Divorced, Desperate, and Delicious

CHAPTER ONE EPISODE ONE Detective Chase Kelly stared into the nose of a .45 semiautomatic, his mind desperately seeking a way out. “Has anyone ever told you that you have anger issues?” Had it been a lowlife perp with his finger on the trigger, the situation might have been easier to swallow. But it wasn’t a perp. He forced a calm that he didn’t feel into his voice. “You should see someone about this.” Zeke Duncan, his partner for the last two months, nudged Chase with the gun. Chase bumped against the steel ledge of the bridge. A good forty feet below, the slow ripples of the lake splashed against the shore. He stared in the direction of the ‘61 Bellaire Chevy parked a half block down the street, which had brought him to death’s door. Hip-hop music blared from the souped-up Chevy’s stereo. Big Bruno, the driver, a known street dealer and all-around bad guy, danced outside it, his feet shuffling to the beat, his head bobbing in and out like a turtle. Chase motioned toward Bruno, hoping to buy a few more minutes to figure out how to get his ass out of this jam. “Such talent and he’s wasting his life selling drugs. What gives?” “Where’s the damn book?” Zeke asked, the sun glinting off his receding hairline. What book? Chase mentally filed that piece of info to consider later. “Now you’re gritting your teeth. That’s another sign of rage syndrome.” The barrel pressed cold against Chase’s temple. Panic roiled in his stomach, hitting a ten on the Richter scale of serious emotional upheaval. He didn’t have time to analyze it. Nor would he give Zeke the pleasure of seeing his fear. Zeke’s nostrils flared. “Wanting to die is one thing, but you disappoint me. I thought you’d at least care about your fellow officer Stokes. All it took was one bullet.” “He ate my last cherry-filled donut last week.” Chase shrugged, appearing cool on the outside, but inside . . . If Stokes was really dead, he had two little boys who, thanks to Zeke, would grow up without a father. “And you know how much I love those donuts.” It took everything Chase had not to go for Zeke’s throat, rip out his vocal cords, and tie them in a bow around his freaking neck. Chase resisted, knowing Zeke wanted him to lose control and make a foolish move so he could find the motivation to pull the trigger. Chase, on the other hand, needed just a few sane seconds to make sure the move he made wasn’t foolish. He needed a plan that excluded the lake below, a bullet, or another confrontation with dancing Bruno. The big man had given Chase a few solid blows to the ribs while forcing him into the car earlier. What Chase needed was to reach the gun Bruno had overlooked, the one strapped to his ankle. Zeke sneered. “You know what they’ll say, don’t you? You were just another Houston cop gone bad. Lost your wife and your sense of justice. And I’ll be the guy who took you down after I saw you kill Stokes. Of course, I’ll take it hard.” “Do you grind your teeth at night, too?” Acid burned Chase’s stomach. “That’s bad for your over- bite.” “You think you’re funny?” Zeke jammed his gun into Chase’s cheek. “Laugh if you want, but I’ve already set this up. After an anonymous tip, the captain found that missing cocaine under your bed. I was told by IA to bring you in. What a pity that you turned on me and I had to shoot.” Zeke’s mouth pinched and creased white. “I can make this easy or hard. What do you want? I let Stokes go fast. One to the heart was all it took.” Chase held out his hands, hoping his rage didn’t make them tremble. “Can you give me a second? I just hate making spur-of-the- moment decisions.”

Another foreign story i guess... i no understand yet but will catch up eventually... Handsome(@japhetsoj) Cool starting...

My kind of story..I love humor and sarcasm filled stories.

EPISODE TWO A glint of hundred-proof evil flashed in his partner’s eyes. Time had run out. Chase knocked Zeke’s hand to the right. The gun fired, the bullet shattering one of the Chevy’s headlights. Bruno’s dance routine ended. “My car!” All three-hundred-plus pounds of the man came barreling at them. Thankfully, Bruno danced better than he barreled. The man ran like a drunk elephant. Chase slammed Zeke’s wrist into the bridge’s steel rail. Seeing his gun hit the pavement brought a flash of relief, then Chase spotted Bruno digging into his pants. The man had either serious jock itch or his own gun, and Chase would put his bet on the gun. Without enough time to go for his own weapon, Chase shoved Zeke down and took his only out. Not one that he felt particularly happy about either. He dove off the bridge, and the hot pain of a bullet exploded through his shoulder right before he smacked into the water below. watch out for Chapter two...

