Your Heart, My Home Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One - Blackout

  Chapter Two - Detail

  Chapter Three - Sherandar

  Chapter Four - Clues

  Chapter Five - Bolt

  Chapter Six - Strike

  Chapter Seven - Caged

  Chapter Eight - Steps

  Chapter Nine - Escape

  Chapter Ten - Hidden

  Chapter Eleven - Help

  Chapter Twelve - Awake

  Chapter Thirteen - Intimacy

  Chapter Fourteen - Passion

  Chapter Fifteen - Pleasure

  Chapter Sixteen - Addicted

  Chapter Seventeen - Purpose

  Chapter Eighteen - Confronted

  Chapter Nineteen - Prisoner

  Chapter Twenty - Confession

  Chapter Twenty-One - Challenged

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Search

  Chapter Twenty-Three - Proof

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Dared

  Chapter Twenty-Five - Plotting

  Chapter Twenty-Six - Showdown

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - Conflict

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - Visitor

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - Home

  About the Author

  Your Heart, My Home

  By

  Linda Mooney

  YOUR HEART, MY HOME

  Copyright © 2014 by Linda Mooney

  ISBN 978-1-941321-22-5

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Editor: Diana Castilleja

  Cover Art: Ash Arceneaux

  Chapter One

  Blackout

  At approximately nine PM, without warning, the lights went out. Paul Canton paused, one hand holding the skillet handle as he waited for the electricity to return.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  After a good sixty seconds had elapsed, and the butter threatened to smoke, he sighed with resignation. "All right. Have it your way."

  He turned off the gas range. Flaring up enough so his body emitted a small glow, he hurried down into the basement, stomping on the right edge of the eighth step with more force than usual. Before he reached the bottom, the back side of the room opened up, revealing a dark, cavernous interior.

  The tunnel extended for another couple hundred feet before he reached the reinforced steel door. Once that was opened, he stepped over the threshold and paused. The familiar hum of power that should have been permeating the walls was eerily absent. Slapping the silver plate on the wall behind him, he smiled as a pure luminescence filled the chambers. Across the room, the bank of monitors lit up, revealing what he already suspected.

  The blackout didn't affect just his block or area. The entire city was down. The only pinpoints of light came from the traffic, and the odd flashlight and candle popping up.

  "Looks like we might have a problem, kemosabe," he muttered. Striding over to the computer console, he backed the surveillance feed up prior to the power outage, then leaned on the table as he watched. Searching for a clue, like an exploding transformer, an animal sacrifice at a substation, a vehicle hitting a pole. A person.

  One moment the city was lit. The next, it went dark. Not in sections, but all at once. As if someone had pulled a major plug.

  "Did you have something to do with this, bitch?"

  Turning, he hurried into the next room to change. Whether or not Sherandar was responsible for the outage, he couldn't wait for the power company to restore the lights, which could take hours, or days. He knew looters could be ransacking businesses. People could be trapped in elevators. There were a hundred possible scenarios occurring right that moment under the cover of darkness. Many of them unlawful, some serious and possibly fatal. Too many problems for the overburdened and understaffed law enforcement officials to handle on their own.

  He swore under his breath. No telling what kind of mess that evil woman genius caused. Or what kinds of messes awaited him. Once again, he was relegated to mopping up and cleaning up after her dirty work, and he couldn't begin to guess what her encore might be.

  Pulling his mask over the upper part of his face, he took a deep breath and stepped inside the narrow brick tunnel leading upward. A second later, Quazar zipped into the night sky, undetectable against its velvety black backdrop.

  Airborne, he took a deep lungful of the autumn air. Amid the exhaust fumes and food odors, he could smell the wet pavement from the early evening rain, and the dull rot of fallen leaves. If circumstances were different, he would have enjoyed a stroll down the block to Maggie's Bakery for a couple of raisin bagels.

  "Okay. The way I see it, I have two choices. I can flare up and put a little light on the problem, give the police and fire department an assist. Or I can try to hunt down the cause of this mess."

  He came to an abrupt halt, suspended in the air, and spread his arms and legs. "Guess that wasn't a hard decision to make," he muttered, and flared. "Guess it's time to bring a little clarity on the subject."

  Light emanated from his pores, muted only minimally by his uniform to prevent blinding anyone who stared at him. Quazar lit the sky, spreading his brightness down into the city. Below, people gazed upward. Many cheered, some yelled at him, although he couldn't make out the words.

  A cold wind gently pushed him toward the southeast. Rolling his head around his shoulders to relieve the tension, he wondered how long he'd need to keep shining. As long as he remained conscious, he could keep this up until morning. And maybe that's what it would take until HP&L and law enforcement got things taken care of.

  Meanwhile, he scanned the streets and rooftops for anything suspicious. Not ordinary humans doing bad, nasty, or illegal suspicious. More like...

  The sound of her laughter floated to him on the breeze. He rotated to his left and stopped.

