Kristen Ashley - Mystery Man

I couldn’t call Troy because after what MM said about him I was freaked out about Troy. Troy had always been just Troy. Troy had been around before Camille and Tracy. Troy had been around before I met Scott Leighton, when I met Scott Leighton, when I married Scott Leighton and when Scott Leighton broke my heart. Troy was a friend and the thought that he wanted to get in my pants freaked me out almost more than everything else that happened that day.

I stared at my phone and spooned up some dough.

Then I shoved the dough in my mouth, dropped the spoon, picked up the phone and made the first smart decision I’d made since MM’s hand hit the small of my back the night before.

I dialed, swallowed and put the phone to my ear.

“What’s up, girl?” Camille answered.

“The Great MM visited last night.”

Silence. No, total silence.

Then, “Girl…”

Then nothing.

“He also came back today, he was here when I got back from doing something and he left just about twenty minutes ago.”

More silence, this even more total like all the noise in the world was being sucked into a vacuum.

“Cam?” I called into the void.

“He left just twenty minutes ago?” she asked.

“Yep,” I answered.

“He was there in the light of day?” she asked.

“Yep,” I answered.

“And his skin didn’t catch fire or anything?” she asked.

“Nope,” I answered through a smile.

“What happened?”

It was then I broke the whole thing down for her from last night through Darla through Dog and Tack through The Great MM’s surprise visit, loving chat and gentle explanation of the boundaries of our relationship.

When I finished, she muttered, “Shit.”

“Shit what?” I asked.

“Girl, I know about Kane Allen, aka Tack, head honcho of the Chaos MC. And I know you do not wanna go there. Rumor is he’s spent his term tryin’ to clean up the club, with some success, but clean for those boys does not have the same definition as it does for the rest of the population. They call themselves Chaos for a reason and these boys are not like other boys. These boys do not have the civilized filter other people do. They do not only not exist in a world of law and order, they exist in a world of survival where there is only instinct. They’re animals, Gwen. No freakin’ joke.”

Oh boy.

“Well, I didn’t exactly make a date with him,” I reminded her.

“And don’t, ever. You enter that world, there is no comin’ home. You get me?”

Yikes.

“He was scary, Cam, I’m not going there,” I assured her.

“God, I hope not,” she said in a way that meant she didn’t believe me. Then again, I’d met her in the middle of my divorce mess so she knew all about Scott, who was hot but who was a complete dick. And she also knew about MM, who was also hot, way hotter than Scott, and was proving to be of the Scott bent, namely a jerk.

“I’ll talk to Leo, see what I can get about your sister,” Cam went on. “The one thing I can say about MM is that he gave you good advice. You need to lay low. Ginger is Ginger and she’s been headin’ down a path that’s leadin’ her to big trouble and seems she found it.” I listened to her take a big breath and I knew what that big breath meant. She had something to say she knew I wouldn’t like. Camille was a straight-talker but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a kind soul. She did. The kindest there was. Therefore when she continued, she did it gently. “I know she’s your sister, girl, but Ginger Kidd, she doesn’t care who she brings down with her and she’ll throw up anyone as a shield to protect her skinny, white ass. She’s in trouble and she gets a hint that she can use you, however she could use you, she’s gonna do it, babe. No hesitation.”

This was definitely true.

“I am, as of this moment, officially disowning her,” I declared.

“Finally,” Cam muttered.

“Call me after you talk to Leo,” I told her.

“Gwen?” she called.

“Yeah, babe,” I replied.

“I’m also gonna talk to him about MM.”

Oh No. Hell no. Dad and Meredith didn’t know about MM. Troy didn’t know about MM. And Leonard Freeman didn’t know about MM. The only people who knew about MM were Camille and Tracy and I’d sworn them to secrecy.

This said a lot about me and how I felt about MM, namely that I was ashamed of what I was doing and also why I was doing it. It more than hinted at desperate and slut, two things no girl should be. Ever. I loved Dad, Meredith, Troy and Leo. I did not want these people to think I was a desperate slut.

“Gwen –” Cam started.

“No, Cam, no. Do not talk to Leo about The Great MM,” I stated firmly.

“Okay, girl, listen to me,” she stated firmly back. “This guy can walk through doors. This guy has the means to investigate you and keep tabs. I know that now so now I know this guy has got to be on the grid and if he’s on the grid, Leo can get a lock on him.”

“Maybe so but I don’t want Leo to get a lock on him.”

“Why?” she asked, beginning to sound impatient. “He investigated you.”

“That may be so too but as of today I am officially disowning my sister and officially ending my screwed up, non-relationship with The Great Mystery Man. It’s over. Totally over.”

Again, silence.

Then, “Seriously?”

“Seriously, Cam!” I cried. “I told you how he spoke to me. I told you what he said about our relationship. He investigated me. He knows everything about me. He says only he gets to end things. He wouldn’t tell me his name. That situation was totally whacked before in a way I didn’t think it could get more whacked and now that it has, wake up call. It’s over.”

Again, silence then, “I hope so, girl. I said it before and I’ll say it again. There are hot guys out there who are not motherfucking assholes. They do not use you to get off. There are men out there who know how to treat a woman right and you’re gonna find one, babe, but the only way you can do that is to scrape off the one who doesn’t treat you right.”

