Claire my assistant drew Janice’s name for a second win this summer. YAY!!! Congratulations Janice

Our next drawing will be September 1, 2010.

“Shut the door on your way out,” he said tersely. “I’m not interested.”Serena could feel her lips tightening. Pasting a blandly polite expression on her face, she inclined her head. “What a pity,” she replied. “And you were highly recommended, too, by someone I trust. Ah, well…”

“Like I said, shut the door after you.”

Damn it. He hadn’t taken the bait. Any other private detective just setting up in business would have eagerly asked who had recommended his services. Shouldn’t he be just a little curious? She wriggled out of the strips of leather over chrome masquerading as a chair and stood in front of his desk, holding out her hand.

“Thanks for hearing me out, anyway,” she said, forcing a rueful grin.

Clinical grey-green eyes examined her hand as if it offended the very air he breathed. Shocked, she backed away. Since she’d been in diapers she’d never yet found a man she couldn’t winkle a smile out of. Perhaps she was spoiled, but she hadn’t done a damn thing to offend this guy, yet he made no attempt to hide his dislike of her. Or perhaps it was mistrust? Whatever it was, he wouldn’t get an A-list of clients if he treated them this way. But perhaps it was just her. Perhaps he hated brunettes and adored blondes.

She walked briskly in her best ‘got places to go, people to see’ manner to the door muttering, “I-will-not-slam-the-door.” No. Ladies did not slam doors, whatever the provocation. And remember, Serena, you were born and bred a lady, even if you married Darren-the-yobbo who is the reason you are running around town looking for a private detective.

She leaned against the wall outside his office and closed her eyes. Just a little rest before she stiffened her spine again.

“You still here?” demanded an irascible voice from behind her.

Oh, God. He’d followed her out, probably checking to see she didn’t steal the floor tiles.

“I’m going, I’m going.” Without glancing in his direction she fled along the corridor out into the brassy glare of midday in Surfers.

“Well, Serena babe, you stuffed that one up,” she told herself as she clambered into the searingly hot rust-bucket she called her car. No air-con. Ripped seats. Reluctant brakes. But it got her from A to B, not something she had appreciated before Darren. B.D. All the good things had happened before Darren, and all the bad things had happened since she and Darren married. It was as good a way as any of labeling time.

A long line of tourist vehicles cruised past with the occupants gawping at the beach. She’d lived here for most of her thirty years and she didn’t need to look at the beach. She knew it in all its seasons—knew it and loved it, but she wouldn’t be lounging around on the sand yakking with Gabrielle and Anna any more, talking about Life.

Not now that Darren had bolted in her Beamer with every single dollar in their joint account. To add insult to injury, she’d discovered yesterday that he’d also maxed out their credit cards. For the first time in her life she’d been denied credit. Her face still burned with embarrassment when she thought of the shop assistant’s raised eyebrows.

God, she was an idiot. Her parents had warned her, making her take out a pre-nup and tying up as much of her allowance as they could. “Daddy’s money” Darren had called it, sneering at his poor little rich girl who didn’t know the value of anything. Actually, he’d been wrong. She knew the value of a lot of things like friendship and loyalty and love that he knew nothing about. But that didn’t stop her from understanding now just how buck stupid she’d been to succumb to the first guy with rough edges that she’d bedded. He’d known just what she needed—a little bit of rough. And he’d supplied it willingly, certain he was on to a good thing. But the little bit of rough had become too much for Daddy’s girl. It had taken her only a few weeks to discover that she wasn’t cut out for a man who was a little too raw around the edges.

Darren had been quite clever in his own way. He never went so far that her parents picked up the vibes—nothing physical. He’d just systematically ground her down, telling her she was useless, that she’d never held down a real job and that he would have to take over their finances since she was incapable of understanding the cost of living.
For the sake of peace she’d finally succumbed and agreed to change her main account to a joint one. Even as she sat in front of the bank manager with Darren, she knew she was in trouble. But the bank manager was a close friend of her father’s, and short of admitting that she’d made a huge mistake when she married Darren and admitting to John Stuyvesant that she was just that teeny bit afraid of her husband, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do.

