Coincidences: #1 Chloe, Kate & Bella

Simon Oliver watched the redhead exit the restroom about twenty five feet from him, her hands fumbling with something behind her. It was an odd maneuver that had her turning several times and looking for all the world like a puppy chasing its tail. Finally she came to a stop, hands up and on the frame of the door, her head back and breath drawn in deeply.

"Whoa,” Chloe exhaled slowly, her head swiveling to land on the man watching her. “Too much of that will surely land you wrong end up.”

It was impossible to miss the sparkle in every step she took in his direction; even more impossible to miss the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, focused and intent on her destination. He straightened up slowly, uncertain at the small scowl creasing the full pout.

“Would you help me, please?” Came the request that sounded much more like an instruction. She came to a stop less than a foot from him and turned smartly, fluttering wings barely missing slapping him in the face.

“What…?” Simon moved quickly, pulling his head up and out of the way at the last minute to avoid the heavy gossamer wings. His gaze swept the figure, very aware of the freckles and glitter dotting every inch of bare skin.

“I was never any good at things that go round in circles, makes me incredibly dizzy,” she explained, her chin tilted over her shoulder, blue eyes aimed down to her lower back. Slender fingers gestured vaguely. “There’s a snap at the bottom. It came free when I was…well, you know, in the restroom. And it feels incredibly unbalanced, like I’m losing my wings and….I had no idea they’d be this weighty when I built them…oh, perfect, thank you so very much.” There was a sweet lilt to her voice, a sing-song tone that had him staring like a teenager.

Simon straightened as she turned to face him, an amazingly brilliant smile lighting her face. For the first time, his gaze quickly swept the slender figure, from sparkling glass slippers to the small tiara nestled in the silken red hair.

“Chloe Applegate,” she announced with a flourish, her palm out politely. She liked the way a shock of dark hair fell over one of his brown eyes. Something he scarcely noticed she thought, taking in the high cheeks and light dusting of stubble over his face.

“Simon,” he responded, dragged from his inventory of the woman standing before him, his larger hand engulfing hers in a warm greeting. “My pleasure.”

“Oh…I’m so very sorry,” a small frown creased her lips. “Am I disturbing you while you’re working? I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble, but I am most grateful for your help with the wings. Sometimes it’s a little troublesome when you select a costume that takes octopus arms to makes things remain where you want them to be.”

“Working?” For a moment, Simon was lost in the rambling lilt in her voice.

“On duty,” she rephrased quietly. “Though I honestly can’t think there’s much in the way of problems at a charity auction.”

“Ahhh…no, for the most part, it’s a fairly quiet crowd,” he agreed, deciding that being a police officer for the night would suit his mood.

“I think it’s the music,” Chloe confided with a firm nod. “It’s impossible to feel violent when you’re listening to Josh Groban singing. He has an amazing voice,” she declared with a small sigh. She set the booklet she had been carrying on the large square against the railing. “Have you been around to view the exhibits? Some of them are amazingly beautiful,” the small nose wrinkled in confidence the next minute. “Others…well, I’ve seen better art in kindergarten classes.”

“Then I guess I haven’t missed much.” He wasn’t aware of the smile tilting his lips.

Chloe turned to face the railing, leaning her arms along the chilled stainless steel. He had a nice voice, she decided as she watched the people. “You can see everything from up here. That must be why they put you here, I suppose. But it must be terribly tedious,” she stated, turning her face up to peer into a pair of dark eyes that crinkled at the corners.

“Just part of the job,” he responded vaguely, studying the slightly upturned nose and high cheeks, all tinted unerringly with glitter.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” a bright smile lit up her face, one finger raised. “Hold that thought,” she announced, turning swiftly and sweeping down the ramp at a pace that sent the wings fluttering madly behind her.

He swore he saw her feet leave the ground, a slight growl leaving his throat when he glanced down and discovered his hands now sparkled. No one below noticed the heavy thud of booted feet heading into the restroom, questioning his sanity and wondering how he was going to explain to his brother how glitter got all over his uniform.

Simon Oliver felt another sliver of his sanity slipping from his grasp when he came out of the restroom, growling for only a moment at the glitter that would not go away. Then his eyes caught on the very long legs and upturned wiggling behind of the fairy that had been flying around in his thoughts. She was in the process of tugging another of the carefully placed concrete colored squares toward the railing where they had been standing.

“There!” She announced triumphantly, spinning precariously on two-inch heels and meeting his approach with another of those mind boggling smiles.

Simon followed the dramatic thrust of her palms to the other concrete square, the top now holding a large platter of food and two frosty bottles of water.

