Her Hero (7 page)

             
There was no denying it, Horatius thought for the first time in his life he was in love and the thought scared the hell out of him. He prided himself on not needing anything or anyone and now he feared he could not live without Stacy Stanton.

Stacy was in a rush. She grabbed the packet of Minstrels and skipped out of the shop eager to get back home.

             
How quickly she had come to think of Horatius's house as her own. Not two weeks ago she had been freaking out, about the sleeping arrangements and now she just wanted to live in his bed.

             
As Stacy speed walked to the crossing she looked down at her watch. She had been gone not ten minutes. Good, she thought, stopping for the approaching van to pass. He wouldn’t like her to go out without a body guard. The press had lost interest but there was still the odd paparazzi hoping for ‘that’ shot.

             
She was so lost in thought it barely registered when the white van screeched to a stop. Baffled, the vision of a man jumping out and grabbing her by the arms, just didn’t compute. Only when the sight of the open side door loomed, did stacy register just what was happening to her.

             
Panic translated automatically in her digging her heels into the ground, but she kept moving towards the van. Strangely she couldn’t scream. Opening her mouth a panicked puff of air squeaked out and so she went limp, just as he went to lift her in.

             
He lost his grip and that was all the opportunity Stacy needed to make her escape. Twisting to the side she started to run from her squatted position but he had recovered and grabbed her trailing arm. Then the most amazing thing happened, she reacted instinctively with a self defense move she had learned years ago. Truly she was amazed at herself as she ran with no heed for traffic or pedestrians.

***

Horatius stared at the paper fisted in his hand. Everything that he had worked for, all those years of control, his millions, his empire, meant nothing. He felt like the helpless child he had been all those years ago and the feeling was debilitating. His body refused to move, his mind wouldn’t think. Sheer panic formed in the beating of his heart, the short shallow breaths, his shaking limbs.

             
He couldn’t even collapse. Slowly anger won out. His raw determination to win. As his face contorted with rage he forced his fist to unfurl. Reading the ransom note again he allowed his rage to grow. His body energized by need. He found himself barking orders into his phone when the door burst open.

             
Spinning on his heels, he came face to face with Stacy. Without thinking he leapt forward sweeping her up in his arms squeezing her and simultaneously extinguishing the pain in his heart. The sheer relief of holding her brought tears to his eyes. Although he felt her return the embrace she wheezed with gasping breaths. Instantly he released her and she took a large gulping breath.

             
Standing with her at arms length, he examined her from head to toe with his eyes. Despite a ripped sleeve she was as she had left that morning. Even her hair showed no sign that anything had happened.

             
“Stacy?” He wanted to say more but feared a total breakdown if he did.

             
She stared back at him for a moment, almost assessing him as much as he had her.

             
“Are you okay?” He couldn’t help it, he laughed.

             
The absurdity of her asking him, if he was okay, and not the other way around was almost too much to take. Soundlessly he took her into his arms, reverently. He felt her body tense and unyielding give way to shudders as he let her sob. Finally giving way to exhaustion. He lifted her and carried her to their room.

             
“A man tried to grab me.”

             
“I know. I just got a ransom note.” He said tightly, lying her gently on their bed.

             
It was funny how quickly he came to think of it, as their bed and not just his.

             
“If you don’t mind I’d rather have a bath.” She said shivering at the memory.

             
Stacy joined him in her bath robe, when he finished scenting the water with lavender to relax her. As she stepped in, he could already see the bruises forming from the grips and blows she had received. Rage and hopelessness mingled, almost making him leave her to find the culprit.

             
“How did you escape? That is if you are up to talking about it.” He finished belatedly.

             
“Yes. I’m fine. A little shook up, but fine.” A hysteric bark of laughter left her lips as she wet her hair. “It’s funny really. I took a self defense class years ago and just as I thought I wouldn’t get away, I did this,” she demonstrated  opening her hand, swiped her arm around, “and broke his hold. I can’t believe I actually remembered that, let alone used it.”

             
A knock sounded and he knew it was Sam with her tea. He left the bathroom and set the cup by the bed. He made phone calls and when he returned she was wrapping the bath robe once again around her light frame.

             
“The police are on their way. Are you up to speaking with them?” He carried her back to bed for himself. He just needed to feel useful.

             
“With pleasure. You know, you don’t have to carry me.” She smiled up at him as he tucked the covers over her.

Horatius stood behind Stacy when she spoke. He listened to her reiterate the minute details of her attack and felt the weight of responsibility crush down. Glaring every so often at the officers sat opposite, he cut the interview short when he saw Stacy slump with fatigue. They had been grilling her for over forty five minutes and running over and over her story in the hope that something new would come to light.

             
He escorted the men to the door and they left reluctantly promising to return with mug shots because he refused for her to go to the station. Heading back towards the living room he spoke quietly into his mobile.

             
“Did you get all that?” Guilt built and the inevitability of what he had to do grew. “Good. I’m sending the ripped top over for analysis.”

