"Dramamine. I don’t fly well."

"You’re afraid of flying?"

"Not afraid, really. It’s more of a claustrophobic issue."

"Then," I lean over and whisper, "aren’t you glad you came out of the closet?"

<cut to>

As I pan back from Sam’s close-up to take in the whole group, I see an odd smile on Scamp’s thin lips. "And so it begins."

Huh?

We don’t consider his vague statement for very long before the men in the group that just came up the stairs all pull guns. In a blink of an eye, their short spokesman is shot in the back. Another crack of gunshot leaves Sam on the ground.

"Jesus Christ," I yell. I reach out my free hand towards Kelsey and am relieved when I feel the soft flesh of her hand meet my palm.

<cut to>

Pete opens a door and shoves us into a tiny room, slamming the door behind us.

The room is nothing more than an oversized closet and is lit from a bare dangling bulb in the middle. The walls and floor are all seamless grey concrete. Looking up proves to me the ceiling offers no better possibilities. We hear the ominous sound of a deadbolt and chain behind us.

I glance over to Kelsey who is also taking in our surroundings, shaking her head. Slowly our eyes meet and hers look suddenly sad.

"Just another story, huh?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.


Episode Nine: The Long Kiss Goodnight

It’s chilly when I wake. I can’t help but shake a little bit. The tiny room is empty except for Harper and me. There are no windows in this little room, just one naked bulb that hangs from the ceiling by a wire which looks like it could give at any second. This is a bad cliché. Jail was better than this. I try to sit up wondering when they’re going to come kill us, if the room doesn’t do me in first. I shiver again.

"C’mere." Her voice is soft and comes from the corner. I manage to focus on Harper. She’s leaning with her back against the wall, holding her hand out to me. "C’mere, Kels. You’re cold. I’m not going to feel you up."

I slowly scoot across the cold concrete floor to her and she wraps her arms around me as she settles her jacket over us. The leather is already warm from her body heat and it instantly feels good. "Thanks," I whisper as I lay my head on her shoulder. Under any other circumstance I bet I could really get into this, provided I was drunk as hell and out of my mind. Right now, though, all I want is her body warmth.

"You’re welcome."

"Harper? Do you think they are going to kill us?"

"Nah, cher, never." Her New Orleans accent comes out stronger with this reassurance. She looks down and gives me a smile. I like both the smile and the accent. "We’ll be fine, just fine." Her arms tighten around me, holding me close.

God, I never really noticed how good she smells before. Even after a day of not showering she still has a scent that is simply, well, for lack of a better word and noted in a purely detached manner, erotic. I can’t really describe it well without not doing it justice. It reminds me of the smell of summer rain and winter nights by the fireplace, all natural and primal and musky. No wonder she has women lining up at her bedroom door.

The door rattles as a key enters the lock. I jerk away from Harper, immediately missing her warmth. She lets me keep the jacket though. The last thing I want to do is give these maniacs any additional reason to hurt us; somehow I figure being lesbian is a big no-no here.

When the door opens, an armed guard lets a small brunette woman into the room with a tray of food. She sets it on the floor and slides it into the room without a word. They back out and the door closes again. Glad to see the Women’s Movement is alive and well in Omaha.

Harper pulls the tray over and uncovers it. "Hmm … looks like we’re going to live for sure."

"What makes you say that?"

"If they were gonna kill us, they wouldn’t feed us this well." She explains as she pops a piece of bacon in her mouth.

I look at the tempting bacon, eggs and biscuits. Apparently, diets and cholesterol counts mean nothing to these people. "Maybe the food is poisoned."

She manages to swallow before giving me a dirty look. "That was cruel."

"Sorry." I shrug a bit then decide to go ahead and eat anyhow. Hell, if they’re going to kill us I may as well choose which way I want to go. And on a full stomach sounds best right now. This is as opposed to riddled with bullets. I break off another piece of bacon and offer it to her. She leans forward and takes it from my fingers with her mouth. Oh God. I’m about to die and I am incredibly turned on. Not fair. So not fair. "Wonder what’s going on outside?" I think I manage to sound almost nonchalant.