Waiting

CHAPTER TWO EPISODE ONE “Mother, I’m standing here wearing nothing but a towel and I refuse to discuss my sex life with you!” Lacy Maguire’s grip on the purple phone tightened. Why had she answered the call? She could still be chin-deep in jasmine-smelling bubbles, drowning her frustrations and watching on her tub’s DVD player The Little Mermaid peeping at Prince Eric. “We’re not discussing your sex life. You don’t have a sex life,” her mother said, her tone a mix of humor and snideness. “I’m not talking about this.” Lacy glanced at the flat-screen sixty- inch television left on for the cat’s entertainment. While the TV remained on mute, an anchorwoman stood in front of the local police station and a picture of a man’s face, not an altogether unpleasant face, took up half of the screen. The words Armed and Dangerous? appeared beneath the picture. Lacy started to hit the volume when she heard frantic barking in the backyard. “It’s not natural!” her mother insisted. Neither was talking about sex with her mother. Lacy attempted a conversational U-turn: “I got a postcard from Mimi.” Then she tugged the towel higher around her breasts and peered out the window at the gloomy February day. The song “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” played over her home sound system. Pressing her nose against the cold glass, she spotted her poodle/Boston Terrier mix running in circles by the shed. “Mom, Fabio is having a fit in the backyard. I should go see what he’s terrorizing. It could be another rabid raccoon.” “It’s probably a stray cat. And you can’t adopt another one. You know what they say about a woman with more than three cats.” “What do they say?” She jumped at the change of subject. Pulling at the door, she grunted when she realized the deadbolt was locked and her keys were in her purse. Dropping onto her hands and knees, she slapped open the doggy door. “Fabio, come here!” Her mother’s high-pitched voice carried through the line. “Any woman with more than three cats is destined to be an old maid. The fact that you named that mutt ‘Fabio’ is proof that you need a man in your life.” “I can’t be an old maid. I’m divorced.” Just like you. Like I swore I’d never be. Lacy mentally pushed the delete button on that thought and poked her head out the doggy door. A cold, rain-scented wind whipped her hair into her eyes. “Fabio, come to Mama!” The dog, his Velcroed reindeer horns sagging, shot her a glance but continued to howl and run in circles. Whatever he’d found, pride echoed in his bark. Lacy nudged the phone back to her ear just as her mother said, “Of course I remember. Why do you think I’m calling you? I know how hard ex-anniversaries are to take.” Lacy began backing up, wishing she could reverse time. Five minutes back and she would never have answered the dad- burn phone. Five days back and she’d have never agreed to do the Christmas card photo shoot for the Pet Magazine Group. Five years back and she would have never married Peter. Finally drawing her head out of the doggy door, she plopped down, the hardwood floor cold on her naked rear. “Mom, can I call you back later?” In a couple of years, maybe? Her mom kept talking. “It usually takes me about a month to rebound. And the best—” “With six ex-anniversaries, that means you’re depressed half of the year. Why, it barely gives you time to hunt down your next victim. I mean husband.” Lacy frowned, knowing the comment would bring repercussions. Her mother’s “divorce record” had sensitive subject stamped all over it. But so did Lacy’s non-sex life.

Five no good.for this woman Destiny

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nice one bro

@T-DAK tanx dear for de invites

Nice story thanks T-dak

T-DAKS tanks man....kip the ball rolling

Tnx my guy 4 d invite!

@T-DAK Tanks 4 d invite, I'm hiqhly honoured

EPISODE TWO “Don’t get cute with me, Lace! Is that Christmas music? Are you doing a Christmas shoot? Are all photographers weird? Tell me you didn’t put up a tree this time. Why couldn’t you be something normal? Martha’s daughter works at Wal-Mart and she has a sex life.” “I’ll put my application in tomorrow. Sex is a nice company benefit.” Lacy glanced down the hall where the reflection of Christmas lights danced against the wall. It was a prop. And the music and candles, well . . . it put her in the spirit. “Do you ask everyone about their sex life?” “No! She just happens to be pregnant.” Her mother’s voice mingled with another bout of Fabio’s serious come-see-what-I- found barking. “Mom, Fabio needs me. Gotta go. Kiss-kiss.” She mimicked her mother’s voice. “Don’t you dare hang up on me, Lace! I’m not—” Lacy hung up, risking her mother’s wrath. Karina Callahan, mother to one, a divorcée to six and counting, considered hanging up on someone a federal offense. She had left a couple of husbands for that very reason. No doubt, Lacy would pay for the crime later, but right now she had a dog situation, her naked buns were drawing a chill through the rest of her body, and today was her fifth wedding anniversary. Or it would have been, if eighteen months ago Peter hadn’t decided to play Pin the Secretary to the Elevator Wall. Scrambling to her feet, she tossed the phone on the blue recliner. The chair, equipped with a massager, heating pad, and a mini refrigerator, had been the only thing she and Peter had fought over in court. She’d been determined to keep it, not because she liked it, but because Leonardo, Samantha, and Sweetie Pie did. Peter liked it, too, but he had his secretary to keep him massaged and hot. She glanced up just as Leonardo, her red tabby, sashayed into the room. His Santa hat cocked over one ear reminded Lacy that she needed to finish the shoot. She would have been done by now if Samantha hadn’t gone on modeling strike and taken refuge under the bed, sending Lacy to hide her frustrations in the tub. Leonardo balanced on his hind legs, sending the hat’s white puff ball dangling around his stiff whiskers. He eyed the phone in his chair and cut his accusing green gaze to her. “Sorry.” Lacy grabbed the phone and tickled the cat’s chin. Fabio’s ear-piercing bark drew Lacy’s attention again. She dropped the towel and the phone in a different chair. Naked, she skirted around the coffee table and opened a gift bag containing an oversized pink T-shirt—a Valentine’s gift from her friend, Sue. After donning the Pepto-Bismol- colored shirt, she found her keys, unlocked the door, and darted out to rescue Fabio’s latest victim. Probably another Texas- size cockroach. Fabio took pride in his roach conquests. And at these sizes, he had a right to be proud. * * * Big Bruno heaved in a gaspy breath. “You don’t think I killed him, do you?” Zeke gritted his teeth and stared out at the bank of the lake. They’d walked for almost an hour and found nothing. Bruno, holding his side, wheezed and huffed. How was it that he could dance for hours, but after walking a mile, he couldn’t breathe? Zeke curled his hand into a fist, wanting to hit something. Wanting to hit Chase Kelly. “I sure as hell don’t want to go down for killing a cop. I got—” Bruno inhaled deeply “—plans, you know. A talent scout is coming to Houston next week for that new reality show. I got a spot to perform. If I make it, I’ll be on . . . TV and everything. I’ll go straight then. No more illegal crap. Did—”