“You can easily watch the crowd and enjoy a little of the food. They have an exceptional caterer,” she told him confidently, slim fingers lifting a puff something and popping it into her mouth. She sat easily, sliding back and lifting her feet to cross before her, sitting Indian style on the minute cube. “My, this is quite comfortable,” she announced, reaching for another morsel. “I hope you’re hungry. I really had no idea where to begin selecting a beverage, so I brought water, I hope that’s ok,” she gazed up at him patiently.

“Oh…uhh…yeah, that’s good, thank you.” Simon found himself blinking and wondering what happened to the man who had stood in front of the board that morning issuing orders with a tone that wasn’t left open to discussion.

“People have a sad tendency to forget those working during benefits like this,” Chloe gazed over the things she had selected. “Not allergic to anything, are you? Or anything you profoundly hate?”

“Not allergic and nothing I really hate,” he felt his brain shut down a little more when she bounced off the cube and held a puff pastry out, inches from his mouth. While his brain was sputtering, at least his stomach and mouth knew what to do, the taste of crab and spices filling his senses as he accepted the food. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, Simon,” Chloe settled back on the cube, elbows on her knees as she gazed around the bustling floor below. “There are some very beautiful costumes here tonight.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” he said, selecting a slice of ham wrapped around some cheese, taking a hungry bite and watching her closely. “That sounded a little dismayed.”

“No…no, not really dismayed,” she replied, reaching for a piece of fruit. “I spent a long time trying to make up my mind on the costume for tonight. I never quite fit into the quietly sophisticated allure that so many of them manage to exude. Finding a niche to fit into, you know?”

He stared into the large blue eyes. “I think your choice suits you, Chloe.”

“Yes, it does. I think the problem comes from trying to fit into a niche that isn’t the same shape as me,” full lips were drawn into a crooked frown. “Rather like fitting a round peg into a square hole.”

“I’m curious about why you’d want to do that?”

“Because that’s the socially acceptable way to maneuver through life,” her sigh was soft, pale lashes blinking up at him, her chin resting in her palms. “Eons of lectures, perhaps. You need a little magnet that you can hold up to your head and pull bad things from the inside,” she announced, fingers on one hand gesturing as she spoke. “Fortunately, it never lasts very long,” she declared with a bright sparkling smile, another piece of fruit popped into her mouth. “So do you enjoy being a policeman? It must be incredibly fulfilling to help people.”

“It definitely has its moments,” he agreed blindly, recalling his long conversations with his brother about his career choice. Simon was about to ask some curious questions of his own when voices filtered above the classical music being played through the art exhibition.

“Oh-my-god! How…that’s impossible…he never…” Chloe was off the cube in a massive flutter of wings and skirt, her hands out to steady herself while her eyes darted around frantically before stopping on the large man dressed in deep navy blue.

“Chloe…”

“Shhhh!” One finger went to her lips as she moved quietly to stand behind him, her palms on his waist and whisper hoarse. “No! Don’t turn around! Act natural! And don’t say a word,” she whispered direly.

Chloe listened to the all too familiar voice, a shudder sweeping through her that didn’t go unnoticed by the man she stood stiffly behind. He got the distinct impression she was attempting to make herself invisible. Flat, small palms splayed against his back, groaning softly at the glittering hand prints she was leaving on the dark navy color of his uniform.

“Officer,” the casual greeting was offered without thought as the couple continued over the thick carpeting to the other side of the exhibition.

Chloe felt Simon tip his head in acknowledgment of the single word from the older man passing them by. Her hands had been firmly on his waist, holding him in place. “You are very solid,” she murmured, her palms moving to his shoulders. “Nice shoulders, too.”

It was at that point a very firm voice informed her that she was feeling up a cop. Burning fingers fell to her side, her cheeks a little more sparkling beneath the glitter on her face.
“Heh-heh…sorry about that…”

“Are you out after curfew?” Simon knew he wasn’t good at guessing ages of women, but he couldn’t be that damn far off.

“Curfew? Please, I’m well over thirty,” she announced with a fluttering wave of her fingers, her head up to peer cautiously around his side.

“An old boyfriend?”

“No…no…just someone I’d prefer to avoid.” She said with a slight shrug. “These little fruit cups are delicious.”

“Chloe, you were shaking. I could feel it,” Simon accepted the small tart she held out to him.

“I’m okay, Simon. Nothing to worry about.”

“Then you can come back out…I feel like I’m carrying on a conversation with myself.”

“You! Your wallet! You got any jewelry, lady?” His voice had a hard rasp to it, rippling against the half mask of his costume, The Phantom of the Opera.

“Oh, good grief,” Chloe’s head went against Simon’s back with a groan. “Go away before he shoots you, idiot.”

“He ain’t got no gun, lady…get out here where I can see you,” came the gruff order.

“No gun?” Chloe’s fingers tightened on the plastic bottle of water, a soft sigh leaving her lips as her right hand very slowly pulled the baton from his utility belt.

