According To Plan

“Stewart Agencies. This is Shelby.”

“Our son is missing.”

My heart rate doubled, and I grabbed a note pad. “How old is your son, Mr...?

“Grant. Raymond Grant. Harrison is thirty.”

Momentarily stunned, I flopped back into my chair. Raymond Grant was one of our states most influential, behind the scenes kind of man. It was rumoured he even had the ear of the President.

“How long has he been missing?”

“I don’t have time for small talk, Miss Stewart. Be at our home in forty-five minutes.”

Before I could reply I heard the distinctive click of a phone receiver being hung up. I guess when you’re Raymond Grant you don’t have to be civil with the hired help.

Why would the cream of society call my fledgling company? I’d been in business, on my own for about a year, and as my reputation had grown, so had my list of satisfied clients. But I was still the new kid on the block and this didn’t make sense. Maybe I should take it at face value and not be so cynical. This job could launch me into a whole new stratosphere.

Tapping my bottom lip with steepled fingers, I looked around the brown-panelled room which served as my office. The room had to have been a broom closet in a former life and today in this heat, felt like it. A rusted fan sat on a battered filing cabinet, creaking back and forth, barely moving air. With the extra money this job would bring in, I could buy new carpet and spruce the place up. The curling linoleum, dotted with dubious stains, would not be missed. At all.

The tinkle of the old fashioned bell I’d hung over the front door and a scent of fresh perfume let me know that my best friend Polly, also my secretary, had returned from lunch.

“Yo, Pol,” I called out, pushing away from my desk to meet her. “You’ll never guess who phoned.”

She settled at her desk and turned on her computer. “Brad Pitt. He’s finally leaving what’s-her-name, and begged you to help raise the children.”

“He wishes. Nope. Raymond Grant.” I waited for her reaction. Polly’s family rubbed shoulders with folks like the Grants, not me. Polly’s daddy was into oil, lots and lots of oil.

“Wrong number?”

“Aren’t you the comedian? No really, he just called. Harrison is missing and he’s hired us to find him.”

Polly grabbed the stack of mail and began sorting it. Her next question didn’t surprise me. “Why us?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Maybe they want someone local. You know, keep it off the front page of gossip magazines. I’ll find out soon enough, I’m going there right now.”

“Okay. Don’t forget, movie and pizza tonight, my place.”

“You got it.” Headed for the door, I stopped mid-step, my mouth instantly dry. A large man sauntered up the front walk. I’d recognize that swagger anywhere. It was Tank, aka Jake Steele, ex-boyfriend, ex-business partner, ex-everything.

“Where are you going?” I heard Polly call out as I swivelled around, and started running toward the back of the building. My plan was to escape through the emergency exit before he saw me too.

“Cover for me,” I yelled back, “Tell him I’m out.”

Sidestepping the photocopier, I flew down the narrow hallway and headed for the exit. A twinge of guilt skittered through me but I quashed it.

About a year ago Tank left me and the business, offering no explanation or apology. There’d been no fights, no arguments, just...gone. Then one Friday evening, he appeared at the back door of my house. A wolfish grin and hello darlin’ was all it took. I’d pushed him against the wall, wrapped my legs around his hips and ridden him like a carnival ride.

By Sunday, he’d gone again. This set a pattern for the next couple of weeks. I hadn’t seen him for almost six months and it had given me time to think. I wasn’t waiting around anymore.

I blew out the rear door and had gone almost three steps when strong arms grabbed and twirled me around. Next thing I knew I was bent back like a German beer-fest pretzel and he planted a huge kiss, right on my lips. Liquid fire spread through my limbs. I wanted to melt into the embrace and return the kiss, but sanity kicked me in my well-cupped derriere. This jackass had left me high and dry. Did I have no pride at all?

“Get off me.” I pushed against his chest.

“Now that I got you, I’m not letting you outta my sight.” With one arm around my waist, he dipped his head and attempted to steal another kiss.

Mon Dieu, the man had heat. Irritated that my raging libido couldn’t be near him for more than two minutes without me wanting to insert his tab B into my slot A, I twisted my head and wriggled out of his bear hug. Tank loosened his hold, but kept a hand on my shoulder. I’m not sure if that was because he wanted to touch me, or to keep me from running off. My guess was a little of both.

“What are you doing here?” After shrugging off his hand, I spared him a glance. I shouldn’t have. He looked pretty good, for an asshole. Mouth-watering good, in fact. Tank stood well over six feet, built rock hard around pure muscle and adrenalin. Hair the color of burnished oak brushed his shoulders, and he had one green eye and one blue eye. Eyes a girl could get lost in.

“You know how it is. I get a little time on my hands and I just gotta come and see y’all.” His voice poured over me like rich chocolate. Its deep timbre, as always, turned my insides to mush. His gaze lowered to my breasts and damn if my nipples didn’t harden as if he’d physically touched them.

“Yeah, I know how you come see us all.” My girly parts were waking up, and panting like my godmother’s tea-cup Yorkie. Harley didn’t care who paid attention to him, as long as you petted him nicely. That pretty much summed up how I was feeling right now. There were a few particular parts of me wanting to be petted.

Focus Shelby. Geez, you haven’t seen him in months. Get a grip.