what next

Nyc story we hv here,tnx 4 d invitation@T-Dak

EPISODE THREE “Shut up!” Zeke swung around. “And stop breathing like that!” “Have a ’tude, man,” Bruno said, and swiped at the sweat dripping down his dark brow. Thirty degrees and the man was sweating. Zeke’s patience teetered on the edge. In a few more months, he would have been out. Retired with honors, and almost enough money to make the last twenty years worth the effort. But no! Things had to get screwed up. That damn snitch had to start nosing around. And he’d given Kelly enough evidence to ruin everything. “He’s not here.” Bruno picked up a rock and flung it into the water with a splash. “I bet the fall killed him. Probably hit his head on a rock. I don’t think my shot got him. Like I told you before, I don’t mind wounding someone, breaking an arm or a leg, but I don’t kill folks. Especially not cops.” “Where’s his damn body, then?” Zeke spit out. “Maybe it got caught on the bottom.” Zeke dragged his fingers through his thinning hair. His hands shook with rage. “No!” He kicked at some loose rocks. “Chase Kelly is a lucky son of a bitch. He made it out alive, and damn it if he didn’t get away.” “But he’s not here,” Bruno whined. “And he’s shot. Just how far could he get?” Zeke looked down one side of the waterway and then the other. Chase Kelly could take him down. He couldn’t let that happen. “We’ve got to find him. He’s got to die and he’s got to die today.” ********* “Fabio, come here, boy.” Chase heard the voice and knew he should try to run. Only, it hurt too much to move. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to live. But then, he’d already made that choice, hadn’t he? He’d chosen to live. Oh, he’d denied it at every mandatory shrink visit he’d made in the last two years. Denied it to Jason, his ex-partner, who’d gone ape on him because Chase took so many risks. In truth, he hadn’t set out to get himself killed. Not to say that if the opportunity had knocked, he wouldn’t have invited it in to discuss things over a beer. Yet when the Hereafter stared him in the face, he’d found something in himself he’d thought had died along with Sarah: his will to live. “Fabio!” the dog’s owner called out again. Picking up a rock, Chase tossed it toward the yapping dog. The ugly mutt looked like that Star Wars character Yoda, but with reindeer horns and a perm gone bad. Grimacing, Chase stood. The last thing he needed was to have to explain himself to some civilian. If what Zeke had said was true, the local news would have Chase’s face plastered on TV screens across Texas. Sucking air into his battered lungs, he knew he needed to contact someone, but who would believe that Zeke, a twenty-year HPD veteran, had gone bad? Hell, Chase still had a hard time believing it. His gaze zipped around the property. The slight clearing in the pine thicket had a storage shed that backed up to a house and looked promising. He needed a place to catch his breath—a place he could think things through, away from the icy wind. He needed to figure out what damn book Zeke wanted. Chase eyed his bloody shirt. The bullet had only grazed his shoulder. While it hurt like hell, the bleeding had stopped. Still, he could use a painkiller. His entire body throbbed from his leap off that bridge. Or was it from Bruno’s fist? Running his hand over his ribs, he didn’t think any were broken, but they sure as hell felt loose.

INTERESTING!!

nice one

Awesome story here....ride on...

EPISODE FOUR “Jeez.” He almost tripped over his own feet. Having been undercover for almost a week, he’d hardly closed his eyes. And for the last hour he’d pushed himself harder, running on a tank of adrenaline that had just run dry. Hearing approaching footsteps, he started to move. His pain shot from high to higher. Staggering behind the shed, gun in hand, he collapsed against the splintery planks of the small building. “What is it, Fabio? Don’t get your outfit dirty.” The cold wind slapped against Chase’s lake-soaked clothes. He listened and mentally created a mug shot of a person who would own such a strange animal and would dress it in reindeer horns in February. Christmas, maybe, but February? “Fabio, I don’t need another cockroach in my collection.” The voice and footsteps sounded too young to belong to the blue- haired old lady he’d conjured up in his mind. Chase’s knees buckled. The cold nipped at his bones. He leaned harder against the shed wall. Now wouldn’t be a good time to pass out. The dog’s owner would probably call an ambulance and the police, and he’d be stitched up and hauled off to jail before he could say uncle. No, before he faced his fellow officers, he needed to think of a way to prove his innocence. Or rather, a way to prove Zeke’s guilt. Zeke wouldn’t take him down without a fight. “Fabio!” the voice called. “Mama’s tootsies are cold. Not to mention other body parts.” The dog barreled around the shed, bouncing and barking, his red cloth horns flopping. The footsteps drew nearer. Chase braced himself. Damn, he didn’t want to do this. Involving a civilian meant trouble. “For Pete’s sake, come on. Let’s —” The brunette’s mouth fell open. Her pale blue eyes grew as wide as quarters. Chase registered her features. Damp black hair dangled in ringlets just above her shoulders. His gaze lowered. While her height was average, nothing else about her fit that word. Her big shirt hung, but swayed enough to give him an idea of what was below. Breasts, body, curves. At the end of that shirt extended a pair of nice legs. As she danced from one bare foot to the other, the edge of her shirt flipped from side to side. He swallowed, his interest level climbing. And his reasons for not passing out were now altogether different. His eyes stayed focused on the hem of the shirt. Was she naked beneath—? She squealed and yanked the hem down to mid- thigh. With the shirt pulled taut, he could read the words printed in large black letters across the front: Divorced, Desperate and Delicious. Chase blinked. He was shot, wet, cold, and beat up, but he wasn’t dead, and he recognized delicious when he saw it. watch out for chapter three...

