| Subject: Ice on Fire, 5 slight rev. |
Author:
b/bo
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Date Posted: 17:17:20 12/17/01 Mon
In reply to:
BonnieBoX
's message, "Ice on Fire" on 07:06:59 12/15/01 Sat
##
I felt like a blind woman driving a go-cart downhill. No brakes. No sense of direction. Just accelerating my way straight to hell without any control. Hillinger was dead. Miss Lenoir had checked out of her hotel this morning. And no Monsieur Samuelle had ever registered at the Saint Francis.
Case closed. So much for our financial recovery. Damn. I was going to have borrow dough from Lani after all. If only I had a decent lead on this case. Nope. I was dreaming again. There was no case. The whole story about the sister and this charming stranger was all a bunch of hooey. Only the two C-bills were real. And Hillinger's death.
Sighing, I inserted a blank sheet of paper into my typewriter, cranked the platton until there was a nice even one inch margin on the top. Back to my missing dog report. My fingers poised, ready. Too bad Samuelle hadn't been real. Just another ghost we'd been chasing. Clack. Tap. Tappety-tap.
I was concentrating hard, trying to find just the right diplomatic phrase, when the latch clicked and someone entered our outer office. Expensive leather soles scuffed across the floor. "Hello."
I glanced up from my typing. My fingers froze over the keys as I looked up and into those green eyes for the first time. I knew him even though I'd never seen him before. Recognized him as if I'd known him all my life. It was him. Had to be.
The blood drained from my face, my pulse racing a little faster. I started to feel all dizzy and lightheaded as if some guy had coshed me with a mile-long sandbag. Bam.I didn't like it - this shock. I didn't like feeling so aware of him. I'd never felt this way before about any man. I was jumpier than a hop-head. All my senses were electrified, hyperacute, ramped to the nth degree so that the world seemed almost unbearable. Colors brighter, smells sharper, the softest sound - a shout. It was so intense that I wondered if I was going to jump out of my skin. I was never going to find peace again. Nothing was ever going to be the same. I could feel all that, staring at him. He wasn't just any Joe.
Handsome as sin. Madeline Lenoir hadn't done him justice. What was handsome? Something pleasing to the feminine eye. But this. This touched more than just my eye. I was miserably aware. Felt flushed everywhere. In the strangest places, places I had never felt before, and all because of this stranger.
Madeline's description had seemed ordinary, but there was nothing ordinary about this man. His hair wasn't just nondescript brown. It was rich burnt sienna, highlights of auburn here and there. Its short, slightly wavy cut framed a face that could have been carved by Michaelangelo: the defined nose set over thin symmetric lips, cleft chin, all classically proportioned. Strong shoulders filled out his navy-blue suit, which required no padding. The tailored cut accentuated his trim waist, slimmer hips. A bow-tie and the crisply folded handkerchief in his front pocket might have made another man look like a nance. But not him. It was unmistakable. I felt it. Deep in my core. There was nothing fey about him.
He doffed his hat, holding it in one hand, as he walked towards me with the predatory grace of one of the greater carnivores. Young but powerful. Yes. I could see his quiet power, could feel it with every measured step.
His leg muscles flickered and stretched through his trousers. I tried hard not to gape like a complete idiot. My throat suddenly dried to sand, all my snappy rejoinders desiccated to soundless wisps. Managed to inhale, and push out the words rattling around my throat.
"May I help you?" My voice sounded raspy but it couldn't be helped. At least I hadn't been struck dumb permanently. Not this time.
His gloved hand reached across the desk, handed me a cream-colored calling card. I knew his name before I read it on the card, before he even said anything. How could I not know it? The earth had shifted beneath my feet. Thank God I was sitting down, or else I might have stumbled and made even a bigger fool of myself.
"Mister Michael Samuelle to see Mister Hunter on a matter of business." His voice was slightly accented, quiet but commanding in a way that pulled at me.
"I'm Nikita, his secretary."
He looked blandly at me, then at my typewriter as if to say "but of course you are. That is obvious and unimportant." It was exactly the kind of arrogant disinterest that never failed to irritate me. It only felt worse because I wanted him to notice. Not regard me like I was a ink blotter or something else slightly less functional. I reached for the intercom button. "I'll see if Mister Hunter is available."
"Please do. It's urgent. Urgent business."
##
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