There it was, Camille Antoine, straight-talker. And Camille Antoine, smart girl who had her head screwed on right.

“Well, today has been the day of epiphany. Ginger and The Great MM are history,” I declared grandly.

“Hallelujah,” Cam replied.

Ten minutes later, we hung up. After that, I sat at my table, spooned up dough, ate it and stared at my phone, hoping that I could follow through with my grand statement.

Then I picked up the phone and called Tracy.

I heard the crash and jerked awake, instant adrenalin pumping through my body making my skin and fingers tingle.

Someone was in my house.

I listened and heard not a sound but I knew. I knew.

The Great MM didn’t make noise. Even if I moved something or work was being done on the house, he avoided it and moved silently like he could see any obstacles in the dark.

He did not make a crash. He’d never make a crash.

I turned to reach to the phone and wished I had a weapon. Even a baseball bat. Something that would make me feel less powerless. Less alone. I was happy for the company of an inanimate object if it could inflict injury.

I grabbed the phone and dialed 911.

“Nine, one, one, what’s your emergency?”

“My name is Gwendolyn Kidd,” I whispered. “I live at three, three, two Vine and someone has broken into my house. They’re here, in the house. Send someone. I’m hanging up now and don’t call back. This is not a prank.”

I beeped off the phone, dropped it on the bed and rolled the other way, in the direction of my snow globe. I loved that snow globe. It was a Rosina Wachtmeister snow globe with a happy kitty in it, little flowers dancing around the base and if you turned it over and shook it, glitter danced around the kitty.

And, if I used it to clock someone on the head, they might not be able to rape me.

I snatched it up and ran on tiptoes to the opposite wall where I pressed my shoulder against the wall and stared at the door.

My heart was beating so fast I could hear it in my ears, my entire body was alive and I could feel every inch of it. I was terrified out of my ever-lovin’ mind.

Someone was out there. I couldn’t hear them but I could sense them.

Then I heard them, footfalls in the hall.

Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod.

I tried to remember what the response time was supposed to be for cops. Seven minutes popped into my head even though I didn’t know if that was the right number or the wrong number.

I didn’t have seven minutes. He was close.

I silently inched up the wall toward my door staring at it. It was mostly closed. I’d started doing this in an effort to hear when The Great MM arrived. I didn’t close it all the way, I left it open an inch. It wasn’t a noisy door but it did have a creak.

The Great MM never made it creak.

The first thing I saw was the flashlight, not bright, an LED. Then I saw a shadowed hand, a man’s hand, fingers out, fingertips touching my door, slowly the hand pushed it open.

I stopped breathing. I didn’t want him to hear me breathing. If I damaged my Wachtmeister snow globe bonking him on the head with it I wanted to make it count.

I lifted the snow globe and the door kept opening.

Then I heard sirens.

Thank you, God.

The hand stilled then it disappeared. The footfalls were faster and I heard them hit the stairs, thudding down.

Then I heard nothing.

Then I turned my back to the wall, slid down and cradled my happy kitty snow globe.

* * *

I was sitting in my kitchen staring into my living room.

I had both heels to the seat of my chair, my cheek pressed to one of my knees, my arms tight around my calves and my nightgown wrapped around my legs.

I was pretty pleased I’d worn my kickass, mocha colored, soft-knit, short bat-sleeved caftan to bed. Caftans weren’t known to be hot but that one was, mainly because it was uber-clingy in all the right places. That caftan rocked and it was the chosen nightwear for when you suddenly found your home filled with macho cops.

This was what I was staring at. The fact that my home was filled with macho cops. They were moving around in my living room looking at stuff while dipping with spoons into the bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough that I unearthed from the fridge for them.

My window by the door was smashed, something I didn’t hear, a lamp in the living room that was under a dust cover was also smashed, what I heard.

Other than that, no damage and the officer who took me through the house was told by me, an authority on the subject, that nothing was missing.

But they didn’t take my statement. Two officers became four, four became six and now there were eight and they told me I had to wait until the detective arrived.

I was not hip on police procedure and I couldn’t say I wasn’t grateful (considering the fact that I was super, double, extra, way freaked out) that they seemed to be taking this seriously and sending a large cadre of officers to stand guard in my living room eating cookie batter and a full-blown detective to talk to me. However, nothing was stolen and although my caller headed straight to the bedroom, and I doubted he was after my Wachtmeister snow globe, it seemed a garden variety break-in that the uniformed officers could cover.

So I figured something was up and I figured that something was named Ginger Kidd.

Suddenly there seemed something interesting happening in the living room, someone had arrived and five seconds later, there he was.

I stared at him.

Seriously, was this a cosmic joke?

In my doorway stood a man, a tall man and there was nothing “ish” about how tall he was. He was just, plain tall. He also had dark brown hair, dark brown eyes and a square jaw. His hair was thick and curled a little around his neck and the collar of his leather jacket. His eyes were soulful. His jaw was strong. He was wearing a chocolate brown turtleneck under his dark brown leather jacket, jeans, a great belt, boots and a badge hung on that great belt. I had no doubt he was on the cover of the Men of the Denver Police Department calendar and I was going out first thing tomorrow to buy one.