Kissing Fortune (Man Season) (3 page)

Smalley made a move towards his pocket;
Kiel
grabbed a knife from a drawer and flung it with lightning
speed – it hit Smalley’s wrist. He groaned, uttered a curse and wrapped a
handkerchief around his bleeding hand.

“Damn,
Kiel
, I was just reaching for a smoke!”

“Sure you were.” Kiel walked over,
searched the pocket, found a tiny but lethal gun with a silencer. “That was
tacky, Joe, very tacky. I thought you had more finesse.”

“Guess I’m getting careless in my old
age.”

“Right.
Take a hike, Joe.”

They stood eye to eye, neither
backing down. But
Kiel
was a master at the staring game;
Joe finally shrugged, headed back up the stairs.

“It’ll have to be settled eventually,
Kiel
.
One way or another.”

“I accept that, Joe. And I’ll be
ready.”

He followed him up top, watched him
until he was out of sight. A portly gent with an icy white beard came waddling
over to him.

“Trouble,
Kiel
?”

“Nothing I can’t handle, Travers.”

“Yeah, I guess you can handle just
about anything. Heading out to Baja?”

“Maybe.”

“If anyone asks, should I say
something different?”

“Tell them what you like. I’ll have
to face the bastards sometime, might as well get it over with quick.”

“I can help you, boy, if you need a
straight shooter.”

Kiel
smiled but there was no joy in the
gesture. “I know, man, and I’m thankful for the offer but I don’t think those
grandkids could do without their Pappy. See you around!”

He untied the rope, started the
engine; eased his boat out into the bay. The sun was fading, though it wasn’t
close to sunset. A veil of gauzy clouds was smothering it, turning the air
chill.

He let the breeze ripple across his
bare chest, hoped it would calm the heat rising in his groin – that damned
reality show girl. Why couldn’t he get her out of his mind?

Jeri had been gone three long years.
No one had even caught his interest in all that time. He closed his eyes; saw
her as she was then – a long, leggy brunette with the bluest eyes this side of
heaven, and a body shaped so perfectly it was like someone had molded her out
of clay to fit exactly right in his arms. Her kisses melted him into lava; her
moans drove him into a sweet kind of madness that he never wanted to be cured
of. They were magical together. And then they were expecting – already knew it
was going to be a girl. They even had a name picked out – Mandy.

But his work – digging into the
secrets of unfriendly nations for the government – had consequences. Someone
breeched his security wall, discovered who he was. They came after him at his
house in
Virginia
on the one night he was out playing
gin with the
Questor
boys. Or maybe they’d known that
and planned to target Jeri all along. Didn’t matter – all that really mattered
was that they took her, and Mandy, from him forever – with a clear, clean shot.

He’d gone after them, tracked them down
and nearly beat the pulp out of the sniper but
Kiel
wasn’t a killer. He let the guy
live; wanted him convicted, to see that thing called justice that everybody
talked about so much. And he got it – but not like he thought. The sniper’s own
people came after him, murdered him in his sleep to keep him from revealing
their plans.

Kiel tried to opt out then but
Howland Slater, his boss, used guilt to talk him into staying so he could
finish the operation that had cost Jeri and Mandy their lives. It was all done
now. The crooks were in jail or dead, the plans thwarted – of course there were
other crooks, other threats – it was never-ending. But
Kiel
was sick of it, wanted to be washed
clean of the whole dirty business.

He needed a new start, doing work
that was honorable and open. He’d been thinking about his late parents’
hacienda
in Baja. It was a gorgeous place, thick with waving palms and lush mango trees
– the fruit was taken to market every season but it wasn’t being utilized to
its full potential. He could make it profitable, easily. Seemed like a dream –
maybe it was.

The
Questor
bunch wouldn’t leave him alone – he expected that, had prepared for it, though
he hoped they’d be called off. Once he reached Baja he was sure they’d be on
his tail. There’d be a showdown, no doubt. If he made it out alive he could be
free – to start fresh – to maybe even look up that girl, Tierney, to find out
what she was like. He remembered the scent of her, like a French garden in
April, and the way the sunlight glowed in her green eyes. He’d never bedded a
popular girl. In high school they’d labeled him a nerd and that made him
invisible. But he hadn’t been invisible to her. She seared him with her sexed
up glances, made him uncomfortable, not out of embarrassment but from the
urgency of his need for her. If only he could see her again, to kiss her, and
taste her - but what was the use in dreaming?

***

After a harrowing, unproductive round
with the local police and another with some low-talking FBI mannequins in
suits, Tierney was taken to her parents’ mansion in
Brentwood
. She didn’t want to see
Istvan
, or
Bodey
, or anyone else.
But when they arrived at the house, her brother Dennis was waiting; his left
eye twitching as he paced the hardwood floor in their lavish white living room.
Tierney took a seat on the enormous beige sectional; grabbed a red silk pillow
and hugged it tight. Her mother’s Airedale, Huffs, came running, began to lick
her face.

“Whoa, fellow!” she laughed. “That’s
enough! Well, I guess that’s one way to wash my tear-stained cheeks!”

