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Who would have thought a beautiful spring day—clear skies in perfect cerulean blue and the sun high and bright to warm one's skin—would also bring a sense of impending doom?
Special Agent Nashville Storm woke to that sun, that feeling and to a chilled spot beside him on the bed. Blue was gone.
Frantic, it took him less than an hour to search the apartment and he saw no indication she would return. Before she came into his life, his apartment had been tidy, empty. No toothbrush or dog bowls. No little jar of scent to toy with his senses. The only thing remaining was the dress.
The garment hung in the near empty closet, a shimmering reminder that hormones and lust always got in the way. How else would he explain losing his mind and starting a relationship with someone involved in an investigation—with one of the potential suspects no less? Well, the excessive drinking hadn't helped, he admitted to himself.
Remembering his phone—with the help of unrestricted and persistent ringing—he headed to the living room to retrieve the gadget. Last night, Nash powered down the device, something that would get him into trouble. His boss often said, this was something not allowed of his agents. Or would have if it had stayed switched off. Did she turn it back on before leaving? He wondered, confused.
As soon as the electronic powered on, incoming messages flooded the screen. He ignored them all to answer the incoming call instead. He listened to the steady loop—dispatch's call out requesting for all officers in the vicinity of the Boulevard. A 10-62—B and E in progress.
Apprehension rolled, a slick slide before the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Nash understood somehow, someway, she was in it up to her pretty neck. "Dispatch, Special Agent Storm 10-17. En route."
*****
BLUE NEARLY PULLED off the perfect heist. Five more minutes, and she'd have been out the door and heading to parts unknown. A maid in her serviceable, ugly, and ridiculously quiet uniform shoes, of course, came in at the wrong time, catching her.
Even so, Blue refused to run, to draw attention to herself as she walked out of the room—in the opposite direction of the fleeing woman and into the elevator. A skillful thief never resorts to violence. They never lose their cool, no matter how pear-shaped a job goes. After all, that was what Plan B was for.
No one expected the pursuit to head for the roof. Guns, shiny black holes of death, would be pointed in the lobby just waiting for her to come through one of the exits. Up didn't make sense in the small minds of the officers who pursued her. Where would she go?
Miffed at herself, Blue quickly wrapped her long blond ponytail in a tight bun on the top of her head. The flight suit she wore had been tailored, body skimming instead of the wrinkled, billowy, shapeless garment of its predecessors. Then she hoisted the parachute high across her shoulders. Streamlining her look wasn't for fashion. It was for safety.
Blue walked up to the ledge, hopped onto the thin lip—teetered, as the wind whipped around her. It was angry and alive, with hard tugs determined to push her off the brink. Sure footing and practice prevented her fall.
Lips pursed, she studied the growing crowd below her, as she connected the snaps and tightened the rigging around her thighs. Tiny movements of the police, who shouted through speakers and bull horns, and of the growing crowd of lookie-loos who couldn't help record and gawk at the drama unfolding before them. They no doubt thought she was contemplating jumping to her death.
That was how Nash found her, because only he could figure out her location. He burst through the door, the heavy metal swinging hard and fast to slam against the wall. Yet the booming crash couldn't drown out self-righteousness as he screamed, "Freeze!"
Blue turned to peer at him, the only other person who knew her better than herself, excluding her partner. "Hello, Nash," she greeted him as she checked the rigging and straps encased her body one more time.
"Blue, don't do this. Come down from there," Nash tried to coax, speaking softly and gently as he slid his feet across the rubber roof, shifting gravel. Inching closer, he held out his hands as if he were trying to make sure she noticed he was unarmed and cuff free.
Blue caught the not so subtle glance, the quick flick of eyes down to the necklace draped against the sapphire blue of her suit. That was her vanity, and her own way of flipping him off. The diamonds, clearly displayed—stunning against their current backdrop and with the sun setting off their fire. Rainbows of color, a kaleidoscope, in a siren’s call of sparkle.
Blue stood, undecided. Her head—the smart part, told her to jump. To get away as fast and as clean as she could. Her heart—the needy bitch that it was, wanted to run to him. Love him. Hold him, but knew as soon as she got within arm's length, he would arrest her.
In the end, the heart won. She supposed it always won, because most people weren't sensible and controlled enough to do what was good for them, not what they wanted. And that's what she wanted, and screw being sensible. Blue wanted the punch, the rush, the immediate flash in the blood that came from a single dangerous act.
One minute she was standing precariously atop a ledge and the next she had her compact and curvy body plastered to his like they were a couple of shipwreck survivors. She couldn't be sure which one of them gave the little cat-in-cream purr in their throat. But she used the sound as her signal to slowly pull away—an elastic and endless move leaving him too dazed to stop anything.
This had always been her favorite part, Blue thought, smiling against his lips. There was something thrilling and naughty about making a strong grown man—someone so serious—squirm and to have the tips of his ears turn pink. Watching him try to collect himself—to yell at her again, possibly slap the handcuffs around her wrists for good measure, Blue smirked. Nash kept his eyes on something over her shoulder, looking at anything but her face, but she could see his skin flame.
She rubbed her lips together. Blue managed a wistful smile and a jaunty little wave, hiding her breaking heart as she tossed her calling card his way. "Goodbye, Nash," she said, as she stepped off the barrier she had climbed back on. She smiled—soft lips, sleepy eyes—and knew she had the power now, all of it, and they both comprehended what such a thing meant.
"Hold it, hold it, hold it." Nash tried to call out to her with hands grasping but, slipping off the latex of her suit. He had almost grasped her feet. He just left them braced above her on the cement—unconfident with his balance. Blue thought she heard—What the hell happened? But the wind stole his words as she floated away.