And now she was stuck in limbo. The bank wouldn’t freeze or close down the account without Darren’s signature as well as hers, and her father kept on paying her allowance into the damned account. Since Darren had walked out, the money her father deposited was promptly withdrawn, presumably by Darren from wherever he was hiding. Only by hovering like a bird of prey over her on-line banking had she managed to pre-empt him.

She’d been amazed when he’d taken off with only the Beamer and all their ready cash. The house was in a family trust and he couldn’t touch it, but all he’d needed to do was wait out another year and he’d have got half of everything she had.

In a way, he’d won. By his abrupt departure he’d succeeded in making her life a misery. The credit card company kept harassing her about the joint credit cards. Those would take forever to pay off, and like the bank account, she couldn’t cancel them on her own. Every time she paid a little off them, Darren charged something again, taking them to their limit. Cat and mouse. Who would have thought he had it in him?

Asking her father for money was not an option. It was up to her to get herself out of this bind. So she had to find Darren and she had to get a job before the proverbial hit the fan because in spite of her family name, she might end up being bankrupted. Eventually her parents would find out the truth, but she’d prefer to be standing on her own feet when her volatile father discovered that his thirty-year-old daughter had allowed herself to be duped.

“Mrs Thomas?”

Hell! She shook her head to clear it. She’d driven home and couldn’t remember a thing about the journey.

“Yes, Tommy?”

Tommy was the kid next door who was forever trying to run errands for her. In spite of being the only child of well-to-do parents, Tommy was kept on a short financial leash. His parents were teaching him “to manage.” At eleven he had the makings of an entrepreneur, but an entrepreneur needs a sponsor to get started. He’d decided that Serena was his sponsor.

“Any jobs I can do for you?”

“Honey, not at the moment…” Then she realized that there was something Tommy could do for her. There were twenty-seven private investigators in this neck of the woods. Three of them were associated in some way with her father, four were on holiday, eight didn’t deal with missing persons and the rest were too busy to take on new work. Tommy got around. During school holidays he and his mates roamed far and wide on their mountain bikes. She’d even seen him once on the Mt. Tamborine road. His parents would have been startled. But Tommy was capable and very astute. She was sure he knew what sort of a guy Darren was. Perhaps he’d like to do some detective work.

“Actually, Tommy…I just thought of something. Come into the house and we’ll discuss it.”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. He shoved a hand through his carroty hair and it stuck up in spikes like a demented hedgehog.
“O-kay!” he sang out.

Half an hour, a Coke and two peanut butter cookies later, Tommy got to his feet. In his hand he clutched a list of Darren’s local haunts. “This is cool, Mrs. Thomas, really cool. Of course I can’t get into some of these places, but I’ll do what I can.”

Serena sent him on his way. It wasn’t much, but at least she had something going rather than just sitting around cursing herself. She knew Darren was still in the vicinity, that he hadn’t gone far, so Tommy stood as good a chance as any other investigator. The reason she knew Darren was still around was that last week she’d come home from her parents’ place to find some of her things missing. The Meissen china shepherdess had disappeared from the mantelpiece along with a Hogarth engraving that had graced the wall of Darren’s ‘study.’ The lock had not been picked. The alarm had not gone off. Definitely Darren.

She wasn’t sure where she stood legally, but Darren wasn’t getting anything else of value. She set to work. She changed the alarm setting, bundled up all the expensive portable items he might possibly return for, wrapped them in blankets and stuffed them into a couple of suitcases. Staggering out to her little rust bucket she crammed the suitcases in as best she could. They scraped the upholstery but hey—what were a few more scratches? She would take everything to the old family beach house they hadn’t used for a couple of years. It was decrepit and isolated, but perfectly safe. Unless you were a member of the Corelli family you wouldn’t know it existed, because access was gained through private property. And for some inexplicable reason she’d never told Darren about the place. Smiling to herself, she drove Suzi out the gate.

Four hours later she was home again. She patted the little Suzuki affectionately and gratefully kicked off her four hundred dollar shoes. Fixing herself the lettuce leaf and tuna salad she was condemned forever to eat because of the exuberantly healthy figure she’d inherited from her mother, she sat down and picked up the newspapers she’d bought on the way home.

