Partners in Passion - Chapter One

Melinda F. Stanley                          Romantic Suspense

715 West C.R. 600 South                      75,310 wct

Muncie, IN  47302

http://www.melindafstanley.com/

765-717-1534

PARTNERS IN PASSION

by Melinda F. Stanley

Chapter One

     The mission was clear.  The stakes...high.  

     The driver turned the Lancer down KY551, heading south out of Casey Creek.  Main street was dead.  And so was the radio. 

Ka-thump ka-thump ka-thump ka-thump. 

The steady cadence of broken shocks and busted springs made their own music as the silver-piece-of-shit ka-thumped every twenty feet as it hit section upon section of patched concrete.  The driver's knuckles pulsed white with each ka-thump as the Lancer rolled out of town beneath a string of low pressure sodium streetlights set fifty feet apart.  One-hundred-eighty watt bulbs dropped beams of monochromatic yellow light upon the Lancer, degrading its silvery metallic color and making it appear red.  Turning it into a ka-thumping, flashing stoplight every fifty feet.  

Inside the flashing stoplight, the driver carried loaded weapons.  Some were hidden, some were not so hidden.  Some were new, and some were as old as the beginning of time.  Two were all-time favorites...the element of surprise, and the power of persuasion.   

It was after midnight when the Lancer turned into the long, curvy driveway and rattled to a stop at the foot of the front walk.  The dome light flicked on for a quick weapon's check. 

Thigh-high leather boots...check.  Tight leopard mini-skirt...check.  Matching halter top...check.  Bouncy curls, ruby-red lips, and daring cleavage...check, check, and check. 

Armed to the teeth, she stepped from the Lancer and let her boots do the walking.  Shoulders squared, chin down, and eyes straight ahead...she advanced on her unsuspecting prey with determination born of desperation.  Her long legs made short work of the solid-rock, concrete walkway leading up to the impressive L-shaped ranch house.  She would not--could not--fail.           

She licked her lips, fluffed her flaming curls, and raised her hand to knock.  Abruptly, the door swung inward.  "What are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet a lady?" she asked, darting across the threshold and into the expansive, grey slate foyer--quick as a cat. 

     "Rose, didn't you get my email?"

     "Of course I did, but I've come to change your mind," she said, whipping her tail back and forth as she strolled into the living room and perched herself on the edge of his overstuffed couch.  Her leather boots creaked as she crossed her legs and leaned forward to set a tiny picnic basket on the coffee table, next to a half-eaten plate of cheese and crackers. 

     "I'm not going to change my mind.  I told you...I've met someone," he said, eyeing the basket.  "Now, it's late and I was right in the middle of something.  You need to go."

     She lifted the basket's lid and removed two wine glasses.  "There's no need to be rude.  I just want to know what happened.  Like...when did you meet someone from Rising Sun?  Isn't that way up north?"

     "Rose--"

     "Can't we talk about it?"

     "No."

     "Can't I at least toast to your newfound happiness?" she asked, pulling a corkscrew and a bottle of Pinot Noir from the basket. 

     He lifted his glass of iced tea.  "There's nothing to toast to."

     "Please, I beg you--"  In the far corner of the room, a cell phone rattled its protest beneath a mound of papers strewn haphazardly across a computer desk. 

     He gave her a 'don't move' look, set down his glass, and crossed the room.  "Hello?  Hi, Dad," he said, turning away from her.  "Hey, can I call you back?  This isn't a good time," he said in a low voice.

     Rose pulled a candlestick from the basket, lit it, and set it on the coffee table.  She sniffed delicately, then smiled when she realized it wasn't the scentless, red candle she smelled.  It was success.      

     "Yes, Dad, I know, but can't we talk about it later?  Someone's here.  Yeah...bye," he said, snapping his cell shut and setting it back on his desk.  "I'll see you out--" he said, turning around and coming to a dead stop.  "You've got to be kidding me." 

     "You like candles?  Come...let's have a glass of wine," she purred.

     "Listen, I'll make this simple for you," he said, striding toward her. "Either I walk you out or carry you out.  Either way...you're out of here.  Now...what's it gonna be?"

     She narrowed her eyes and uncrossed her legs.  "Fine.  It's your loss," she said, rising from the couch.  "Where's the bathroom?  I need to go."

     He hesitated.  "Through that door...to your left."

     She stormed past him, past his desk, and out the room.  And returned five, extremely long, minutes later.  "You can walk me out," she said with an appraised look, packing everything except the burning candle.  "And for the record...you're a fool," she said, handing him the basket.   

     Without a word, he took it and turned to lead her from the room.  One step later his foot was fighting a throw-rug, which did indeed, throw him into a nearby coffee table.  With a cat-ate-the-canary smile, she latched onto his basket arm and pulled him vertical.  Holding tight, she staggered alongside him out the front door and down the front walk.   

     "You can just set that on the back seat," she said, opening her rear car door.

     Tilting slightly to his left--then back to his right--he dropped the basket on the edge of the backseat amid the sound of tinkling wine glasses.   

     Now!  She leaned back then threw herself forward--ramming both hands into the center of his back--shoving him with all her might.  She watched him fall face-first on the seat...and stay that way.  She folded his feet upwards, slammed the door, and jumped behind the wheel.  Pulling his cell from her boot-top, she checked the time. 

     1:00 a.m.  Mission accomplished. 

     She flew down his driveway and hung a hard right when she hit the blacktop...her adrenaline pumping hard as she headed north.  It had been so easy.

     In an instant, blinding light exploded from her rearview mirror.  Two headlights, beams on high, were approaching fast.  Illuminating the stop sign she'd just blown through.  She gripped the wheel and stomped the pedal to the floor.  She'd show him.   

     Red and blue lights lit up the sky, flashing angrily above the accusing headlights.  "Son-of-a-bitch," she said, slowing up and looking back.  Hoping the flashing lights would go around.  Hoping they were going after someone else. 

Didn't happen.  They hugged her bumper and weren't going anywhere.  She hit the brakes, pulled to the side of the road, and promptly shit a brick when the man folded in her backseat moaned. 

     1:03 a.m.  The mission was unclear.  The stakes...doubled.