’s hands and pulled them around her, lowering them so she could feel him grip her through the soft leather, and heard his moan as he realized there was nothing but bare skin under the leather.

            As Sam raised his mouth to hers for another plundering kiss, Victoria raised one leg to wrap around his, wanting to pull him in and be as close as she could be to him.  Victoria was taller than most women, standing almost eye to chin with Sam, so it didn’t take much for him to reach under her behind and lift her up to press against him.  Victoria wrapped her legs and arms around him and returned the kiss, her tongue probing his mouth just as his had hers earlier.  She could feel his heart beating as she pressed her breasts against his chest, and she could swear she felt a rumbling between her thighs as she gripped him tightly around the hips with her legs.

            Victoria ran her hands over his back, feeling muscles as hard as steel under her exploring hands.  As she threw back her head and gulped for air, his mouth began seeking out that certain place on her neck that he had discovered only moments ago.  When he kissed that spot, Victoria wiggled and moaned, nearly falling out of his arms.  Sam tried to hold her still with one hand while pushing her jacket off her shoulder and down one arm with the other.  Victoria pulled the jacket completely off and dropped it to the ground.  Still holding her, Sam let his tongue trail down her throat, then further to where her round white breasts mounded.  Victoria grasped him by his hair and guided his mouth back, toward the hollow of her throat.  As he nibbled her warm skin, she buried her face in his hair and breathed deeply, wanting to absorb the very scent of him.

            Sam opened his eyes and exhaled, all the while keeping Victoria held tight to him.  He easily carried her across the remaining few steps to the table where the sleeping bag was spread and set her on the table.  He only took his arms from her to remove his shirt completely and drop it to the ground.  Taking off his boots, he tossed them aside and stepped onto the bench.  He squatted directly in front of Victoria, placing one of her bare feet on each side of him on the bench.  He reached up to smooth her tangled hair, which was dry by this time, and curling wildly around her face and shoulders.

            The night air was cool, and Victoria could now feel herself trembling.  Not from the cold, but rather from the powerful heat of him.  She straightened suddenly as she felt a bead of perspiration trickle down the center of her back to the waistband of her pants.  Sensing her discomforting tickle, Sam rubbed his hands along her arms, and then circled her waist with his palms along her back.  With one hand, he unbuttoned the silver button at the waistband of her pants and tugged on the zipper.  Once loosened, he slipped both hands inside the waistband, and slid them down her hips.  Once again, he smiled pleasurably as he touched her bare skin underneath the leather.

            Victoria smiled back, her green eyes flashing in the night.  She couldn’t stand without knocking Sam off the bench, so she shifted backward on the table and brought her feet up in order to pull off the pants.  Once they were off, and relegated to the end of the table, she wiggled back to the spot in front of him, again placing a foot on each side of him.  Sam took one more look into Victoria’s eyes and saw that the invitation her body was sending him was reflected in her very soul.  He wanted her to desire him as much as he did her, and his lust was fueled even more by her intensity and her strength.  Victoria gave as much as she took, her body demanding to be satisfied as she offered herself up completely to him.  Sam knew this; he could feel it in her every touch, from the brush of her lips on his skin to the trail of her fingertips along his back.

            Those fingers now trailed along his chest, leaving goose bumps wherever she touched.  Victoria slipped the fingers of both hands inside the waistband of his jeans and pulled him toward her.  Her thumbs pressed along the front of the zipper, and she could feel him straining against the denim.  As soon as Victoria unsnapped the waistband, the zipper slid open and set him free.  She wrapped both hands around him, rubbing the fiery hot skin and drawing him closer to her.

            She tugged again at the jeans, indicating that they should come completely off.  Sam and Victoria both stood on the bench now, balanced precariously, and she thought her knees would buckle under her when he reached for her again, this time pulling her close, bare skin touching everywhere possible.  When she could tolerate it no longer, Victoria sank to the softness of the sleeping bag, pulling him down beside her.  Sam stroked her from head to toe, relishing the feel of her smooth soft skin, and marveling at the way she quivered when he touched her.

            He wanted her now.  He didn’t feel he could wait a minute longer.  But Sam knew he would wait until she was ready for him, savoring every second until that time.  Victoria wiggled again, eliciting more low moans from Sam.  Then she felt his silky hair fall across her breasts as he moved, placing kisses over her breasts, trailing his tongue down her belly, past her belly button, and not stopping until he had buried his face in the wet softness there, moans escaping between the licks and kisses. 

