Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

edge of the couch. Yet despite these acrobatic maneuvers, he didn’t catch the lamp. Instead, he dropped his glass and ended up sliding off the couch, landing on the floor. Max let out a shriek, and in less than a split second, she too was on the floor. The potential for a most intimate, passionate moment had suddenly become vaudevillian slapstick.
    The lamp didn’t break; only Jack’s pride was hurt. The storm raged on as he and Max sat in stunned silence on the floor in front of the couch. He spoke first. “You okay?” His voice betrayed his embarrassment.
    “Yeah,” was her quiet reply, followed by a pause.
    “Sorry.”
    “Didn’t even spill my drink.” A muffled sound escaped from her throat.
    Jack, not sure if she was crying or laughing, asked again if she were all right.
    “I’m fine.” Now he was sure that it was a giggle.
    He untangled himself from the blanket and stood. Then he offered his hand to her in an obvious invitation to stand. “So my dear, would you like to try this again?” he said in his best Chief Inspector Clouseau voice.
    She didn’t say anything. She stood, leaned into him, raised her arms up around his neck, and gave him a kiss.
    “Mmmm,” he moaned as he pulled her close. As her sweatshirt rose up, the previous moment’s clumsiness was quickly replaced with an urgency that needed to be sated.

CHAPTER 43
    POLLY HEARD THE DOOR OPENING and knew Malcom was home even before he announced his arrival. She had been waiting up for him, reading, in the kitchen. His late return and the still raging storm had made her anxious, and even though they hadn’t lost power, the lights had flickered several times.
    “Polly, I’m home,” he called out as he pulled the door shut.
    “You don’t have to shout; I’m right here,” she said stepping into the front hall.
    He was soaked. “Holy shit, is it raining.”
    She gave him a look. “Is it now? I hadn’t noticed,” was her sarcastic reply.
    “You know what I mean. Come here.” He took her arm and pulled her over to him, intending to give her a hug.
    She pushed him away. “No, you’re all wet …” He didn’t hear the rest of what she said because she had already gone around the corner.
    A few minutes later she joined him in the kitchen. The microwave was running and he was rummaging through the refrigerator. “Here’s a towel. What’re you heating?”
    “Tea.”
    “Move.” She waved him away. “I saved you some supper. I’ll get it.”
    He did as he was told and was ruffling his head with the towel when the microwave beeped.
    Draping the towel over his shoulders, he took his tea out of the microwave and retreated as Polly took a plate out of the fridge, placed it into the microwave, set the timer, and pressed Start.
    While the microwave hummed, she went to him, took the cup of tea from his hand, wrapped her arms around him, and said in a soft voice, “I missed you.”
    “I missed you too.” Their kiss was interrupted by the beep announcing that his food was warm.
    “So, how was your trip? Did you guys finish whatever you were doing?”
    “We did, just as the storm hit. How were things here?”
    “Good. Those two couples were here. They were really nice. I even went shopping one day with the two women, and the guys loved your running trails out back. They are planning on running that same race you’re running later this fall.”
    “The Rockdog?”
    “Yeah, They said they’d try to find you there. Anyway, they were bummed they didn’t get a chance to meet you.”

CHAPTER 44
    THE SEASON WAS NEARLY OVER, and the motel, because it was one of the oldest in the area and lacked many of the amenities guests seemed to require today, was always the last to fill at the start of the season and one of the first to close at the end. On this stormy night, it would have been completely vacant, and probably closed, except that late in the afternoon a single guest had checked in.
    Alfred sat in his motel room alone, with only his thoughts and notes to keep him company. The noise of the rain was so loud that even if he had turned on the television, it would have been hard to hear.
    “Tomorrow, the letter will be mine. Tomorrow, I will take the quilt. Tomorrow.” He said this over and over as a plan began to form in his head. The Inn had no guests. He had seen them leave. No one new had arrived, and if any were due in, it wouldn’t be until late in the day. People always checked in late in the day. In the morning he