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  GONE DUCK

  By L.L. Muir

  AMAZON KDP EDITION

  PUBLISHED BY

  Lesli Muir Lytle

  www.llmuir.weebly.com

  GONE DUCK © 2015 L.Lytle

  All rights reserved

  Amazon KDP Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Cori Deyoe

  my agent

  Who always gets just as excited as I

  when I say

  “I’ve got this idea…”

  ALSO BY L.L. Muir

  *Young Adult Paranormal Thriller

  Somewhere Over the Freaking Rainbow

  Freaking Off the Grid

  *Scottish Time Travel Romance

  Going Back for Romeo

  Not Without Juliet

  Collecting Isobelle

  What About Wickham

  The Curse of Clan Ross Series

  Christmas Kiss

  Kiss This

  *Scottish Historical Romance

  Kilt Trip: Part 1

  Kilt Trip: Part 2

  Kilt Trip: Part 3

  Kilt Trip: Part 4

  Kilt Trip: Part 5

  Kilt Trip: Part 6

  Under the Kissing Tree

  *Regency Historical Romance

  Blood for Ink

  Bones for Bread

  Lord Fool to the Rescue

  *Western Romance

  Ruffles and Rawhide

  *Middle Grade Children’s Books

  Where to Pee on a Pirate Ship

  Coming Soon

  Keefer Boone and the Gladiator Diaries

  By Mortimer Coffee

  GONE DUCK

  CHAPTER ONE

  Rubber Ducky was in place, turned just so on the end of the shelf.

  Macey flipped off the light switch.

  Her new, fluffy towel waited on the vintage blue bench. A dozen aqua and white candles were lit, glowing against seashell shadows trapped in the depth of the wax. Their dancing light made the painting of a sailboat, on the wall above the tub, look like it was wobbling. Her hair was secured at the back of her head with her lucky clip. The bubbles were six inches thick on the top of water, two degrees hotter than perfection.

  She eased out of her robe and into her now-traditional celebratory bath. So much better than celebrating with a stupid glass of champagne.

  “Theeee…End,” she announced to the duck.

  A sudden rumbling made Ducky start vibrating on the wood shelf. Someone was running on the stairs against the outside wall of her apartment.

  She huffed and sat like a grinch among her bubbles while she waited for her little tormentors to stop. She wouldn’t be able to relax now until their mother forced them inside.

  “Kids,” she mumbled. She was never going to have kids.

  Still jumping, Ducky turned in a circle and tipped off the edge.

  “What are you doing!” she screamed at the wall, hoping one of those little monsters could hear her.

  The vibrating suddenly stopped, which was a surprise since the neighbor kids never listened to her.

  She climbed out of the tub and ignored the dripping as she picked up the duck, put it back in its place. Straightened him. Let go.

  An explosion rocked the floor, the walls. Half the candles blew out. At the same time, the duck jumped off the shelf again, along with every towel and toiletry. At least she was able to catch the duck.

  Explosion would mean fire. Water! Get back in the water!

  No, stupid. Get out of the apartment!

  But I’m naked!

  The bathroom door flew open. Another candle sputtered and died, but darkness was suddenly her friend. She used the duck to cover up one boob.

  It was Hot Neighbor from the rear apartment. He searched the darkness and found her. “You okay?” He stepped closer.

  She opened her mouth. “Fire,” was all that came out.

  He reached back and shut the door, put his hands on her still-dry shoulders, and looked into her eyes.

  “No fire, sweetheart. Just a little boom. I’m going to need to check your closet.” He glanced down at the duck, at the rest of her. No reaction. He found her robe. “You’re going to want this.” He forced her to take it. “After I’m gone, I need you to straighten your shoes. Can you do that for me?”

  “Straighten my shoes? They don’t need straightening.”

  She realized he was carrying a flashlight and was very carefully not shining it at the duck.

  “Do it anyway,” he whispered. And then he was gone, into the closet.

  Macey fought her way out of her daze with a few good head shakes. She’d just been standing buck naked in front of Hot Neighbor and used the duck to cover up a boob? A boob!

  She groaned and pulled her robe on. He was going to be coming out of that closet in a second, and there was no way she was going to give him another duck show.

  The walls started rumbling again, like an earthquake. She flung open the bathroom door and stood in the frame. If this was the Big One—

  But it wasn’t an earthquake at all. It was a parade of SWAT cops pouring through her bookcase and down the half-flight of stairs into her living room. One of them slipped on an antique LIFE magazine and landed on his butt. When he rolled to his feet, the back of his flak jacket read ATF.

  The magazine should have been in its box on her bookcase. Her bookcase! She stared at it in disbelief. There was now a gigantic hole blasted through the center of it.