Jobs. She would have to find a job—quickly. The only catch was she had no idea how to go about getting one. She’d gone from finishing school to university to doing nothing in particular to marrying Darren.

“‘Experienced,’” she snarled. “Every damn job says ‘must be experienced.’ An experienced person to deliver pamphlets for God’s sake! How experienced do you need to be to stuff leaflets in letterboxes?”

The phone trilled. It hadn’t rung much lately. When Darren was here it had rung every few minutes. He’d been involved in all sorts of little business deals. Men with gravelly voices had even phoned in the middle of the night sometimes. He’d told her father he was “a bit of an entrepreneur. I wheel and deal,” he’d boasted, making an ass of himself. If anyone knew what an entrepreneur was it was Gino Corelli. Gino’s father had made millions being an entrepreneur, and Gino had added a fair bit to the pot himself. But Serena doubted that Darren’s deals were legal, because he had a strange, shifty way of averting his face every time he saw a uniform. However the police had never come looking for him, so she hadn’t particularly minded. In fact, it had lent an exciting frisson of danger to their relationship.

“What a bloody little fool I was,” she snorted as she picked up the phone. But the sex had been great. She sighed.

“Mrs. Thomas?” queried a man’s voice. Aha. The same crisp, snarky tones from this morning.

“Only for a short while,” she answered.

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.”

There was the slightest hesitation, then he carried on. “Look, since we met this morning, I’ve been contacted by a man who wanted me to search for your husband.”

Interesting. Mr. Hotshot Private Detective hadn’t given his name. Obviously expected her to remember him.

“No surprises there,” she said. She’d already had a few calls like that herself. “It wasn’t Gino Corelli by any chance? My father?”

“No. He gave his name as Barry Sinclair, but that’s not his real name.”

“Oh?” She was curious now. Was that just the natural cynicism of an investigator, or did he mean that something specific had made him suspicious? Or perhaps he even knew the guy.

“He didn’t have a card, and he hesitated before announcing himself,” Hotshot Cold-Eyes explained impatiently. “Dead give-away.”

Serena reflected that Cold-Eyes didn’t know people very well. Did he consider that running out of business cards was a crime? And quite a few people probably hesitated before giving their name to a private investigator, especially one like him.

“I didn’t have a card,” she pointed out.

“You don’t need one. I recognised you from the gossip columns,” he retorted.

She flinched. It had been several months now since she’d graced the social pages of the Gazette and the Bulletin. She’d thought only women read those pages, but no doubt in his world it was necessary ‘research.’

“Did you take on this new client?” she asked.

“No. He looked like an escapee from a third-rate movie, but it made me curious about your husband.”

“No more curious than I am, I assure you Mr—what is your name? I only know your business name.”

There was a muffled laugh on the other end of the phone. Did he have a sense of humour after all?

“Perhaps I should have given you my card. It’s Tully Corcoran.”

“Well, that’s what you’re calling yourself at the moment,” Serena found herself saying. There was silence on the end of the phone.

Oops. She’d hit a raw nerve. Quickly she rushed into speech. “So are you calling to tell me my husband is a popular fellow, or is there something else you wanted?”

“I want to take on your case.”

“Why?”

“It interests me. I wasn’t prepared just to trace an erring husband, but a man who’s gone missing when he’s about to clinch a lucrative business deal has interesting possibilities.”

Serena laughed, then she laughed some more. “Ah, Mr. Corcoran. Mr. Barry Sinclair is pulling your leg. I don’t think Darren would know a lucrative business deal if he fell over it.”

“So I gathered,” Tully Corcoran said quietly. “That’s why I’m interested. Barry Sinclair’s version of your husband doesn’t jibe with your version of your husband.”

Serena stopped laughing. “You had your chance this morning. I’ve got somebody else on the case now.” And she clicked off the phone.