Who wouldn't recognise delicious...even if the person don die...

CHAPTER THREE EPISODE ONE “Oh, God!” The brunette focused on his gun. Dropping to her knees, she snatched up the dog. “Don’t shoot! He doesn’t bite.” Chase realized that the gun did point at the dog and now at the kneeling woman, who clutched the Yoda-like creature to her breasts. Turning the gun away, he pushed himself off the wall. “I’m not going to shoot. I need your help.” She zeroed in on his shoulder, where his tan T-shirt had grown dark with his blood. Then her gaze zipped to his face. “Oh, God!” she repeated again, and her expression washed white. The last “Oh, God,” told Chase that she recognized him. Yep, his face had been plastered across the news, all right. Double damn. “Are you alone?” Pain vibrated his voice. “No! My husband is here.” Her eyes went wide again, then darted left as she tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear. He reread the word “divorced” on her shirt. As an undercover cop, he appreciated poor lying skills in a person—it made his job a hell of a lot easier. “Get up.” She rose to her feet, keeping the squirming dog cuddled in her arms. “Why don’t I close my eyes, turn around, and you disappear? Then I’ll pretend I never saw you.” “You would do that?” He studied her, wanting to believe it. Her eyes widened and cut left again. “Of course.” If ten different kinds of pain didn’t grip him in its clutches, he would laugh at her inability to lie. Hell, if not for the pain, he wouldn’t want to leave. His gaze swept over her again. At least he had her pegged: a very gorgeous, slightly nutty divorcée, who mostly told the truth—or did a terrible job of it when she did lie. “Let’s go inside.” Forgetting he held the gun in his hand, he motioned for her to move. “Please, just leave.” Her voice wobbled. Dragging air into his battered lungs, he considered doing just that. But his next step flung him back against the wall of reality. He wouldn’t make it a block before the cops arrived. Then he wouldn’t have a chance in hell of proving he wasn’t involved in killing Stokes, or that he hadn’t taken the drugs from that bad bust that he and Zeke had worked a month ago. But damn, why hadn’t he ever suspected Zeke of taking the cocaine? “I can’t leave,” he told her. “Look, I know you’re scared and you don’t believe me. You’d be a fool to believe me. But I’m not out to hurt you. I don’t care what they’re saying. I’ve been set up, and . . . Shit, I’m not guilty.” Her slender throat bobbed up and down as if she attempted to swallow his words as the truth. One glance into her terror-filled eyes told him she hadn’t been able to pull it off. “Let’s go inside.” This time he motioned with his hand instead of the gun. “You’re safe with me, I swear.” She took a step back, stumbled, and almost fell. Normally, he would have jumped at the chance to wrap his arms around someone who looked like her— someone who he was sure was naked aside from her pink shirt. But after being beat up, shot, and leaping off a bridge, jumping was damn near impossible. He waited for her to right herself, then nodded toward the house. “Come on.” Her gaze cut to his bloody shirt as if she wondered what chance she’d have at overpowering him. A tad worried about those chances himself, he squared his shoulders. Pain filled the pit of his stomach. He refused to flinch. “Move.” He had intended to sound gruff but regretted it when fear masked her expression.

Ok na..

