Bearly Apart (Big Paw Security Book 5) (97 page)

He looked down at me, his eyes blue in the candlelight. He pulled me close to him, his body spooning me in the dark tunnel. The blanket wrapped around us, he stroked my hair and planted small kisses behind my ear.

—-

Stirring nearby made me open my eyes. It could’ve been a few minutes later or a few days later. The tunnel was still as dark. The candle still burned, so I guessed it was a few hours later.

Quentin was standing in the tunnel getting dressed. I watched him, smartly putting his uniform on. Several holes in the chest had been sewn up. He unfolded a long length of leather and pulled out a wickedly long knife. Closer to a sword in size, it had strange symbols etched into it. The symbols glowed blue in the candlelight.

His eyes found mine and I caught a measure of sadness in that look. It was vulnerable, unshielded. He didn’t expect to see me again.

“Quentin, what are you about to do?” I said.

“Joan, you need to go down the tunnel. Remember, go left at the fork, then up the ladder. Run across the vineyards until you reach France,” he said.

“Quentin, answer my question,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I’m here to kill General Klausen. That’s my mission, Joan.” He fingered the long blade.

“I don’t understand. I think you can take out an old officer sleeping in a tent,” I said.

“He’s a vampire, Joan. That’s why I’m here,” he said, solemnly. He slid the long blade into a sheath on his back. “I’m the only one who can do it. He’s in the library above us. I knew he’d make a base out of the most magnificent building in the city.”

“But you’ll succeed, right? You’ll catch up to me?” I said, my eyes watering. I stood up, suddenly feeling the coldness of the tunnel.

He held me, his strong arms encompassing my body. I lay my head on his shoulder, smelling his scent. My arm wrapped around his neck, not letting him go. “Please,” I said.
 

“You’re strong Joan,” he said. “Never give up. You’ll get through this.” He pressed his lips against mine in a kiss I didn’t want to end.

He released me, and gently unwound my arm from his neck. His hand stroked my face, and he smiled. “How lucky I was to have met you.”

With that, he stepped away from me and walked down the tunnel. I stood there, listening to his footfalls grow more and more distant. I recomposed myself, putting my clothes back on. Once I was ready, I walked down the tunnel in the direction he told me to go. After a time I came to the fork and went left. Stumbling around, I eventually reached the ladder.

Freedom and safety waited above me. A chance to escape. A chance to survive.

But I didn’t want to just survive. I wanted to live. I ran back down the tunnel, ready and eager to face a dangerous future at Quentin’s side.

“I’m still alive,” I said.

TAKING THE BABYSITTER TITLE PAGE

Taking The Babysitter

by

Becca Fanning

TAKING THE BABYSITTER

“Ms. Kennet, Robbie took my goat,” Diana said, looking up at me with tears streaming down her little cheeks. The snot engine was revving up, and I could see a tiny stream of goo begin to fall down to her lip. Her little hands were bunched up, holding her blanket in a death grip.

This was my life. My poor little booger leaker and her tyrannical four year old brother. Diana was a good girl, but she could go from 0 to disaster in record time. I knew I just had a few seconds to intercede and prevent a full fledged scream snotty explosion.

“Diana, it’s ok. See, you have your blanket. You can’t play with two things at the same time. Robbie can play with your goat, he won’t hurt it,” I said, patting her flat hair. I smiled down at her, confident I’d solved the problem.

“But it’s no faaaaair!” she said, howling and thrashing around. She’d gone nuclear, her face turning fire engine red. She began doing this adorable little stomp thing with her feet, wanting to hurt the ground with her rage. She spun around and ran with maximum drama out of the kitchen.

“That girl has problems,” I said to myself, shaking my head. Such is the terrible life of the two year old. Someone to feed you, clothe you, pay for everything. Even someone to wipe your ass. But none of that matters when someone touches a thing you don’t want them to touch.

Babies. No thank you.

I was happy to babysit them, though. It was simple stuff, and their father always overpaid. My friends at college sometimes gave me shit because they thought babysitting was for high school kids. But they worked longer hours for less pay in worse jobs. Why do I have such dumb friends?

My phone buzzed. Speaking of dumb friends.

Kerry: Hey Melanie, you want to go clubbing tonight?

