Secrets

Secrets 

by 

S.L. Pierce

Copyright 2011 S.L. Pierce

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. 

Chapter 1

"Don't move," he said. 

It wasn't the words that concerned me. It was the cold metal pressed against my temple. That concerned me, a little. But his attack was lazy. His arm was loose, he hadn't pulled me tightly to him, and his gun was touching, but not pushed tightly against my temple.  

All big mistakes. For him. 

I elbowed him high in the diaphragm while smashing the back of my head into the high profile area of his face. Namely, his nose. Not a light little tap either. This wasn't some movie where you hit the bad guy ten times and he gets right back up. I gave it all I had, and let me tell you, that's a lot. Before he had a chance to catch his breath, I twisted the gun out of his hand, hit him hard in the temple with said gun, and knocked him out.  

My breath was steady and heart rate only slightly elevated. It had been two years, but some things you never forget.  

I grabbed him under the arms, pulled him down the hall to the kitchen, and dropped him on the rug. A little duct tape from the junk drawer, and he was bound in no time.  

I like duct tape better than rope. First, everyone has duct tape, whether they've ever needed it or not. I'm pretty sure it's a law. Therefore, no need to carry rope around. Looks suspicious anyway. Second, duct tape is much harder to get out of, especially when taping a much bigger area than is really needed, say halfway up the leg or arm. Even Houdini would need a knife to get out of that.  

Call the police? Not my style. They have their way and I have mine. And mine is much more effective in getting to the bottom of things. No warrants or probable cause, or civil rights. You break into my house and hold a gun to my head, I don't need a judge and jury to know your guilty.  

Even if I were going to involve the police, it wouldn't be till after I made the phone call. The one that would tell me if more were coming. The one that couldn't be made from my phone. And the one that needed to be made right now.  

If my instincts were right, and they usually were, this man on the floor would have an untraceable cell, either on him or in his rental car. The rental car was an assumption on my part, but again, I tend to be right about these things. I searched the man's pockets and bingo, found the cell and some keys from, surprise, surprise, a rental car.  

Using his phone, I dialed a number I had memorized two years before. 

"Check 8734CharlieTangoWilco," I said. 

"Hold please." 

"Speak," a voice commanded. 

"Am I compromised?" 

"No." 

I hung up. Well that answered that, but if I hadn't been compromised, who the hell was trying to kill me?

Chapter 2

Our house, I'm still not used to saying that since it was Jack's house when we got married last year, but he insists. So, our house is small, which suits me fine, especially now. Not many places to hide. The whole thing is twelve hundred square feet. One floor. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen and living room. That's it.