Super Duty: Paul Butler Thrillers, #1

By Daniel K. Munroe

Meet Paul Butler, ex-cop, widower, and self-confessed car nut. He's moved to California to work as chauffeur for billionaire car enthusiast, David Harrington. Living on the grounds of a country estate and maintaining a fleet of desirable cars, he's in motoring heaven.

 

Despite a growing friendship with his employer, Paul soon finds himself caught in a clinch with Harrington's provocatively flirtatious wife. Expecting to be fired, he instead receives an unexpected reprieve. But there's a catch. He feels compelled to help with a simple plan to secretly reclaim a stolen car, a rare 1973 Pontiac Trans Am 455 Super Duty.

 

A 'simple' trip into the desert soon becomes a desperate game of survival, a game with no rules, and a game where he has no idea who the mystery players are. Plus Harrington has disappeared.

 

Caught in the middle of something much bigger than a stolen car, Paul is reluctant to trust anyone but himself until he knows what's going on. After a deadly chase across desert highways and a running gun battle in an abandoned mining town, he's leaving a mounting body count behind him in his determination to locate and confront Harrington ... and to find out why people are dying to possess the Super Duty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel K. Munroe
• Release date: Aug 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201664763

Book preview

Preface

Meet Paul Butler, ex-cop, widower, and self-confessed car nut. He’s moved to California to work as chauffeur for billionaire car enthusiast, David Harrington. Living on the grounds of a country estate and maintaining a fleet of desirable cars, he’s in motoring heaven.

Despite a growing friendship with his employer, Paul soon finds himself caught in a clinch with Harrington’s provocatively flirtatious wife. Expecting to be fired, he instead receives an unexpected reprieve. But there’s a catch. He feels compelled to help with a simple plan to secretly reclaim a stolen car, a rare 1973 Pontiac Trans Am 455 Super Duty.

A ‘simple’ trip into the desert soon becomes a desperate game of survival, a game with no rules, and a game where he has no idea who the mystery players are. Plus Harrington has disappeared.

Caught in the middle of something much bigger than a stolen car, Paul is reluctant to trust anyone but himself until he knows what’s going on. After a deadly chase across desert highways and a running gun battle in an abandoned mining town, he’s leaving a mounting body count behind him in his determination to locate and confront Harrington ... and to find out why people are dying to possess the Super Duty.

Prologue

The man stood with his back to the open entranceway. He looked left and right, as though surveying his surroundings for the very first time. Then he walked half the length of the garage, passing by car after car, apparently deep in thought. While he walked, he took a sip of white wine from a glass half full.

#

In the darkness concealing the world beyond the lit doorway, Paul Butler’s late evening stroll took him past the open garage. He automatically glanced inside and then came to a halt, shrouded in the gloom. It felt invasive but he silently stood and watched his employer, David Harrington, as he walked to one particular car in the collection.

The dark green coupe crouched impassively in its parking space. Aggressively styled, the car was obviously powerful, a driver’s car but for some reason seldom driven. The 1973 Pontiac Trans Am 455 Super Duty looked showroom fresh, an unblemished portal to days past, to other times, or other lives.

Paul watched as some long-kept memory seemed to stir within Harrington, causing a momentary flinch in response. With his trance apparently broken, Harrington moved. He walked all the way around the Super Duty before stopping and gazing once more at the long hood. It was decorated with the factory-original decal of a flaming eagle. Fiery wings were spread wide, as if to embrace the air scoop protruding through the hood from the engine beneath.

He wondered what Harrington was thinking about while staring at the only car in the entire collection that nobody else was allowed to drive. As Paul quietly slipped away towards his nearby home, he tried to imagine what secrets the Super Duty held.

Chapter One

The patrol car cruised slowly along the street. Relaxing in the driver’s seat of a Lexus LS460 sedan, Paul Butler watched it come. He wasn’t concerned, despite being parked alongside a red-painted curb normally enforced as a no-parking zone.

The patrol car continued towards him, its occupants doggedly carrying out their midnight cruise of the downtown financial district. Moments later it passed by. Two pairs of experience-hardened eyes swung towards the Lexus as the officers impassively scrutinized both Paul and his vehicle.

Quietly hoping he looked like the bored chauffeur he actually was, Paul gave the female driver and her male partner a casual nod. The gesture was ignored but at least they didn’t stop and roust him from his convenient parking place.

In his mirror the patrol car continued along the block and turned from sight. Suddenly feeling tired, Paul let his head fall back against the head restraint and he spent a few moments gazing vacantly upwards through the open sunroof.

The surrounding buildings towered above him, tall walls of glass appearing to lean together above the street, as though trying to squeeze the darkness from between their gaunt facades. He peered beyond them, staring up at the distant sliver of nothingness that was the night sky. Somewhere up there the inevitable stars were concealed from view by the almost as inevitable Los Angeles smog.

Paul gave up his vertical sightseeing and exited the car. As he made for the sidewalk, a glance at his watch told him what he already knew. The wait in the car had been more than an hour. Not that he particularly minded the waiting around.