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Ohk next pls

Thank u @T-Dak for d invitation Bring d story on

EPISODE TWO Chin high, she started walking. He stayed hip-close, in case she tried something. When she opened the back door, he shoved his foot in the doorjamb. She tripped over him in a last-ditch effort to lunge inside and lock him out. Forgetting his bruised ribs, he caught her. The breath- hitching pain dragged a growl from his gut. The dog echoed an angry version of the same sound when Chase latched on to the woman’s elbow. Not wanting to add dog bites to his list of injuries, he released her. Twisting around, she glared at him. Her eyes widened. Anger smoldered in her baby blues. Before the smoldering flared into action, he nudged her inside. Following, he shut the door, never taking his gaze off her. Until he convinced her he meant no harm to her or that strange dog, she wasn’t going to be a willing hostage. “Sit down.” He pointed at the white leather sofa. When she obeyed, he inventoried the room. Sofa, chair . . . in the corner of his vision he spotted something moving. Chase wrenched around and confronted a large red tabby wearing a . . . Santa cap. His panic lessened, yet his curiosity zapped into high gear. He blinked, looked again. The Santa cat gave him a slow once- over; then as if finding him boring, the feline went back to his nap. Chase became aware of the tune, “Jingle Bells.” His next breath caught the scent of gingerbread and pine— Christmas. He raked a hand over his face and continued to survey his surroundings. An extremely large, space-age-looking television played silently in one corner of the room, while an antique grandfather clock hypnotically ticked off the seconds in another. Stepping to the New Age-looking recliner, he leaned against it for support. He’d never seen such an eclectic mix of stuff. The sofa looked expensive and modern in style, but the pale blue chair looked antique, and in need of a reupholstery job. His knee bumped the side of the odd recliner and it came to life, humming and vibrating. Chase flinched. The feline Santa raised its head, meowed as if in appreciation, and snuggled deeper into the chair. Christmas music played. “Jingle all the way . . .” Chase arched an eyebrow at the woman. The dog, sitting in her lap, shook its large head and nearly lost its reindeer horns. “You do know it’s not Christmas?” he asked. Ignoring him, she tugged at her shirt and looked toward the hall, where another cat strutted. The white-haired feline, wearing an elf costume, swayed forward and gracefully leaped into the chair with the other costumed cat. “Okay, this is strange,” Chase said and studied the woman. She didn’t answer. Then a voice boomed from the adjoining room, “Eat the tuna and pick up a gallon of milk.” Chase swung around, instinctively pointing his gun. He darted to the entrance of the kitchen, his gaze zipping between the woman and the direction of the voice. She squirmed on the sofa. “Are you going to shoot my refrigerator?” Holding his aim, he stared at her. “The fridge talks?” She nodded and tucked her shirt between her bare thighs. His impression of her took on a new dimension. Oh, she still rated a ten on the gorgeous scale. He’d bet his wet socks her lying skills hadn’t improved, but his definition of her being slightly nuts no longer fit the bill. This woman, with her Christmas- costumed pets, vibrating recliners, and a talking refrigerator, took crazy to a whole new level. He leaned forward and spotted the appliance in question. All silver, it looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. He glanced back at her. “Any other appliances talk?”

Crazy indeed...lol

No i don't tink so

Hmmmm refrigerator dey talk?lolz i don chi chon chi....

EPISODE THREE “The microwave and litter box,” she answered, as if the question hadn’t been strange. “And the fish on the wall. It sings.” He blinked, mentally digesting the absurdity of it all. “What’s your name?” Maybe he had died on the bottom of the river and this was Hell . . . or Purgatory, he decided, finding her too pleasant to look at for it to be Hell. “Lacy.” She hesitated. “And yours?” she added, as if in afterthought. He stared at the television. “They haven’t said it?” “It’s on mute. I only saw your picture.” At least she hadn’t tried to lie about that. He shuffled a few steps to the old chair and sat down before he fell. “Chase Kelly,” he answered. Feeling something in the chair, he reached behind him and pulled out a wet towel and bright purple phone. “What did you do?” She stroked the fidgeting dog, her gaze on the phone. “If . . . you don’t mind me asking.” He heard the hesitancy in her voice, as if she was unsure she really wanted to know. Fear still shadowed her eyes, but now they also simmered with indignation. “I’m a narcotics officer,” Chase said. “My partner set me up to look like a dirty cop. I didn’t do anything.” He set the towel and phone on the hardwood floor, stifling a moan as he leaned back. The dog wriggled in her lap. She didn’t move. “What . . . are you accused of?” He could lie, but he didn’t see any reason. “I think they’re accusing me of stealing cocaine and maybe of killing a fellow officer. I’m being framed.” “Oh.” “You don’t believe me?” She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, then it popped out, moist, and a shade redder than the top lip. “Of course I do.” She brushed the left side of her chin against her shoulder. “No, you don’t,” he said. Her eyes widened and he held out his hand. “Don’t worry. I don’t blame you. If I were you, I wouldn’t believe me either.” He dropped his head into the palm of his hand and squeezed his temples. Why had Zeke done this? Why? “You should leave before my husband gets home,” she said. He looked around the room. On the mantel, above the fireplace, sat a row of framed pictures. Most of the frames held photos of cats and her strange dog, but one displayed an elderly woman. Another held a black and white wedding photograph. The woman in it had black hair, but she wasn’t Lacy. He focused on her again. “You’re lying.” “I am not. He must have gone to the store . . . for milk.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “Didn’t you hear my fridge? We’re out of milk.” Her face paled and she blinked repeatedly. He believed the fridge but not her. Standing, he crossed the room toward her. Each step unfurled a new pain. “Show me your left hand.” She glanced down to where her fingers lay hidden beneath the dog’s white curly fur. “I . . . I don’t wear a ring.” “And the t-shirt?” She looked down at her shirt and her cheeks regained their color. “It’s old. I was divorced and I got married again. People get divorced and remarried. My parents got divorced and my mom remarried—lots of times.”

you dey lie... you wan be like your mother

hmmmmmmmmm.m :)

ℓ̊ don land @T-DAK tenx for †ђε̲̣̣̣̥ invite Dis is gonna be interesting

Chaiiiiiiiiii. See as lie dey flow like electricity current.

You are actually doing well trying to lie, Lol! Miss Lacy, help and accommodate a potential husband joor!

