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Patricia A. Bruening

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Member Since: May, 2007

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The Meeting
By Patricia A. Bruening
Wednesday, May 16, 2007

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This is a meeting between someone looking for a man and the woman he believes knows where the man is.

She leaned close, her breasts pressed against his arm. He stared at the door, glimpsed between the dancing bodies that crowded the dance floor as her breath warmed his ear.
"He's not coming," she whispered. "It's a trap. They followed you and Jeremiah won't take the bait."
He shifted slightly, relieving the pressure of her breast on his arm. He had no time for sex play. He breathed shallowly but sill inhaled the smoke filling the dingy club. Glasses clinked and the low buzz of drunken conversation floated through the thick air. Tension rose and he scanned the bar's low level patrons. Voices rose and people shuffled but his sharp eyes could not pinpoint the source of the brewing commotion. Too many people crowded the place.
"Did you hear me?" she whispered again.
He nodded slightly, scanned the place once more, and shifted abruptly to face her. Before she could draw back, he jerked his hand from the table and gripped her chin. She winced, the only sign that his hard grip caused her any discomfort.
"Jeremiah won't be c-c-caught," she stuttered. Fear flickered in her eyes.
"Uh huh," he said, low and deep. "And you are?"
Her dark brown eyes widened in surprise. He smirked and tightened his grip on her chin. He would have answers before he left this dump that mascaraded as a dance club.
Her full lips curved in a naughty pout. "Just call me Hermes."
The messenger, he mused and nearly snorted. She didn't have wings on her feet but she probably knew nothing--a courier paid to deliver a message. He shifted his gaze from her dark eyes and all of his heightened senses flared to scan the bar. Tension escalated and patrons who had conversed pleasantly now eyed their companions suspiciously. The very air thickened around him. Jeremiah wasn't coming but someone had arrived.
Movement at the front of the room jerked his attention to the door. A dozen men, armed with plasma guns and ready to fire, stormed into the crowded bar. Clothed all in black, including face masks and helmets, they stalked slowly and purposefully into the room. He knew they would be looking quickly but thoroughly at each person in the room before moving on into the group.
The terrified patrons immediately moved, clearing wide paths for the newcomers to go where they pleased. They were Security and no one screwed with them. His eyes narrowed as he tracked their progress toward his table. Apparently it pleased them to find him.
She, Hermes, pulled back but he snapped his hand up and grabbed her wrist.
"Sit down," he ordered, low and menacing. "If I go, I won't go alone."
She struggled but he tightened his grip and jerked his chin toward the empty seat next to him. He had a minute or two to get answers. Enhanced senses continually scanning, he easily kept track of Security but fixed his steady relentless stare on the girl's eyes. They widened in fright but abrupt realization flared and dismay flashed across her face.
"Yes," he interrupted with quiet intensity. "I'm enhanced."
"They're coming," she exclaimed, her wild glances darting around the crowded room. "We--I need to go."
"We have a moment," he told her, tolerating no argument. Security could never take him. "Where is Jeremiah?"
She shook her head, wild terror in her eyes. She yanked her hand but he was not ready to release her. A whimper escaped her--part fear and part pain at the force of his fingers around her fragile wrist.
He glanced at the Security force. "I will not ask again. I will simply turn you over to them."
She shot a frightened glance at the approaching men and the tension drained from her as she slumped in the chair.
"I'll take you," she surrendered in a broken whisper.
A slow humorless smile curved his lips. He didn't release her but patted the back of her hand as though she was a child needing comfort.
"Very good," he said without an ounce of sincerity. He stood, her hand in his, and crooked his elbow. "Shall we?"
Not giving her time to respond, he led her through the bar and out the back entrance. Security never had a chance--but they weren't after him, either. They also wanted Jeremiah, the rebel leader and extremely reclusive. Many people weren't sure he existed.
But, he thought, if he does exist, I will find him--and we will see what is to be done.

The End

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