  One of the officers came toward her.

  “What have you done to my bookcase?” She pointed, just in case he hadn’t noticed the wreckage.

  He reached for her hand and twisted. She was on her knees in less than a second with her back to him, in pain.

  “You blew up my house! Why am I in trouble?”

  He ignored her, got a hold of her other hand, and attached both together with what felt like a tiny, hard rope. He then wrapped his arms around her and lifted her, as if she weighed nothing—and she did not weigh nothing—and carried her over near the wall where he set her down on her knees again. He “helped” her fall onto her stomach, but she wasn’t about to complain since her robe was sliding open.

  She lay there for what seemed like an hour, fighting back tears as she listened to her house being searched, mentally reciting what she was going to tell the TV reporters. She’d lost her lucky clip and her hair covered her eyes, but it sounded like they were systematically destroying her home, her entire world. And the entire world was going to know about it. Well, they would if she’d be able to still keep her identity a secret.

  She was too pissed to be frightened. And considering how frightened she should have been, that was saying something. Maybe it
was because she knew the important stuff was safe.

  “Here. Allow us to help you up,” a man said with a deep voice and a strange accent. French, maybe.

  Finally, someone realized she was a human being.

  A large hand grabbed her upper arm. She shook him off. “Not on your life, buddy. My robe came untied. Free my hands first, or you can just leave me here for the reporters to find.”

  The guy was quiet for a second. Scary quiet. She worried he might have changed his mind about helping her. But he was still there, breathing above her. Through her hair, she could see his shiny black shoes. They hadn’t moved. After a minute, he told someone to bring him some cutters.

  Her hands popped apart and she pulled her arms around and tucked them tight at her sides. “Would you mind turning around?”

  He laughed. “How many…policemen do you know who would turn their backs on someone they did not trust?”

  “I don’t know any policemen,” Macey mumbled. She very carefully tucked the sides of the thick terrycloth beneath her. When she got to her feet, she faced the wall while she wrapped herself tight. She turned around and folded her arms, waiting for an apology. It wasn’t going to keep the men from getting reamed on the news, but she still wanted to hear it.

  The guy standing in front of her wasn’t dressed like the others. He wore an expensive black suit like he’d been sidetracked on his way to some red carpet event in the middle of the day. Nobody dressed like that in Utah, unless they were headed to the symphony or a wedding. His hair was black and slicked back. A low widow’s peak made him a smart choice for a vampire role. The make-up department would have it easy.

  He didn’t look too interested in her robe, or what might lie beneath it. And for the second time since her world had blown up around her, she felt a bit insulted.

  Two others, in far less expensive suits, stood to either side of her. They didn’t look too interested either. She was tempted to flash them, just to get some kind of reaction.

  Cop Dracula gave her a glimpse of some kind of badge, then buried it inside his suit coat. He wore latex gloves. She was surprised they weren’t black too, with a designer label.

  “Who are you?” he said.

  Again, his accent niggled at her. She was pretty good with accents, but she couldn’t even guess. Maybe she was still in shock.

  She considered not answering, but Cop Dracula was a little scary in a way that had nothing to do with the point in his hairline or his European accent. The skin creased around his eyes, like he was making an attempt to smile at her, but his mouth didn’t have a clue. Or maybe he didn’t want his fangs to show.

  A metal bowl hit the floor in her kitchen and rang like a cymbal. It was just enough to make her forget to be nervous.

  “Macey McDaniels,” she said carefully, then spelled it out. “I live here. I bathe here. I mind my own business here. I wanna know why you guys blew up my bookcase. And I want to call my lawyer and find out how much trouble you’re going to be in for searching my house—and destroying everything I own—without a search warrant!”

  “Macey McDaniels,” one of the suits repeated, holding one hand up to touch his ear, like he was a federal agent or something…like the President of the United States might walk through the door any second to inspect the disaster area.

  She had the impression he was pretending, but she wasn’t stupid enough to say so. If these clowns were in any way delusional, she’d have to bite her tongue until she could get them the hell out of her house. Then she’d call the real police—the local boys—and see who she needed to sue and how fast she could do it. She had given herself a week off before starting her next book. If her world wasn’t sorted back out by then… Well, it just had to be.

  “We have a warrant for the house. The entire house,” Cop Dracula said, smiling for real this time. No pointy teeth. “Which includes every apartment in it, in addition to this one with the secret passage to your boyfriend’s residence. While my people search, we shall see if the local police have a comfortable place where we can chat.” He seemed to notice her robe for the first time. “But first, I think you may wish to get dressed.”

  He turned to one of the SWAT boys and asked if there was a female officer in the house. There was not.