EPISODE FOUR “So are you no longer desperate or delicious either?” He regretted the flirtatious remark as soon as the panic hit her eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I’m not going to hurt you.” He glanced around the room, noting the holiday-scented candles burning. “Look. I need a place to lie low for a while. As soon as I’m strong enough, I’ll be out of your hair. Until then, however, it’s best if you just come clean with me. Does anyone besides you live here?” She stared at the two costumed felines basking in the vibrating recliner. Slowly, she faced him. “I live alone, but people drop by all the time.” This time she didn’t blink. “Are you expecting anyone soon —today or tonight?” He recognized the tune now playing as “Here Comes Santa Claus.” She blinked. “Yes.” “Don’t lie.” He sat beside her, and the sofa sighed with his weight. “I’m not going to hurt you or your Christmas munchkins.” “I’m not the stuffy type whose friends feel as if they need to make an appointment to visit.” “I’d never call you stuffy.” Weird, maybe. He leaned back against the butter-soft leather sofa and closed his eyes, fighting the aches pulsing through his body. Forcing his muscles to go slack, he listened as the song changed to “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer,” and held the gun in his lap. The home’s heater took the chill out of the air and the grandfather clock ticked, and yet a different song began to play. The woman shifted. The sofa dipped. Chase opened one eye. “Where you going?” “To the bathroom.” She lost her color again and resettled. “Where’s the bathroom?” he asked. When she pointed toward the kitchen, he stood. “Let’s go.” “Never mind.” She fell deeper into the sofa. “I won’t watch if that’s what you’re thinking.” He palmed the back of the couch to steady himself. The movement brought a jingle from the handcuffs that hung around his belt loop. Sticking his hand in his back pocket, he felt around for his key. Relief sighed through him when he touched it. No doubt she would balk, but until he could get her to believe him, he didn’t see a choice. He unlocked the cuffs from his belt loop. She stared at the cuffs. “I don’t have to go that bad.” “Come on.” He motioned for her to rise. She nudged the dog from her lap and hurried to the kitchen. “Not so fast.” He caught her arm. She paled and stared at his shoulder. “You’re bleeding.” Glancing down, he saw bright red blood spotting his shirt. “Use the bathroom, Lacy. I don’t have time for games.” The ring of the phone punctuated his words. Hope brightened her blue eyes. “If I don’t answer, they might call the police.” “Yeah, and if you do get it, you’ll say something to tip them off. Go to the bathroom.” Suddenly the recorder answered. “Hi, you’ve reached Lacy Maguire Photography. I’m probably in my studio with my eye to the lens, so leave a message and I’ll get right back to you.” “Lace!” a female voice practically screamed across the line. “I’m very disappointed in you. You know how I feel about people hanging up on me. Now, I realize your sex life is none of my business, but I’m your mother. If you can’t talk to me about this, then who can you talk to?”

her mother come with full force

EPISODE FIVE Chase’s eyes widened at the expression on Lacy Maguire’s face. The voice on the recorder continued: “Because I know how difficult today is for you, I’m going to forgive you. But don’t let it happen again! And don’t let today get to you. Bye, love. Kiss- kiss.” The machine clicked off. His captive turned on him, the fire in her eyes more intense. “Don’t look so amused.” “This look isn’t amusement. It’s pain. I’m hurting like hell. Go on to the bathroom.” “Not with you, I won’t.” Her shoulders stiffened, her defiant posture telling him more about her character. Not a wimp, this girl. “Then I’ll just check it out,” he said. “You think I’ve got a gun hidden under the toilet?” “No. But you might have an escape hatch or high-speed Internet connected to the john.” His gaze shifted to the talking fridge. He pushed past her to glance inside the small half bath. It did, for all general purposes, appear normal. Then again, the toilet seat had fish painted on it. Stepping away, he motioned for her to enter, then he turned his back. “Don’t close the door.” Chase leaned against the washer and dryer lining the wall and waited. Hearing the flush, he turned around. When she appeared, she had a glint in her eyes that he didn’t like. He needed to get her handcuffed to something so he could raid her medicine cabinet for antibiotics and some painkillers. He wasn’t hungry, but realizing he hadn’t eaten in more than thirty-six hours, he decided to see what the talking refrigerator held. He wondered if the appliance would tell him if he asked. “You got something I can eat?” He nudged her forward. “Bread, milk?” “Didn’t you hear? I’m out of milk.” She pointed at the loaf of bread on the counter. “I wasn’t expecting company. But help yourself to the bread.” “You want anything?” he asked. “My appetite fails me for some reason.” Her sarcasm hung thick. He pulled a chair to the center of the room. “Sit here and try real hard to believe me.” He spotted some knives on the counter and eased the chair a little farther from them. Keeping an eye on her as she sat, he searched the fridge. He found several bowls of leftovers, but opted for jam. Pulling a spoon from the open dishwasher, he spread strawberry preserves haphazardly on one slice of bread. Folding the bread over, he buried his teeth into the soft sandwich. “Thanks.” “Eat the tuna and pick up a gallon of milk,” the appliance repeated, and Chase shook his head. The phone rang again. The answering machine played its message and another female voice came on the line. “Hey, girl. I thought by now you’d have flipped at Kathy’s chosen topic for tomorrow night. Have you read your e-mail? If you haven’t, do so now. I swear that woman is a few fries short of a Happy Meal. But I have to say, our discussions are never dull when she chooses the topic. And yes, I still say your topic of World War II last week was a bore.” Chase pushed the last bite into his mouth. The voice continued. “Anyway. Call me. You didn’t seem like yourself yesterday. Something going on? Besides being horny?” The caller chuckled. “I can’t wait to see what you pull up on this one. Kathy was blown away by your research on multiple orgasms.” The jam sandwich caught in Chase’s throat and it took three tries to get it down. He gazed at Lacy and smiled. Her face held three different shades of red. So, his gorgeous yet nutty hostage was horny, huh? And she knew a thing or two about multiple orgasms. If things were different, he would have been happy to help her out of her . . . predicament and to further her research.

