"What a great set of buns," Samantha Ballanger said under
her breath with a low whistle. It wasn't professional, but
then this wasn't an ordinary job.
From the cover of her van door, she watched Matthew
Granger bend over to pick up a beer can some litterbug had
tossed on the sidewalk. He pitched it into a nearby trash
can like a good citizen, then turned and continued walking
down the opposite side of the street. He'd spot her in
half a minute.
The photos didn't lie. He was tall as a church steeple,
sixsix if he was an inch, and looked like a young Tom
Selleck. Very appealing, but his size might present some
logistical complications. Brushing that worry aside, she
pulled the other door to her Econoline van wide open and
slid an oversize box halfway out. Then she pretended to
struggle loading it.
At five-four, the curly-headed brunette was, as her
IrishCatholic mother euphemistically put it, "well
endowed."
That's why she choose to wear a sprayed-on pair of
hiphugger shorts and a halter top that displayed her
assets like an Excel spreadsheet. If this getup didn't
grab his attention, he had an eyesight problem her
research hadn't revealed.
As soon as he looked across the street, she could tell
there was nothing wrong with his vision. Sam increased her
exertion, even emitting a few ladylike swearwords to
indicate she was in big trouble. A guy who cleaned up
litter surely wouldn't refuse to help a damsel in
distress. She watched him vacillate, obviously wanting to
help her as he glanced down at his wristwatch.
Chivalry won out just as she hoped it would. Granger
crossed the deserted street. She knew this wasn't the best
neighborhood in San Diego for a woman alone, especially an
attractive one whose least provocative article of apparel
was the fanny pack strapped to her waist. The big brick
complex of buildings where Granger lived was called
Samaritan Haven, a place where people hid from their
pasts, or ran from their futures. Not all of them were
exactly hospitable to strangers.
"Need some help?" he asked, nodding to the box, half in,
half out of the van.
"Yeah, I could use some. Thanks," Sam replied with a
bright grin, stepping back so he could take the box in
both hands. Predictable as snow in Boston.
"What've you got in here, rocks?" he asked, bending his
knees to put some muscle behind shoving the box across the
carpeting of the van.
Sam moved in close behind him, giving him a whiff of her
perfume, a faint musky rose scent. Just for added measure,
she let her breasts brush against his shoulder to distract
him further. When he shoved the box all the way inside,
she shoved the barrel of her gun sharply into his right
kidney.
He grunted in surprise as she said conversationally, "It's
exactly what it feels like, so don't get cute."
"You're the one who's cute, honey, or I wouldn't have
walked my stupid butt across the street to be mugged," he
replied.
"No mugging, honey, but this will be a prelude to a
funeral if you don't spread your legs and lean forward
into the van. Put all your weight on your palms."
"If you're a kidnapper, I have to warn you there's not
enough in —"
"Just do it," she snapped curtly, pressing the gun muzzle
harder into his kidney to emphasize her point. He was too
big to take any chances with.
"Ouch," he muttered with an oath, leaning forward and
spreading his long legs.
Sam tossed a small plastic nasal inhaler next to where his
left hand pressed into the plush carpeting. "Squeeze a
spray into each nostril, then snuff it up — good and
hard," she instructed.
When he hesitated, she cocked the snub nose. He picked up
the bottle and squeezed. She could see that he was trying
not to get much of the spray up his nose, but with this
new drug, that shouldn't matter. "Now inhale." She used
the gun to emphasize her point. He complied with a noisy
snuffle.
"What is that stuff? My nose's tingling," he said, trying
to turn around.
"Stand still," she commanded him, jamming the snub nose
harder in his kidney until she was satisfied that he
wouldn't try anything stupid. Then she grabbed the back of
his shirt with her free hand and balled it up tightly
between his shoulder blades.
"Hey, you're choking me," he protested.
She ignored him. No time to fool around now, she thought,
eyeing the deserted street again. "Drop the bottle and put
your hand back on the van floor."
"Okay, you're calling the shots." He coughed as his shirt
collar bit into the sides of his throat. "For a little
broad, you have a grip like a sumo wrestler. Now what?"
"We wait," she said. This was her first use of the new
inhalator. Just her luck to experiment on a guy tall as a
skyscraper. He coughed again. She imagined his brain
starting to spin like the Seattle Space Needle.
His right arm buckled. He straightened it and shook his
head. "Shit, that stuff wasn't Vicks, was it?" he muttered
thickly.
Sam heard the slight slurring in his voice and swore
silently. Jules had told her the nasal delivery system
worked fast, but with a guy this big she'd never imagined
it could work quite this fast. Damn! He was starting to
puddle up real quick. She found it distracting enough that
the man was dropdead gorgeous. But did he have to be twice
her size to boot? If he oozed beneath the van she'd be
screwed. There was no way she could heft over two hundred
pounds of male muscle from the pavement into her vehicle.
When his legs suddenly started to give way, she
hissed, "Lock your knees. Stiffen your legs, for God's
sake." A little panic was not all that unprofessional.
"Stiffen…stiff… My ass." The sibilant sound hissed between
slack lips. "I cudn' get stiff for Julia Roberts."
Sam could see his legs were liquefying. She uncocked
the .38 and slipped it into her fanny pack to have both
hands free to work. She reached up between his legs to
grab the front waistband of his Levi's.
"Doan get fresh!" It came out "fesh."
He grunted in acute discomfort as she levered her forearm
up against his testicles. It was an old jujitsu move
guaranteed to turn any man into a toe dancer. Any man not
already higher than a satellite. His knees continued to
wobble like Jell-O as she tried to shove him inside the
van.
He muttered, "Hey, hey, tha's m…m' fam'ly jew'ls."
"Either you help me get your ass in that van or I'm going
to liquidate a couple of the family assets right now. Got
it?" Braced behind him, Sam cupped her left hand under his
knee, trying to get him to lift it onto the floor of the
van. She revised her estimate of his weight. He was the
size of her uncle Declan's semi carrying a full load of
sheet steel.
She tugged at his knee again, cursing as she became truly
desperate. "Come on, throw your friggin' leg up there!" A
quick glance up and down the street revealed no
spectators, her only break so far. Finally, using her body
weight against his rump, she bumped him hard several times
until she was able to lever his knee high enough to slide
it onto the van floor and roll him inside.