  “I don’t want to leave. I’m the victim here. I have to clean—”

  “The only thing you must do is to come with us. We have many questions, and you had best hope you have many answers.”

  “But I haven’t done anything wrong! You’re totally off base about the boyfriend thing. And what secret passage?” She glanced up at what was once her bookshelf, then looked away before it brought her to tears. This jerk was not going to make her cry. He seemed just the kind of creep that would get off on it.

  “Clothes!” the man barked, then seemed embarrassed by his own impatience. “Or not?”

  “Fine,” she muttered. “My closet is through my bathroom. I’m going to lock the door. Please don’t let one of your rhinoceri break it down. It’s vintage.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She smirked. “One of your rhinoceroses.”

  He waved for one of the suits to go into her bathroom.

  A minute later, the man came out shaking his head. “No exit,” he said.

  Cop Dracula swept his hand toward the doorway, granting her permission to go inside. She scooped up Ducky and walked calmly into the bathroom, then shut and locked the door. Her hands were shaking. Her eyes started dripping. It was killing her not to be able to go through the mess the cops were making. She didn’t hang onto a lot, so what few things she kept had sentimental value. If they broke her mother’s ceramic angel, she’d be devastated. But if the pieces were big enough…

  No. She couldn’t even take a minute to worry about it. If she didn’t move fast enough, Cop Dracula would probably send one of his boys through the wall before she could get her pants on.

  But she got in one little act of defiance—putting the duck back on his shelf, tucked back into the shadows where the vibration of feet on the stairs couldn’t shake him off. She tried the lights, but they didn’t work, so she blew out all the candles except for the one she took with her.

  “Cops,” she grumbled. “Worse than kids.”

  Inside her closet, her shoes were all piled against the far wall. At first, she wondered how the blast might have had any effect in the little room. Then she remembered Hot Neighbor. He must have messed them up when he’d come inside...

  Wait a minute! He hadn’t come out! And why would he have needed to check her closet in the first place? Was it just an excuse to break in on her having a bath? And how had he gotten into her apartment at all, unless he’d come...through the bookshelf?

  He must have been the one to blow it up, not the cops!

  What else had he said? She’d been in such shock, she hadn’t even blushed, let alone paid attention. But she did remember the part about the shoes.

  Straighten your shoes.

  She had to move and think at the same time, so she set the candle on the floor and pulled on her least sexy panties—if she got strip-searched, she wasn’t planning to turn anyone on. Then she grabbed a pair of jeans. A bra. The Swagger T-shirt. That would look great in a mug shot. Then she considered her shoes. Low boots, maybe.

  She sat on the floor and pulled on a pair of new socks. When she finished a book, she liked to buy a new towel, some new underwear, socks, and a new pillow. All part of the ritual. New basics for a new book.

  She tugged on the second boot. Since no one was pounding on the door, there was no harm doing what Hot Neighbor said to do, so she started straightening the shoes. And she noticed something odd…a thin frame attached to the floor beneath her clothes. She’d straightened her closet out often enough to know it hadn’t always been there. Had the landlord done something without telling her?

  She leaned over and tried to scoot it. It didn’t scoot. She felt around it. What possible reason—

  There. A little lip o
n the left, beneath the frame.

  She dug her fingers into it and the frame lifted away, the floor right along with it. She looked down into the dark basement beyond. Her candle fluttered, then steadied.

  Someone could have entered her apartment at any time through this sucker. She’d never been safe. Never!

  She protected the flame with one hand while she closed the trap door with the other and shut out the frightening scenarios forcing themselves into her mind.

  “Go away, go away, go away,” she whispered.

  The pounding on the bathroom door helped clear her head. It was impulse that made her hurry to set the rest of the shoes straight. Or maybe it was the subliminal message from Hot Neighbor that made her do it. He must have escaped through the basement. He’d known the trap door was there and he’d never warned her, never said, “Hey, you might want to drag a heavy trunk into your closet and fill it with bricks before you go to bed.”

  But at the moment, she chose to trust Hot Neighbor over creepy Cop Dracula. If the cops found the escape hatch, fine, but she wasn’t about to point it out.

  She grabbed a leather jacket and headed out. The jacket would look badass in a mug shot too.

  Of course it was all a bluff. If they actually arrested her, she’d probably turn into a weeping mess. The thought of going to jail, even for an hour or so, until Jeffrey could come get her out, frightened the pee out of her. Unless...

  Unless she became Mortimer Coffee and pretended she was just doing research, like a ride-along. Yeah. That was exactly what she’d do.

  She walked out of the bathroom. Leather, boots, jeans, and a Swagger T-shirt. And she still hadn’t washed her hair.