Victoria wanted to reach for the strands of his jet-black hair that lay across her, to feel them between her fingers, and even wanted to taste the silky texture.  But every thought she had was obliterated when she felt his tongue probe the warm wet folds of her, reaching inside to touch the very spirit of what made her Victoria, making her cry out in the night, the primal sound reaching across the depths of the dark desertscape in all directions.  He didn’t stop, but kept probing, lost in the exploration as she writhed beneath him.

Victoria leaned back on her elbows with her head thrown back.  Her eyes were closed, the moonlight illuminating the rapturous look on her face.  She cried out again as she felt her insides give way and her body arched and shuddered, echoing the rhythmic pulses from within her.  Breathing hard and fast, she felt the contrast of the now cold desert air she was gulping in and the fiery hot touch as Sam consumed her.  Consumed her, body and soul.

Just as she thought she couldn’t take anymore, Sam moved to her side and lay on his back, and with both hands reached over and pulled her up, literally lifting her from the tabletop and placing her, straddling him, easily, gently, directly, on top of him.

She took him in one motion, gasping again at this new feel of him deep inside her.  Victoria felt her insides contracting again, and she felt lightheaded for a few seconds.  Opening her eyes wide, she found Sam’s eyes penetrating her with such a fervor and desperation, she willed herself to engulf him completely, to bring him inside her and keep him there forever.  For a moment, as she pinned him close with her knees, she felt the same vibration she had when riding her bike, and she felt the same hard steel of the big machine between her legs, only in an organic manner now, at this moment.  She was under his control, yet at the same time she was as free as the wind.

Victoria felt a gentle tug as Sam buried his fist in the curls at the back of her head, as if he were holding on to something he wanted to never escape.  He pulled her toward him, and she kissed his mouth fully and deeply, without reserve, feeling his tongue and teeth, biting his lip as she felt him push deeper within her.

Victoria moved slowly at first, and then faster and even more vigorously when Sam reached behind her and lifted her again, ever so slightly. Never leaving her, he stretched her out and rolled her over.  She could see the full moon hanging in the black night over his shoulder as he moved over her.  She wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him closer to her.  Her hands grasped for his shoulders; her palm feeling heat when she touched the tattoo.  Even though Victoria was flat on her back, she felt as though she had to hang on for dear life.

Victoria felt the ground disappear from beneath her, and points of light from somewhere in the black sky rushed to meet her as she was transported from an earthly being to a spirit, soaring through the wind in the black night, hanging on.  She could feel the heated thrusts in her body pushing her further and further into the sparkling black void of space.  She held on, pulling Sam to her, with her, on the journey, the fantastic journey, trying to memorize every movement, every sensation.

She was still soaring when she felt his warm hand on her face, willing her to open her eyes and look at him.  As Victoria opened her eyes and looked into his, she felt their souls bond in an ethereal union, forever to be a part of each other.  She parted her lips with only the slightest of smiles, needing to let him know that she had felt it, and she understood.

At that same moment, she felt him take one last plunge deep within her and heard the rumble in his throat as he groaned long, and low, almost a growl.  She saw his eyes darken to an even deeper black as she felt his essence flow, wildly, from him and into her.  Victoria lifted her mouth to his, wanting to devour each and every moment and keep it with her for eternity.

She listened now, heard his breathing slow, and reached up to touch the glistening skin of his chest, arms and shoulders.  Sam seemed to come back to reality then, and smiled a slow, lazy smile as he gathered her in his arms and turned her so that her back was pressed up against him.  They lay still for several minutes, wrapped in a cocoon of desert air, breathing in unison, his arms never leaving her.  Victoria almost felt as if she would purr in contentment as Sam pulled the sleeping bag up to cover them both.

His voice was low and deep and soft when he spoke.  “See the stars on either side of the moon?”  He lifted her hand with his, pointing to the bright points of light in the blackness of the sky on each side of the moon.  “The legend of the ancient people who lived here tells their story.”  Keeping his hand in hers and bringing both up under her chin, he continued.  “The twinkling lights in the sky are the spirits of beings no longer of this earth.  They have left the earth and travel the night sky.  On nights when there is no moon, or a new moon, one can see the spirits scattered across the sky, constantly moving, searching.  They search for their mate.”

Sam paused, and leaned to place a tender, warm kiss on Victoria’s head.  “When the moon is full, as tonight, the spirits unite with their eternal spirit mate.  They hide in the dark and shadows as long as they can, for when the moon begins to wan, they must again roam the sky.  The two you see tonight, Teyla and Jolinar, go centuries without finding each other, even for the night allowed them.  They were cursed, doomed to wander for decades, even centuries, alone on either side of the moon.  Legend says that in life they were stubborn, refusing to take what was handed them in their lifetime, refusing to find love when love found them.  Instead, they were constantly looking for something that wasn’t there for them to find.”