It sounded as though Darren was in deep doo-doo’s and she wanted no part of it. In the past few minutes she’d had a change of heart. She wanted him out of her life, not in it. Looking for him wasn’t such a bright idea after all. And Tully Corcoran was too clever for his own good. Although Tommy might not find Darren, Tully would. She had a feeling that Tully Corcoran knew all about the dark places where people who wanted to stay lost dwelled.

The phone rang again. Damn him. She looked at caller i.d. Yup. Same cellphone number as before. She tugged the cable out of the wall socket and switched on her mobile. Corcoran didn’t have her mobile number, but everyone who knew her well could still contact her.

She was reading an interesting ad headed, ‘No experience needed’ when the bell rang twice, peremptorily. Oh, good grief! Don’t say that damned investigator had come all the way up to the Point to see her. She narrowed her eyes. The swine must have been right outside when he rang before. She tossed the newspaper on to the sofa and stalked into the foyer.

Flinging open the door she yelled, “What?”

There was nobody there. How could there be? The electronic gate was still shut and a small package sat on the ground by the gate. Presumably the courier had rung the bell and left. She looked around carefully but night-time in the tropics was black black. The glow from the solar garden lights only lit a tiny circumference amongst the ferns. She walked down the driveway to the gate to pick up the brown-wrapped parcel, then stopped. It was ridiculous to imagine a bomb threat here in Paradise, but all the same… She reminded herself that it might have something to do with Darren and that Darren had some very odd friends.

She peered down at the parcel again. It was addressed to her, not Darren. Surely it would be okay. She stretched out a hand.

“Don’t touch that!” yelled a disembodied voice. But she knew who the voice belonged to. Tully what’s-his-name. No mistaking that “I-will-be-obeyed” voice. She wondered if he’d ever been in the army.

“What are you doing here?” she yelled back into the blackness.

“Watching your house.”

Obviously. But why? Did he think she was in danger? Gee, the man was quite sweet really.

“Let me come in,” he demanded.

She pressed the electronic release and heard him crunching over the gravel towards her. As he entered the pool of light around the overhead security lamps she was surprised to see he was dressed in black from head to toe. No wonder she hadn’t seen him standing outside the gate. At one with the night. Hmm.

“You’re determined to get this job, aren’t you?” she said.

“It’s not exactly that, Mrs T…er, Serena. I think you’re in danger.”

Lord, he was sweet. “How so?”

“I think your activities have alerted some of your husband’s ah…associates. It’s likely they’re watching this place.”

She nodded. “I guess you’re right.” She felt him staring at her, trying to assess why she wasn’t more concerned about that possibility. She shrugged. “I have nothing to hide. The point is, I think this package is from Darren. The only way a courier could get a parcel through the side gate is by using the electronic key. There are only two, and I’m holding one of them in my hand. The other one went missing the day Darren split.”

He stared down at the parcel then padded around it in a circle, looking at it from all angles like a black panther eyeing a felled monkey. Serena couldn’t help noticing how at home he looked, stalking around doing his thing. Private investigator my ass, she thought. I bet he’s a member of that special federal taskforce they set up in Surfers recently. She wondered just what Tully Corcoran was really investigating. And what his real name was.

“I think it’s okay,” he said at last. “I’ve got a little meter that tells me if there’s an explosive device present, but I don’t have it on me just now.”

Yeah. Like that would be standard equipment for all private investigators. She was sick of pussyfooting around. “Then I guess you’re not a genuine private investigator, after all.”

He stood up and stared into her eyes. “Oh, yes I am. You saw the certificate on the wall.”

She laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I could fix one of those up on my computer in five minutes.”

He looked rather hurt. “Well, it took me about an hour.” Then he grinned. His whole face changed. It was as if he was another person entirely.

She grinned back. “Don’t the federal police spring for admin assistants?”

He stopped smiling. “You’re a lot quicker than…”

“Than I look? Yup. I know. People been telling me that for years.”

Like everyone else, he thought she was a dimbo bimbo living on Daddy’s money, but that wasn’t important.

“What do we do with this thing?” she asked.

He prodded it with his toe, then picked it up and paced towards the glow of a garden light, balancing the packet on one hand. “You stay over there, just in case,” he ordered, as he carefully unpeeled the sticky tape.

