Chapter 19

Jim Harper faced the district attorney, who happened to be a short heavy woman with the temperament of a short heavy woman. That was to say she was surly. Whether that had to do with the lack of male interest in her as a woman, or the case Harper had just briefed her on, was a thing for supposition.

"I can't do anything without a victim," said the DA.

"He's off writing a novel somewhere," said Harper. "Paid his rent in advance and didn't tell anybody where he was going. I have no idea where he is."

"I'm not taking her before a judge without a victim there to say she had no right to enter that apartment," said the woman. "The judge would toss me out on my ear. Besides, if it turns out she DOES have permission to go into his apartment, the only crime there will be is destruction of private property. You think the judge is going to look kindly on me for bringing him a case with a total value of maybe fifty bucks? I'm not crazy, Harper. Find me a victim."

Harper wanted to curse. He had enough on his plate already, he didn't need this wild goose chase. But he knew she was right. He turned to leave.

"And Harper!" she barked. He turned back. "You have ninety days before the speedy trial rule kicks in and I have to drop the charges."

"Can't you get a continuance?"

"Even her pimply faced public defender knows about speedy trial," said the DA. "He says he's ready to go to trial tomorrow, and that all she was doing was trying to recover some of her own property that she left there before her boyfriend up and vanished. I'm not even going to file until I know we have a victim. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

It was Kris' night off and it happened to coincide with Lou Anne's night off. There was another part time waitress at The Early Girl and, because neither of them wanted to work the same days all the time and both wanted to have every day of the week off, occasionally, they agreed to shift the schedule around sometimes. Hank didn't care, as long as somebody was there to take care of the customers.

It was just habit by now for Kris to go and write at her place. He valued Lulu's opinions on what was already written and it went better when they were both there while she did her editing. If she found a problem, they could talk about it and Kris could make the needed changes right then and there. And, since he had a habit of skipping around in the outline, writing whatever scene or chapter seemed to be calling to him, she was aware of where he was working within the manuscript and could keep up.

The cold had broken, finally, and it was a whopping thirty-one degrees outside. It almost felt like spring, as far as Kris was concerned. When Lulu answered the door, she looked dressed for spring, too. On this night she had on a white tank top, with leopard print straps and matching piping around the neckline. Again she wasn't wearing a bra, but he didn't know that just because her nipples spiked when the cool air hit them. He could see the dark circles of her areolas through the shirt, too. It was almost see-through and she had to know that. Below that she wore dark blue hip hugger jeans and big fluffy house slippers made to look like twin baby leopards. Kris just stood there, running his eyes up and down her body.

"I see we're feeling a little cat-like tonight," he said.

"It's not polite to stare," she said. He noticed that her chest arched forward ... just a little ... as she stood back to give him room to enter.

"When a woman answers the door like that, she expects to be stared at," Kris countered.

"What happened to that shy little boy who came to visit me just last week?" she asked sweetly.

"Oh, he's around somewhere," said Kris, stepping in. "He's been hiding ever since the girl next door kissed him."

She laughed. "I'm anything BUT the girl next door."

"Only because the house next door wasn't for rent when I was looking," he said, smiling.

"Well aren't you sweet," she said. "Have you remembered anything else?"

"Nothing," he said, his shoulders slumping. "I'm beginning to think I never will."

"Would that be so bad?" she asked. "I mean you've sort of started over here. You have a job and you're writing a wonderful book. Is this life so miserable that you can't think of anything other than going back to your other one?"

"This life is fine," he said. He realized he really meant that. It was a nice town, full of nice, if slightly suspicious people. He WAS writing here, even if it wasn't what he usually wrote, whatever that was. And, if he could sell what he was writing, and find a place to live that wasn't quite as expensive as the rental he was in...

And, of course, there was Lou Anne. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he liked her a lot. He decided it was more than that. She captivated him. His thoughts flickered to the sirens of yore, sitting on their island, luring seamen to their destruction. He didn't feel like he was being destroyed. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Good," she said, unaware of his thoughts and their complexity. "What did you get written last night?"

"I did the scene with Duchess Clayworth," he said. "Where he takes her the first time."

Lulu tilted her head. "This is the Henrietta woman, right? She's the one who inherited her lands and the shipping business when her father died."

"Yes, she's the Duchess of Fellborough, she's the one who sets the hounds on him when she's released," said Kris.

"And she's not married, right?" asked Lulu.

"Nope. She's an old maid at twenty-four and a firebrand. All the men who work for her are scared pantless of her."

"Well, I'm twenty-four, and if I were a duchess, and single, I'd want all the men around me to be pantless." She grinned.

"You're a hussy," said Kris. "The Duchess of Fellborough isn't. She's pure as the driven snow."

"Until Quigley gets a hold of her," said Lulu, who actually managed to look like she was leering.

Kris laughed. "She's going to be a tough nut to crack." He tipped his head. "Somebody told me I had to make her that way."