He felt much more alert now he was out of the Lexus and pacing back and forth. Climbing two shallow steps, he abandoned the sidewalk and began wandering around the shadowy recessed area surrounding the front doors of the Harrington Building. Visible through the glass doors was a directory board. It listed the various departments of Harrington Incorporated, and indicated which of the forty floors they could be found on. Beyond the directory, marble flooring reflected the muted glow of after-hours lighting. The expansive lobby curved past an empty reception desk and ended at a row of elevators.

With the police cruiser gone, Paul was alone on the street once more. During the day the sidewalk would be awash with a sea of people but at night the area was almost completely deserted. Besides the Lexus, only half a dozen cars were parked at intervals along the street.

Absentmindedly, he listened to the remote but ceaseless din of late-night city traffic. Somewhere not too far away, what sounded like a bottle smashed. A short time later, an odd metallic screech pierced the night. It made Paul prick up his ears but he quickly dismissed it from his mind. Elsewhere in the distance, a siren’s rising note peaked and then died away, as suddenly as it began.

Making a half-hearted attempt to stifle a yawn, he became alert as he heard the same shrill metallic screeching noise again, this time from somewhere nearby. Quietly easing himself fully upright, he stood listening intently as he stared at what he could see of the street from where he waited. In contrast to the gloomy entrance area, streetlamps bathed the sidewalk in light and highlighted the gleaming, gunmetal grey Lexus. The smooth shape of the sedan was emphasized by the myriad reflections sliding sensuously across the paintwork each time Paul moved.

The screech sounded a third time. It was louder, closer to where he waited, and now he knew what had most likely caused it. After taking a couple of silent steps forward, he paused and became a statue within one of the deepest shadows just inside the entrance way. Then he slowly leaned forward a fraction, cautiously peering past the edge of the building to survey the street to his left. He spotted two young males sauntering along the sidewalk towards him. They were both aged around twenty or so.

The one on the left had vividly blonde hair formed into a bizarre structure consisting of three up-thrusting spikes. Paul suspected the retro-punk look was more the product of hair gel than an engineering degree. His companion was also fair skinned but had darker hair, as evidenced by the color of the stubble growing evenly across the top of his skull. They each sported black jeans and leather jackets. Stubble’s was covered in glinting studs.

The men passed close to the flanks of a parked Honda and Stubble casually held his left hand out from his side. As he passed by the length of the car, another screech issued forth. This time it was accompanied by a snigger from Spike.

Paul found himself giving the young vandals names in an attempt to keep perspective. Slowly leaning back, he made sure he was out of sight as he wondered what to do next. His charcoal suit helped him blend into the surrounding shadows, but he felt far from invisible. Waiting for the pair to appear in front of him, he urgently considered his options. And reminded himself there were only two of them.

Yeah, right. Only two of them. The little voice in his head was sounding particularly sarcastic tonight so he ignored it.

To Paul’s way of thinking, he had two simple choices. Choice number one was to do nothing. Let them scar the Lexus and pass on by. He couldn’t see whether Stubble was using a coin or a key to cause the damage but it didn’t really matter. Either one would create the need for an expensive repair.

Behind door number two? Confront the pair before they had a chance to ruin the side of the car. But the area was deserted and experience told him that merely asking the youths to pass on the Lexus, even if he asked them nicely, wasn’t likely to work too well.

Paul knew why he felt an obligation to protect the Lexus, even though it wasn’t his own. But just why he felt an obligation to the owners of the other cars on the street was something he couldn’t have explained if asked. He knew it was a ridiculous notion, but there it was.

Time was ticking by. There were ten or twelve car lengths between the vandalized Honda and the spot occupied by the Lexus. Paul stood waiting, a single step above the sidewalk, roughly opposite the rear bumper of his car. He knew there were only seconds left in which to decide upon a course of action.

Even though there were only two men to take on, he was honest enough with himself to admit he was more than a little nervous. His street experience told him things could easily go terribly wrong. But he also knew he was going to do it anyway. Being unarmed made the situation a little awkward, so he would have to use every advantage available to him. Besides, he was the father of two children, so he had to be extra careful about emerging from the encounter in one piece.

That thought led to an image flashing through his mind of his young daughters left all alone in the world. He imagined the impact of them orphaned due to their irresponsibly stupid father being fatally injured during a sidewalk dispute over a vandalized Lexus. Indecision tore at him but he finally decided to stay where he was. Let it happen. It’s just a car.

While it made him feel like a coward, he consoled his ego by reminding himself that he was doing it for the sake of his daughters. His sense of responsibility had decided for him, not his sense of self-preservation. It’s the right thing to do. In less than two seconds he had talked himself through a one-eighty degree turn, first to get involved and then to keep out of it.

Standing as still as humanly possible, he breathed in through his nose and exhaled quietly through his mouth. The breathing technique helped calm him but not by much. His heart was making such a thumping racket he was certain the young vandals would hear it as they walked by.

Spike’s quiet sniggering told him they were about to appear, and when they walked into view, Spike was already pointing at the Lexus.

‘Let’s really do this one. There’s nobody around,’ he urged.

Stubble mumbled something in response but Paul couldn’t decipher what it was.