The man obviously had no notion how to phrase a simple request, but she quite liked him anyway. Of course, he was a little rough around the edges, but she could sort that out.

After watching him lift the wrapping in slo-mo, Serena asked fearfully, “You sure it’s okay?” She didn’t want him blowing his hands off. Her first-aid certificate was way out of date. She edged a little closer and at that moment the paper fell away to disclose a small tin.

Tully examined the tin, then shook it gently. Serena gasped but he said calmly, “Usually there’s wedding cake inside these tins, but not this time. Look, this may be a tad distressing, Serena. Better not get too close.”

“Whaddya mean…oh!”

He had eased the top off the tin, and inside, sitting sedately on a bed of cotton wool, were two fingers.

“Holy shit!” Serena gasped, forgetting she’d been born and bred a lady. “They’re Darren’s. I’d know his fingers anywhere.” She ought to. They’d been all over her body. Then again, on second thought, they looked exactly like anyone’s chopped off fingers would look. They had jagged, bloody edges and looked rather pale. But the giveaway was the telltale lump on the forefinger. Darren had jammed his finger in a door when he was a kid, and the joint was permanently swollen.

“Hmm,” commented Tully. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she croaked. “Just fine.”

He looked up from the tin and grinned again. “You’re doing well. I didn’t expect hysterics, but I thought you might—you know—gasp and choke a little.”

“I’m gasping. I’m choking. I’m just doing it quietly.”

“Good,” he said absently. “Now, what message is being conveyed here?”

“In movies and books it’s because they’re telling me to back off. Or else Darren has hidden something belonging to someone and I’m supposed to know where it is and bring it to them to save his life,” she gabbled in a rush.

“So,” he said, looking at her from under dark eyebrows. “Are you going to stop looking for him?”

“Uh…I don’t know,” she hedged.

“Okay. Fair enough.” He examined her face carefully. “And is there something hidden that Darren gave you for safekeeping?”

“Not a damn thing. Darren would never discuss any business with me. Just told me I was too dim to understand it. And he certainly didn’t have any money to hide,” she added.

Tully raised those eyebrows. “How do you mean—he didn’t have any money?”

“According to our accounts, the sum total Darren ever made while we were married was about five hundred bucks. My father supported us.”

Tully drew in his breath. “Ooh. Nice work if you can get it.”

Serena tried to take her mind off the two neatly incised fingers with bruised fingernails lying in the tin. “Don’t mention the word ‘work.’ Darren cleaned me out. I’m looking for a job at the moment.”

Tully looked amused. “Well, I think we’d better solve this problem first before we worry about that.”

“We.” Mmm. She liked that. Sounded as though they were a team.

He pulled a cellphone out of his shirt pocket, and as he brushed his jacket aside, Serena saw the distinct outline of a shoulder holster, and it wasn’t empty. He walked a few paces away and mumbled into the mobile. The only word she managed to overhear was “fingers” which told her zilch.

She walked towards the house and looked back over her shoulder. “Coffee?”

“More than coffee,” he answered. “I’ll be here all night, unless you prefer to employ your own security guard.” He glanced at his watch as he got near the light. “That’ll be hard to do. It’s eleven o’clock.”

She had no intention of employing anyone except him. And Tommy, of course.

The bed in the guest wing was already made up and the bathroom was ready. She and Darren often had people staying over, mostly her friends. That was the way she’d been brought up, with people and fun and noise. Darren didn’t like it much. See? They’d hardly had anything in common. But she was the idiot who had kicked up a fuss when her parents had said, “Hold off till you know this guy” and had plunged headlong into marriage. So the whole thing was her fault; therefore it was up to her to fix it.

She went sedately to bed in her own room, ignoring the twinges that said it might be fun to charge into the guest suite and see if Tully lived up to the promise in his chilly, go-to-hell eyes. Unable to sleep and belatedly realising that she should take a closer look at those fingers, she got up and went into the kitchen where Tully had put the tin. It was no longer on top of the Welsh dresser. He must have it with him.

She argued with herself then poured a bath and soaked and soaked. And thought. What a hell of a day it had been. Perhaps tomorrow would be better.