Lulu put on a Betty Boop look, both on her face and with her body. "But he'll bust a nut anyway ... right?" She fanned her face with one hand.

"I can NOT believe you said that," said Kris. "That's just WAY below your noble breeding."

"First I'm the girl next door and now I'm a noblewoman?" Lou Anne laughed. "I'm beginning to think you're having fantasies about me."

"Only all the time," he said. He hadn't meant to say it quite like that. "I mean when I'm not writing." He frowned. "No, that isn't right. You're always in my mind when I'm writing."

She looked at him in that way that let her hair fall to cover one eye. The other had a lowered lash.

"Why Kris, have you been pretending that you're Quigley and I'm ... all those women?"

More comfortable with her flirty banter by now, Kris was able to join in.

"Well, you told me I'd have to ravish you. And you have the most fascinating multiple personality disorder," he said. "You seem to be all women, wrapped up into one delightful bundle."

"Would you like a snack?" she said, changing the subject suddenly.

Thinking that what he'd like to snack on was packed into those dark blue jeans, Kris nodded. She turned and he followed her to the kitchen. Two places were already set, as if she'd been expecting him. There was a napkin beside one plate. The other had gotten blown off the table, perhaps by the wind of her passing, and was on the floor. She bent over to pick it up.

Kris saw that gorgeous bubble butt in those tight jeans and just couldn't resist. He reached and slapped her right cheek as she grasped the napkin. She froze and her head slowly turned to look up, over her shoulder.

"Ow," she said softly.

There was a smoky look in her eyes. He could see both of them now, because her hair had fallen away from her face. The bare left side of her scalp gleamed. He had no idea why, but it looked erotic as hell. When she didn't stand up immediately, instinct made him slap her tight butt again.

"Ow," she said again. Then she stood up and turned to face him. "You're very bold."

"I'm the most feared pirate on the Spanish Main," he said hopefully.

She didn't bite. Instead she held out the napkin she had just picked up and dropped it.

"Oops," she said.

When he saw her drop it, he expected her to bend over to pick it up again. He was primed to slap her ass again, too, and he could suddenly feel his prick getting hard.

"Would you be kind enough to get that?" she asked.

His thought process swerved and jerked as she did something he wasn't prepared for, and which seemed totally out of character for her, at the moment.

He bent over automatically.

He felt her hand hit his butt hard, on the right side, copying where he'd smacked her. It stung. She'd hit him a LOT harder than he'd hit her. He staggered forward and came up without the napkin, his face flushed. He was half angry ... and half titillated.

Quite suddenly he remembered something. It wasn't from his past ... at least not from before the accident. He remembered writing the scene in which Quigley had picked up a squealing captive, over his shoulder, and carried her to his cabin. Before he thought things through, he moved towards Lulu, bending over. His right shoulder impacted her stomach as her hands tried to ward him off but missed and slid along his back. Effortlessly he straightened. She wasn't as heavy as her solid frame looked.

She squealed most satisfactorily.

"Put me down!" she yipped, with what little breath was left in her lungs.

He carried her toward the living room.

"Kris!" she gasped. "Put me down!"

His right hand came up and fell on her rounded buttocks, pulling, to keep her from falling off his shoulder. He squeezed her butt and she started kicking wildly.

"KRIS!" she laughed.

"Quiet," he growled. "You'll wake up Ambrose."

"What are you DOING?" She wiggled on his shoulder as he groped her butt.

"You're about to find out how bold I really am," he warned.

By then he was at the couch. Displaying more strength than his appearance suggested he had, he rolled her off his shoulder and down his front, controlling her so that as he plopped down on the couch, she was lying across his lap. She tried to get up immediately, and he put a hand on the middle of her back to hold her down.

"Don't you dare!" she laughed.

It took four hard smacks before she stopped fighting. He gave her one on the right, which he already knew might be a little sore, then switched to the left. Then he repeated that.

"OK, OK," she moaned. "I give up."

"Do you?" he asked, stroking her jeans-clad butt.

She rolled away from him suddenly, falling to the floor at his feet, laughing.

"Of course not, you twit!" she giggled. Her giggle turned to an "EEEP," as he leaned forward and covered her with his body, ending up sitting on her thighs while he took one of her wrists in each hand and pinned them to the floor.

"A lot of good THAT's going to do you," she said. "You can't let go of my wrists, or I'll get you back. I fight dirty too, tough guy!"

"You do?" he asked with a rising voice. "That's funny. Me too."

Pulling her arms in an arc to her sides, he scooted down. His weight pinned her lower legs to the carpet and his strength kept her wrists on the floor beside her hips. He lowered his head and nuzzled her belly until he got the hem of her shirt in his teeth. She wiggled and giggled, complaining that he was tickling her, until she felt the cloth pull away from her stomach.

"What are you doing, Kris?" she asked breathily.

"Yul phee" he said through clenched teeth.

He started working his way back up, dragging the shirt with his teeth, exposing her belly.

"You can't DO this!" she said. She wasn't laughing anymore.

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For Want of a Memory

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