Paul was rapidly becoming annoyed with himself for standing back. Anger flared into fury and he suddenly changed his mind. Without a sound, he emerged from the shadows, closing in from behind Spike’s right side. Fortunately, at that moment Stubble was also looking away, towards the Lexus.

It’s now or never ...

As Spike began to turn his head, alerted by motion in the periphery of his vision, Paul’s hands were a blur. His left hand whipped back towards his ribs as his right reciprocated and powered forward in a classic Karate movement. His timing was perfect and the heel of his open hand slammed into the side of Spike’s jaw just as Spike looked towards him. A grunt of effort escaped Paul’s lips, and the solid strike jarred his arm and shoulder.

The power of the blow was emphasized by Spike turning his head into the impact. He crumpled to his knees, pitching forward, and Paul helped him on his way with a hastily executed roundhouse kick to the back of the head. Spike flopped forward onto his chest and was unconscious before his cheek smacked the sidewalk.

Stubble spun around when he heard the first blow and hurriedly sidestepped to avoid Spike’s collapsing form. With Spike’s body creating a horizontal barrier between them, Paul watched Stubble’s initial look of astonishment begin to fade.

‘What the fuck did you do that for? I’m going to do you for that!’

Oh heck! I’ve gone and done it now. It wasn’t the threat that rattled Paul. It was spotting what Stubble had been using to damage the cars. Rather than sticking to tradition and using a coin or a key, he had been using the tip of a switchblade.

Inside Paul, fear was jostling with anger. On the outside, he stood resolute. He had been in similar situations before but had been younger and dumber then. And he had enjoyed the meager advantage offered by a blue uniform. For a few seconds the two men continued to appraise each other across the prostrate form of Spike, who was still out for the count.

Maintaining crucial eye contact with Stubble, Paul couldn’t check on Spike. Never having kicked anyone in the back of the head before, or at least not that he could remember, he wondered how much force he should have put into the kick. And how much might be too much.

Stubble must also have been wondering about his buddy. Paul sensed he was itching to check on Spike’s condition. Instead, he stared at Paul, anger contorting his features, challenging Paul’s resolve as he waved the knife back and forth.

Watching and waiting, and trying to quell the urge to turn and run, Paul had initially hoped Stubble would attempt to transfer the knife to his right hand. Any opportunity to turn the tables. But Stubble appeared to be left-handed, and even as Paul watched, he deftly changed the way he was holding the knife. A casual flip of his hand flicked the knife around so that the blade jutted from the bottom of his fist rather than from the top. It looked an ideal grip for either stabbing or cutting. Paul wasn’t keen on either option.

The swiftness of the change of grip worried Paul. Stubble appeared to have spent a lot of time with the knife in his hand. Just how good is he with that thing? Figuring he was about to find out, Paul realized he already knew one thing for sure. Just as taking a knife to a gunfight is dumb, turning up empty-handed at a knife-fight is none too bright either.

The blade scribed a lazy figure eight in the air between them. Stubble was constantly moving his fist back and forth, the blade dutifully following, polished steel flashing under the caress of the streetlights in an almost hypnotic rhythm.

‘How do you like it? Scared? You should be. I’m going to cut you up good for taking down my pal.’

Paul chose not to respond verbally to the taunts. He didn’t trust his voice just then and figured that uttering a strangled squeaking noise might give the game away.

Feeling he had already lost control of the situation, he nonetheless tensed himself to make a move. But at the exact moment he took a step to his right, Stubble moved too. They began to slowly circle around Spike, each of them using Spike’s body as a hurdle for the other to overcome.

As awkward as this was, Paul didn’t want to back away from Spike’s body because Stubble could then simply step across and more easily launch into an attack. However, staying close to Spike’s out-flung limbs created the risk of tripping or stumbling. Both men were equally disadvantaged, but he knew one of them would have to act soon.

Deciding it was time to end the impasse, Paul raised his hands a little to improve the defensive posture he had automatically adopted after disabling Spike. As he did so, he was surprised to see Stubble’s eyes react, as though in fright. Stubble stopped circling and stood still, seemingly rooted to the spot.

Confusion struck Paul. There was no reason for Stubble to suddenly be frightened of him. With a glimmer of hope, he realized it was possible Stubble was unaware that he had already witnessed his entire repertoire of rusty Karate. No, that’s not it. Stubble’s gaze had shifted by a fraction, and he was actually staring at somebody or something directly behind and beyond where Paul stood. Stubble’s eyes began darting back and forth, watching Paul but also watching whatever was behind him.

A trickle of concern ran down Paul’s spine but he resisted the urge to turn and check behind him. A second later he heard the sound of a vehicle, quietly approaching from behind him. So, that’s what you spotted, huh? Remembering the police cruiser that had passed by earlier, Paul listened intently to the vehicle’s arrival but he kept his eyes fixed on Stubble.

The car stopped with a soft squeak from dusty brakes and Paul heard a door open. Still, he didn’t dare turn away from Stubble. Who says you can never find a cop when you need one? The thought almost made him smile. Come and grab him up guys. Take him away guys. Throw him in the slammer guys. Any time you’re ready guys. Guys?

