Serial Story: English Breakfast, Part 2
This story is presented weekly in draft format.
Part 1 |
English Breakfast, Part 2
Patrick pulled her to the corner of the building, stopping for a moment to peer around the corner. The gunfire had stopped, and the street was empty, their assailants apparently gone. Sirens wailed in the distance and doors began to open as shopkeepers grew curious about the commotion.
Leaning back against the end of the building, Patrick considered his options. The store had clearly been open at the time, so Karen would have to go talk to the police, no matter what. He felt a pressing need to be with her, to make sure she was okay and give her support. It was the least he could do after she’d lost the store and nearly her life helping him out.
On the other hand, he needed to keep his presence out of the media, so no one would connect him to what had happened, and by extension, the case. HIs client had been very firm on the fact that the case should be kept out of the media, and away from law enforcement if at all possible. Sticking with Karen while she talked to the police made that far less likely to happen, considering the news van that had just driven down the block.
He didn’t really have a choice, and he knew that made him a world-class asshole.
Glancing at Karen, he dropped his hold on her wrist. Her pasty-white skin and hollow eyes nearly made him change his mind.
“There’s an NLE clause on this contract, Karen. You know what that means, right?”
She nodded, looking away as she fidgeted with her hands. “No Law Enforcement. Of course. You’d better go.”
He hesitated another second, and then pushed away from the building to walk the other direction.
“Do me a favor?” she called, just loud enough for him to hear. He stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“Stay away from me. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then raised one hand in acknowledgement over his shoulder before he walked away.
* * * *
Karen forced herself to turn away from Patrick’s retreating form. She went down the block toward the police cruisers parked in the middle of the street, lights flashing as officers stood by and watched the firefighters smother the last of the blaze. When she got closer, one of the men in blue came forward, one hand held out to stop her.
“It’s my store,” she said, without waiting for a question or command. “I’m the owner. Or was.”
He looked at her closer. Frowned.
“You don’t look so good, ma’am. And if you were in that store, we’re going to need a statement. But first, I think you should see the paramedics. Come on.” He took her arm and she let him, trying not to look at the remains of her tea bar as they walked past on the other side of the street.
“Here we are.” The officer handed her off to a couple of paramedics who barely looked old enough to be out of high school. They wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and checked her vitals, all while she sat on the back of their van and watched the rest of her dreams go up in smoke.
Someone pressed a warm cup into her hands, and she started to set it aside, knowing instinctively that it was probably coffee, ironic as that was.
“Chai tea,” a voice to her right stated. She looked up to see a cop standing there, maybe even the same one who had helped her earlier. She couldn’t be sure. He pointed to her charred sign with a sympathetic look.
“I figured it was more appropriate, considering the circumstances.” He gave her a wan smile, and she nodded her thanks before taking a careful sip. It was sugar-laden and probably made from a boxed concentrate, but it did taste good. She took another, larger sip, the fog starting to lift from her mind.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you some questions. Do you feel up to it, or do we need to wait a little while longer?”
Karen shrugged, really looking closely at her would-be interrogator. He was good looking in a rugged, dangerous sort of way. The fog lifted a little more.
“Might as well get it over with,” she finally said. “Ask away.”
Enjoy
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Part 1 |
English Breakfast, Part 2
Patrick pulled her to the corner of the building, stopping for a moment to peer around the corner. The gunfire had stopped, and the street was empty, their assailants apparently gone. Sirens wailed in the distance and doors began to open as shopkeepers grew curious about the commotion.
Leaning back against the end of the building, Patrick considered his options. The store had clearly been open at the time, so Karen would have to go talk to the police, no matter what. He felt a pressing need to be with her, to make sure she was okay and give her support. It was the least he could do after she’d lost the store and nearly her life helping him out.
On the other hand, he needed to keep his presence out of the media, so no one would connect him to what had happened, and by extension, the case. HIs client had been very firm on the fact that the case should be kept out of the media, and away from law enforcement if at all possible. Sticking with Karen while she talked to the police made that far less likely to happen, considering the news van that had just driven down the block.
He didn’t really have a choice, and he knew that made him a world-class asshole.
Glancing at Karen, he dropped his hold on her wrist. Her pasty-white skin and hollow eyes nearly made him change his mind.
“There’s an NLE clause on this contract, Karen. You know what that means, right?”
She nodded, looking away as she fidgeted with her hands. “No Law Enforcement. Of course. You’d better go.”
He hesitated another second, and then pushed away from the building to walk the other direction.
“Do me a favor?” she called, just loud enough for him to hear. He stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“Stay away from me. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then raised one hand in acknowledgement over his shoulder before he walked away.
* * * *
Karen forced herself to turn away from Patrick’s retreating form. She went down the block toward the police cruisers parked in the middle of the street, lights flashing as officers stood by and watched the firefighters smother the last of the blaze. When she got closer, one of the men in blue came forward, one hand held out to stop her.
“It’s my store,” she said, without waiting for a question or command. “I’m the owner. Or was.”
He looked at her closer. Frowned.
“You don’t look so good, ma’am. And if you were in that store, we’re going to need a statement. But first, I think you should see the paramedics. Come on.” He took her arm and she let him, trying not to look at the remains of her tea bar as they walked past on the other side of the street.
“Here we are.” The officer handed her off to a couple of paramedics who barely looked old enough to be out of high school. They wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and checked her vitals, all while she sat on the back of their van and watched the rest of her dreams go up in smoke.
Someone pressed a warm cup into her hands, and she started to set it aside, knowing instinctively that it was probably coffee, ironic as that was.
“Chai tea,” a voice to her right stated. She looked up to see a cop standing there, maybe even the same one who had helped her earlier. She couldn’t be sure. He pointed to her charred sign with a sympathetic look.
“I figured it was more appropriate, considering the circumstances.” He gave her a wan smile, and she nodded her thanks before taking a careful sip. It was sugar-laden and probably made from a boxed concentrate, but it did taste good. She took another, larger sip, the fog starting to lift from her mind.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you some questions. Do you feel up to it, or do we need to wait a little while longer?”
Karen shrugged, really looking closely at her would-be interrogator. He was good looking in a rugged, dangerous sort of way. The fog lifted a little more.
“Might as well get it over with,” she finally said. “Ask away.”
Enjoy
this post? Support your author:
Romantic Suspense
| Erotic Romance | Contemporary Romance |
Suspense/Thriller
| Flash Fiction | Non-Fiction
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