“I’m glad you can laugh after what’s
happened, Tierney!” Dennis said with a snarl. “Anyone smart would be shaking in
their designer heels!”

“Well, I was smart enough not to get
blown up, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah, our Tierney, the hero!
All the news reports are talking
about your grand act of altruism, driving the car out to the beach to save any
innocent bystanders. The reality show freaks will eat that up like candy!”

“Could you be just a tad bit more
asinine, Denny? You’d think you were jealous of me being targeted for murder!”

“Really, now, darling, we know Dennis
is only worried. Son, sit down and calm
yourself
.
Aram
has the FBI working on this.”

Dennis shot a hard glance towards his
father. “Why are they involved? Shouldn’t this be a job for the LA cops?”

“The FBI was investigating some
threats before it happened.”

“What sort of threats?”

Tierney jumped up, unwilling to hear
anymore. “I’m going up to my old room. I need a nap!”

“But
Istvan
should be here soon.”

“You didn’t call him?”

“Yes, Tierney, I did. And he’s
bringing Dr. Lenz.
And
Bodey
.
Bill Weathering wants you to film a segment on the bombing.”

“Oh, God, Mom, you didn’t say they
could?”

“I thought your fans might like to
know you’re okay.”

“My fans.
Really?”
She shook her head in utter bewilderment, dragged her weary body up the
enormous winding staircase and into her childhood bedroom.

A mahogany canopy bed stood beckoning
to her, surrounded by pale melon colored walls, Persian carpets and a gray,
limed-wood floor. The dressers and nightstands were Art Deco, in veneered
mahogany, and the ceiling had a large copper medallion around a black wrought
iron chandelier, which lit the room up like jewels.

Tierney locked the door; stripped
down to nothing but flesh and stepped into the shower in the adjoining bath.
She let the steamy water pour over her aching muscles, enjoying the heat and
the cleansing.

“Wash me away,” she sighed. “Let me
vanish down the drain like the last bits of my mascara.” But her wish was left
unanswered. She shrugged, dried off and hurried to the welcoming bed. Once
under the covers she let her mind drift back to
Kiel
Fortune as her hands drifted across
her breasts and down between her thighs. She imagined him there, touching her,
kissing her with that full, strong mouth, grasping at her with those long,
slender fingers. She could almost feel the soft hair on his muscled chest,
wanted to dig her claws into it as she begged him for release. She found it,
too quickly. Then she cried, thinking she’d never really see him again.

Tierney fell asleep, had strange,
disturbing dreams where the people in her life chased her with guns and bombs,
trying to destroy her at every turn. She asked them “Why?” but they refused to
say, only came at her with wrenched up scowls and blazing red eyes. She woke
screaming, heard a desperate pounding on the door.

“
Tierney,
let me in!” It was
Istvan
. No doubt he had
Bodey
and that slimy Dr. Lenz waiting for her spontaneous breakdown
in front of the camera. Well, she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

She ignored the pounding, threw on
some faded jeans and a red T shirt from her closet, added a pair of
checkerboard Chucks and a leather jacket, and tied up her hair in a
red-flowered
scrunchy
. Then she escaped to the
balcony outside, shimmying over the rail and down a lattice covered in pink
bougainvillea as she had done a zillion times from the age of fourteen on. She
sifted through the half dozen vehicles in the driveway, decided to take
Istvan’s
baby blue vintage Corvette – which she paid for –
and backed it out as quietly as possible. She was clear down the road before
anyone came out of the house. She could see their faces in the rear view
mirror. Not one really seemed concerned for her – they were all scowling like
the monsters in her dream – even her mother!

“Great, Tierney, girl!
You’ve made them all angry now.”

She couldn’t trust any of them. It
was plain to her - though she had to admit she might be overreacting. Still,
she needed to get away – some place quiet and safe. But she would have to get
money first.

She drove to her
Beverly Hills
bungalow. It was locked. She
searched under a rock near the porch, found her extra key and let
herself
in.

The sun was disappearing below the
hills, throwing orange sparks as it dived; the clouds heavy and black above it,
threatening to storm. Tierney grabbed her secret cash stash from a red-striped
tin can in a bookcase, and scribbled a note to
Istvan
,
explaining that she needed space to think, and to feel safe. Then she left the
house, and the Corvette, thinking it better to grab a bus ride.

The night came down with an audible
thud. Rain hit the pavement, pummeled the roofs and spat on her bare face as
Tierney scurried down the docks of the
Pierpont
Bay
marina, looking in vain for a
certain boat called Sea Mistress. But it – and
Kiel
Fortune- were gone.

“Now what?” she sighed as tears
forced their way out of her eyes.

“Hey, you’re going to drown out
here!” a graveled voice called from her left.

She turned to see a rustic old
fellow, beer gut swaying, white beard flying. He looked like Santa Claus on
vacation in Bermuda shorts and a green tank top.

“I was looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“
Kiel
Fortune.
Do you know him?”

“Sure, everybody in the marina knows
Kiel
. What you need him for? Wait, come
on into my boat. I hate to see a pretty gal looking like a drowned rat!”