‘No, no, no, man. No need to get excited,’ said Stubble. ‘We were just kidding around. Right? Tell the man we were just fooling around.’ Stubble’s eyes implored Paul to help out.

Even though the threatening manner was gone, Paul stayed silent and he remained on full alert as Stubble virtually begged whoever had just alighted from the vehicle to take it easy. But something was missing and he struggled to put his finger on what was bothering him.

The desire to turn around and check out his apparent rescuers was almost overwhelming. Finally, right at the point where his impatience was about to get the better of him, someone spoke from disturbingly close by, in fact from right behind where he stood.

‘My friend, I want you to slowly step away to the side,’ said a familiar voice.

Hell! It’s not the cops, it’s Terry. Even better, I think.

And now he realized what had been bothering him. There was no radio chatter escaping the vehicle behind him. The police band is almost always busy and even more so at night. Paul had subconsciously noticed the absence of the distinctive sound. He carefully stepped out of the way and the calmly issued instructions continued.

‘That’s good. Now your scumbag playmate here is going to toss the knife away.’ Terry’s tone invited no argument and was almost immediately rewarded with the clatter of the switchblade landing on the pavement. ‘Good. Now, on your knees, then lie facedown and cross one ankle over the other.’

A glance at Terry revealed the reason for Stubble’s obedience. Terry’s hands were wrapped around the grip of an ugly black Glock. And the muzzle of the semi-automatic pistol was unwaveringly trained on Stubble.

Paul felt a familiar thrill. He had routinely been around guns most of his life. And being an ex-cop, he had been in a few situations involving armed confrontations. Nevertheless, seeing a handgun in action on a public sidewalk was still strangely electrifying.

‘Who the hell are you?’ demanded Stubble, his bravado slowly returning as he fist knelt, then lay down. ‘You a cop?’

‘Nope. But I’ll happily put a bullet through your head if you try anything. Now, shut up and put your arms straight out to the sides. Twist your arms so the back of each hand is touching the sidewalk. Come on, it’s not rocket science,’ muttered Terry. ‘For Christ’s sake, twist them the other way, that’s it. Now stay like that and don’t even twitch. You got that? You won’t be the first person I’ve shot, so don’t get cute.’ Terry’s voice was quiet but full of menace.

‘Thanks Pal,’ said Paul. The words felt inadequate.

‘You’re welcome. But what’ve you been doing to upset the natives?’ Terry asked. ‘You’ve hardly been here five minutes.’ He risked a sidelong glance at Paul as he posed the question.

Paul knew that when Terry said here he meant here in California.

‘They were vandalizing the cars on the street and the Lexus was going to be next.’ He shrugged to convey the notion that he had no choice but to get involved. ‘So I kind of tried to, um, stop them.’ Then he hastily added, ‘But at the time, I didn’t know this one had a knife.’ For a moment he felt like he was explaining his actions to the principal of his long-ago high school rather than to a friend. Terry exuded the same sort of authority.

Terry was a good fifteen or twenty years older than Paul’s thirty eight years, and an inch or so taller in height, probably scraping six foot two. The wide jaw and his grey hair cut in a flat-top style made his face look almost square, the effect amplified by broad shoulders. Seemingly equipped with a ramrod backbone, he was one of those men whose general bearing betrayed his military background. Immaculately dressed in a black suit and tie, starched white shirt, and spit-polished shoes, he was an imposing sight. Glock or no Glock.

‘My friend, would you mind opening the trunk of my car and fetching something for me?’ asked Terry. ‘Unless you want to come over here and hold this little toy of mine on your asshole playmates while I do it? We need to wrap this up before our employers come down.’

Paul turned to Terry’s black Lincoln. The immaculately presented Town Car was virtually double-parked beside the Lexus and facing the wrong way on the street. Paul guessed that when Terry had seen his predicament, he hadn’t wanted to waste time performing a U-turn. After walking to the trunk, he silently cast an inquiring glance at Terry.

‘In a bag in the corner of the trunk, you’ll find some black plastic zip ties. I keep them there just in case. Never thought I’d need them though. They’re the same size as police riot-cuffs. Grab two. I’m figuring you don’t want to call in the cops, so we’re going to leave these assholes as a gift for the owner of that car over there. He can call the cops when he comes back to his car.’

Finding the ties, Paul took two of them. They were just like the small zip ties used for securing electrical cables together, only these were much bigger. They were over a foot in length and looked just as strong as the plastic mass-arrest cuffs used by some police departments.

Without further instruction from Terry, Paul walked around the far side of Stubble to keep clear of the muzzle of the Glock.

‘Lie still now,’ Terry reminded Stubble. ‘I’m aiming at your head and even my grandmother couldn’t miss at this range.’

Moving cautiously but confidently, Paul placed one knee on Stubble’s back. Then grabbing a wrist, he dragged the arm into position. He shifted his weight and grabbed the other wrist. As soon as he had both wrists together on top of the zip tie that he had placed on the small of Stubble’s back, he jammed his knee on top of the limbs. Looping the strip of plastic up and around the wrists, he threaded the ends together and heard the distinctive zipping noise as he pulled the loop tight.