Hmmmmmmmmm. Ecstasy

U could still help her, if its on mutual grounds. Really enjoyin it, kip it rollin in.

EPISODE SIX “You think it’s funny?” Her blue eyes squinted. “You threaten to shoot me and my dog. You come into my house, invade my privacy, and eat my food. And now you’re laughing at me.” “Sorry.” His smile fell flat because he knew any discussion on the multiple orgasm would probably lead her to believe he intended to do some things he didn’t. “I didn’t threaten to shoot you. Let’s go.” “Where?” She stood, pulling the hem of her shirt down. “To the bedroom.” “I don’t think so!” “I’ve already told you I don’t intend to hurt you. I know you don’t believe me. But when I walk out of here, you’re going to be saying to yourself, ‘Damn, he was telling the truth.’ Now come on.” He pushed his gun into the waist of his pants and took her by the elbow. She tried to jerk away but he held on and pretended he didn’t hurt. He headed back through the living room and down the hall as the song, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer,” piped through the stereo system. “You’re a real Christmas fan, huh?” Each step brought a new pain to his body. He wondered why Lacy lived in the boonies, away from neighbors. He wondered, too, why any woman who looked like her would be horny. Even with her talking appliances and obvious Christmas fetish, men should be lined up outside her door. * * * The man’s hand wrapped around Lacy’s forearm. Not tight enough to cause pain, but tight enough to trigger alarm. Fight him! her inner voice screamed. But she’d heard never to fight until it could count. She needed a weapon. The lamp in the bedroom. The bat in the garage. Desperate, her gaze darted to the singing fish hanging on the hallway wall. He stopped outside her studio and glanced inside. The Christmas tree twinkled in the corner and her camera perched on top of the tripod. The man looked back at her as if she needed a straightjacket. Fabio, horns now hanging sideways, darted between their legs and took his position in front of the tree. “I think I get it. You’re a photographer,” he said. “You were taking pictures of the animals. Like Christmas calendars or something.” She nodded, her eyes searching for weapons. Fabio ran past them and hotfooted it into her bedroom. The bedroom . . . where this man, with a gun and handcuffs, was taking her? Fear curled inside her stomach. Exactly what did he have in mind? His handcuffs clinked as he shifted. “What is today?” He nudged her farther down the hall. When she didn’t answer, he squeezed her arm lightly. “Look at me. I’m not going to hurt you. I need your help. Relax. Talk to me and you’ll figure out that I’m not a bad guy. What is today?” She glanced up, a thousand thoughts swirling in her head. “What do you mean?” He pushed open her office door, peered in, and prodded her to step forward. “Your mother implied that you were depressed because of today’s date. I figured maybe it was your—” “It’s none of your business!” No way would she talk to him about her life. No way would she let him kill her—leave her to be found stiff, wearing a Divorced, Desperate and Delicious shirt.

EPISODE SEVEN He shrugged. “Is it your birthday? You turn thirty today?” Thirty? Lacy’s head jerked up. “Do I look thirty?” “No. I . . . I . . .” He glanced down the hall. The urge to fight and fight dirty washed over her. Reaching back, she snatched her talking fish from the hall wall and swung hard. Catching him unaware, she managed to wallop him a good one on his head. He dropped to his knees as the fish started singing, “Take me down to the river . . .” Piscine weapon tight in hand, she tore down the hall. She passed the grandfather clock, cleared the recliner, almost had the doorknob when he snatched a handful of her T-shirt. She took two more steps, then flew back into him like a stretched rubber band. Refusing to go down easy, she swerved and gave him everything she had. watch out for chapter four