             
He had not exactly lied to the police. He no longer had the piece of clothing but it was better his men follow the leads. The police were over stretched and he knew he had unlimited resources and a team with unlimited time on the case. Far better he should withhold the evidence than waste the police’s time and money.

             
Horatius found Stacy curled up on the sofa asleep. He laid a throw over her and went back to work on his latest energy saving project, dreading what he had to do when she woke.

***

“Over? What do you mean, over!” Horatius stood passionless and bored as he studied his watch with impatience.

             
“It’s been fun but don’t you think it’s run its course.” He went to turn and her little hand grasped him, sending shivers down his arm.

             
“I don’t understand. This was different, I know it was. Why are you doing this?”

             
He had to make sure she wouldn’t return and more importantly, he had to allow her to leave empowered. She deserved that much.

             
“Please don’t beg it’s so very uncomfortable when you women grovel.” He put on his haughtiest stare, looking pointedly at her hand where it still remained, until she let go. “You’re all the same. I promised nothing and yet you all think you’re special. That you will be the one to make me settle down.” He laughed once again checking his watch. He knew he had to put the final nail in, so with lead in his stomach he did, “There is some money waiting for you on the bedside table. Must go I’m late.” He watched as her cheeks reddened with suppressed rage before he left. His heart, his hope, his future, gone in one fell swoop and the thought of carrying on as before made him wonder, what was the point of living.

             
Stacy stood dumbfounded and seething in equal measures, watching as Horatius walked away from her. Turning on her heels she ran blindly to their bedroom and, sure enough, found the money by the bed. Pain and outrage boiled over. Her muscles gripped and tore at the clothes in the wardrobe as she stuffed them into her case, calling herself all kinds of stupid.

             
Absently she picked up the phone to stop its wailing ring. Grunting down the receiver a male voice talked instantly, reciting case codes and numbers that meant nothing to her before summarizing.

             
Stacy’s hand started to shake as she listened to the datas meaning. She knew she should hang up or admit that the caller was not speaking to Horatius, but she couldn’t.

             
Her discovery was too ghastly. Like a car wreck she could only stand and stare. Looking into the images, the words and materials in front of her, it was too much to absorb. Stacy kept thinking the same thought as she set the hand set back down slowly.

             
“Horatius.” She whispers the thought out loud.

             
She left the house and the money without looking back. Fear and confusion propelling her forward.

             
Her flat was cold and quiet in the afternoon sun. She had practically slammed the door off its hinges in her haste to shut out the outside world. What should she do. Her mental processes couldn’t grasp the enormity of what she had discovered.

             
Not only had Horatius’s team caught her would be abductors. They had discovered the source of all the life threatening attacks and it was too big. They were too big to beat, too important to fail. No prosecutor could win and there was no direct person to arrest. Saudi Haramco were untouchable. And they were trying to stop Horatius and his revolutionary fuel concept.

             
Lost, Stacy started to flip through her comics. She pulled out her DVDs throwing them aside until she found something. What was she looking for? Would she look to fiction to solve her problems? What did she think she would find? This was real life. There were no happy endings, no heros. Dejected, she slumped among the disarray.

             
Through the glossy, shiny paper and reflecting plastic an image popped up and spoke to her. It was her frame. Her only picture frame. In her haste she must have tossed it among the melee. Lifting it, she stared at the picture of her parents. The only photo she had of all three of them together. Usually her father or mother where taking the photo but her dad had grabbed a passing officer for that one. She wasn’t even sure what station it was taken at and realised her memories were fading. Repaired tears marred the image but couldn’t distort the love shining though.

             
Her memory played back, flashing like a living nightmare. Opening her sketch pad she frantically drew. Exorcising the hellish images. Looking at the horrid scribbles she was shocked to see words. She didn’t remember words. There had been no speaking.

             
“Run. Must go.” They were Horatius’s words from that morning and yet sat in a bubble next to her father’s mangled corpse. She remembered.

             
All of a sudden she remembered him, pushing her away. Begging her to run and then, like overlapping images she saw his face angry and shouting at her to go.  Just as forcefully as Horatius’s uncaring demand had that morning.

             
Tears of relief and love streamed down her face as she realised what he had done. Regardless of the danger from one of the most powerful companies on the planet she would not lose anyone else.

             
Just as hopeful promise raised its head her phone rang. The rarity of her land line ringing was what stopped Stacy from seeking Horatius straight away.

             
Hesitantly she lifted the receiver without speaking.

             
“Mr Harper is about to sell a very important piece of technology to our competitors.” Stacy gasped at the distorted voice. “Stop him. It is in your best interests.”

             
“What if I don’t?” She clenched the receiver to stop her hand from shaking.

It was too surreal. Her vision racked the room for purchase. All she found was chaos and just like a moth to the flame, she zeroed in on the villains staring back from her strewn comics.

              “He has a very nice Bentley it would be a shame if it met with an accident. But as you know fatal accidents happen all the time.” The line went dead but Stacy hung on for dear life. Waiting and hoping it was a prank.

             
Panic threatened her functions but she knew it was time to dig deep and find her inner hero.