Stubble began to struggle when the loop bit into his flesh but Paul put some weight behind his other knee and rammed downward onto the back of Stubble’s ribcage.

Getting to his feet and ignoring Stubble’s gasping protest, Paul saw that the Glock had magically disappeared and Terry was busy rolling Spike over onto his back. Letting him get on with it, Paul grunted with effort as he hauled his own reluctant captive upright.

Terry took the spare cable tie from Paul, grabbed Spike under the arms, and then dragged him to the Honda Accord parked nearby. Mercifully, they still had the street to themselves.

At the same time, Paul gingerly retrieved Stubble’s knife, careful to avoid leaving fingerprints on it. Clutching the collar of Stubble’s jacket with his free hand, Paul marched him to the Honda and then carefully placed the knife in the center of the roof where the Honda’s owner couldn’t help but see it.

Near the Accord was a street lamp. Paul shoved Stubble backwards and forced him to sit at the base of the lamppost. Terry dumped the semi-conscious Spike against the opposite side of the lamppost and then none too gently dragged each of his arms around the pole. With Paul’s help, he threaded one of Spike’s hands through between Stubble’s arms, and then secured Spike’s wrists together.

‘Let me guess. You were a Boy Scout in a previous life,’ said Paul.

A smirk made a brief appearance on Terry’s face as he began to check on Spike’s condition. Using his thumb, he gently rolled up each eyelid in turn. Paul felt like he and Terry were playing at being armchair medics but nevertheless he peered over his friend’s shoulder and was relieved to see both of Spike’s pupils the same size.

‘He should be fine, other than having a king-size headache. Let’s hope so anyway,’ said Terry. ‘Take two aspirin and don’t call me in the morning,’ he instructed the still dazed and uncaring Spike, in a parody of a doctor on his daily rounds.

On the other side of the lamppost, Stubble was overcoming his fear of Terry’s handgun.

‘He’d better be okay,’ he barked, his voice beginning to rise in volume. ‘You can’t leave us like this. Who do you think you are anyway? And what do you think the jerks who own these cars are going to do to us when they get back, huh?’

‘You should have thought of that before you messed with their cars,’ advised Terry. ‘And besides, two tough guys like you should be able to fend for yourselves, even with your hands tied behind your backs. You just have to hope they simply call the police. Personally, I hope they kick you in the nuts first.’ Terry turned and nodded to Paul. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

As the two men moved to return to their cars, Stubble went ballistic.

‘I’ll get you for this! You’re dead! Both of you! I’ll find you, and I’ll waste you!’ He was screaming at them, and Paul began to worry that someone might call the cops before they had a chance to get clear of the area.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ muttered Paul beneath his breath. ‘Heard it all before.’

‘I’ll kill your kids! I’ll bet you’ve got kids. I’ll waste the little snots!’

The despicable threat made both men stop and turn. Terry started back but Paul stayed him with a hand against his chest.

‘I’ll deal with it,’ he said.

A nod from Terry reassured Paul that it was his play. Walking back, Paul took a deep breath as he stepped off the curb and onto the street. He stopped in front of Stubble, who had fallen silent as he looked up at Paul.

Even though he was secured in place with his back to the lamppost, Stubble still managed to look blatantly belligerent as he sat on the edge of the sidewalk. He had slouched down as far as his shackled arms would allow, and his legs were thrust straight out in front of him, sticking out onto the street beside where Paul now stood.

Without warning, Paul sidestepped and placed his foot firmly onto Stubble’s knee, which was a few inches above the surface of the street because of the height of the curb. Paul pressed a little of his weight onto the knee joint. The angle of the pressure was such that the knee was locked straight and Stubble couldn’t twist his leg from beneath Paul’s foot.

A twinge of pain appeared on Stubble’s face.

‘You’ll do nothing.’ Paul spoke in a very quiet voice, towering above Stubble, forcing him to stare upwards, straining to catch the words. ‘You’ll chalk this up to experience and forget all about me. If you do anything that causes me to ever set eyes on you in the future, I’ll make sure you never bother anyone ever again. Understand?’

There was silence as Stubble glared up at Paul for a few moments. Then he suddenly laughed derisively.

‘You haven’t got it in you. You’re not the type,’ he sneered.

Paul allowed himself a look of resignation but beneath the surface he was thinking furiously quickly. He had expected Stubble to have just enough brains to take him seriously. Mistake. And now he had painted himself into a corner. To back down would be a sign of weakness. To not back down was an ugly thought too. I didn’t want it to come to this. With a sigh, he turned slightly and released a fraction of the pressure on Stubble’s knee.

‘Knew it,’ muttered Stubble.

Without hesitation, Paul twisted back, and shifted his entire weight onto the front of Stubble’s knee. The knee couldn’t bend but it could break. And it did. The joint made an awful cracking sound as it collapsed.

Stubble screamed. It was a piercing, animalistic sound that set Paul’s teeth on edge. Quickly dropping to a crouch, Paul clamped a hand over Stubble’s mouth. With his face only inches from Stubble’s bulging eyes, he spoke again.

