The Iron Tiara

"You don't even know what it means to go down on a woman?" he asked, his voice carrying a pitch of disbelief.

"I've heard that term before. And you said it when you were telling me about the older women you slept with. I know it’s when a guy puts his face there. I just don’t know why you would want to." She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked over his shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. “Or why I would want you to.” Her tone was defensive.

He broke out in a sly wide smile. Oh, you’ll want me to, he thought.

She turned her gaze back to him and seeing his roguish grin, quickly looked away.

"You're twenty years old and not only did your boyfriend never go down on you, but you aren’t even sure what it means?" He ran his hand through his hair, still trying to come to terms with her naivety.

What could she tell him? That she hadn't grown up like the typical teenager? That she lived under a rock? She didn't have girlfriends to swap secrets with and she certainly never discussed sex with Litzy or Vivian. She'd taken a sexual education class in high school, but she didn't remember slang being taught. It was more about birth control and sexually transmitted diseases. She'd never peeked at a girlie magazine, and she’d certainly never watched a pornographic movie. Her bank account may have been huge, but her world was very small. A blush crept up her face.

"Have you ever had an orgasm?" he asked. "Do you even know what one is?"

Christy took a deep breath and started to answer him when her expression changed.

"Someone's here," she whispered.

"Nobody is here," he told her as he started to move up toward the headboard where she was perched against it. His long hair was swaying, and it tickled her legs as he approached her.

"Yes, there is. I heard a car. Someone is here, Anthony," she insisted.

He reached for the television remote on his nightstand and aimed it toward the set that was on his dresser. He pressed the power button and changed the channel. She was right. The hidden camera on his front porch showed two well-dressed men getting out of a four-door sedan and walking toward his door. They looked like the two men that he'd watched on the surveillance tape the night he let Lourdes clean his house.

"Lock yourself in the safe room, Christy," he demanded. She jumped off the bed and started to put her clothes on when he told her, "Take them with you. You can put them on in there." She headed for his closet and turned around to say something when she saw him pull a gun from one of his dresser drawers and tuck it into the back of his jeans. She watched him put his shirt back on. A sharp rap at the front door broke the silence. Anthony saw her reflection in the mirror and noticed she was frozen in the closet doorway.

"Go!" he whisper-shouted before he headed for the front door. "When you get inside, you page X. His number is by the phone. You put in two-two-nine-one-one. He'll know what it means. You got it?" he asked.

She nodded, but he saw her eyes were as big as saucers and shiny. She was scared.

He walked toward her and took her face in his hands. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, Owani," he told her.

She sniffled and asked, "What if they hurt you?"

"It's not going to happen. Go, Christy. Promise you'll stay in there until X or I come for you."

There were two more raps at the front door.

He kissed her nose and watched her disappear into the huge closet. He didn't leave the bedroom until he heard the unmistakable slide of the hidden panel and knew she was safe.





Chapter Twenty-Two





Naples, Florida 1978





Anthony approached his front door cautiously, opening it after the third brisk knock. Two men stood in front of him. They both wore expensive suits. He knew immediately by their posture and the way they carried themselves that they weren't a threat. He'd been in the business and played the game long enough to recognize the difference between a messenger and a mercenary. These men weren't dangerous. And handsome? Christy's landlord couldn't have been talking about these two.

"Anthony Bear?" the older one with wavy silver hair asked. He was about six-foot tall, thin and his eyes were too close together. He had full, shiny lips and crooked teeth.

"Who's asking?" Anthony asked.

"I'm Dan Mikkelson, and this is Pete Germaine," the man said, nodding at his companion. The second guy was younger by a few years. He was also shorter and wider. He wore his brown hair in a buzz cut. He had bushy eyebrows that rivaled his mustache.

Before Anthony could comment he added, "We represent Mr. Chapman."

Anthony threw his head back and laughed. "Represent? Let me guess. You're attorneys?" he asked.

"Yes," Dan told him. "Mr. Chapman sent us here to discuss his outstanding loan with you."

Before inviting them inside, Anthony triggered a switch at his doorway that would automatically scan the men for weapons when they passed over the threshold. He put his right hand behind his back and clutched his gun. He stepped back and waved them in. When the alarm didn't beep, he motioned them toward his living room and pointed to the couch. Just as he'd suspected, they weren't a threat.

Both men took a seat.

He stood opposite them, his arms crossed.

"Mr. Chapman wants to make a deal," Dan informed him.

"I don't want a deal. I want my seventy thousand," Anthony sneered as he looked down at them. "Plus interest."

"I think you'll want to hear us out," Pete chimed in. He hadn't said a word up to this point, and Anthony was surprised at his unusually high and feminine voice.

Anthony nodded for him to go ahead and tell him the offer.

"How would you like to make almost eight times that amount?" Dan asked.

Without showing any kind of reaction at the exorbitant offer, Anthony blandly asked, "How much exactly are you talking about?"

"Half a million," Pete blurted out.

"Based on how much he already owes me and how long it's taking for him to pay me, I'd expect to collect almost that much anyway," Anthony stated.

The men looked at each other, and Anthony knew they'd anticipated his response. Pete nodded at Dan.

"A million," Dan said.

"And how exactly does Van plan on paying me a million when he can't even come up with seventy thousand?"

"It involves his daughter, Christy." Without waiting for Anthony to comment, Pete continued, "Mr. Chapman thinks you might be the best man for the job."

"What job?" Anthony asked through narrowed eyes.

"Let us give you some background first," Dan interrupted. He cleared his throat and shifted forward on the couch, sitting on the edge.

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