“No gun,” Simon confirmed, dark slits narrowed on the man aiming a small gun at them from about ten feet away. Instincts long shelved were slowly wakening. He pulled himself stiffly to his full six foot two, his gaze never leaving the gun being bandied in front of them. “Chloe…step out here…very slowly.” His held his palm out to the side, waiting for hers to slide into it.

“You heard your man, lady…out here where I can see you. Gimmie your wallet…”

“Please…seriously…” Chloe said with a derisive chuckle, sarcasm evident in the soft laughter. Her shoulders came up and back as the internal clock counted backward, her mind running quickly thought all her training. “Did you see what I’m wearing? No pockets, dummy…see?”

Simon was positive the next minute moved past his vision in slow motion.

He saw Chloe out of the corner of his eye, the slender form taking one step from behind the shield of his body. He was going to shove her back behind him when the thunk came from his left side. The frosted water bottle hit the wall and rolled at the same time her body moved to the right. Both sets of male eyes caught on the deliberate distraction.

Chloe saw the choreography in her mind, just as years of training had taught her. The baton swept in front of her, toward the left and hitting firmly and sharply on the knuckles holding the gun. In swift succession, she dropped to one knee, the baton sweeping in a wide arc to come back around and buckle him at the knees, effectively removing his legs from beneath him. Her left hand then joined the thick bar of the baton and brought the full brunt of it down smartly on his chest, taking his breath away and stunning him quietly.

“You…are annoying…and I hope it leaves bruises,” she announced with a sigh. “Can you call for someone to get this…phantom of the opera, Simon?”

“Chloe…what the hell…”

“Yipe!” A startled yelp left her lips when she was momentarily distracted enough for the man to shove hard against the floor, sending her back toward her behind, had Simon not been there to catch her beneath her arms. “No! No, no, no…geeze…” one foot kicked out, her growl low.

“Up, Chloe,” he lifted the slim figure to her feet, intensity in the gaze that re-evaluated the woman standing before him. “What the hell were you thinking? He could have shot you!”

“Coulda, woulda, didn’t,” she chimed, one shoulder up in a casual shrug. “Got a hanky? We need to get the gun to your people and maybe they can track him down…though probably not since thieves don’t usually do the right thing and register their weapons.”

A frown was still creasing his lips as he wrapped the gun in a hanky drawn from his pocket. “Chloe…”

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd, Simon…all the people milling about with obvious jewelry…obvious pockets with wallets…and he comes here…to us…”

“You aren’t going to make sense of low life, Chloe,” he stated flatly, his hand up to rake through the neatly clipped chocolate brown hair. “Chloe…”

“Are you alright, Simon?”

“I think that should be my question to ask you,” was the frustrated growl, brows up as he watched her fingers dip into the top of her dress. Carefully folded green bills were in view, a shimmery white card fluttering to the floor unnoticed by Chloe.

“Well, aside from that, it’s been a very nice evening, Simon. Thank you for your companionship,” she declared, feathery wings and long glittering legs spinning and vanishing before Simon had a chance to respond.

“What the hell?” Dark eyes registered the flying gossamer skirts vanish around the corner and down the ramp.

Simon Oliver leaned against the stainless steel railing, absently munching on the remaining bits of food she had brought him. His eyes were on the white wrapped gun as he reached into his shirt pocket for his blackberry, depressing the side button.

“Griss? Bring the car up, please,” he stood up slowly, shaking his head. He took the last piece of fruit from the plate and began walking to the front entrance. “Oh, and Griss…are there any cops around out there?”

“A few, boss…you want one?”

Simon sighed thickly. “Yeah, guess I better have a chat with one of them.”

An hour later, leaning against the fender of the highly polished black four door, Simon Oliver answered questions and filled in as much as possible for the detective that had arrived on the scene.

“Phantom of the Opera?” The man repeated, one hand up to rub the back of his neck.

“Mask and all…sorry, can’t be of more help. He was gone before we realized it,” Simon concluded apologetically.

“And you don’t know how to reach this woman?”

“It’s an art exhibition and sale, Detective. We met in passing. All I know is her name, Chloe Applegate. In all honesty, being as most everyone is in costume, it’d be hard to even describe her, other than I’m pretty sure the red hair was genuine.”

“No one else has been bothered. I’ve got someone checking the ticket office. All of them are numbered and security is pretty tight here,” the detective glanced around at the slowly dispersing group of people leaving the center. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Oliver.”

“Sorry it wasn’t better, Detective. You have my card and know how to reach me if you need anything,” Simon straightened slowly and moved to slide into the dark interior of the car.

“Home, Boss?” His voice was deep and quiet, controlled.

“Home, Griss.”

“A little weird, huh?”

“Griss, you have no idea,” Simon admitted with a low chuckle, his attention on the blackberry between his hands, fingers deftly moving over the keypad, the cool dark night filling in around them as they left the City of Seattle.