  Fifteen yards away, Sherandar crouched on what appeared to be a pair of motorized hubcaps attached to her boots. She grinned at him from behind polarized goggles, her head moving down and up as she scoped him out from boots to mask.

  "What's the matter, Quay-Quay? Afraid of the dark?" She taunted him in that way she had that always irked him. Quazar gave her a dirty look.

  "Mark the date, Sherandar. You'll answer for this mess."

  She returned his dirty look with her are-you-kidding-me? expression. "This? Whatever are you talking about? Besides..." Her glistening red lips curled into a sardonic smile. "You know there isn't a cell made that I can't escape from. Unless you'd like to tie me up and see if I can manage to get out of that." The last sentence was purred seductively.

  He glanced down at the people who had emerged from their homes and apartments, and were gathering in the streets. When he looked back at her, she'd moved closer to him. The smile she flashed him gave him an ominous feeling. "I gotta hand it to you, bitch. You may not rob banks or kill people, but you win the prize for making our lives miserable."

  Sherandar shrugged with one blue jean jacket clad shoulder. "Hey, a girl's gotta have some fun, right?"
/>
  Before she finished speaking, she grabbed one of the many necklaces she wore around her neck, and pulled on it until it broke. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the string of little thumbnail-sized black balls at him. Within that split-second of time, Quazar stared at the dozen or so objects hurling across the divide between them until he redirected his left arm to sear the things into oblivion. At the first touch of heat, the balls exploded into hundreds of multi-legged creatures that suddenly dispersed and spurted downward toward the watching populace. Too late, Quazar realized his mistake.

  "Oh, crap," he groaned and shot after them, with Sherandar's departing laughter echoing in his ears.

  Chapter Two

  Detail

  As with all of Sherandar's obnoxious gadgets, her little mechanical balls of legs left their own paths of destruction, from punching holes through windows and cars and you name it, to leaving gooey black patches on pavement and walls when they either ran out of juice, or met with a resistance they couldn't fight. Quazar raced after them, burning as many of them as he could find, until he was confident they'd all been accounted for. By that time, power was being restored to the city one area at a time.

  It was nearly midnight when he returned to his apartment. One glance at his dinner preparations lying out in the kitchen, and he gave up on supper and grabbed a beer from the fridge instead.

  Plopping down in the easy chair, he took a big swig of brew and turned on the TV to see what the local news had to offer. He'd barely put his boots up when his cell rang. He glanced first at the display, then answered.

  "Yeah, Chey, what can you tell me?"

  "Not one, not two, but all eight substations, Paul," his sister informed him. She sounded out of breath from the excitement, and he understood why.

  "Let me guess. An electrical grand slam."

  "Uh-huh," she confirmed. "Nothing permanent, as you may have guessed by now. Mostly burnt relays. Marshall is having his boys and the power company comb through the char to see if they can't find out if it was a natural phenomenon or sabotage."

  "All eight at once, I'd bet heavily on sabotage," he told her. "If Mac Marshall is putting the fire department's arson squad on the job, then they must suspect a fire or explosive."

  "That's what I think, too, big brother. Speaking of suspect, was that Sherandar I thought I saw you tangling with overhead?"

  He gave a bark of laughter. "Who else?"

  "You think she's the culprit behind this?"

  "Who else?" he repeated, and took another swallow of beer.

  "I watched you lighting up the town, but then it looked like you took off after something. What were you were chasing all over kingdom come?"

  "I don't know. Some little black balls with legs. Another one of Sherandar's concoctions. Pain in the butt and messy as hell, but not dangerous, as usual."

  There was silence on the line. If not for the soft clicking in the background, he would have assumed they'd lost their connection. While he waited for his sister to return, he un-muted the TV and watched the news alert. As he expected, there was a video of him pouring his own personal sunshine across the city. Unfortunately, the light was too bright for the camera to spot Sherandar's figure hovering nearby.

  "We take you now to downtown where reporter Cheyenne Cox is overlooking the destruction. Cheyenne?"

  Paul grinned as he watched her come on screen.

  "Yes, Alec, it appears the city crews are going to be faced with a major clean-up come morning."

  He listened on the phone as she rattled off information about the incident. Apparently she'd stuffed her cell in her pocket without hanging up first. It was a little habit she had whenever she went on a job she felt he needed to be connected with.

  Smiling, he continued to watch her report, when she was handed a small piece of paper from off-camera. She scanned the note, then looked back up at the cameraman. By the twinkle in her eyes, Paul realized she'd hit upon an interesting tidbit, and he sat up in his chair.

  "This just in," she announced, and he knew she was directly addressing him. "Preliminary reports say the power grid appears to have been deliberately compromised. Traces of an explosive material may have been found at two of the power plants, but authorities are not saying for certain. Whether or not the same material will be found at the other power plants remains to be seen."

  Paul stared at the screen in disbelief. An explosive material?