‘Not the type, huh? You should have listened to your mother when she taught you not to judge a book by its cover. One more word out of you and I’ll break the other leg. Got it?’ He paused as Stubble tried to nod his head, and then he added, ‘If you ever come looking for me, I’ll break your scrawny little neck. Understand?’ More desperate nodding.

Paul stood up. Stubble simply sat and stared at his wrecked knee, tears streaming down his face. A soft whimpering sound escaped his lips. The angle of his injured knee looked awful, and the sight of the strangely bent leg probably made him all the more aware of the pain.

Paul felt a momentary pang of regret but he didn’t let it show. He turned and walked back to Terry, who had been watching in grim silence.

‘Remind me never to threaten your family,’ Terry said with a lopsided grin, making Paul wince slightly.

‘Sorry you had to see that. But I had to make him understand I was serious.’

‘Yeah, I know. Forget it happened. Didn’t see a thing.’ Terry looked at Paul intently, genuine concern in his eyes. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s get back to the cars. I’ve had enough excitement for one night.’

‘Me too,’ said Paul.

As Terry turned and moved to fall in beside him, Paul was able to see further along the street to where the Lexus and the Lincoln were parked. He groaned quietly and Terry glanced towards the cars.

‘Uh oh. That can’t be good,’ he whispered as they walked. He got no argument from Paul.

David Harrington was waiting beside the Lexus, watching them approach. Standing tall, appearing relaxed but alert, and with his hands casually tucked into his suit trouser pockets, he looked every bit like the man in charge. He looked at Paul and then at Terry before eventually speaking. His cultured voice was calm and tinged with curiosity, and perhaps just a hint of amusement.

‘It appears I’ve missed some drama while I was upstairs. Perhaps you can tell me all about it on the way home, Paul?’

‘Uh, yes Mister Harrington,’ answered Paul awkwardly, thrown off balance by Harrington’s seemingly unconcerned air.

‘Excuse me Sir,’ said Terry, as he hustled away towards the Lincoln, ‘I’ll just get my car out of the way. Goodnight Sir.’

Paul opened the front passenger door of the Lexus and held it until Harrington was seated inside. Then, after quietly closing the door, he walked around the front of the car to his own door. Pausing for a moment as he was about to lower himself into the driver’s seat, he gave Terry a wave of thanks.

Having swung the Lincoln around before easing to a halt behind the Lexus, Terry exited the car and called quietly to Paul.

‘Welcome to the U.S. of A. Home of the brave, and in your case, the foolish.’

Closing his door and grinning at Terry’s image in his mirror, Paul made a mental note to ring him in the very near future so they could have a beer together. He shuddered to think what might have happened if Terry hadn’t arrived when he did. And he hoped Terry was away from the area before anyone called the cops.

Even as he entertained the thought, Paul saw the doors of the Harrington Building slide open. A grey-haired man in his sixties came striding out into the night air. Terry was already hastening to open the rear door of the Lincoln.

Paul tapped the starter button and quietly allowed himself a sigh of relief on Terry’s behalf. Easing away from the curb, he pointed the whisper-quiet Lexus towards home.

Chapter Two

Paul loved to run. But he hated the first half mile.

He found it easiest to fit a run into his daily routine by running in the early morning. But some days, getting up immediately after the alarm clock frightened him into wakefulness was a challenge. His wife had been a morning person but Paul was exactly the opposite, and the snooze button held a certain appeal.

Nevertheless, he regularly managed to drag himself out of bed and stumble off into the dawning day. As he slowly became fully awake, his body would begin complaining as various joints and muscles began to feel brittle or inflexible. However, he always persisted and would soon settle into a rhythm, after which he would begin to enjoy himself. Eventually he would feel as though he could run all day. In reality, an hour was his comfortable maximum.

What he particularly enjoyed was the day-to-day energy running gave him. So he worked hard at staying fit, and at thirty-eight years old, he looked to be in pretty much the same shape as he had been at twenty-eight.

The track he was running on was fairly smooth so he was able to admire the scenery and let his mind wander while he ran, instead of having to maintain a constant focus on his footing. The grass on either side of the meandering track was still dotted with spring flowers, and here and there were sentinel stands of trees.

The hills were an excellent workout, with each uphill grind earning the respite of a downhill lope. Paul thought the tracks were a brilliant idea, and not for the first time he wondered what they must have cost to create. A little over a yard wide, with a surface of crushed and compacted limestone, the tracks dipped and curved across miles of countryside.

To his surprise, Paul discovered he wasn’t alone. As he crested a rise he saw the figure of another runner. Almost a quarter mile or so ahead and running in the same direction, he caught a glimpse of her just as she disappeared over the brow of another hill. And even at such a distance, he was certain it was a woman. However, it definitely wasn’t Claire Harrington. She never ran. She was naturally slim and didn’t believe in getting all hot and sweaty. Well, not through jogging anyway.

After briefly wondering who could be running on Harrington’s land, Paul pushed the question from his mind. The woman was too far ahead for him to even consider catching up with her. Instead, he returned his thoughts to the previous night, and the trip home in the Lexus with David Harrington.

As he mulled over the conversation for the tenth time, Paul once again reassured himself that he had nothing to worry about. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Harrington had seemed perversely pleased.