***

Next morning, when she heard water gurgling down the drain signifying that Tully was taking a shower, she crept into his bedroom. She couldn’t find the tin anywhere, but something did surprise her. A holster lay on the unmade bed, with a pistol beside it. Tully was whistling in the shower, so she had time to examine the pistol. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a Glock. As far as she knew, the Australian police were all issued with Glocks. She might be a spoiled rich man’s daughter, but she knew her weapons. It wasn’t the usual hobby of a society princess, but she wasn’t the usual type of society princess.

Naturally she had kept her unusual hobby a secret from Darren. He never knew how close he’d come to having the neat little Beretta Neos .22 she kept hidden in the linen cupboard shoved up his nostril a couple of times.

But this hulking great pistol lying on the bed was nothing like her Neos. Nope. It was a fully-loaded gutsy .45 auto. She’d heard that cops seconded to task forces often preferred their own firepower, and if the situation was serious enough the powers-that-be gave their okay. She wondered just who Tully Corcoran was, and who or what he was hunting.

The shower tap squeaked as it was turned off and she skittered into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Her mobile rang just as she was dishing up scrambled eggs.

“Mrs. Thomas? It’s me, Tommy. I’ve found him.”

She dropped the spatula and switched the mobile to her right ear. “You what? Tommy! Already?”

“The second place I looked. He’s with that friend down on the beachfront. You know, the place with the humungous pool where all the ladies with big you-know-what’s lie around.”

She couldn’t help laughing, even as her brain revved into top gear. Why would Darren hide out at a place where he’d easily be found—a place where he ostensibly wasn’t staying when she’d first made inquiries last week?

“Tommy, I owe you. As soon as I get my hands on some money, I’ll pay you. Promise.”

“Can I come, Mrs. Thomas? When you go to meet him, I mean. Can I?”

“Not a good idea, hon. I’ve got someone with me right now who’ll help me, but I’ll let you know the outcome. And Tommy?”

“Yeah?” The disappointment was obvious.

“You’re my main man. Don’t forget that.” That was their little secret code. It didn’t mean a helluva lot, but it kept Tommy happy.

She clicked off the connection and spun around. At the very last second she’d felt Tully behind her. Nerves jangled. “Do a lot of soft-shoe creeping around, do you?” she snapped.

He put an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, Serena. You’re bearing up well so far.”

“Sorry.” She shouldn’t be packing a sad at this important stage of the investigation. “Anyway,” she said briskly, “I know where Darren is at the moment. Apparently he’s been moving around.”

His eyes narrowed. “This info is from the other investigator you hired, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh.”

“Do I know him?”

“Shouldn’t think so. Have some scrambled eggs.”

Trying to stonewall him was hard work. He subsided over breakfast, but came to life again when she was loading the dishwasher.

“You gonna tell me where Darren is?”

“Shortly. Just let me get into my husband-hunting outfit and we’ll visit his lordship.”

He grinned, and the grey-green eyes crinkled at the corners.

But when she went to collect her Beretta, the little gap behind the bath-towels was empty. Shit! So Darren had known about the Beretta. This was serious.

Debating with herself, she pulled on a pair of sneakers. If things didn’t go well, she might have a lot of running to do. If she was alive, that is. Because Darren was at Milly Milburn’s place according to Tommy, and Milly was involved in all sorts of funny goings-on. Serena was fairly sure that Milly was a big-time dealer, and she rather thought he might have a few more strings to his bow. If Darren was working for Milly, Darren had better be very careful he didn’t lose more than his fingers. Milly had always seemed to be condescendingly amused with Darren, but just the same, Darren was just another minion and Milly was a dangerous man.

Boy, right now she needed an ally she could trust—not a pint-sized one, an adult. Perhaps she should put off chasing after Darren today while she checked a few things out, but then he’d disappear again and she’d be back where she started. Of course, that might be better than ending up in Milly Milburn’s rose garden.

Serena checked her mobile, then they bundled into rust-bucket Suzi and she drove to Milly’s. His beautiful home hunkered down like a sentinel staring out across the South Pacific Ocean and Serena reflected that the spoils of sin were far more interesting than the spoils of virtue.

