Authors: Wendy Stone
"That was my dinner,” she gasped.
"Oh no, Mackenzie, you can't eat something like that, stunts your growth,” he said, noting her diminutive size. “Anyway, my name is Gideon Hawkins, or Hawk if you like.” He held out his hand to her, watching her eye it like it was a venomous snake. Smiling, he dropped it and turned to start going through her cupboards.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm looking for plates,” he answered, glancing back at her and noting where her eyes alighted when he said that. He opened the cupboard, pulling down two plates and then grabbed a couple of paper towels off the roll on the counter. “I hope you like mushrooms,” he added, opening the box and pulling out thick gooey slices of pizza. He picked up both plates and set them on her coffee table, before picking up her bottle of water and grabbing a beer off of the plastic rings. “Dinner is served,” he announced, settling himself on her couch.
Kenzie stared at him as if he was deranged. She held her cell phone opened, 911 already typed into it, her finger on the send button. “I thought you were arrested tonight."
"Well, you thought wrong. I was working undercover tonight. You almost blew my case for me.” He took a bite of his pizza and chewed thoughtfully as he stared at her. “Well, you can either make that call or come here and eat dinner with me while we talk, choose one."
"Your case?” she asked, closing up the phone though she kept in it hand. “What do you mean, your case? Are you a cop or something?” She moved two steps closer, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.
"She finally catches on,” he said, glancing up at the ceiling. “Hallelujah."
Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him as if she could kill him with one look. “Who are you?"
"Detective Gideon Hawkins. I thought we'd been through this before. I'm Hawk, you're Mackenzie Hunter, a very pretty name by the way. Now that we've got this out of the way, you should come and eat some of this pizza before I scarf it all and end up hating myself."
She stepped around the couch, sitting gingerly on the very edge of the cushion, her eyes watching his every move. “You were working undercover?"
"Yeah, for the past ten months.” He watched as she leaned forward and grabbed her tape recorder, setting it up on the coffee table in front of him.
"You don't mind if I tape this, do you?"
"Yeah, I do. I work undercover with criminals, Mackenzie. You write anything that has to do with me and it could end up getting me killed.” He reached out, grabbing the tape recorder out of her slender fingers, shifting on the seat he set it down out of her reach.
"Okay,” she said slowly. “Do you mind if I ask what you're doing here, especially at almost three a.m.?"
"Pizza,” he said, pointing at his half eaten slice. “I'm celebrating. I thought you might like to celebrate too, since you made it out of there with your life."
"Thanks to you,” she said. “If you hadn't stepped in, that man would have hurt me. I guess I owe you a thank you."
He waved it away. “Just have some pizza. I have the next couple of days off, you wouldn't want to go out with me, would you?"
He said it quickly, as if he could just slip it into the conversation. It startled her as she reached out and picked up the pizza, taking a bite as she stared at him. “You want to go out with me?"
"Yeah. I don't think either of us was imagining the attraction we felt earlier."
She felt the blush climb into her cheeks, thinking of earlier reminded her of being half naked in front of all those men and the way his hand had felt as he'd gently cupped her breast.
"I...I don't..."
"Oh no,” he said, shaking his head sadly.
"What?” she asked, her eyes narrowing again as she tried to keep up with his continual changing of subjects.
"Well, you were about to tell me you didn't feel anything earlier. Then I'd have to call you a liar and that's not the way to start any kind of relationship.” He reached out and laid his hand against hers, hearing her gasp as he felt that same shock of awareness he had before. “See what I mean,” he said, his voice growing husky.
"How do you know I'm not already seeing someone?” she asked, pulling her hand away from him.
"Are you?"
"Well, no. But you didn't know that."
"I'd like to hope that a classy woman like you would never lead a man on,” he said, reaching out and tugging on a lock of her hair. “So, will you go out with me?"
Mackenzie Hunter walked into the newsroom early the next morning despite the lateness of her night before. She carried her briefcase in one hand and a huge cup of coffee in the other. As she left the elevator, a round of applause started from the people already gathered at their desks.