For the first minute or so Harrington had been silent, other than releasing a long sigh that spoke of something akin to exhaustion. A touch of a button tilted his seat back a few degrees and he had looked to be settled in for the night, let alone for the trip home. His immaculately tailored suit jacket was unbuttoned and he had loosened his tie with obvious relief.

Eventually, as the Lexus wafted along city streets that were finally beginning to shed traffic, and with the silence inside the car beginning to stretch Paul’s weary nerves, Harrington had been the first to speak.

‘Meetings. Sometimes I worry that my life is becoming an endless series of meetings.’

‘I guess I know what you mean, especially if the meetings seem to be just for the sake of having a meeting. But I’m not sure why you have to put up with it,’ Paul had said, before cautiously adding, ‘After all, don’t you run the show?’ He had felt a little off balance as he had been expecting a grilling, not a chat.

‘Oh, I do. Or at least I think I still run the show. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.’

‘Uh huh,’ Paul had acknowledged, not really knowing what Harrington was on about.

‘It’s complicated,’ Harrington had continued, obviously feeling a need to explain further, ‘the way my father left the corporation to me. You see, dear old Dad knew me only too well when I was a teenager, and he strongly suspected that even as an adult I’d want to keep playing at life as he used to call it, instead of working at it, as he did.’

‘Go on.’

‘I mean, I could never understand why he worked absolutely all the time, despite having so much already. He suspected I wouldn’t want to stress myself, especially by trying to run the entire business single-handedly, so he created a complex chain of command that left me in overall charge, but with experienced people making most of the decisions and doing the day to day stuff. So, I’m the Chairman of the Board, and each member of the board is responsible for a number of Chief Executives. And between all of us, we control all the different facets of a multitude of different enterprises scattered across America and around the globe, as you already know.’

After pausing to stifle a yawn, Harrington had continued once more.

‘Sorry. Sometimes I even bore myself when I talk about work. Where was I? Oh yeah. So despite the fact that I don’t have to make all the decisions, I still need to be involved from time to time, especially when we’re acquiring another company, like tonight. And some of these get-togethers run quite late, as witnessed by this evening.’

‘It’s not that late.’

‘Quite late enough though. And I’m sure you and I would both rather have spent a quiet evening at home with our respective families. Plus it appears that staying at home would have saved you some grief as well, does it not? Would you care to fill me in on what happened before I turned up? It looked pretty, shall we say, intense?’

The moment Paul had been dreading had finally arrived, so he had dutifully launched into a detailed and dispassionate recounting of events.

For his part, Harrington had listened in silence but he had raised an eyebrow at the first mention of the knife.

The slight movement of Harrington’s head had caused Paul to glance across in time to see the quizzical look. It was one of those times he appreciated Harrington choosing to sit in the front of the car whenever they traveled alone together. They were steadily becoming good friends despite being employer and employee.  And Paul appreciated that, even though he found it difficult to maintain a balance, especially as he was still reluctant to call Harrington by his first name when they were working, regardless of an invitation to do so.

‘Well, I thought they were just normal scumbags,’ Paul had quickly explained in response to his employer’s unspoken question, ‘so I thought they were using a coin or a key to scratch the cars, like most vandals would be. The knife came as a bit of a shock.’

‘I’ll bet! Would you still have challenged them if you’d known?’ Harrington had asked, turning his head to watch Paul answer. ‘About the knife, I mean.’

‘Don’t know. No, really, I don’t,’ he had insisted, catching the doubtful look from Harrington. ‘After all, I’d already decided not to confront them in the first place, before I even knew about the knife. Knowing about it would have made me stay out of sight ... definitely ... I think. Or at least I’d like to think I have enough common sense to have stayed well out of it.’ Then he had hastened to elaborate even further. ‘But I would have felt bad about the Lexus if I’d done nothing. I felt I had a duty to protect it.’

‘Forget the Lexus!’ Harrington had exclaimed good-naturedly. ‘I can always get another car. Or fix this one. I know you love cars as much as I do. Probably more. And I never thought I’d meet someone I could say that about. But I don’t want you sticking your neck out like that again. Not for this car anyway. You’d be too hard to replace.’ Harrington had then paused and appeared contemplative for a moment, before suddenly changing the subject. ‘You know, I’m still sometimes surprised you accepted my offer and came over here at all. Though I understand circumstances gave you a nudge in this direction. And you know how sorry I am about Jennifer.’

‘Thanks.’

An awkward silence had filled the car for a few moments. In fact, the whole planet had seemed strangely hushed, the almost complete lack of sound emphasizing just how well the Lexus insulated them from the outside world.

They had driven onward. The sprawling city’s limits were finally behind them, and they were heading out into the countryside where Harrington had chosen to make his home. It had been well past midnight and Paul had felt drained. The high of the earlier encounter had been replaced by a fatigue that threatened to engulf him, and forced him to focus intently on his driving.

‘How are the girls settling in?’ Harrington had suddenly asked, and then he had continued before Paul could open his mouth to answer. ‘I saw them a couple of days ago and we sat in the sun and had a little talk. They’d been running around the gardens and seemed happy enough, although little Amanda’s still quite shy of me. Are they enjoying their new school?’