Harper chuckles, enjoying my discomfort. "Well, after breakfast," she reaches for a carton of milk and sips, "we’ll try to wrangle a trip to the little hostage’s room and see what we can find out."

"Good plan. I’m going to need that anyhow."

"Me too," she admits with a little laugh.

"Ah … so Harper Kingsley does function like a normal human."

"Oh yeah. I even put my pants on one leg at a time."

I can’t resist playing a little. "So, how do you get out of them?"

"As quickly as possible." She grins at me.

Oh, she is good. As I look at her now, I’m betting very good. Oh hell, I guessed that from the moment I saw her on the motorcycle. Some part of me is sorry that I’ll never find out. Did I just think that? Christ, Kels get a fucking grip. She is not even your type.

Beth.

Beth is your type. And you spent most of the last weekend with her taking you to places you hadn’t been in a long time. Now slam the damn cage door shut ‘til she comes back into town. In another six months or so. Oh God.

She offers me the milk and I take a drink. "Thanks. You like apple?" I ask as I pick up a slice from the tray.

"Will you feed it to me?"

"Ah, no." I hold it out to her. "You’re a big girl now. You know how to feed yourself. I’ve seen you do it."

She takes the apple, then pushes off the wall to stand up. She stretches, reaching high above her head and twisting at the waist a little.

"Sore?"

"Yeah, I’ve got to admit, I’m not accustomed to sleeping on a hard floor. Besides, lugging the gear around has taken its toll on my back. I get an adjustment once a week, but I had to miss it to come here."

"Lay down."

She turns to me. "What?"

"Lay down. On your stomach," I add. Just so she’s clear on my intentions. Actually, that doesn’t really make any difference, but … Jesus, Kelsey, get a grip on your hormones.

She shakes her head a bit, as if able to read my thoughts, but does as I tell her.

I move over her and straddle her lower back. I try not to concentrate on where our bodies are touching. Rubbing my hands together to warm them, I lean down to speak into her left ear. "Do you trust me?"

"Un-huh."

"Okay, good. Lay your arms at your side, take a deep breath, and hold it."

Again, she does as I ask. I position my hands alongside her spine. "Now, exhale." She does. I apply a slight pressure with an upward movement, and I hear and feel everything move back into place.

"Ohhhh God, that felt good," she groans. She lifts her head and turns to look at me, her eyes conveying ultimate pleasure.

God, she has bedroom eyes.

"Where in the hell did you learn to do that?"

"My grandfather had a bad back. He taught me." I get up and move back to the breakfast tray before I do anything I might regret.

She rolls over onto her side, and props her head up in the palm of her hand. "Your grandfather?"

"I spent a lot of time with my grandparents as a child. My folks were never really meant to be parents."

"You’re an only child then?"

"Yes, thank God. I’m glad they did that right."

"Huh?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. Never mind."

"’Kay." She stands up and moves to the door, listening first, then she raps on it with her knuckles. "Hey!"

I’m a bit surprised when she gets an answer. "Whaddya want?"

"The lady needs use of the facilities and I wouldn’t mind the chance either." She looks over and gives me a little wink. I can’t help but smile.

She steps back when the lock turns, followed by the knob. I get to my feet dusting my hands off as the door opens. Another gun wielding man looks in at us then waves the barrel of the gun at me. "You first."

"No."

That was an honest to God growl I just heard from Harper.

"We go together. You’re not separating us."

"Lady, I got the fucking gun." He explains this slowly, as if she might be mentally impaired.

"Only because I choose to let you keep it," she replies with the same tone. "You’re not separating us. We came in here together, we stay that way."

I watch as he tightens the grip on his gun as he considers this turn of events. It’s clear he believes hostages are supposed to be easy to intimidate. Harper isn’t. I wonder if she’s serious about him only having the gun because she lets him keep it. For some reason I am inclined to believe her. She turns and offers me her hand, which I am more than willing to take.

As my hand slides into hers, she gives it a little squeeze. "Come on, Little Roo."

As we walk past him, Harper moves me in front of her and keeps her hands on my shoulders. She glances around, checking for her gear, I’m sure. I look over and am relieved that it’s still there.

"Bathroom is right there." Our guard points to a door at our left.