Elizabeth Stewart - Harm’s Way

“I’m not going to have you or anyone else laying this off on me. It’s not my fault.”

“Then who the hell’s fault do you think it is?” Harm felt his own temper rising.

“I don’t know. Some lunatic who’s developed a sick crush on me. It’s nothing I’ve done. And anyway, I thought you were supposed to catch this creep.” The snarl’s volume escalated.

“Crush?” he repeated, a short, derisive snort punctuating the word, his own voice raised. “The guy’s a nut and a pervert. But considering the porn trash you crank out, what did you expect to attract? A minister?”

Flash point!

He saw it erupt, not just in those fiery eyes but in the crimson flush spreading up her face and her balled fists.

“Don’t you say that,” she screamed. “It’s not trash and it’s not porn! I’m a good writer and don’t you dare come into my home and attack me or my writing.”

Another snort and he waved his hand dismissively.

“News flash! Ayn Rand was a writer. Agatha Christie was a writer. You? You’re no writer…you’re the madam of a literary whorehouse.”

For a long moment she stood there, trembling with silent rage, her fists clenching and opening at her sides in tempo with her rapid breathing. Harm thought she might even try to hit him and he felt his own hands close tightly.

But worse yet, he could see in the blazing fire of those deep eyes he’d blown his chance. Even if her publisher made good on her threat, he could feel that Elgin Collier had made up her mind that he wouldn’t get anywhere near her or her retreat. Ever.

“I’m…” he started.

“Get out,” she growled.

“I’m sorry.”

“Get out of my house, this instant .” The flat, cold tone of her voice more chilling than the screams.

“Ms. Collier, can’t we discuss…”

Abruptly, she turned on her heel and went to the phone. Holding it up so he could see the keypad, she placed an index finger almost touching the nine.

“You see this? That’s my emergency speed dial. Push it and in thirty seconds it will bring security. Three more minutes and this place will be full of police. I don’t think the head of Harm’s Way Security wants to be arrested and charged with attempted rape. You look like you’re in shape so I’ll give you fifteen seconds to get out of here, starting now.”

The look in her eyes told him further talk was useless and would only bring security and the police. In her present emotional state, any accusation might have a ring of truth.

“God damnit!” he cursed to the empty elevator as it took him swiftly back to the lobby. He’d been this close to setting his snare. Why did she have to be such an irritating, short-fused, crazy bitch? And why did just being around her seem to make him crazy too?

Perhaps, he thought forlornly, he could give her a couple of days to cool off. Be reasonable. After all, both the stalker and the danger were very real. He could press Sheila Forbes a little more too.

Harm slid behind the wheel and stuck his key in the ignition.

A peace offering maybe. Flowers. Women liked flowers.

The engine rumbled to life. As he pulled away from the curb, he wondered idly if Jessica still had the name of that carnation florist.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I’ve changed my mind.”

Sheila shook her head in disbelief at her friend sitting calmly across the desk from her.

“Let me see if I understand this. The last time you and I spoke about Campbell Alexander Harm, you were screaming incoherently about castration, dull straight razors, and boiling oil. Now, fast forward three days and suddenly the idea of going into the woods with him for three months is the best thing since sliced bread?”

Elgin smiled broadly. “You got it.”

“Okay El,” her publisher asked suspiciously, “what gives?”

“Why Sheila darling, whatever do you mean?” Elgin batted her eyelashes innocently.

“Don’t give me that shit. I’ve known you long enough to know your life’s motto is, ‘Don’t get mad, get even.’ I also know what an evil, black Irish soul and devious mind you’ve got. You’re cooking something up and it doesn’t smell like Grandma’s gingerbread. Give.”

“Actually, I’m just doing my oldest and dearest friend a favor.”

“Such as?”

“Well, didn’t you ask me to work on an outline for my next book at the cabin?”

“Uh-huh.” The more her friend talked, the uneasier Sheila became.

“Well, suppose I bring you back a whole, finished book? Would that make your greedy, grasping little banker’s heart go pitter-pat?”

“I don’t know. Is it a romance or a murder mystery?”

Elgin got up, settled on the corner of her friend’s desk and grinned.

“I’ve been thinking and if I’m the madam of this literary whorehouse, C. A. Harm is about to become the piano player. My next book is going to be about two lovers in an idyllic, secluded paradise.”

She leaned down and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s going to be non…stop…sex . Morning, noon, and night. In the cabin. In the woods. In the lake. In a hammock, even, if I can choreograph it right. I’ve got things planned for these two that will have the Chinese acrobats scratching their heads.”

Rising up again, she laughed and her voice returned to normal. “What do you think of Kemp Harmon for the hero? Sound macho and studly and alpha enough? And just to make sure no one misses the point, I’m even going to dedicate it ‘to my dear friend Campbell Alexander Harm for being… invaluable to my research.’ What do you think?”

“I think when you play dirty pool, you run the table.” Sheila frowned. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely,” Elgin assured her emphatically. “When I’m finished with the great C. A. Harm, he’s gonna think he tangled with a buzz saw.”

“I don’t know, El.”

“Oh come on, don’t be such a Fudd. He’s a mean, heartless sonofabitch and a bully in the bargain. It’s time somebody took him down a peg and Yours Truly is just the girl to do it.”

“But he’s only doing this to protect you.”

“Bullshit! He’s doing it for the money and I’ll wager, to salve his guilty conscience for not catching this homicidal maniac before he almost killed Pete.”

“Still, you could damage his reputation, his business. His life even.”

“Don’t dramatize,” Elgin snapped. “Oh sure, there’ll be a huge flurry of excitement when the book comes out and he’ll be embarrassed. But he’ll get tons of free publicity and far from damaging his reputation, it will probably put a whole new luster on it. Besides, three months later, the whole thing will be forgotten.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Not to mention this book is going to be your biggest seller yet. You won’t have to worry about it being banned in Boston, either. It’s going to be so hot, you’ll have to worry about the environmentalists picketing the place for contributing to global warming.”

“Well, maybe I could look at the draft.”

Elgin laughed again and patted Sheila’s arm.

“That’s the spirit. I get to kick that brute in his furry little balls and we both make a ton of money to boot. Who says there’s no justice?

“Now, call our friend Kemp…I mean Camp and break the good news to him.”

“Suppose he’s changed his mind?”

“Add more zeroes to the check. I’m sure he’s got one of those big, honking, macho SUV’s so we can go in that. Tell him to pack his silk boxers, bikini swim trunks, leave his cell phone and other assorted James Bond toys at home and be at the Roxbury Street entrance to my parking garage at six-thirty a.m. Monday morning. We’re shoving off at seven sharp.”