Victoria turned within the circle of his arms to face Sam.  “How beautiful, and how sad,” she said, watching the moon in his eyes.

“Of course, now we call them Mars and Venus, and we see them because they can outshine all the stars, even during a full moon.”  Sam didn’t take his eyes off Victoria as he spoke.

“I’ll always find you Victoria, and I won’t need a full moon.”

She looked at him, and although she knew he would leave soon, she felt peace and contentment.  Victoria felt as if this one night could last a lifetime.   An eternity, if necessary.  They were spirit mates; they would find each other again.  With that thought, Victoria moved closer to Sam and laid her head in the crook of his arm stretching and curling, feline like, closed her eyes, and drifted off to a peaceful sleep.  She knew Sam was awake, watching over her, and watching the moon start its descent across the sky.

She didn’t know when he moved from the sleeping bag and zipped it up tightly around her.  The first rays of dawn were creeping over the horizon when she opened her eyes.  Where he had been beside her, there was now her pile of clothing that had been tossed to the ground earlier.  Victoria sat up, feeling the cool morning air creep down inside the sleeping bag and touch her bare skin.  Blinking to clear her vision, she looked toward the decrepit building.  One bike was parked there—hers.

Something compelled her to jump out of the sleeping bag and to the ground.  Yes, she felt it.  There it was.  The quaking and vibration of the ground beneath her feet sent a trembling all the way through her.  She pressed her palms together and felt the trembling there as she strained to look down the highway.  She saw it only briefly, only for a glimpse, on the eastbound highway, heading into the sunrise—a glint of sun on metal as it moved quickly toward the horizon. She watched it, and then it was gone, just as suddenly as she had seen it.  She thought she saw something move there, but it wasn’t speeding along the highway, and it wasn’t gleaming in the sunlight.

He was gone.  Even knowing that, she felt a peace, and a fulfillment.  Feeling a tingle at the hollow of her throat, Victoria closed her eyes and reached up to touch the spot he had kissed throughout the night.  She was surprised when her fingers touched softly braided leather.  She felt the piece—felt braided leather and metal beads.  The necklace was tied loosely around her neck and the dangling leather ends tickled her back.  Victoria walked over to her bike and looked at her reflection in the mirror.  The necklace was beautiful.  The leather was perfectly braided into a wide, flat braid, with tiny silver beads placed randomly around the length of it.  In the very center, there was tucked, among the braiding, a small, jet-black feather.  Upon closer inspection, she saw that it wasn’t a feather at all, but silk, very intricately woven into the braiding of the necklace.  It looked like silk, but Victoria new it wasn’t, she knew it was hair.  Long, straight, silky, black hair.

Her treasure.

Chilled now, she walked back to the table, slipped into the leather clothes.  She found a brush and brushed out her hair.  Victoria started to reach for a leather tie, but decided to leave it loose and flowing around her face.  After rolling up the sleeping bag and securing the bag on the back of her bike, Victoria straddled the seat and turned the key.  She listened to the rumble, letting the engine warm for a few minutes, then shifted into first and turned the throttle and headed out onto the highway.  She turned east on the desert road, squinting against the bright, white morning sun.

Victoria saw a movement at the roadside up ahead, close to where she thought she had seen the gleaming chrome earlier.  She slowed just a bit, looking into the brown landscape.  When she saw the sleek black cat, wild and beautiful, crouching by the roadside, she wasn’t surprised.  She wasn’t frightened either.  The cat watched her, without making a move, its golden eyes never wavering or blinking.  Victoria returned her eyes to the road ahead and looked into the rearview mirror.  The space where the cat had been was now empty.  Victoria turned her head to look back but saw nothing.

She thought of Sam.  She felt the evidence of him still within her, his touch still on her skin and the heat of him still within her.  As the bike roared beneath her, she could feel his touch, and trembled throughout.  Was he real?  She closed her eyes for a moment and could see his lean bronze face before her, could feel the silkiness of his hair in her hands and the heat of his eyes as he looked into the very depths of her.  But where was he?  Was he a mirage?  Or a spirit, a point of light waiting to connect with his soul mate?

Victoria rolled the throttle a little harder, picking up speed.  With her left hand reached up to her neck to touch the soft leather braid.  The necklace warmed her skin, perhaps the very same way a pinpoint of starlight warmed the night sky.  Victoria smiled as she sped off into the sunrise.

 

THE END