"Great job, Mackenzie,” her boss and Editor-in-chief Ron Brent said, as he walked up to greet her. “Front page is all you."
Kenzie took the copy of the Press that he handed her, dropping her briefcase down on top of her cluttered desk as she did. Her byline ran under the heading “Dog Caged In Warehouse Raid". A picture of the warehouse from the air and another of Jimmy Tanelli were prominent under it. “Thanks, Ron.” She sat down, scanning the piece quickly. “You ran it almost word for word."
Ron stared down into her astonished face, patting her flushed cheek. “It was a good piece. It really didn't need much editing. Keep at it kid."
Selena sauntered up as Ron turned away. The tall redhead stood on another pair of four inch heels. They made her legs, showcased in thin black silk hose, look endless. A tiny black leather skirt covered what was absolutely necessary, to keep her out of jail for public nudity. It hugged her hips, leaving a good three inches of exposed taut stomach between it and the hem of her sweater.
"I told you the dress would work,” she said, tapping a bright red, lethal looking nail against the paper. “I hope you remember that when you win the Pulitzer. I expect a thank you."
"I owe you that and a new pair of shoes.” She said the last quickly, muffling her voice behind her cup of coffee.
"What was that?” Selena's painfully arched brows raised. “What did you do to my shoes?"
"Damn, what are you psychic?” Kenzie sighed. “They got scuffed up on the cement and then the heel snapped as I was walking back to my car."
"You've got to be kidding me,” Selena screamed, drawing all eyes to her. “Do you know how much those damn shoes cost? They were..."
"Yeah, I know, expensive, came from Italy, cost two weeks worth of salary and you probably only wore them once,” Kenzie broke in, stopping the tirade. “I'll buy you new ones."
The tall, slender woman stared down at her seated companion. “You couldn't afford them. Besides,” she said finally, “they were last years. I was getting ready to give them to Good Will anyway.” She bent, giving the men in the room stiff necks as they tried to get a better look up her skirt, and buzzed a kiss by Kenzie's cheek. “You really did do good, kid."
"Thanks.” Kenzie watched her saunter away, male heads turning as she passed, and took another sip of her quickly cooling coffee. She'd done it, she'd gotten the story and come out the other side alive. This wasn't her first front page story since leaving Texas and her tiny little hometown, but it was the biggest and the most dangerous. This front page of the Monroe City Press was definitely being framed.
"Hunter!"
She looked up, and saw Ron standing at the door of his office. “Yeah Ron!"
"Apartment fire on Third and Houston. They called in the Arson Squad. Get down there and quit resting on your laurels.” Ron grinned as she shot up, grabbed her purse and headed out of the newsroom.
Hawk's radio squawked loudly with static buzzing, and then a loud voice came over the airway.
He reached out, batting at his clock radio, knocking it off the nightstand. When it kept making a noise, he reached down, ripping the cord out of the wall and threw it across the room. With a sigh, he settled back into the warm nest of his blankets, his eyes closing.
Next to his door another radio blared, heavy metal music screaming into the room. The shock forced him to sit up, glaring at the damn machine where it sat safely across the room from him. “O-fucking-k, I'm up,” he growled, pulling himself out of his bed and slamming his hand down on the off button. “Whoever decided that morning starts at six a.m. needs to get their fucking heads examined."
He tossed a wistful glance over at his bed and then sighed heavily. He couldn't get back in it. He had court today on another case and he wasn't going to miss it... With his eyes half opened, he made his way into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Staring into the mirror while the water heated, he scratched at the heavy stubble on his chin, yawning again.
Sleepy, blood shot brown eyes stared back at him. Set in an oval face with a stubborn jaw and a mouth that was just a touch to wide to be symmetrical, he considered himself to be a good enough looking guy. He usually didn't have any problems wooing the ladies when he set his mind to it. So what had happened last night?
"Mackenzie Hunter,” he said quietly, enjoying her name. She was an enigma, hot as hell in his arms in that warehouse but she'd stonewalled him last night. She'd eaten his pizza, talked to him, hell she'd even laughed at him, but when he'd asked her out, she'd gone cold.