Me: Nah, working tonight.

Kerry: Boo! Which rugrats are you watching tonight?

Me: The Sedgwicks.

Kerry: Oh shit! Is it true they’re separated?

Me: Divorced, actually.

Kerry: Forget the club, I’m coming over. Mr. Sedgwick is de-li-shus.

Me: You’re horrible.

Kerry: Oh come on, like you don’t undress him with your eyes every time you see him!

Me: …

Kerry: He does that Crossfit shit. Mr. Sedgwick is ripped, and he’s not going to be single long.
 

Me: Stop it.

Kerry: Where’s he at anyway? Maybe he’s seeing a hooker! Relieving his bluebells lolol!

The oven began beeping and I put my phone away. I hit the timer on the oven and took out the tray of cubed sweet potatoes. Mr. Sedgwick liked to say that I had a special touch, getting the kids to eat things he just plain couldn’t. I didn’t know anything about that, but I did use copious amounts of honey, cinnamon and nutmeg on these sweet potatoes. These kids would eat them or I’d eat my hat.

“Diana! Robbie!” I said. “Come into the kitchen, your snack is done.”

“Ms. Kennet, can we eat in the living room? My show is on,” Robbie said. He ended that sentence with an inflection that promised whining if he didn’t get his way.

Too bad.

“Both of you come eat at the table,” I said. I wasn’t in the mood for games tonight. It had been a long day, and my boyfriend Tim texted me this afternoon. How did he put it? Oh yeah, he needed time to find himself. More like he needed time to find his dick inside some house party skank.

Diana ran in, chubby cheeks smiling, not a care in the world for her goat or the tears and boogers all over her face. I grabbed a paper towel and cleaned her face and hands. She sputtered her protest but was soon happily seated in her highchair and reaching for the plate.

“I want the sweet taters,” she said.

“I know, Diana. Robbie, come in here or you’re getting a time out,” I said.

“No!” he said from the living room.

I put a few sweet potatoes on Diana’s plate and went into the living room. The TV was showing some cartoon about little animals solving mysteries. Robbie was planted on the couch, seriously focused on the show in front of him.
 

“Milord, the banquet awaits thy royal presence,” I said, droning in monotone.

“No!” he said, not appreciating my channeling of the classics.

“Young man, I think you need a time out,” I said.

“Please Ms. Kennet I just wanna watch this show,” he said, the tear factory beginning to warm up.

“Robbie, how about you come in and have your snack, then you can watch your show?” I said. Normally, I’d have a more fire and brimstone approach, but I didn’t have the strength in me tonight. I was drained.

“Did you make them special?” he said. He always asked this.

“You know I did, Robbie. They’re special just for you,” I said, allaying his concerns. I always gave him the same response. It was part of our schtick.

He didn’t get off the couch so much as melt off it, and finally a semblance of a little boy stumbled into the kitchen and sat at the table.

Diana smiled at her older brother, happy to see him again after their long separation of twenty seconds. The strange simple things little kids can find joy in always amazed me.

I scooped some sweet potatoes onto Robbie’s plate and pushed it over to him. Once I had both kids eating, I walked back into the living room to turn the TV off. We weren’t savages, after all.

I flicked over to the local news, just to see if they had the Dodgers score. Instead I was watching live helicopter camera footage.

“…And we’re following it live right now. Can we, can we confirm that it’s a wolf?” a voice said off camera. “Yes, my producer is telling me that we can confirm that is a wolf. We’re watching live footage of a wolf going in and around the Claremont neighborhood.”

Wait, what? That was this neighborhood! Where the fuck did a wolf come from? What was it doing here?

I pulled out my phone.

Me: Are you watching the news? There’s like a wild wolf running around the neighborhood!

Kerry: What’s it gonna do, huff and puff and blow your house down? It’s just a dog, they’ll catch it.

Me: They better. I’m not leaving this house until it’s caught.

Kerry: Well, maybe Mr. Sedgwick can make a little room in his bed tonight. ;)

I felt my cheeks burn up. Ok, Michael Sedgwick was gorgeous. He was tall, built and he had that salt and pepper thing going on. He always treated me really well and I felt horrible for him. His bitch ex-wife got knocked up by her yoga instructor and didn’t even feign interest in the kids. She just wants half Michael’s money and all her yogi’s dick.