  The news anchor back at the television station addressed her. "Cheyenne, any word as to what kind of material?"

  Cheyenne shook her head. "No, Alec. Not yet. Maybe we'll find out more later today. The police have scheduled a news conference for one o'clock at the Main Street station."

  "All right, Cheyenne. Thanks."

  Paul turned off the TV and put his phone back to his ear. After another minute, his sister returned.

  "Paul? You still there?"

  "Yeah. And I know you just lied about the explosive," he grimly told her. He heard her cup her mouth around her cell.

  "C-4, Paul," she whispered. "They think they've found traces of C-4, but they're keeping very hush-hush about it. Call me suspicious, but does that sound like something Sherandar would use?"

  "No, it doesn't. That bitch likes to cause havoc, but she's never used an explosive before. Not to my knowledge, anyway."

  "Maybe she's escalating."

  "After giving me and this city grief for the past three years? Why would she? She seems perfectly happy now with—" He paused as something Sherandar said to him earlier.

  This? Whatever are you talking about?

  At the time, he took it for another one of her teasing jibes. Meant to ridicule, as she loved to do. Now he wasn't so sure.

  "Paul?"

  "Chey, let me get back with you."

  "Okay. Call me if you find out anything, will you?"

  "I always do." He smiled into the phone. "Talk to you later. 'Bye."

  Getting up, he went back downstairs to where he kept his private computer. A quick search of Sherandar's past escapades revealed exactly what he'd thought. The woman had never used any sort of explosive material in any of her diabolical inventions, although many of them had caused the same sort of damage.

  "But all of those charges had been of the lesser sort," he reasoned. "If she'd used something like dynamite or nitro, they would have made a bigger blast. Caused more destruction, and maybe loss of life." And that was one thing he knew Sherandar tried to avoid at all cost. Mayhem was her merry-go-round. Her kick. Her dope high. But not the taking of lives. He would bet his own life on it.

  Which was why the thought of her using C-4 to blow the substations raised a red flag for him. Not because he suspected the woman was planning on raising the stakes, but because, if Sherandar wasn't behind the blackout, who was?

  The image of those leggy balls flashed through his mind. She loved what she did. He had the impression it was like a hobby for her. The sound of her taunting voice rang in his ears. You know there isn't a cell made that I can't escape from.

  Damn it, but she was right. It didn't make any difference if they used handcuffs, a zip tie, or personally held on to her until she was placed in a cell, she always managed to escape. Somehow. Eventually. Didn't matter if they gave her a good pat-down, either, to check for hidden tools or objects that would enable her to do her female Houdini act. She'd be gone like smoke within an hour, two tops.

  Unless you'd like to tie me up and see if I can manage to get out of that.

  He shook his head. Her and that damn, sexy voice. It drove him nuts.

  The image of her, naked, bound, and gagged, rose up, unbidden and unwanted. Paul gritted his teeth. He'd caught a glimpse of her breasts through that skinny little tube top she'd had on underneath that jacket. Between the myriad strands of necklaces she always wore, the sight of her nipples sticking out in relief had made it nearly impossible to tear his eyes away. Not to mention her curvy ass hugged by those too-tight jeans. As much as he'd tried to deny it, as of
ten as he fought against those dreams that haunted him in the wee hours of the night, he couldn't shake the truth.

  Or the fact that he was physically attracted to the brown-eyed brunette.

  Worse, she never wore the same outfit twice, although she was partial to that blue jean jacket. She had appeared in everything from casual, as well as more conservative wear. From jeans to dress pants, a frilly white blouse, a dark blue tank top, an old, faded Rolling Stones T-shirt, or a barely-there tube top...everything but a dress or skirt. It was as if her uniform, per se, was no uniform.

  "Like she'd show up in whatever she happened to be wearing that day," he muttered as he slipped into the shower.

  Unless you'd like to tie me up and see if I can manage to get out of that.

  "Damn you, Sherandar," he growled, and reached to turn on the cold water full blast.

  Chapter Three

  Sherandar

  "Insufferable bastard."

  Sherandar stomped into her loft apartment via the side entry in the chimney. Tossing the hubcap units onto the workbench, she tore off her goggles and dropped them on the bar as she stomped angrily into the kitchen area. The jacket she discarded on the small dinette table.

  A glance into the fridge didn't produce any promising leads for supper, although she'd halfway wished the grocery fairy had visited during her absence. Slamming the door shut, she went into the bathroom. Smearing cold cream on her face, she finally got a good look at herself in the mirror. At the bedraggled woman with the wind burned hair and empty eyes. But not empty for long.

  She bent over the sink as tears dribbled over her cheeks, mixing with the cream and black paint she used to mask her eyes. Hitting her fist on the porcelain, she allowed herself to vent her frustration.

  "Damn you! Damn you!"

  The tears flowed harder, burning along with her face. The pressure balled up inside her chest until she felt as if it would explode.