He turned when the mirror fogged over with steam, stepping into the hot water with a sigh of relief. His shoulder ached and his right leg twinged, reminding him of the bullet that had almost taken his life. He turned, letting the water soak into him, letting the heat relieve some of the worst of it before grabbing the soap and getting cleaned up.
Twenty minutes later, it was a much different looking Gideon Hawkins that locked his apartment door, by passing the elevator to run the ten flights of stairs down to the lobby of his building. He passed his door man, Fred Grayson.
"Hey, Hawk, I see you got him,” Fred called, lifting up his copy of the Press. “Great job."
"Yeah, thanks. Press got a hold of it already,” he sighed, shaking his head. News people were the bane of his job.
"That sassy Mackenzie Hunter got front page,” Fred grinned. He'd been drooling over Kenzie since he'd first seen her picture.
"You know Mackenzie Hunter?” Hawk asked, slowing his step and turning back to Fred.
"No, but oh do I wish I did.” He clutched the paper to his heart, sighing dramatically. “I saw her on this awards show once on the television. She's got the best set of tits I've ever seen."
Hawk wondered what Fred would say if he knew that he'd been fondling those very same tits last night. “She seems pretty gutsy."
"Too gutsy. Considering what she says in this article, she was right there when the cops broke down the doors of the warehouse. She could have gotten shot.” Fred shook his head. “Wait, that was your deal. Did you get to meet her?"
"I gotta go, Fred,” Hawk said, turning away without giving an answer. “Talk to you later."
"Wait a second, you did get to didn't you? Oh come on, Hawk, give me something,” Fred called as Hawk hurried down the front walk towards his car.
Hawk just waved and kept going.
Traffic was light this morning and he made good time getting to the office, parking his car in the underground parking lot he grabbed the elevator up to the fifth floor. He needed time to review his notes on the case in court today, and it was quiet enough to give him the chance.
It wasn't until he reached his desk that he saw the smoke.
Two blocks over, kids were getting ready to go to school, parents were hustling them into clothing and through breakfast, anxious to get to work. Television sets were blaring, babies were crying for breakfast and one man stood in a bare stairwell, a small can empty of its gasoline sitting next to him. He played with his lighter, flipping it open and closed, staring at the streamers of gas that he'd trailed up and down these stairs.
The smell saturated his nose; it crept into his senses and made him moan as only a well known lover could do. The sounds of the building, the creak of pipes, the voices of the people, the clattering of dishes and the raucous noise of all those televisions assaulted his ears. Fire would be his vengeance. Fire would stop the voices, stop the attacks and make them sorry.
Fire...his fire.
The lighter opened and he flicked the round wheel, sending a spark to the wick. With glee, he watched it ignite, the smell of the lighter fluid a different kind of lover. With a tiny giggle of insanity, he set the flame to the gas on the carpeted steps of the old building and watched it flare.
Then the dragon was loose, free to eat, to consume and render, to tear at the bowels of the building and its incessant noise. He watched it for a few short moments, his hand slowly stroking over his hard cock, wishing he could free himself and stroke to climax here, to feed the fire with his seed. But that could leave a clue for the police and firemen and he couldn't do that, not if he wanted to stay free.
He had to stay free. He had to or else the noise would take him over and he would lose himself forever. Picking up the gas can, he turned it on its end so that any gasoline would drip out, leaving it sitting on one of the stairs after wiping it down one last time to rid it of any fingerprints. Then he hurried down the stairs, pushing through the outside door, he stripped off the gloves and pushed the lighter back in his pocket.
He turned to walk away, refusing to look back even though the sound of the fire called to him, whispered insidiously to him. He'd come back, but only after the fire trucks were there, only when he could see his greatness written in the black inky smoke that would stain the sky.
Mackenzie made great time across the city, running when her cab got caught in traffic, arriving at the scene of the fire within seconds of the first ladder truck. She watched, horrified, as people streamed out of the burning building, hearing the shattering of glass, the screams of those still inside, the snapping and hissing of the fire. The smell, heavy and terrifying, clung in the air, smoke making the people that escaped, cough and hack when they reached fresh air.