I turned the TV off and went back into the kitchen.

“You kids ready for bed?” I said. I knew my magic sweet potatoes would knock them out.

Robbie made a half hearted protest but his drooping eyelids told me a sugar coma was imminent. I cracked an evil grin as I towed the two sleepy kids up the stairs to their rooms.

I sat down in the big comfy recliner and checked the time on my phone. Mr. Sedgwick was running late. This wasn’t unheard of, but it was the first time since the divorce.
 

Maybe he was seeing a lady of the evening. I giggled and shook my head at the ridiculous thought. He would have no need. Some lucky lady friend then? As strange as it sounded, the thought made me a little sad. Not that I thought this forty year old guy who had a beautiful home and great kids would be interested in a college girl.

But it’s always nice to have options.

I sent him a text, letting him know the kids were down for the night. That was my indirect way of asking him to check in, to give me an idea of how long I was in for. That’s the worst part of babysitting. You agree to some set amount of time, then the parents walk in two hours late because they wanted to get freaky in a Wendy’s bathroom. I get it: once the kids arrive you’ve got very few opportunities for intimacy. Just give me a heads up if you’re going to be late.

But no, I had to sit in a house that isn’t mine and wonder if I had enough time to poop before he came home. I’m pretty sure I would rather die than have him knock on the door while I was going number two. Not knowing, it’s the worst!

I flicked the TV back on and hit the mute button. The camera was back in the studio, and the running alert at the bottom of the screen told the audience that the wolf was at large and the police didn’t know where it was. All residents were told to stay indoors unless absolutely necessary.

Fucking great.

I realized that Mr. Sedgwick might not know about the wolf, so I sent him a text about that as well. Still no reply. I hoped he was ok. I hoped the wolf hadn’t…

I had to laugh and shake my head. That’s what I do, I get myself worked into a tizzy and jump to the worst conclusions. He’s not immediately responding to my texts so of course a wolf has eaten him. What the shit, Melanie?

I turned the TV off and leaned way back in the recliner. This was so much more comfortable than the futon back in my apartment. Or that stupid papasan Tim insist I buy. Unless you were a cat, it was impossible to get comfortable in that thing. I’d enjoy throwing that into the dumpster, along with whatever else of his he left at my place.

Soon I found myself sinking into the soft cushion of the chair. It seemed to support me and hug me at the same time. My eyes became heavy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick disco nap. It had been a long day.

I was back at my apartment, throwing Tim’s shit out. There was a huge dresser in my room, and I kept pulling drawer after drawer of broken promises and lies out and dumping them out the window. It felt proper. It felt therapeutic. It felt plain good!

But then there were no more drawers, in fact no dresser. I was still in my room, but now Mr. Sedgwick was in the room too.
 

He was wearing a bath robe. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back, and I could see his skin glistening fresh from a shower. His blue eyes looked at me, saw me like no other man ever had.

My bed had become one of those round sex beds you see in movies set in Las Vegas or Beverly Hills. A bed not designed for sleeping, but for fucking. It was covered in shimmering red silk.

“Get on the bed,” he said. His eyes never left mine. There was no question what we both wanted.

“Oh, Mr. Sedgwick, we can’t…” I said, moving closer to the bed. “It just wouldn’t be proper,” I said, sitting down. My pussy was hot and aching, needing this man in front of me. I lay back on the bed, my hands reaching out to the sides, my fingers feeling the fine brush of silk. My legs fell open, the hem of my nightie barely covering my upper thighs.

Mr. Sedgwick walked over to stand between my legs. The thin material of his robe clung to his damp body. I could make out each bump of his six pack, every bulging muscle. His robe began to separate, and the purple head of his cock hung down low. His balls were nestled behind it, pale and massive. His hand went down to his manhood, and he stroked his long pale shaft.

My left hand grabbed my breast through my nightie, the fabric dulling some of the sensation as I groped myself. My right hand crept down my belly and pulled the hem of my nightie up, exposing myself to the cool air of the room. A pleasant little line of coolness ran down the lips of my trimmed sex and down one thigh, my need for this stud obvious.