Hmmmmmmm! She gave him everything she had. What could that be

Wow, am xpecting more 4rm yhu, kip it up dude

Ooops! Everything she av????? Let's see Nice work

Funny guys

CHAPTER FOUR EPISODE ONE “Where to now?” Bruno asked. Zeke stared out the Chevy windshield and pressed a fist into his thigh until he felt it bruise. Twenty years he’d given to the force. He’d been shot twice, knifed once, lost his wife and kids because he gave so much of himself to the damn job. Now they wanted to hand him a gold watch and a joke of a pension. “Take me back to my car.” For five years, Zeke had been subsidizing his retirement fund. Two months ago, when his last partner retired with a little cushion of his own, Zeke had been worried about taking on a new partner. But rumor had it Kelly was a suicidal maniac, a man who ghost-walked through life, waiting to join the ranks of the dead. Zeke had thought he’d be an easy mark. If he couldn’t pull it off behind Kelly’s back, he could always bribe him. “What we gonna do if he turns us in?” Bruno asked, his tone more whining than afraid. “I’ve fixed that. They already think he’s dirty.” Zeke pounded his fist on the dashboard. The rumors were wrong about Kelly. Sure, the man seemed to have a death wish, but he had some kind of black mojo keeping him alive. Every stupid risk the man took, he came out strutting high. And whenever Zeke would hint at maybe making a little extra income on the side, Kelly would blow it off as if he’d meant it as a joke. The man didn’t have what it took to go on the take. Zeke knew that, but was counting on the others not knowing it. “Damn it!” Zeke spat out the words. “I didn’t want this to go down like this. He’s supposed to be dead. I’m supposed to know he’s dead! He could be holed up somewhere, biding his time. He’s shot, damn it! There can’t be more than fifteen homes he could have gotten to. I’m going to talk to every freaking homeowner in the area.” He cracked his knuckles to relieve tension. “You’re going to come back and drive this area until—” “He’s probably dead.” Bruno started his car and put it into gear. “Besides, I gotta go dancing at six. Promised my girl —” Zeke jerked his gun out of his holster and pointed it right between Big Bruno’s eyes. “You’re going to do what I tell you. And if you screw up, you’ll die regretting it.” Bruno stomped his foot on the brake. The car jerked. Zeke’s finger slipped. The gun went off. * * * Lacy swung the fish left, swung right. The intruder dodged her blows but never struck back. Somewhere in the recesses of her brain, it occurred to her that he had a gun and all she had was a fish. The thought brought on an overwhelming desire to run. Swinging around, she started for the door, but her bare foot landed on a towel. With no traction, her feet flew up, and she landed headfirst against the chest she used as a coffee table. The impact loosened her death grip on her weapon and it skidded across the floor. “Jeez! Are you okay?” His words rang in her ears. He rolled her over, carefully. Her head throbbed. The fish started its song again. “Take me down to the river . . . ” The words, “You better not cry. You better not pout . . .” also pumped through the house. She closed her eyes as the lyrics merged together. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t going to the river. But she could do some serious pouting right now! Masculine fingers moved over her head. A soft purr sounded in her ear and cat whiskers tickled her cheek. “Lacy? You okay?” He sounded winded and concerned. She opened her eyes and tugged her shirt down. Leonardo hovered on one side of her, while her abductor leaned over the other. His face came so close that his warm breath brushed her cheek and some delusional section of her addled brain registered that his eyes were the same vivid green as Leonardo’s— a vivid green that seemed to draw her in and soothe her as gently as the fingers that parted her hair. “It didn’t break the skin, but you’re going to have a hell of a goose egg. I’ll get some ice.” He moved away. Closing her eyes again, she tried to gather her thoughts. The man had an injured shoulder, and she’d clobbered him over the head with a talking fish, but he was getting her ice. Her head did hurt, but his injury had to be worse. Sitting up, she leaned against the pine chest. She heard the refrigerator dispense ice: clunk, clank. Then the recorder on the fridge played its message. “Eat the tuna and. . . ” She had never seen eyes so green. They really were almost the same color as Leonardo’s. Her gaze suddenly caught on the back door. Reality hit. Why in the dickens was she sitting here waiting for ice, contemplating his eye color, when she should be escaping? Prepared to lunge up, she heard him step back into the room. Carrying one of her dish towels in his hand, he moved closer, groaned as he knelt, then held the clothbound ice to her head. “I’m fine.” She pushed his hand away. “Hold the ice to it,” he insisted. Glaring at him, she grabbed the ice and flung it to the floor. Fabio barked. The man glanced down the hall at the dog, then slowly he rose. “Damn it!” He started down the hall, away from her. No lollygagging this time! She leapt up and almost got to the door when she heard him say, “Don’t do it. Please. I need your help. I really, really need your help.” She imagined him with the gun aimed at her back. Her breath caught on her tonsils and her knees locked. Reflexes from watching reruns of Charlie’s Angels almost brought her hands up in the air. Then she remembered her lack of clothes beneath the shirt. “Don’t shoot me.” She faced him. He stood there, legs slightly apart, and stared. Instead of the gun, he held Fabio. Her dog leaned his head back and licked the intruder’s chin. While Fabio’s pink tongue lapped across his jaw, the man’s gaze never left her face. “I stepped on your dog when I came after you. You may want to check his leg. I don’t think it’s broken.” He slumped against the doorframe as if dizzy. “And I’m not going to shoot you.” First the ice, and now his concern about Fabio. She edged closer, her heart racing, and took the dog from his arms. Fabio, appearing unharmed, started licking her neck. Ignoring the canine kisses, she moved her hand over the dog’s legs. When he didn’t whimper, she set him down. He limped on his right hind leg, but after two or three steps he started putting his weight on it. “He’s fine.” She glanced up at the man. “I’m sorry.” He pressed his hand against his temple. “I don’t intend to hurt you, your dog, your cats, or your talking refrigerator. I just need some time, then I’ll leave.” She studied him. Tall, dark, and . . . His straight brown hair, a couple of weeks past needing a haircut, brushed against his neck. He had the body of a well-built baseball player, not too bulky, but far from wiry. Bright red blood stained his shirt. “I’m not the bad guy here.” His voice echoed honesty and weariness. But echoes could lie.

Hmmmmmmmmmm. she is gonna help you.

You are actually having a gr8 effect on her emotions. More calmness again & she'd fall for you then she'll be helping you out of concern.

it's not easy to trust a stranger ...

I tink she's havin a change of heart/mind

Helper are the helpful for they shall be helped and fall in love

The guy dey on vacation trip to the SUN that's why...

Like seriously?.... An abrupt pause on such a super duper thrilling story... Squeezing face... And logging out