She pressed the intercom button.

“Who is it?” Milly himself demanded.

Strange. He usually had a henchman or two to do menial tasks like opening gates. The hairs rose on the back of Serena’s neck.

“It’s Serena, Milly. I understand Darren is with you today.” She had phrased that carefully. After all, she’d already asked him last week if Darren was there and he’d given her an unequivocal “no.”

“Who told you that, Serena?” Milly’s calm voice gave nothing away.

“A reliable witness. He reported to me this morning that he saw Darren from the beach. If you say I can’t come in, I’ve got no option but to phone the cops. I’m sick of twittering around looking for dorky Darren.”

There was a choking sound on the end of the intercom as if Milly was stifling a laugh, then the big, iron gates slowly opened. She drove through and the gates clanged shut behind them sounding like the toll of doom. Tully, nervously cracking his knuckles, muttered, “Hope we’re doing the right thing.”

“So do I,” Serena said fervently, tightening the laces on her sneakers.

Reluctantly they clambered out of Suzi.

Milly met them in the foyer. He was a tall, suave character, his hair just beginning to thin. He didn’t look at all like the sort of person Darren would consort with, yet it seemed that he’d known Darren for quite a while. Serena looked around her as the door closed. She’d only been here a few times and was always amused at the aura of respectability the carefully furnished house exuded. It had an air of solidity, as if generations of well-to-do owners had cared for it.

“Darren’s out back,” Milly said.

Well, that was something at any rate.

“Who’s he?” Milly asked, nodding at Tully. “You shouldn’t have brought anyone with you, Serena. When I saw him on the security camera I was really cheesed off, and you know what happens when I’m cheesed off.”

“Actually, Milly, I don’t.”

“Careful, Serena,” said another voice. Ah. Her loving husband. She swung around. Darren was lounging against the doorway leading outside to the pool. He looked like an advertisement for the well-dressed lounge lizard. Gucci loafers, chinos and the two hundred dollar T-shirt from Versace that she’d given him for his last birthday. What he wasn’t wearing, however, was a bandage on either of his hands.

She raised her eyebrows. “I see your fingers are intact. I guessed that when I realized the fingers in the tin were fake.”

“What?” asked Tully’s startled voice behind her.

She moved sideways, placing them all in different lines of fire. “Which one of you has my Beretta?”

“What Beretta?” Darren asked.

“Then I guess you’ve got it, Tully,” Serena said.

Tully’s eyes were colder than ever. “If you knew the fingers were fake, why did you come here, you stupid bitch?” He pulled his .45 out of its holster and set to work screwing on the silencer.

Milly’s eyelids flickered, but he said nothing.

“Because I wanted to find my dear husband. And because I have trustworthy backup.”

“Don’t touch that!” Darren yelled as her fingers strayed to her mobile. He stepped forward and plucked it out of her fingers. Then he stared at her. “What backup?”

Tully calmly uncocked the safety catch on his .45. “Where do you want her?” he asked Milly.

Milly jerked his head. “The conservatory over there will do. It’s got a tiled floor. Darren, you come with me and we’ll have a little discussion about fake copies of paintings and other artefacts.”

“You’re an idiot, Darren,” Tully said scornfully.

Serena glanced at Darren. His face was ice-white and he looked as if he was going to be sick. Even knowing she might be about to die, she still murmured, “Gotcha!”

“This way, princess,” Tully said, wrenching her arm.

At that moment the front door slammed open and all hell broke loose. Men and women swarmed into the foyer and Serena dropped to the floor, but she couldn’t shake Corcoran’s grip. He tried to grapple her in front of him as a shield, but surprisingly Milly tackled him from behind and wrestled him to the floor. Tully tried to get a shot off but suddenly there were cops spread all over him like peanut butter.

“Here,” a voice said, and someone pulled Serena to her feet.

“Oh—hi Dad!”

“You left it a bit late this time, Serena,” her father said sternly. “Can’t fault your undercover skills, although you seem to enjoy some aspects I’d rather you didn’t. But that’s because I’m your father.”

Serena grinned.