#

Before he could recall his answer, Paul’s mind was instantly back in his present surroundings again. He had been jogging on auto-pilot, ignoring his laboring lungs, and completely oblivious to his surroundings. Well, almost.

There she is again. The mystery woman was much closer this time but as chance would have it, Paul wasn’t much better off than before.

A wide stream ran through Harrington’s land. And whereas the meandering track Paul occupied was identical to the off-white ribbon the mystery woman was running along, she was coming towards him on the path that ran along the opposite side of the stream. From previous outings Paul knew there was nowhere to cross for quite a distance in either direction. Which was typical of his luck. They would pass by each other but with a wide stretch of water between them.

As the woman loped along, coming closer by the second, Paul could see she was attractive. Make that very attractive. Her blonde hair was cropped short and it caught the light as it swung back and forth above her shoulders.

Her long slim legs were bare and obviously saw the sun on a regular basis. The woman wore a loose-fitting white sweat top which effectively hid what Paul could only imagine was a body to match the legs. He dragged his gaze upwards to a very pretty face. Probably early thirties, he thought, now he was close enough to see her better. But he knew his best guess could be out by years, in either direction.

As the woman glanced towards him, Paul suddenly realized he was staring. Snapping his eyes forward, he looked ahead along his own path. Then he carefully timed his next glance so as to justify a friendly wave. His timing was perfect and he casually raised a hand as she drew almost level with him. It struck him as he waved that he was keen for her to reciprocate.

‘Hi,’ the woman called out as she waved back.

‘Lovely day,’ Paul answered, still looking towards her.

At that exact moment, his foot caught on an imperfection in the track. And even as he jerked his head around to look straight ahead in an effort to keep his balance, his trip became a stumble, and the stumble turned into a staggering sprawl. With his arms and legs flailing, he desperately tried to stay on his feet but to no avail. He crashed to the ground and skidded to an undignified halt.

A sharp, stinging sensation came from his knee as he immediately picked himself up. Cursing his stupidity, he dusted himself off. In doing so, he discovered he had also grazed the heel of one hand.

A quick glance across the stream confirmed his worst fear. Not only had the woman seen his ungainly crash, she had even stopped to see if he was okay. Damn! So much for a good first impression.

The woman looked genuinely concerned, which he thought was sweet of her, but it also made him feel like even more of an idiot.

Dumb guy. Dumb guy. Dumb guy, he chanted to himself.

‘Are you okay?’ she called out to him.

‘Oh, I’m fine. Thanks for asking, but really I’m fine. Got to go. Nice to meet you. Bye.’

Launching himself back into a run, he hoped he could keep from limping until he rounded the next bend and was well beyond the sight of his audience. He resisted the temptation to look back and see if she was still watching him, because he absolutely did not want to know. He found himself wondering if she was single. Then he pointed out to himself that even if she was single it was highly unlikely she was looking for a clumsy fool to date.

Nice to meet you? What was I thinking? What a stupid thing to say. As much as he found himself intrigued by the beautiful stranger, he hoped never to set eyes on her again. The embarrassment would probably kill him.

Stopping just around the next curve, he checked out his knee. It was bleeding where he had grazed it. Gritting his teeth, he brushed as much of the limestone from the graze as he could, and at the same time he reminded himself to be more sympathetic the next time one of his daughters skinned a knee. Deciding it would be fine until he got home, he resumed his run. At least the heel of his hand wasn’t bleeding. It just stung like hell.

At the same time as trying to forget the mystery woman, he also tried to purge his demonstration of gymnastic ineptitude. But he knew it would be a long time before that particular bruise disappeared from his ego. Plus he was beginning to experience a nagging sense of guilt regarding Jennifer.

In an effort to dismiss the whole mess from his mind, he thought instead about what Harrington had asked him the night before. Just how were the girls coping? The truth was it was hard to tell. He could only hope they were coping as well as he thought they were. Or as well as they said they were.

His mind slipped into auto-pilot again. In answer to Harrington’s question in the Lexus, Paul had assured him that the girls were getting through their difficulties, and that they loved the school.

When they had first arrived in California, Paul had discovered Harrington had already arranged for Amy and Amanda to attend an exclusive school for girls. Mainly because it wasn’t ridiculously far away from the house from a commuting point of view, but also from a wish to see them receiving the best possible education. He was pretty sure the exclusivity of the school was also a factor. The Harringtons had no children of their own, and Paul suspected they were keen to vicariously experience a taste of parenthood through his children.

Both Amanda and Amy had quickly made new friends and seemed to have been readily accepted by the other students. Paul supposed that being from New Zealand made them something of a novelty. Especially as only a few of their classmates had possessed any real idea as to whereabouts New Zealand actually was on the globe.

As for Harrington’s next question, Paul had been a little vague in answering. He still felt uncomfortable talking about losing Jennifer. Fortunately, they had been turning in through the gates to the house just as he was telling Harrington that he himself was also getting there. Thus he was spared any further questions from his politely curious and genuinely concerned employer and friend.

As Paul had pulled the Lexus up in front of the main house, Harrington had opened his door and stepped out of the car