“But honey, your timing is way out. I nearly had heart failure.” He sighed. “Anyway, we finally got Charlton.”

“Is that Tully’s name?” Serena mused. “By the way, Dad, I wish you’d told me that Milly is one of your guys. I’d have felt a lot safer during the last ten minutes if you had.”

“Yes, and you might have given the game away, too.”

“Rubbish.”

Father and daughter continued arguing as they watched the special taskforce handcuff Charlton and Darren and haul them out to the waiting police van.

“Anyway, Dad,” Serena asked, “What will Darren be charged with?”

“As well as uplifting cash at all the parties you went to, you mean?” Her father’s face showed his distaste. “And cashing fraudulent cheques in your name, and hocking off as many of our family’s possession as he could? Well, as you know he married you to get his hands on what he thought was a nest egg, but we tied your money up too tightly. So he cut and run earlier than we expected. He usually waits it out till he can get half. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know that he’s a bigamist so you’re not legally married.” Her father grinned.

Serena crowed with laughter. “Thank goodness. And Tully/Charlton?”

“Oh, he’s just your average basic con-man with a very unaverage vicious streak. Darren’s no match for him.”

Serena tucked her arm through her father’s and winked at Milly. “Thanks, Milly. So Dad, what’s the next thing you’ve got organized for me?”

“No, no, Serena. This one was too close for comfort. Take a break for a while.”

“Aw, come on, Dad. Lighten up a little.”

“Jeez, Serena, you’re a tiger for punishment. Well, we were thinking of setting you up in a penthouse apartment in Surfers and…”

THE END

Thank you.
Vonnie Hughes

http://www.vonniehughes.com

http://ladyjanice.blogspot.com/

Thank you,

Janice Seagraves

Author of:

• Windswept Shores
• …more to come

When you blog with other like minded people, your circle of influence becomes wider. Blog joint ventures becomes easier and you get more exposure. Of course the more exposure you receive the more people realize what you have to offer. Who is in your circle of influence? Are you helping each other to your mutual benefit?

Think about it! Do you utilize your blogging resources?

A-E whispers: who wants to network?

Military Mixer – Romantic Times Convention

Not only did we have the Mortician’s conference and the Vampire Ball in the same building, we also had Ellora’s Cave publications outside of the United Methodist Bishops conference. The universe had a sense of humor that week. The book fair had no less than 1,000 people standing in line waiting for the doors to open. Some participants brought their favorite book for the author to sign, while others had suitcases on wheels waiting to pounce on the bargains of autographed books. Whether your passion is thriller (Barry Eisler and J. A. Konrath) or Inspirational romance (Patricia Simmons), your genre was present and possibly your favorite author.

After the book fair, Kathryn Falk and her husband, Kenneth Rubin attended the Military Mixer. Cindy Carver, USN 76-79, aviation machinist, opened the mixer with the Star Spangle Banner sung by the Agape International Choir. Each branch of the service was then recognized as their anthem rang through the air and active duty, retirees, and veterans were presented with a token of thanks for their duty. A standing ovation was given for these American Hero’s. Joan Causey discussed her role with the Air Force Defense and presented a two star coin to Jesse Wiseman. Unfortunately, I am unable to recall Wiseman’s rank in the Army, and for this I apologize.

Kathryn Falk spoke about SOS America, Inc. explaining how the company provided a place of healing for military families and was almost self sufficient. Kathryn and Kenneth presented Jesse Wiseman with a certificate for his achievements and volunteer work at RT for the past years.

Thank you sponsors (Julie Miller, Sherri James, Robin L. Rotham, Rebecca York, and the authors of Operation Love – Anne Elizabeth and C. H. Arihamd) and volunteers. Kelley: You were my Rock!



Linnea Sinclair, lovely hostess at the Inter-Galactic Bar and Grill, guided the multitude of galactic security guards to their death as each died valiantly for their table, oops, stellar system complete with hunks to be passed around.

Ellora’s Cave men are present, signing book covers, and behaving as only the cave men do. The EC Ball entertained, supplied lots of eye candy, and featured their authors front and center.

More to come… As we flit off to the Fairy Ball…

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